• Event • [Global Event] Battle To The Tomb of Treid

[Maltruism]

Xiur staggered in agony as the blade plunged through flesh and organ alike; it's withdrawal almost as painful as its entry. Only disbelief came close to matching the pain. His hands, perched only moments before on his knees as he'd taken a few deep recuperative breaths, now joined his knees on the freezing ground, the white ice quickly turning red before him. He did not even feel his body sag and fall prone.

"No...a traitor?...in our midst..." a hum of desperate pulse and gasps partially drowned the blast of Qylios' energy as she blocked the portal to whomever she'd seen. He could only assume it was the traitor. She was clearly trying to encourage him to hang onto life. He was torn between the grim humor in the irony that the Lord of Hope should need this "pep talk", and the ungrateful image he would present were he to laugh at good Qylios' efforts.

He lay back, feeling life ebb from him. He felt an odd satisfaction in the face of death. He guessed that the only reason his flesh had been so easily pierced was his expenditure of power in Ne'haer, prior to his arrival here. None could say he'd not done his part. His very vulnerability was testament to this fact. He had a second unbidden notion. Maybe it was not a traitor at all. He knew as well as anyone that the aukari had breached the city and had converged upon the Hall. Who knew if the portal might not have availed itself of their goals, and brought one here, presented with such an irresistible target?

But shouts around him neither confirmed nor denied this. He heard tearful voices now, and curses of vengeance. One stood out in particular. A young woman, slight of build, yet sturdy. What was it that brought her to mind over the others? Something about the word "watch" or 'watching" being bandied about brought focus to an encounter just a few bits previous. The girl, stating her hope that courage and hope would watch over her. And then she'd gone off to fight!

The scope of her courage, to go into such deadly madness with nothing but an unrequited, nay, unacknowledged, wish to receive just a small measure of that which has ever been the life-blood of soldiers throughout the ages, struck tears of shame from his eyes. How could he not fight at least to the extent this young one was doing here, right before his eyes!

He reached out to her, feeling her hand and someone stating her name as 'Symbri', as they told her in hushed eagerness to take hold of it. It was almost laughable how much strength he felt in her grip, far more than his own. "Young one....Sym...bri...it seems...you must...stand my watch...The one...who has done this...must be...returned...Information he has...or can not...be allowed...to report...I give you....give you the...means...Stand still a...moment...He went not...back through the...portal...He is here...still...Follow...follow the blood...my blood...the scent...on his sword."

He began to glow as he spoke. A cost of power that only in his weak state would be demonstrated by such a display. Then all at once, the glow shifted and engulfed Symbri instead. Her body growing and shaping majestically into a massive stag of power, still glowing as the Bruxen of the wilds around Ne'haer. Her weapons morphing and climbing to form dire antlers; her armor enhancing the beast's own considerably tough hide; Her hands and feet, already tougher than most, now formed into broad iron-hard hooves. The amazement at her enhanced condition was plain on her cervidaen face.

His exchange complete, Xiur lay back, content. He began to mutter something. Looks became grim around him, for it was hard tell if he was speaking of 'Dying', or if some other delirium beset him, causing to believe he was now conversing with Daia.

OOC - This becomes an offshoot thread with Symbri, Yanahalqah and Doran, starting here. The rest of you, keep fighting!

[Maltruism]

War becomes a living entity in and of itself. A great twisting, grappling beast of greedy appendages and crushing weight, its tentacles wrapping and squeezing the life from whole ranks of men, even as the men are what its arms are comprised of. It feeds on its own body, cutting and devouring, as some new limb forms from the new void to stymie the reach of another, so that it might grasp a new string of victims for itself.

The presence of the shadow creatures of Aelig and Lisirra did more to affect this analogy than all the other combatants combined. They swirled in random directions as they occupied the ground before the city walls. Curling ranks writhing in destructive patterns that did nothing to gain access to the walls, but served ever to defy any logical strategy of counter moves.

The heroes and defenders were constantly finding their prepared counter strikes being negated by their enemies' illogical advances in seemingly pointless directions. Concern that ambushes awaited any that pursued them often kept them from seizing the abandoned ground. Hesitant approaches usually gained them the ground given up by the shadows, but then held no particular advantageous position from which to launch new attacks. If there was a strategy in the movements of these beastly, it was difficult to discern. Yet they consistently came back around to swarm anew over lines of supply and communication between patches of soldiers.

It was only the boons of Qylios that kept the heroic forces in coordinated support of each other. But it became increasingly apparent that this odd strategy served to eat up time more than anything else. But this did not stop battle from being joined in pure savagery when the heroic forces did close upon the ranks of shadow beasts. Nor were the paths taken by the shadows always of strategic uselessness. The very tents of the healers came under assault at one point; healers and wounded stricken down with cold ruthlessness, before a furious counterattack by mortal and Immortal alike scattered shadowy remains to the cold Oscillian wind like black confetti.

But those newly come to provide healing now found themselves without the support they'd enjoyed before, if such word could be realistically employed. Vluharqih, Tei'serin, Lei'lira, Rita and Jachiel all found themselves wading through newly bloodied mud; their reduced ranks of superiors ordering them to remove the new bodies before providing assistance at the surgery tables. It was uncertain if more healers would be stepping in to aid them. The portal had been burst and the eddying of ether residue made it hard for those still nearby to determine immediately who else had arrived.

Those in the field began to wonder if their presence before the walls was what the enemy actually wanted. Whether they were of the ranks on the parapets, firing down into the enemies; or those on the ground conducting endless series of sorties in every direction, the only consistent resistance occurred when their path would remove them from that front. Then the ranks seemed to swell with Naerikk, whose battle skills were more professionally formidable than the shadow creatures. Yet they too were of mortal coil, and would become victim to fatigue. But by the time this occurred, they had always stemmed the heroes' advance from the same overall field of combat.

If Quio, Noth or Nightshade Eld were ever to win free of the battle before the city walls, they would find a greater ratio of Naerikk on guard before the entrance to the tomb. There were shadow creatures among them, but a greater concentration of the female warriors were found here. Faith, Aeon and Ti'niva were even know discovering this fact. Worse yet, the lithe, weapon mistresses of Audrae had discovered them as well; along with the ranks of those who'd come with them. Some had arrived ahead of them, and were even now engaged.

The prowess of Audrae's daughters had them on the retreat from the tomb's entrance, though only the shadow creatures pursued beyond a point where the defensive Naerikk forces would thin to single file. The warrior women held back to reform their position. They would not fall for any lure. And though the shadow beasts were usually able to be cut down, more always joined them from somewhere, as if the grew from the very ground at the Naerikk feet. Were a scout to be able to watch both the battle and the tomb at the same time, he'd have probably perceived that the shadow numbers grew less at the walls at the same time that they bolstered the naerikk force before the tomb. But this knowledge alone would do little to aid the heroic forces battling before the tomb.

Inside the tomb was a different story. Not in any sense of battle being fought. Audrae now walked the cold stone walls of Treid's Tomb, the elite elllune guards being hard pressed to impede her will under the best conditions. But the accompanying powers of Lisirra, Aelig and Syroa left nothing but ellune corpses in their wake. Syroa spoke with undiluted confidence, speaking in assured tones of Audrae's certain cooperation. There was a hint of suggestion that it was more in the form of "obedience", but she did not actually use that word.

