A gritted sound of effort escaped the Konti's mouth as she swung her hammer like a pickaxe. It flew true enough to further hobble the golem that had fallen forward with the last blow. She was striking at the same point, trying to finish what was hastily begun. Marble dust puffed from the fissure, cleaner than blood but lacking the destructive effect. The hammer shook in her hands and the echo of the blow rang through her bones. At first she thought the rising cicada click was her skull vibrating, but her downcast eyes quickly contradicted her. Her eyes swung over the courtyard frantically counting the twitch of light across shells and the rising tongues of fire. Lady-lis, she knew the little petchers had her. She couldn't take the time to crush every damn one under her hammer. Dancing back from a cluster, she used her hammer like a pestle against the earth. "Petch it!" She turned on her heels and leapt over the prostrate golem near her feet. Her landing was a frantic clopping thing, but she was moving too quickly to stop. Little vignettes of chaos greeted her and she found her mind cycling through memories she had never made for ideas. A familiar solution was offered: madness was always best met decisively. Sondra didn’t bother warning Hadrian. Gibran was dancing from the fire and tottering toward the mage, sword bare. The handle slid in her hands and she spun the head to use the beak. Honor was idiocy in a fight: she planted it firmly into Gibran's side from the back, using the beak like a hook to drag him away from Hadrian. She hadn't even hesitated. And if he went down, she'd finish the work. "Let's get the petch out of here!" ![]() |