• Event • [Crown Jail Courtyard] The Pyre Of The King

[Sintih]

[img]/gallery/image ... ge_id=6090[/img]

intih barely registered the woman. She was not an assassin unless she was the world's best actress on top of that. His focus was on the people around them. They were neatly placed between the mass of people calling for blood or forgiveness and the wall of armed soldiers keeping the peace. This was not a great move on Tristan's part, even though he could understand it. Sin let his eyes scan the crowd and the guards up above, with their bows and arrows. And above them, skyriders ready to assist. Such a waste of military resources. If these mage hunters wanted to do their thing, they should have gotten their own troops in this mess, not the soldiers of the Iron Hand.

Sin set the thought of one of them recognizing him from his earlier service aside and turned towards the slowly increasing sound of chanting coming from behind him. Chanting, or more like singing, at an event like this? Sin had to see this. The crowd broke and Sin came face to face with Tristan singing. Then he blinked and he was looking at Hart, looking intently at him. What was he doing here? What was he planning on doing with that singing of his? Hart pushed on through the crowd towards them while the woman continued to plead for mercy. Aukey and Argun both turned to look at the approaching Venora bastard before going back to their task of keeping some space around the Duke and the woman. Sin stepped back from his position towards Hart, pushing against the crowd to make them part quicker. He wanted to question the man but he kept singing his song, unable to answer.

Then the world caught up with Sin's plans. He recognized the bitter sweet feeling of being right when all you want is to be wrong. The singing had put him off for a bit but when Hart reached for the woman and she collapsed once he'd touched her and the knight holding her followed suit as soon as he grabbed Hart to keep him from reaching the pyre, Sin was moving. He put his hand on Tristan's shoulder and pushed him down, leaning him forward. Aukey and Argun acted only an instant later, the former gladiator pushing forward into the crowd, making way while the red haired man closed their ranks behind them. "Time to go, Ser." Sin's voice didn't sound like he was offering a pleasant suggestion. With his hand on the Duke's shoulder, Sin began pushing him away from the spark, the ember that would light the fire, and he wasn't talking about the pyre up on the stage.

They had taken barely two steps from their position when the shout went up. Somewhere behind them some idiot, or a clever instigator, shouted above the noise of the crowd. Sin tried to look back at Hart, tried to see if he was alright but the crowd was closing behind Aukey and he could only catch a glance of the man before he lost sight of him. People were shouting left and right, each one finding their own voice and opinion the most important in this occasion. Sin ducked under an elbow as a man was pumping his fist in the air, shouting for blood and fire. Despite his physique, the grip he had on Tristan's shoulder was tight as he pulled him along right next to him, shielding him from the crowd around them.

Up ahead Argun broke through the crowd into a pile of hay bales near the wall of the courtyard. The crowd was thinner here, even going so far as leaving the four men a properly defensible location. Just as Sin pushed Tristan out of the thick crowd and against the hay bales, two more people came stumbling out. They ducked right behind the bales and one of them went down to the ground, hard, painfully. I bet you're just loving this trial, Father. One trial, you and I are going to sit down and talk about this... long and in depth. Sin focused on the pair of strangers long enough to recognize the fallen man. He groaned loud enough for Tristan to hear him. "Aukey. Get that man up on his feet. He's coming with us." The red haired man didn't think twice at the order and moved over to the fallen man. There was a definite lack in his manners towards the Lord Venora as he picked the man up off the ground and threw his arm around him to keep him on his feet.

"Argun, take over." Sin shouted at the gladiator and the switched positions. The wild haired man put his body between Tristan and the crowd, one hand on the Duke's wrist to keep a bead on him, the other on the hilt of his sword, ready to draw it. His tongue darted out, licking his lips in anticipation. Sin quickly climbed on top of the hay bale to look over the crowd. Everything was one big mess. Stupid child with his stupid fears of things he was too stupid to understand. He put his hand in the fire once and got burned and now the entire kingdom had to make due without a source of heat. His eyes were on the spot where he'd seen Hart last but couldn't make him out in the crowd. He threw a quick prayer towards Aelig for the man's safety and jumped back down. "Sers." He adressed both Venoras in his care as Aukey half carried the fallen man over to Tristan. ""Time to go before the chaos turns into bloodshed."

The pyre and the woman, both burning, were little more than an unimportant detail in the Yludih's mind at this point.

[Charlie Warrick]

"Quiet," Charlie snapped to her Airman. The other woman was older, yes, but Charlie held position over her, and she would not hesitate to use it. "I'm trying to listen."

It was a lie. There was no way she could hear what Caius was saying, standing before the crowd, though her eyes focused in on him as he began to speak. No, Charlie only wanted the other woman to shut up. After hearing what Caius had been through, hearing any criticism on his behalf, even after the mess of Vhalar, was more than she could bear. The man she one day hoped to call brother deserved better than doubt - and Charlie could do her part in that, even if it was just saving him from one bitter, freezing woman's ire.