For their parts, Lisirra and Aelig seemed troubled and distracted. Now that the tomb had been gained, they were of a mind to find a spot to bring their focus back fully on the performance of their shadowy forces. Syroa and Audrae agreed that this would be time well spent and continued on to the interior. Syroa did not fully trust that Audrae would not be nursing some grudge over being forced to this end, but felt sure enough of her hold on the Naerikk queen to take no extra precautions. The Matron of Augiery was as anxious to see what knowledge of Delana could be gleaned from Treid as she was. And they had promised to return the heart to her when they were done. And the fact was, Syroa had no reason to break that promise.

Only time would tell if Audrae did...

[Ti'niva]

Ti came to a halt behind what looked like a large stone from a distance, but much to his dismay was actually the body of one of the giants. All around him the battle raged on, a swirling mess of the soldiers of both sides accompanied by the shadow creatures, which moved along the white background, killing each other and attempting to reach their goals. Ti fired two arrows towards the shadow creatures watching them dissipate as the arrows ripped through them with ease. He had made some progress yet the Tomb was still quite a long distance away. He peered around the dead giant spying ahead preparing to try and again advance further. His quick look revealed a line of the warrior women, they stood guarding the tomb none advancing just holding their ground. That would be an issue, they had to punch through that line if they wished to make it too the Tomb.

A shadow creature approached him and it was soon upon him, in his break he had not been ready. He dropped his bow and fumbled at the sword that was slid into his belt. He stepped back only to be met by the resistance of the giants body cold and icy. Is that what death was like? He wondered if you would feel the cold as you died would it be like you were suddenly plunged into a frozen lake or would you be unaware of it. It was a terrifying thought, almost as terrifying as the battle around him, and a distraction which he could not afford. His hand grasped the handle of the sword and pulled it free of the belt. He had no experience with a sword, but he knew you had to swing it. He held the hilt of the sword tightly as he swung it wildly at the advancing shadow creature. The blade sliced with ease through the shadow creature sending it floating off into the wind.

As he finished his swing he struggled to stop the sword and keep his balance as he felt himself sliding in an arc. He lost his footing just as the sword slammed into the dead giants back. A loud clang came from the blade as it tried to pierce the frozen flesh. Ti fell landing on his backside releasing the sword from his grip and letting it clatter onto the ice as tried to orientate himself. The ice was cold and his bum felt like he had just been hit with a bat. He groaned as he pushed himself up and onto his knees. So, swords were not good ideas for him by the looks of things, he thought as he collected it back up and slid it into his belt retrieving his bow and standing up.

He reached and drew another arrow. He peered round the giant as he looked for a target. A warrior woman had her back turned and appeared to be heading back towards the line of her comrades. She was exposed and out of cover, with her back turned, he felt sick to his core to attack an unknowing person who appeared to be in retreat. Yet for all he knew she may kill him later in the battle. He stepped out from behind the giant and pulled his bow string, hard, to full draw, the arrow shook slightly and his arm ached from the effort. He lined up the shot moving slightly ahead of her to factor in her movement, he had learnt to do that from his father when learning to hunt.

He loosed the arrow and it hurtled towards its target. He watched as the arrow embedded itself into the woman's middle back. She crumpled, her body seemed to completely give way from the waste down. She landed on the floor and went still, Ti retreated behind his cover again and waited. He was unsure how to handle the line of warriors, he could not do it alone that was for sure. He saw people fighting behind him making quick advances towards the line and he waved attempting to get the someones attention, he could only hope he would succeed. They needed to work together, alone they would never make it past the women, that was his belief at least. He waved a short while longer before readying another arrow and firing it towards the women who were still out in the open and fighting against his own fellow soldiers. He was providing support to them from his advanced position for now rather than pushing ahead to death in a line of warrior women.

[Quio]

Treidhart, Oscillus

Just because the shadow creatures didn't see him didn't mean they're weren't dangerous, and yet--

Didn't that make them less dangerous to him, compared to others? Surely he should fight the shadowbeasts, protecting the backs of the pair of giants he had momentarily allied himself with, while they went after the warrior-women--

But even as he thought about it all, he felt something punch through him.

Quio staggered. He clutched a hand to his chest, expecting blood or pain-- but no, there was nothing? Why did he feel like he couldn't breathe? Hope, he thought, remembering the god
--had his name been Xiur?-- who had loosened the tightness of panic in his chest at the immortal's meeting.

Now the panic was back, and around him the warrior-women let out shrieks of victory, though he didn't know why. But suddenly they seemed to thrill with vigor, and he and his pair of giant allies backed up out of their reach as one, two, three warrior-women pressed forward as if on an advantage.

Get out of here, he thought, or had he heard it from one of his allies? Either way, the three of them turned as one, Quio with his shield at the ready, fending off any counter-attacks that might come as the warrior-women saw them retreating--

And lost themselves from their adversary, pushing and stumbling through the crowd and into a small bubble of lesser activity. The three of them, Quio and two giants --no, three giants, another joined them clutching at a wound in her side-- found themselves suddenly in a small break of open space.

And even a small amount of rest would do a lot for them to regroup and catch their failing breath.

"Something's wrong," Quio gasped out, keeping his shield at hand to defend the little group as the others breathed deep and readied themselves. "I felt something--" He still couldn't catch his breath past the panic. "Something bad."

"I know. Treid give us strength," one of the giants said, and then they all looked at each other in surprise. Had the giant just spoken in Rakahi? It couldn't be.

How could they suddenly understand one another?

"Nevermind that," the wounded female snapped, as the third ripped off a piece of cloth and began to quickly wrap the other's wound. "We need to focus, we need to--"

"Look out--!"

And Quio whirled, bringing the shield up once more, just in time. One of the warrior-women had spotted their group.

The force of her attack and the suddenness of his turn knocked them both off balance, the woman bouncing off his shield. Quio fell to the snow, the warrior-woman beside him, and he rolled to get away but she'd grabbed him by the boot and was scrambling atop him. He flopped onto his back to kick her off and saw the knife already raised to claim his life--

But she had come alone and he had the three giants to help him. Before the knife could come down, one of them had lashed out a foot, catching the warrior-woman in the chest. That was enough for Quio to scramble up after her, and now he raised his blade, the wicked sword in his hand, and brought it down upon the woman's head.

Bone cracked, blood poured, and the woman struggled a moment under him before she went still.

Quio pulled the weapon out of her. His hand shaking. He gritted his teeth and stood up, wiping the blade clean on the snow.

The giants, panting, cast him a quick glance, before one of the females reached out a hand to make sure he was okay.

"Like I was saying--" the other female said, her wound now bound as best as it could be on the field. "We need to force them to the city walls. That's what the city was made for. The Ellune--"

Ellune, Quio thought, memorizing the word, and that must mean the giants?

"--the Ellune know this city. These Naerikk bitches--"

Naerikk, he thought, glancing down at the woman's body, the woman he had just killed--

"--don't know the walls. The caves--"

"But we can't get them there!" the male giant --the male Ellune-- protested. "Haven't you noticed, they're herding us, they're using the open field to their advantage. Those shadows-- it's all too disorderly--"

"I know!" the wounded Ellune snarled, frustrated, and then they all had to scatter again as a wave of shadowbeasts threatened to overtake them.

Like before, the beasts focused on the beings they could see, the Ellune. So Quio dropped his shield to the snow in order to draw his second weapon, his dagger. Blades in both hands and free of the shield, he danced in and out of the group, panting for breath. Trying to remember that actually, he didn't need to breathe, he shouldn't feel like he was starved for air. Instead of panting, he held his breath, and yes, perhaps that helped--

But then he was too busy dodging around the shadowbeasts, trying to take them from behind, to really focus on anything other than fighting.

Finally the beasts were slain, and the four folded back into their defended bubble of space. Around them, more Ellune saw the opening and fell to, now there were eight of them total-- no, nine? All facing outwards, Quio and a couple of the others in the middle. Even as he watched, their little bubble of protected space grew.

"The shadowbeasts can't see me--" he said, as those in the pocket went back to quickly resting and planning and tending each other's minor wounds. There was a shallow cut on his bicep, he didn't know where from, and someone stepped up automatically to help him, even as he held another's hand tightly, keeping their arm straight, as the Ellune's shoulder was popped back into place from a dislocation.

"They what?" someone asked.

"I don't know why--" because I was possessed, because I was one of them? "--but they can't see me, so maybe we can use that to our advantage."

"We need to be fighting the Naerrik," someone said, a new arrival to their enlarging group, one who had been shunted to the middle due to his many superficial injuries. "Those Naerrik." He pointed his finger, and Quio could barely see around the gathered Ellune, but there, away from the majority of the battle, was a double-line --triple-line?-- of Naerikk women, seeming intent to hold their position.

"They're at the tomb," the Ellune explained, grimly, and the others around him groaned aloud.

There was a rush of dread and exclamations --"How?" "We have to stop them!" "They can't take the tomb!"-- none of which Quio really understood, except that there was something important over that way. A tomb?

"Let's go, now!" one of the women cried out, and Quio, an outsider among giants, was swept along in the consensus.

"Together!" someone else agreed, a gravely male voice full of fury. His anger echoed in the crowd.

And then all around Quio there was ice. Weapons, fighting, slashing. The giants made a small wall with their bodies, some facing forward, some back, and as one began to advance, kicking their way viciously through the battle on the way towards the Naerikk at the tomb.

"For Treid's heart!" someone screamed, as another yelled, "Nilas, at the ready!"

"Those who need to, preserve your strength!" another cried out, but the order was nearly as lost in the wash of voices as Quio himself was.

Smaller than everyone else and filled only with terror, not fury, the Yludih struggled to keep up-- and then had to double back to the cleared area because he'd nearly forgotten his shield where he'd left it on the ground. Quickly he grabbed it up, fumbling with dagger and shield in one hand, and double-timed it back to the rest of the group, which now comprised of nearly twenty Ellune. There he took up his position with the shield and sword, dagger once more at his belt, helping to protect their flank.

It wasn't long before he saw something.

"Wait, go there!" he shouted. He pointed as they made their advance. All he had seen was a waving hand, but the Ellune seemed to understand him. They marched towards the line of Naerikk where someone, a bowman who had been at the meeting of immortals, was already attacking.

As they marched, they gathered allies where they could, overcoming the Naerikk and shadowbeasts who tried to stand in their way. Most of the resistance was met by those Ellune at the front of the wall, and some fell to wounds-- one of the Ellune went down with a leg injury that spouted blood, and was nearly trampled underfoot by the rest. The others paid no mind.

Quio himself merely stuck as close as he could to their back, and fended off what enemies he could handle. Any warrior-woman who fell, hurt, within his purview, he dispatched of as quickly as he could without breaking formation. A woman with a gushing cut to the throat he ignored; one who had been shoved aside by the Ellune force, and had merely twisted her ankle, he fell on, sword and shield. First hammering into her with the shield to smash her down and protect himself from her blades, and then bringing in his own weapon, a quick bloody chop that took off the top of her head.

His hands continued to shake at the slaughter, but he also continued to hold his breath when he didn't need to speak. As if that separated him from the monstrosity of what he was doing.

And so he fought on.

Now the line of Ellune, which had thinned somewhat from battle, had made it to the front lines. Here they halted and quickly folded into a new bubble of protected space. Within that space was the bowman that had waved them over, and they all regrouped and recuperated for a moment before setting their sights on the Naerikk line that waited, scowling or jeering, to oppose them.

"To the tomb!" one of the Ellune screamed, and with a rush half of them broke forward, Quio left behind to defend their backs once more.

"Attack!" someone yelled, and he watched as they made use of their ice magic. Some shooting ice at the line of Naerikk's feet, hoping to cause them to slip and lose balance. The others aiming to strike the cold into the warrior-women straight through the heart.

"Speaking in Rakahi"
"Speaking in Common"
"Speaking in Ulehi"

[Vincent D'Ordyn]

Inside the Portal

Vincent dove as he pulled the red headed woman through the portal with him, and shouted at the blonde woman, whom had been inside to seal the portal shut. Less than a trill later the portal snapped shut and Vincent and the women were left alone in the dark expanse that seemed extremely similar to the one he'd traveled with Ethelynda.

Vincent took a breath and began to relax, that is until the woman, the Immortal he had pulled after him began to speak. Her voice seemed crackle like the lightning that sprang from her body to the ground, and her eyes glowed with barely contained anger. "How dare you interfere in my affairs!" She roared, her voice booming and removing Vincent from his feet only to deposit him once more on the ground a few feet away.

Well this isn't exactly what he had expected, but after having dealt with Sabine for so long it wasn't the most surprising reaction either. Though Sabine had never cause Vincent to fear that his decision may cost him his life. Slowly Vincent got to his feet. "I'm sorry if you feel that I made a mistake," Vincent shout, trying to be heard of the din of the crackling energy, "but I wasn't about to leave an ally to fight an enemy Immortal and his army alone." Vincent continued, his hands shaking at the raw power the woman was emitting. With a deep breath to steady his nerves and his hands, Vincent stood straight again, faced the Immortal of Lightning, and slowly removed his helmet. "My name is Vincent D'Ordyn, I'm am a Shield-Bear to Ethelynda. I am your ally, and if I've tarnished your honor I will pay any price to make up for it, but right now I think we are needed elsewhere." Vincent finished looking in the direction of the other woman and then back to the red-head fury in front of him.

"You're one of Ethelynda's?" the woman asked quietly her anger beginning to dissipate, then she looked to the other woman at Vincent words of other places that they were needed, and a small blush rose to her cheeks. "You're right Vincent. We must join the others in Treidhart." With that she began walking towards the other woman, and only stopped when she reached her side. "Well? Are you coming?"

With a small start Vincent jogged to catch up, his helmet tucked under his arm. For a few minutes they walked in silence, Vincent still a bit on edge, feeling like he had just stood in the eye of a storm and lived. With a clenched fist, he brought himself under control. "I'm sorry about that." The woman said a few bits later. "Faldrun always brings out the worst in me. I am Ilaren, and this" Ilaren said hold a hand out to the other woman, "is Jesine."

"A pleasure to meet you both." Vincent said, bowing his head to both women. "And don't worry about the outburst. I have a friend who acts very similar. She doesn't like people making decisions for her." At the thought of Sabine, Vincent's stomach about bottomed out, but he forced a grin for the two women and continued walking. A few more bits passed in relative silence and then Vincent was stepping out of another portal and into the blinding white, and biting cold of, what he could only guess was, Triedhart.

Taking a few quick blinks to get his eyes adjusted to the glare of light coming from the snow, Vincent turned back to Ilaren. "I believe this is where we part. I hope we meet again with warm greetings." Vincent said, a small grin playing across his mouth before disappearing under his helmet.

"I'm sure we will Shield-Bearer." Ilaren said as Vincent turned away. "Vincent,” She called a few trills later, "you still owe me, so you aren't allowed to die here." She said.

The armor clad man gave a quick salute of fist to heart, before turning away and heading towards the sounds of battle. It didn't take him long to find himself in the thick of it either. It seemed everywhere people, giants, and shadows were locked in battle. With a small curse at his luck, and a prayer to Ethelynda for strength Vincent drew sword and shield and charged in.