As soon as the pyre was lit, Charlie wrenched her eyes from her soon-to-be-brother and back to the protestors. She could hear screams, carried up on the wind, but who knew who they belonged to? The dying woman's, or the crowd. Still, it was not her job to watch the mage. She did not relish in the death of anyone, but after Vhalar, she knew she had to stick to her post regardless. No, now her gaze swept amongst the people. The burning was the dangerous part. Not just for the woman who would die; but because now it was more likely people would let their emotions take control.

As her gaze swept to the protestors, moving from left to right as though she were reading these events in a storybook, Charlie saw two people fall - and a man standing there, his arm still outstretched, having just touched him. Mage. Even above the wind, the call reached her. Without thinking, Charlie had strung an arrow and was about to loosen. She would take down the mage or she would take someone down around her. Collateral damage wasn't her problem. Stopping a riot was.

But she beyond where she looked down the barrel of her bow she saw Caius. His lips were moving, but she could not hear. She did see him hold a hand, and though she growled as she lowered her bow, she did as the Lord Arbiter commanded. "Stop," she growled in frustration. "No one shoots. Watch for protestors. We only shoot if it becomes deadly." She swallowed. It felt wrong - a mage was there. He had pushed his way to the front of the crowd and made two people collapse, but that was not her job, to make these calls. Her job was to listen.

"Focus on the protestors. They're the ones who could turn this into a blood bath." As her eyes swept back towards the protestors, she noticed a man fall. His lips opened in a cry of pain, though one she could not hear. Without even thinking, she brought an arrow to her bow and trained it on the woman beside him, though she did not shoot - not yet.

Oliver had fallen. Fates be damned if that woman had any thing to do with it.

[/align]

[Khymarah]

Andaris

5 CYLUS 718 | CROWN JAIL - COURTYARD

As Hart pushed his way through the slowly building swarm that was the crowd, people grumbled and yelled. Some pushed him back, others simply stare at him whilst he sang and yelled in the Rakahi pidgin. The boy was a stranger to them, a fool. As he reached the group where the mother was keening her sorrow for her child she screamed at him, railed on him with pain and anguish, and then suddenly she felt…

Peace. Bliss. Love.

Her knees buckled and as heavily as anguish and sorrow had taken her, they flittered away like leaves caught in a summer breeze. The biqaj’s eyes shifted, bright and full of warm and safe thoughts. She thanked him, as though she knew, before turning with dreamy eyes back to her daughters writhing figure. As Caius muttered his sincere and heartfelt words to the mage, she dragged her eyes from Narav to stare at him, pleaded with him. For naught. The man’s duty was clear, and her fate sealed. Sarah struggled against her ties, whimpering and trying to tuck her legs up as the immense heat licked at her feet. Her eyes shifted from Caius to her mother with a cry, seeing the woman smiling at her. Smiling? The Empath tugged hard again, trying desperately to get away from the pain searing her with gasps and yelps of desperation.

Perhaps if it had ended there, perhaps things would have gone differently. Unfortunately the Fates had other plans. As the knight grasped Hart’s hand, he buckled. He stumbled.

And the world went slightly mad.

MAGE! Caius! He is heading towards the pyre!

The booming voice of the Endor lord was like a catalyst, setting people screaming and heads turning to stare first towards the rugged man, before swivelling and bobbing to see who he was talking about. Panic was beginning to break out, with people shoving each other in an urgency to either get away from the so-called mage, or to get to him. From the wall, the Commander swore sharply, ordering his man to hold as they trained arrows on the sudden chaos that had erupted.

“They’ll kill us all! Run, run!”

“Get the mage, tie him down!”

As Velanie watched her beloved push his way through the crowd, away from her side, she would be jostled by the panicked spectators. An elbow in the back, a foot on her own, even as her spark betrayed her. She stumbled, tripping towards the slushy snowy mud, when suddenly a hand caught her. Stopped her fall.

“Take care, my Lady.” The stranger said softly, an older woman with softly aged features and greying hair pulled under a beige hood. She smiled gently at Velanie, with rich green eyes almost piercing her very being, as though she was seeing into the young noble. Letting her go, the woman glanced at the scaffolding and frowned.

“These are unsafe times for us.” She said quietly, giving the brunette one last smile before she moved away, clearly making to leave the event. From beyond the panic, beyond the masses, up on the pyre where Caius stood with torch in hand one of the Order Detectives held tightly in their hand a Traitor Stone. His dark eyes narrowed, sweeping slowly over the sea of people.

The stones never lied.