It didn't take him long to figure out who was friend and who foe. It was almost like he already knew in the back of his mind, without even having to see. So when Vincent watched a deadly and agile group of women fighting with a smaller group of giant looking people, he didn't even hesitate as he charged in, ramming one of the women with his shield with the initial charge and knocking her prone. After that it was a frenzy of swords, daggers, clubs and nails.

The skirmish took only a bit but it felt like a break, and when it was over the few remaining warrior women were forced to turn and flee. Naerrikk Vincent heard muttered by the giant like people that stood at his side. Looking about, the battle seemed to be going poorly for the defenders. At this rate they would be picked off one group at a time by the overwhelming force on the shadows and Naerrikk. Then Vincent spotted a larger group of giants and a few people of regular size charging through the battle field. "What's that about?" Vincent asked aloud, not really expecting an answer.

Though one came anyway. "They're heading for the Tomb of Tried." One of the giants answered. "It is a sacred place to us Ellune." They continued.

Vincent continued to watch as the large group crashed into a group of enemy's that seemed to holding a defensive position at the door to the tomb. Vincent watched as the group struggled to hold against the invaders. "They're going to need help." Vincent muttered. "We need to help them" He said louder, looking to the few giants around him. "Do you have a horn?" Vincent asked, already planning out the attack in his mind. When the Ellune nodded in affirmation Vincent grinned under his helmet. "Good follow me, we need to get closer." With that Vincent jogged in the direction of the right side of the fray at the tombs entrance. Any time his small band of fighters came across a fight, they jumped in and either defeated their enemies or pushed them to retreat.

By the time Vincent and his band were in place, they had managed to gather a small group of a dozen fighters, all a mix of races from across Idalos. "We're hitting them there," Vincent said, using his sword to point at the right flank of the enemies guarding the tomb, "When we begin the charge, blow the horn." Vincent said to the Ellune.

"On the count of three." Vincent said, facing the men with him.

"One." Vincent turned to face the tomb.

"Two." He readjusted his grip on his sword. A quick flicker of Sabine's face, the night they had drank together after the invasion of Lowtown, passed through his mind. A smile the split her face and eyes that danced in laughter.

One final breath to steel himself for what came next. With his exhale he took the first step of the charge and shouted, "CHARGE!"

Spoiler

Brief Premission for RP Control of Ilaren and Jesine for this post, given by mods.

[Lei'lira]

Others had arrived to help the badly injured Immortal, and Lei'lira knew that she had no place in trying to heal injuries as severe as the ones Xiur had. So she retreated quietly into the nearby healing tents, hoping that she would find a way to make herself useful there. Once inside, she found...barely controlled chaos. As soon as she entered the tent, another healer grabbed her, and pulled her aside. Lei'lira couldn't help but flinch at the physical contact, but there were other, more important things to worry about. Like answering the man's quiet, but urgent questions.

The healer interrogated her about her skill at healing, and how much she knew about what needed to be done. He frowned, clearly disappointed in her response when she explained that most of the little that she did know involved healing animals rather than people. But every willing body was needed, and the healer had no trouble putting her to work. Her first task was to take stock of their supplies. It was important to know exactly what was available so that if one of the healers needed something they were out of, they could try to come up with an alternative rather than wasting time searching for something they would not find. When she was finished with her task, she posted a list of what they currently had to work with. While they still had plenty of antidotes, and bandages left, they were out of the strongest painkiller they had. They were also starting to run low on the weaker pain medicines, as well as the thread needed to stitch up injuries, and the solution they used to disinfect their healing tools in between uses.

Once she was finished taking inventory, Lei'lira was assigned to triage; a truly horrifying task that Lei'lira didn't understand how healers could perform. Amidst the screams of agony, and pleas for help from the injured fighters, Lei'lira had to assess their injuries as best she could. Those with minor injuries such as broken limbs, sprains, bruises, and minor to moderate lacerations were marked with a spot of blue dye. They would have to wait until one of the healers had the time and energy to see to them...and that wasn't likely to be any time soon. Those who had more severe injuries, such as broken ribs, head injuries of any kind, burns, and serious wounds that bled sluggishly, but were not in immediate danger of bleeding out were marked with green dye. Red dye was for those who had serious injuries; ones that would prove fatal if they were not seen to soon. Then there was the black dye. Black dye was for those who couldn't be saved. Some required medicines that they no longer had. Others were injured so badly that only the best healers had a chance to save them, and even then only if they had ideal circumstances to work in; these were people who had gaping wounds, and exposed organs. Still others could be saved...but were judged to be beyond saving because they would require too much time, and too many of their dwindling supplies for a chance at survival. In the time a healer spent on one of this last group, five other fighters with lesser injuries could be saved instead. Black dye was for death. When a healer found someone marked with the black dye, they administered a dose of scarf rot, spreading the poison gently into an open wound. The patient would then fall asleep, never to wake up as they succumbed to their injuries. Lei'lira held the hands of more than one patient who was given this "cure" to spare them from their suffering.

When the healing tents were attacked, Lei'lira drew her katana, and tried to help the others fight them off. She had no skill with the blade, but it was important that the most skilled healers among them be allowed to continue their work as much as they could. To ensure that, those that were less skilled in healing tried to protect the patients, and the stronger healers. A combination of sheer desperation and trial and error taught her that raising her katana, and slashing downwards at an enemy was more effective than thrusting the sword forward. But she was more of a danger to herself than to the enemy, and she knew it. She was more than a little relieved when some of the Immortals, aided by mortal fighters came to their rescue. By then, her arms were aching from the weight of the katana, and Lei'lira didn't think she would have been able to fight for much longer, even if she hadn't gotten injured.

After the fighting was over, Lei'lira had a new task to perform. The dead had to be moved before the remaining injured could be seen to. And after the attack on the healing tents, there were a lot more wounded than their had been before the attack. Many of them were healers, which made their situation even worse; both because of the increased number of wounded, and because there were fewer healers who were able to tend to the wounded. Lei'lira herself was one of the wounded; she had taken a sword blow in her upper right thigh, after dodging just in time to turn a most likely fatal gut blow to a less serious one to her leg. She bandaged the injury as best she could, and continued with her work. It was the best she could do until a more skilled healer could tend to the wound. Lei'lira was able to walk, but her right leg was unsteady at best, and it took a force of will for her not to cry out in pain with every step.

Once the dead had been cleared away, one of the healers grabbed her attention, and asked for her help. He had a patient with a broken leg that needed to be set. Lei'lira did her best to hold the wounded man still while the healer set his leg. He screamed in agony, before passing out from the pain. Once the bone had been set properly, the healer strapped two long pieces of wood to the injured leg. When Lei'lira asked why he had done that, he explained that the wood would help to keep the limb immobile, and that that was very important to allow it to heal the right way. If the broken bone shifted too much, it could heal crooked, and cause the patient pain, and difficulty walking for the rest of his life.

The next patient that Lei'lira helped a healer with had several wounds that needed to be bandaged. Bandaging a wound on a person turned out to be much like bandaging an animal's injury. You had to wrap the bandage tightly enough that it wouldn't come loose, and so that the pressure would help to stop the bleeding. But at the same time, it couldn't be wrapped too tightly, or it would cut off the circulation in the area, and that would cause the blood starved tissue to die.

Another patient had suffered a terrible gash in their lower leg; one that was bleeding profusely. Lei'lira watched as the healer she was helping took a strip of cloth, and wrapped it around the injured leg above the knee, a few inches closer to the patient's body than to the wound. He tied the cloth in place, using an overhand knot. Then he took the wounded man's sword, and stuck the hilt through the knot. Using the sword, he twisted the cloth, tightening it around the injured limb in the process. As he did so, the bleeding began to slow, then stop.

"When using a tourniquet like this one, you can only use one on a limb. If you use one on a patient's neck, you will strangle him, and other parts of the body, like the back, or belly are too big to use a tourniquet on. The tourniquet will cut off the supply of blood to the limb completely. And while it can be used to save a person from bleeding to death, it can be risky. If the flesh below the tourniquet is starved of blood for more than two breaks, the muscle will begin to rot. Depending on how bad things get, it may become necessary to cut off the patient's limb if that happens." the healer cautioned her.

Lei'lira nodded to show that she understood the healer's warning. Then he told her to take a break, and get her own injury seen to. When she tried to protest, telling the healer that she was fine, and wanted to help, he scolded her, telling her that one of the biggest dangers for a healer was to drive themselves past their own limits. If they ignored their own injuries in favor of tending to their patients, or drove themselves to complete exhaustion, they would collapse, or worse. And if that happened, they would be useless to their patients. More than that, they would require a healer themselves, taking another healer's attention away from their own patients to help them. Lei'luna agreed with the healer, and Lei'lira took their words to heart. She promised that she would seek out a healer to tend to her injury, and set out to do just that.

[Noth]

Gentle white snow had been painted a far more crimson color. Slick and wet snow was made more treacherous as blood and viscera fell upon it. The sounds of screaming and shouting became almost indistinguishable from one another, the cries of victory intermingling with those of pain and death. In the midst of that tumultuous swirling hurricane of blades and bludgeons stood legions of soldiers, each one devoted to their various causes and doctrines, fighting for these as if though their meaningless deaths would push the agendas that they so valiantly served in life.

Meanwhile, the prancing godlings mingled with mortal men, contributing in their own talented ways to the battle, all the while directing each person to their ends. True, most people had determined that the orders and commands coming out of the Immortals lips were for their benefit, that these commands would lead victory, and yet they simply led further into detriment, into death.

Noth arose from a crouching position, a hand clasping at his wounded side as an explosive growl shriek pressed its way from his mouth. Freshly spilled blood dripped between his fingers to join the pools that had amassed below, another drop into an ocean, unnoticed and irrelevant. The pack of shadowy monstrosities that he had engaged had quickly reacted to his assault upon them, and whilst only a pair had remained to combat him, they had yielded rich results in their animalistic strategies. One had solidified its appendage, raking into his side with terrible force, and rending through feather and flesh as if though they were simple papyrus paper.

Naturally, he had retaliated in kind, and a few deft swings of his handy mace later, his foes had been dispatched into the hungering maw of oblivion. Pain surged its way through his nervous system, attacking him as brutally as any foe could manage, and he felt himself pull away from the front slowly, one foot stepping gingerly ahead of the other as he withdrew from the chaos. He glanced down at the wound, peeling away feathers in order to better examine it. There hung a strip of flesh, crashing about at gravity’s demand, dangling there without restraint. He had the awful idea that he could probably grasp ahold of the strip and tear it free from his body, but even touching the place sent new suffering into him, and so he refrained from that foolish endeavor.

Raven eyes scanned the battlefield, taking the momentary reprieve to ascertain the situation of both allied and enemy forces. It appeared as though a great majority of the Naerikk had positioned themselves into some manner of great line, apparently placing themselves into a defensive position as opposed to offensively hurling themselves against their foes. The warrior women now stood, battering their weapons against shields and hurling epithets at their opponents as they drew near. There was a band of allied forces, and Noth could easily see a number of frosty giants among their ranks. Gradually, the Avriel began to maneuver towards their area, intent on assisting them when they inevitably charged into the ranks.

There was a cry, and the shrieks of battle renewed with increased vigor, men and women charged into the Naerikk, and the slaughter intensified. It appeared as though the allied forces were pushing through, but they risked being stabbed in the back as they attempted their thrust. Ice and snow made for vicious terrain, and the twilight hybrid observed as an allied soldier was thrown off of her feet, and promptly pierced through the torso with a spear.

His side ached with pain, but he had work to do, and it could not wait. Quickly, Noth sprinted across the ground, avoiding the occasional shadow creature as it locked into battle with an ally. He had no time to waste assisting every person along the way, though when he drew particularly close to an engagement, he would lash out once with his mace in order to give his allies assistance.

He neared the line as friendly giants released their anger upon it, knocking aside warriors only to be run through by their sisters. A particularly young Naerikk charged towards him, shouting a battle cry as she prepared to hack him to pieces. The environment was ripe for a change of heart, the blood and the gore, the screams and the pain that throbbed upon his side. He allowed all of it to flow through him, to erupt outwards in a monstrous shrieking noise that dared the poor girl to take another step. Shadowy feathers and crimson eyes glared hatred upon their target, the young girl slowing her charge, clearly somewhat intimidated. His single wing extended outwards, increasing his perceived height and amplifying his attempts at creating fear.

It was not enough to halt her completely, and she began anew, leaping forth to hack at him with a foreign axe. It whiffed through the air, Noth dodging away from it deftly, but losing his footing slightly due to the sudden movement. He was reminded immediately of his battle near the river, wherein he had wrestled with an Aukari woman for his very life, and had emerged victorious from a muddy and drenched trench.

That women had been an experienced warrior, a professional soldier and zealot, driven by the call of her chosen godling.

This little wretch was nothing, a pitiful excuse for life, a young thing who had decided to prove herself to her people by challenging enemies somewhat away from the line. It was the worst possible move she could possibly have made, though Noth had no intentions of letting her learn from her mistake. She charged once more, bringing her weapon down towards him, and this time he charged into her. His arms locked around her own, restricting her weapon, and dragging her away as though she were prey. With the same ferocity that a lion takes when it slaughters a man, he embodied a wolf, and she, a lamb.

Talons raked across her heel, dropping her to the ground and spilling fresh blood unto the snow. He kept hold of her arm, holding it in the air and twisting until it crackled with a sickening pop, a kinetic jolt that he could feel even just by grasping the appendage. Her screams were pitiful, lost in the storm of battle to all but those who were listening specifically for them. The hybrid glanced upwards, noticing a particular Naerikk who gazed upon him from the line, anger and rage casting her face. She screamed curses at him, foam practically falling out of her mouth as she battered her shield, unable to charge forth to defend her sibling lest she break the formation of the line.

He smiled, a sweet smile that said everything would be fine, and though it was hidden behind his coat of feathers, he felt assured that she had seen it somehow.

The talons came down upon her face, raking downwards once, twice, and when the familiar gurgle of death sounded, he continued, desecrating the corpse and utterly denying any chance at identification.

With a challenging shriek, and a heart that pulsed with something akin to joy, he called out to the screaming woman,
“Come, daughter of the Naerikk, and let us sing the song of war!”

[Nightshade Eld]

Death, it was the only thing left on this battle field. No matter which side won there would be no victory at this point. The only thing awaiting any of them was death, wasn't that always what awaited a mortal? What was the sense in fighting something as central to life as death? Ironic but true. There could be no life without the existence of death, now could there? In order for one to live another must die. Be it the life of a plant or animal to feed a mortal or a fallen foe in battle to save the life of an ally. It was all pointless, they were all fighting closer towards their death at the behest of thankless beings who wouldn't remember a single life that was lost. No matter who won, there would only be more death and fighting. Was there even a point to it all? No mortal alive could fight the ever constant threat of death, all they could do was scramble and claw themselves as far away from it as possible by pushing others closer to the hungry maw of such a foul beast. Sad wasn't it? Death was a monster that was always hungry and ever present, a nightmare and a disease that hid in the blood and waited quietly until there was no more strength in its host to fight back. When all was said and done every man and woman on the battle field would fall to the harrowing fangs of the life thief. Even the immortals, some of which thought themselves so all powerful, would be felled to the beast. After all, the original beings shattered. What made the comparatively weaker, pathetic, and puny immortals any different? Such thoughts after all were caused by the impending death of hope itself.