Kayleigh’s voice fell on deaf ears, drowned out by the noise of the crowd and the fear in their hearts. As she pushed forward, her hood falling back to expose her face, strangers common and noble alike did the same. The crowd were a mess, pushing forward and back, afraid to let this so-called mage in their midsts turn the event into another bloodbath. A young boy beside Kayleigh grabbed her coat as he slipped and fell into the mud, people trampling him without care or concern, his wails muffled under their feet.

“By the Seven…” The man now known as Benjamin muttered darkly, drawing his hood closer around him and looking around at the crowd as Amaryllis moved away, clearly taken with another familiar face in the throng. His sharp blue eyes darkened with rage, shaking his head angrily. He should leave, now, before it became another Vhalar but he had sworn her he would see it through. He would see it till the end, so they might know the truth of this mad King’s cause. The VII had not had a man in the fray at Vhalar’s burning, but they knew the stories. Was there worth here to support the mages, or were they as evil and as terrifying as Vhalar had made them out to be?

So far, to his old eyes, the only evil here was panic and a sad boy King’s fears.

At the sharp command from Caius, the guards moved rapidly towards Hart, swords and shields at the ready. They reached him, gathering more together until there were four bodies around the man with menacing stares. Two of them snatched the boy by his upper arms, ignoring the Duke and his men in the confusion. If the youth so much as breathed wrong, they were at the ready to pierce him through. From the wall, the archers held their bows at the ready, drawn taught and able to release in the blink of an eye. The tension was thick, tangible.

Messy.

Rocks and boo’s came from the crowd, counteracted with screams of encouragement and rage. Panic, a beast of its own design, ran rampant through the people. As the Gawyne drew his saber, some of them shrieked, backpedalling into their neighbours and stumbling. A man, child on his shoulders tripped, the little girl disappearing into the mass of bodies with a scream.

“Ge’orf her y’stupid bastards!” The burly man roared, grabbing people and practically flinging them aside to get to his daughter as she cowered in the mud. The Purifier nodded and immediately disappeared, looking for the spear above the faces, showing people this way and that to get to the Endor.

The stones don’t lie, my Lord.

The voice was almost a whisper, ominous in its simplicity. At the Arbiter’s orders, the dark eyed Detective nodded, slinking away like some insidious shadow to follow the Stone’s calling, intent on marking those in the crowd that had dared to show their faces here.

Mages.

As Oliver moved, so Gustauv did too, ever the guardian and companion for his ward. The older man left his friends side without a word, knowing the man well enough to anticipate his directive. As Oliver shouted to the red-haired youth, the knight moved with purpose, using his deep voice and blade to make way for his path to the grey-haired man. Both men reached Nathaniel at the same time, Gustauv’s hand on his arm and eyes urgent, last words laced with things unspoken.

He insists.

Laying in the slushy cold mud, the agony in Oliver’s side flared like the very fire creeping it’s way up the dark haired girl at the pyre. People moved around, moved past, too involved in their own panic to stop and help the noble. From the gate, one saw. One cared. A hooded figure moved forward, kneeling in the slush beside him.

“Alone again Oli? You really should keep your handmaidens closer.” A familiar voice hissed from under the hood, chuckling softly as a hand slipped inside her cloak, reaching for the hilt of a dagger that the dark haired man would know intimately. To Amaryllis, it would seems as though the hooded person was just another protestor.

To Oliver, she was family.

Sin wisely guided his ward and his men away from Hart, ignored largely by the knights now gripping the boy in their hands to lead him away with Caius. The crowd were lost, a mass of confused, frightened and angry people. As Argun pushed his bulk through the people, the people pushed back.

“Watch yourself ser!” A young noblewoman shrieked, falling back in the mud much to the ire of her own guard. He shoved Argun back with a menacing stare, before turning to collect the girl from the ground. As Sinith and his men reached Oliver, the hooded figure quickly withdrew, glaring down at her brother with fierce blue eyes before getting lost in the crowds around her. Just another muddy cloak lost in a sea of chos. From beyond the haystacks, the protestors were chanting, only adding to the cacophony of noise that was filling the courtyard.

Free the mage, free the mage!

The woman beside Charlie bade as she was told, a scowl on her face and muttering quietly down the length of her crossbow. The air almost crackled with tension, people on the cusp of all out riot as they roiled in the scene below. It would take just an arrow accidently loosened, a hair trigger to go off, and the below would be total utter insanity. Screams rose from the trampled, people surged forward whilst others still were fleeing from the gates. She would see him then, the dark haired Venora, fallen but merely for a moment. As her arrow trained on the woman beside him, she would see Tristan and Sin with their entourage collect him, unaware of the extensiveness of the dark haired man’s injury. At the pyre, the flames rose higher still, lashing across flesh and muscle, blackening skin and clothing as it went. Sarah, was no longer just struggling. She was jolting and tearing at her bindings, and she was screaming, the sound piercing and agonized barely heard above the din of the crowd.