Yet, there were still those that fought. Why? What was even the point of fighting such a battle when in the end it all meant nothing. Nightshade was one of those who put all of her strength into the battle. She worked her hardest to protect every life she could, she fought in the name of Ethelynda a being linked to nobility and honor. What made this battle honorable? What made her actions noble? In the end it was all slaughter, more or less the same thing. Yet she fought on. She fought for what she believe to be right and correct by her own will and mind. Even if the creatures made of nightmarish darkness and the women they aided would beg to differ. This was war at its core concept, its very being. A vying scuffle to settle whose ideals shone the brightest, which set of ideas proved to be the most correct. Victory did not come without the spilling of blood, never in all of history had it.

"Ethelynda guard my soul because my faith is starting to waver," she half breed said. Her voice took on a pathetic waver as she looked outwards. Her face fell into a look of pain at what she could see before her. She was soaked in blood, only a fraction of it her own. For this battle she'd let go of reason and chosen a path of slaughter. Wings provided a great advantage when your allies are distracting your foes. Swooping down and ending a life with a quick slash of talon or blade was easy, disgustingly so. "I don't know what's right anymore, please I need your guidance," she muttered quietly as she looked across of sea of death and decay. There was no hope within that battle anymore. It was gone, gone with Xiur. Night didn't know the details of what happened, but she most certainly could feel the effects. There was a certain stab of fear in her chest that caused her great discomfort, an endless spiraling sensation of hopelessness. Though she could feel the strength from the effort of a different Immortal, there was an emptiness that couldn't be ignored. She listened as screams started to make sense in her ears, the giants which had been speaking little more than gibberish moments before started to form common words that echoed in her ears. The screams for aid shook her to her core.

There was a good number of people she could see starting to give up. It made sense. It was hard to gain any kind of advantage over the situation, people were starting to lose hope. "No," she muttered quietly shaking her head as the people around her began to fall. "No, no, no! This can't be right, this can't be it, this can't be the end. I refuse! I refuse, I refuse," she rambled as insanity took away any better judgment she had. If it wasn't for the fact she shot herself into the air she would have been a sitting duck for any woman warrior to come and destroy. She looked around in the air, darting and dipping to avoid arrows. It was easier to dodge than expected, something that could be attributed to the violent winds or her own skills in flight. Most likely it was a product of both. Fear danced in her eyes as she looked around, all she could see was a writhing mass of hate and pain. Suffering came from everywhere and the fighting only looked to get harder the closer the fighters got to the tomb. Was this truly it, was this really such a losing battle? Would there be no victory? Surely the only survivors would be those that fled to hopefully live another day. It was uncertain how long that day would be if the mortal hating immortals got their way.

It couldn't be left at this. She couldn't let this be the end. Night felt a surge of strength in her heart. The sensation wasn't hope, far from it. Night had lost most of her hope many, many years ago the same time she realized there was nothing good for her left in this world. She had abandoned her hope, at least for herself. The sensation was something different entirely, it was something that burned like fire and her her sword hand twitching. She knew there were good people out there, people who didn't deserve this. Those people were dying and it wasn't her fault. It wasn't because she couldn't protect them, it was because of the immortals inside the tomb that very moment. Those heartless fiends, it was their fault. They were the real monsters in this battle, not the mortals following commands of what they believe to be right. The head of the snake was hunting the heart of Tried, while the body coiled around the outside doing damage to its competitor. But the head of her snake, the immortals who fought against Syora and her group, they were out here fighting! Was it not proof enough the lord of hope was dying? The thought made the fire growing in her heart out of her chest and into her throat, it burned through her entire body as the sharp taste of anger seared itself on her tongue. It tasted horrible, a bitter flavor mixed with a sensation of burning and stabbing at the same time. But it was enough. Her body which had grown numb throughout the battle could suddenly feel. Pain ripped at her from the wounds she had sustained, but she didn't mind. That pain reminded her that she was alive. Her mind was quickly abuzz as she tried to think, her eyes darting across the battle. They couldn't do anything while the shadows were taking any position that could be advantageous. What choice did they have other than to push straight through?

The idea made her heart jump as she swooped around trying to locate any who would go along with the plan. The idea was suicide! But if they were able to clear a path, even a small one, that would be something to work with. Her heart sped up matching the frantic beat of her wings as her breath hitched in her throat. Yes, that would work. It would work! And she saw a group near to the city that might just be willing to help her if she spoke right. "You, what are the lot of you doing!" She commanded a small ground of retreating forces as she landed. None were too horribly injured, only one seemed wounded enough to be leaving battle.Her entire body was shaking as she tried to decide what to say. There was a high possibility this idea could get her killed, but she had to try it.

"We're getting out of this mess! The only thing left is death if we stay here," a man said his eyes frantic and his voice cracking. The others of the group nodded. "What can we do? Nothing!"

"What can you do? What can you do?" She asked as a slight ebb of anger hit her tone. She allowed all of her emotions to seep into the words she hoped would yield the needed result. "I'll tell you what you can do. You can run away, try to get home. Of course that'll be near impossible considering where we are. You'll sooner freeze trying to find your way back to wherever you came from. And if you mange to get home you can sit there, waiting and hoping that this battle turned out alright. Of course it wouldn't have. We need everyone out there fighting if we even want a chance of winning. You can live a little longer shivering in fear and waiting for the inevitable because you know what, if you roll over right now you're going to die either way. Maybe you might not die here, maybe you might not die in a couple of years. One way or another though your miserable little life will be ended and the chances are it'll be done by an immortal in this battle who decided that mortals were too much of a threat. Faldrun is a perfect example, or maybe it'll be Lisirra spreading a new plague. After all if you don't fight back you're little more than an annoyance or a toy. Your sad little existence will come to an end all the same without ever accomplishing anything of worthwhile because you were to weak and pathetic to fight!" She scorned laying on the insults as thick as possible. Her voice started to rise louder and louder, she could tell she was starting to attract attention. She couldn't even tell if her rambling made any sense at this point. She could care less though, the words slipped from her mouth and to her they made sense. With her harassment of the would be deserters over she knew exactly what to say next, the ideals of the great noble serpent gave her strength as words flowed from her mouth like water.

"Or, you can fight here. You're going to die either way, that is an undeniable truth. But here, here you have something to die for and you might just be able to make your life longer and better. We are mortals, you say that as if it makes us weak. You say that like it makes us less. And yet, who do the immortals come running to whenever they have a problem with each other? Mortals! Who are the only ones who can kill the immortals? Mortals! Our very existence is a threat to them because we are just as powerful as them, it's just a different kind of power. It is our strength of spirit that allows us to stand on this field and shed our blood for what we believe in, something that their immortals refuse to do," she said pointing at the warrior women who fought with the allies of the group. She could see a small spark of curiosity in the eyes of those who listened as her voice became stronger, prouder, her words became fierce and more solid as she convinced herself of what she was saying. "So instead of rolling over and waiting for death to come to us, why don't we meet it!? We will show death the strength of mortal kind in a way that will never again be questioned, because no matter what race we are be it Human or Ellune or Avriel we are mortals! We have the power to change the course of this battle if only we would fight, so please change it. Change it like we have changed this very world with our existence. Please fight with me, fight with all your strength for the glory of generations to come. Even if our names and faces are lost to history, what we have done will live on in history. Our strength will usher forth glory. I made a vow long ago in the years of my youth. The vow itself was made to Ethelynda, it was a vow to be brave and strong. A vow to always stand up for what's right and to protect those who could not protect themselves even if in the end I lose my life for it. Brothers, sisters, my fellow mortals stand with me against the likes of those who wish to use us like toys. Stand against the immortals who think we deserve to die simply for the fact we are a threat to them, stand with the immortals that support us and want to watch us grow and prosper for years to come. Be proud, be strong, be brave! My dear comrades, let us win this war!" She cried out with all the might she could. Her voice had grown even louder to the point the wind grabbed at it and attempted to carry it to those on the field. She was no bringer of hope, no follower of Xiur. But she was devoted to Ethelynda, and so for what was honorable and right she would be strong.

The group she had been originally talking to grew. She glanced around at those she'd managed to catch the attention of. They looked at her with expectant eyes, each one was hungry for even the slightest gleam of hope. They wanted a plan, something they could rely on. They looked at her now like they might a leader despite the pitch wings on her back which would often leave her looked down upon. "We're losing this battle right now, we need to do something and our forces keep thinning. There's only one chance we have when the shadow beasts keep us from any position that's advantageous. We have the push forward, straight through the middle."

Instantly the group burst into worried whispers. Someone plucked up the courage to speak, "But that's complete suicide! If we charge into the center of that mess we'll all die for sure," he said and a couple people agreed. Some sets of eyes however lit up as they realize what the woman before them was planning.

"You want to make a shield wall and charge through the shadows," one of the Ellune mused looking down at the smaller half avriel. Night allowed a small smile to posses her as people muttered among themselves about the idea.

"Right now it's almost impossible to get to the tomb leaving those that are there stranded and without reinforcement. The worst of it has to be the fact it's even more heavily guarded. That tomb is exactly where we need to be right now if we want to win. If we can't take the tomb then this battle is already lost and Syora will have exactly what she wants, it's completely pointless. If they're going for the tomb that means they must be going for Tried's heart. What we need to do is clear some sort of path to that tomb," she said.

"But how? We can't just hack and slash away. We'll be torn to pieces," someone argued.

"How many of you use shields?" She asked ignoring the comment and looking over the group. "I want whoever uses a shield to be in the front of the group. The larger the shield the better, but anything is okay. I want stronger members of the group and those with larger shields in the center of the formation. Those who are weaker or have smaller shields I want you on the sides and I want you to have weapons out. Those in the center I want you to just be putting everything into charging, use your shields to knock down the enemy and shatter the shadow beasts," she started and the group began to talk among itself sorting out her orders. "For those that don't have shields, I want those who use two handed weapons to be at the sides of the formation, or those who know how to block attacks with their weapons. You'll be the defense against any flanking attempts while the shield wall pushes forward. Those who use one handed weapons will help with the back and the flank. The most powerful fighters I want helping the shield wall to make sure that nothing stops progress and the shield wall doesn't get hurt, since their focus should be devoted entirely to pushing forward." She barked out commands and spoke with such a fervor that made people listened.

The initial progress of the wall was slow. Despite the fact she wasn't the strongest member of the group and her shield was rather small she was one of those who led the group. She held the shield in her left hand while the right clung to her blade. Of course she was a large target walking a couple of feet in front of the wall. That didn't make her an easy target by any means, she dodged about using flight to her advantage. For the most part she was a distraction as well as the most lethal weapon in the front. She danced on the wind in a way that made her hard to catch and hard to avoid. Whenever she found a situation she would have usually used her blade to counter or her talons, she instead used her shield. It was a good habit to try and make. The progress gradually began to speed up. The group started to work with a ruthless efficiency. One warrior woman lunged at Night her weapon slashing at what would of been flesh. Night pumped her wings quickly and with all her strength so that the blade only grazed leather armor. Archers tried to take her wings out since they were her obvious strength, but under the threat of arrows she would simply pull in her wings and allow herself to fall or she would use the wind to her advantage.

"Keep pushing!" She yelled at the top of her lungs. "I can see the tomb!" There was a slight rush of excitement in her blood. It was actually working. Instead of losing numbers their group had instead started to gain members. True some had gotten injured, but they fell into the center of the circle that had been created and started acting as a back line of defense. A couple of archers had also jumped into the center of the circle to give aid. A formation, a powerful and coordinated way of attacking. That was what they had needed and now that they had a working formation it grew increasingly harder for the Naerikk to fell the warriors. Shadows stood no chance as the wall of shields smashed into them and weapons poked through the cracks in the walls, the shadow beasts burst and faded away like dust on the bitter cold breeze. "Keep pushing forward!" She cried as her voice started to feel raw. There was something desperate and even hopeful in her tone as the tomb came into view. It had been a long time since she garnered a feeling a hope, ironic she'd finally fostered one now.

The small group of renegades which had become a large group of warriors did their part in trying to carve a path to the tomb. It was up to the defense and the other fighters if that path stayed open or was swallowed up the moment the parade of fighters passed. Their battle now lied within the belly of the beast. "Are you ready? Charge!" Night bellowed as the wall broke in half. Warriors poured out towards the shadows and Naerikk who guarded the tomb as they began to attempt to push inside. The wall of shields switched direction, now they were pushing back against any reinforcements that tried to aid the enemy at the tomb itself, as well as to help the safe passage of reinforcements.

Night breathed out as she felt pain nip at every part of her body. Her head was throbbing at this point as the sounds of battle continued to roar in her ears. She needed a break, oh how desperately she wanted to stop and fly as high up as she could to get some peace. She knew she couldn't though, her warriors needed her. Her warriors, what a strange thought. She wondered if any of them actually thought of her as a leader, would any of them remember her when the battle was over? That didn't matter though, the only important thing in that moment was pushing forward.

"For my lady I will be her blade and her shield. In the name of Ethelynda fall for what is noble, honorable and just," she cried throwing herself completely into the fray. She was met by the largest warrior she'd so so far, the great Amazon wielded an ax and cried out. Night could only assume it was some kind of violent war cry. The dance know as battle commenced. The two circled one another for a while, neither one dared to make the first move. The woman before Night growled eventually losing patience and dashed forward. She brought her ax down with all of her might, but Night was quick to bring up her shield. She was thankful that she didn't try to block the blow with her sword, the strength of the attack certainly would have staggered her if not shattered the weapon. The shield took the blow as it was meant to. Night had just enough time to brace herself for the force of the attack and she was able to keep her proper footing. Her opponent wasn't as lucky, with all the strength she'd put into the strike she'd managed to get her weapon stuck. She struggled with Night trying to rip the ax out while Night did her best to keep it in the shield and out of the warriors hands.

She twisted her body so that she was standing side to side with the woman. Quickly while she hand her chance Night swung her elbow at the face of the warrior. She felt herself connect with flesh and there was the sound of a crack, most likely the breaking of a nose. Unfortunately she wasn't fighting a push over. The warrior was only stunned for a moment before she moved to open her mouth and sink her teeth into Night's elbow. Night could feel flesh being torn as blood rushed into the mouth of her foe. The half avriel shrieked as she tried to pull herself away. The warrior however wouldn't let go, she had the advantage of keeping Night's sword arm trapped. The woman grappled to pull a dagger from her belt. Night threw all of her weight into pulling them both to the ground, the action caused her elbow more damage but she managed to knock a couple of the warrior's teeth lose. What was a better advantage was the fact that the warrior was stunned for a couple moments. The jaw went slack and Night was able to free herself. She skirted a couple feet away ripping the ax free herself as it was causing more problems than good at this point. The warrior picked up a new weapon from one of her fallen comrades.

Again the two circled one another in what was slowly starting to seem like an endless battle. Night felt heavy and her head protested further fighting. Her vision was slowly starting to blur with the effort she was putting into the fight. Reinforcements, relief, they needed anything to give them the edge over the battle. But as far as Night or any of her fighters knew there was no relief coming, no fresh warriors to usher in victory after the wounded and weary laid the path. They were all that was left as far as they new. She took a deep breath as she continued to circle her own enemy. This woman was fierce, maybe even fiercer than Night at her worst. The real question was how fierce was she in comparison to Night at her best? The half avriel reached deep into the center of her being plucking at whatever strands of strength were left. The fire that had first brought her to this foolish idea had slowly been dying as her strength wavered. There was nothing left to feed it around her, nothing left to feed it inside of her. So, she would feed it with her very being. It wasn't a fire now that she thought about it more, it was something closer to a desire so powerful that it burned her. The emotion once more crept through her. With nothing emotional left to ignite, the woman having become completely drained, it started to sear her blood and rip at her limbs. She winced as the sharp sense of pain wreath through her entire being. It wasn't physical but it sure felt like it. She finally realized that the emotion itself was a powerful desire similar to hope.

The new sensation pushed her past her limits telling her to fight. Fight because her life was depending on it, fight because the lives of those she fought with were depending on it, fight because her lady was depending on it, fight because she still had the strength to. Even though her body was drained there was still a of reserve strength that leaked into her spirit and rushed about her blood trying to push her as far as she could go. This desperate desire to protect took over her entire being. Her pattern of moving seemed to change, each movement was still controlled and well thought out but there was something vicious in the way she glided through the battle with one goal in mind. An almost deranged laugh bubbled past her lips as she shook her head bitterly. "Mistake," she said in a sing song tone as the warrior across from her once again lunged. Night moved to the side, it was a little more sloppy than she preferred. The movement allowed the slight sting of the blade to sink into her arm. She felt it and yet it didn't seem to mean anything, there was something more important than her own well being at hand. It was almost like she was almost possessed by something deeper and darker, something that wasn't the friendly avriel which was willing to end her own life to save another. And yet that was the very reason this dark part of her nature existed, to meet such a foolish end.

Her arm moved in a quick and fluid motion and the warrior stumbled back, a large gash went straight across her throat. Night had dropped her shield for a moment, relying on her trusty talons. They were coated in red now, slowly starting to become sticky as the chilling air cooled and froze the liquid to her. The warrior gurgled slightly as blood dripped from the large gash as well as the corners of her mouth. "I'm sorry things had to be this way, but I can't afford to lose," she said quietly as a small flash of sympathy lit her eyes. That small tinge of emotion for the fallen foe proved that the actions were still Night's own, no matter how disgusted she would be by them in later days. She moved to pick up her shield, she couldn't linger on such thoughts as her entire purpose currently hinged on protecting others. She turned about the battle trying to best judge the situation as well as to pick out her next target.

[Faith Augustin]

The Tomb

Faith was not a rational human being, there was no doubting it. She and Aeon and another who she did not know had run for the tomb and they were met with a line. Shadow beasts which could not see her, but the women, they could. They could see her and kill her with ease. But she was here at Famula's behest. She was serving her Immortal and Faith was a fanatic of the highest order. When Aeon had met the young slave, she had been a very different person. Now, she wore armour and weilded a weapon and, with the boosts in confidence which the Immortals had given, with the presence of the Immortals and with terror in her heart that she might fail but total determination to succeed, Faith was focused and clear.

There was a line blocking them from going into the tomb and they had to break through.

So, to Aeon and Ti'niva and she had to go. Others would come, she was sure, as they realised that the tomb was the only sensible place to be, was where they had to go and she gave a brief and heartfelt prayer to Famula for all who died this trial, that their souls moved to where they had to go in order that they might find what rest they deserved. "My life. To my death and beyond are yours." She whispered her vow to her Immortal and then she spoke as loudly as she needed to in order to ensure that she was heard by her companions.

"Together! All of us who fight hand to hand, we move together, we break the line. Aim for the edge, the left. That way we are not flanked on both sides. Archers provide support. Together!"

There was no need for more than that, she hoped and prayed. Those of them who had run here had to work to get this line broken and had to do so now. "Now!" She shouted and moved forwards. They had to break this line and attacking it at one end would mean that they could fight side by side, pushing forward step by step. She was not a warrior, but by Famula this was what she was asked to do and so she did it. The shadow beasts, they were easy enough to kill, relatively speaking, but they simply reappeared it seemed. Maybe, she thought wildly, there were only five of them but they were just reappearing everywhere. But these women? Faith moved forward and she fought, with every ounce of skill that she had.

She knew that they were not going to break through the line as soon as the combat started. There were too many and they were outnumbered, those few who had headed to the tomb straight away. But more would come. They had to. They just had to, so the slave girl kept fighting, her gladius defending and slashing, trying to make sure that she stayed alive long enough to be able to join the charge when it came.

If, at any point, there was a break in the line they fought against, especially taking advantage of the fact that she was invisible to the shadow creatures, Faith would take it and run in to the tomb. But until that was the case, she fought.

[Padraig]

From the moment Padraig had exited the portal and stumbled upon the mortally wounded immortal, he hadn't left Xiur's side. The first to find him there, he'd done what he could to help, though it would come to seem entirely in vain. The same for those who'd arrived after him and tried their best. Others had attempted to pursue the assassin, who Padraig had not seen himself. But there was something humbling about witnessing such a powerful being slip away.

He'd only just risen to his feet again when a blast of sorts near the portal knocked him off his feet, and sent him back into the pool of blood that had seeped from the immortal and was spreading. As an ordinary human being, at first it was shocking, unsettling as the battle raged on nearby. But the young man was also a scholar, a scientist. A man of reason, experimentation and full of curiosity. One who was fascinated by what connections there were between magic, immortals and the natural world. Having emerged from an immortal, surely that blood must be far more powerful than that which ran though the veins of ordinary men.

Was it possible that some small measure of what Xiur represented, could be restored with a sample of his blood? Padraig was an alchemist too, and ultimately couldn't resist. "Forgive me," he whispered and pulled a piece of cloth from his coat pocket. He dragged it through the blood, sopping up what he could, wound the rag around itself and put it back in his pocket before getting to his feet again.

But the battle raged on, and sword in hand, he sprinted towards the tomb's entrance. It wasn't easy going. As soon as he struck down one shadowbeast, another rose up in its place. But for the most part, where there were no other combatants, the string of shells he'd been given allowed him to duck around the majority of them, and make better time. It was only once he'd arrived that ducking and weaving wasn't enough.

And amidst all the chaos he heard a familiar voice. It was Faith, though he didn't see her. And he would've grinned had the situation not been so dire, with shadowbeasts and warrior women both bent on their destruction. She sounded more sure of herself, more authoritative than he'd ever heard her before. So fight to the left, and with sword in hand he did just that. Slashing and thrusting his way through where he could, ducking away from a shadowbeast wherever possible, and even relying on a left hook or sucker punch, beast or warrior woman, when it was most convenient. But that was the aim, clear a path and break through, and hope that their numbers were enough.[/offtopic][/spoil]