And then there was the smell.

At first, it was unnoticeable, a mere slight scent of perhaps someone far away roasting a suckling pig. But as the flames grew, a living entity it seemed in their consuming manner, the smell grew stronger. Thick, sweet, almost delicious…until those who caught wiff of it realised it wasn’t rich fatty pork cooking on an open flame.

It was the mage.

Sarah screeched, beyond agony, beyond human noises. She was insane with pain, wailing like the demons that they saw fit to brand her as. The sound carried above the crowd, and slowly, people turned. Slowly, the sounds of the people died down. Cries of burn her or free the mage faded one by one, until there was nothing but the ungodly sounds of the girl burning alive. In the mass of people, her mother watched, smiling all the while. Those close enough would hear she was humming as she stroked the toy bear in her hands. Burning fabric and the smell of singed hair caught in the air, and some of the people closest to the fire began to vomit.

“Mercy…” An unsure voice called weakly from the crowd. Then another, then another. Even those who had been calling for blood began to take up the chant.

Mercy! Mercy! Mercy!

It rose in strength, even as Sarah’s tormented sounds tore through the air. People were sobbing, emptying their stomachs, fists raised in the air to punctuate the sounds.

Mercy! Mercy! Mercy!

Mod Notes

Welcome all to the first event of the new arc in Ryn! Rules are as follows:

• One post per round.
• I will be posting again in four days, and every fourth day after that.
• If you miss a round, you won’t be written out, but you must get minimum 3 posts or 1500 words per standard posting rules to get your skills/knowledges.

Have fun. This is a mage burning after all....

[Velaine Krome]

As she had expected, the crowd went mad around her. There were only rough limbs shoving and pulling around her. Someone hit her back and another stepped on her foot. There was no doubt in her mind that she would end up covered in bruises by the time this was over. With her spinning head, it was far too easy for the scuffle to throw her off balance.

The lady of Krome would have been trampled if it wasn’t for a kind hand holding her up and helping her straighten. Velaine opened her mouth to say her gratitude, but she found her words getting stuck as she looked into a pair of deep green eyes.

“These are unsafe times for us.”

Her heart dropped as the older woman gave her a knowing smile. The woman said us. And that look she gave her… Us. What did she mean? No, no, no. It can’t be, right? No one knew about her. No one but Elrik. And she knew Elrik would never betray her. But a sickening feeling in her stomach made her think that the stranger was talking about the secret Velaine had been so careful about. The magic that allowed her to sense emotions around her and shape the elements by will.

But the woman pulled away far too quickly.

“Wait!” Velaine called out as she tried to follow. “Who are you?”

What answered her was the scream of a young woman going through one of the gruesome deaths imaginable. The screaming. Saints, the screaming… It was unlike anything she had ever heard in her life. Pain had morphed the noise into an inhuman screech. She turned to see the girl trashing against her bonds, uselessly trying to get away from the fierce flames.

When the people stilled, the female Krome seized the moment to weave through the thick of bodies. People cursed at her and shoved her as she made her way, every step unsteady as she tried to find the stillness in her mind once more. This never happened before. She always had a firm grip on her own magic. Velaine studied how minds work, perfected the skill to keep her head straight. But the shock of her own betrothed calling out a mage like that, with such alarm and even fear…

Where the hell was Nate?

It was then the chanting started. Mercy, they asked. Mercy after they had so willingly screamed for the mage’s death just now. These people… They would kill her for what they could not even understand and then when they were done, they would pity themselves and say they were sorry before doing it to another person. These idiots who could only take up chants as they watched a young woman burning alive in front of their eyes. When it all it needed to take was a dozen people to overwhelm these self-righteous Order and get that girl off the stake.

And she was one of them. The silenced sheep. Too afraid to do anything.

Her vision burst with colors for one last time, flooding her with fear and regret and anger and sadness. As if it wanted to remind her how wrong this whole thing was, how dangerous it was for her. Velaine could still hear the girl’s screams even though it must’ve died down and her stomach churned uncomfortably. There was also her own growing fear from the stranger’s words. These are unsafe times for us. It was far too much to take in for her undisciplined mind.

Velaine must have swooned on her feet. Her legs refused to carry her weight at that moment and her head felt terribly light. She could hear muffled voices around her, concerned faces looking at her. Are you alright, my lady? This not something a woman should watch. She must be sickened by there people’s cruelty. She swore she could even hear someone calling out to her. Still, they all seemed so so far away.

Everything faded away as the world darkened around her and gravity pulled her into its embrace.

[Hart]

"Speaking in Rakahi"
"Speaking in Common"

The knight stumbled, and behind Hart someone called out, "Mage!"

There was immediate confusion. A lot of things started happening.

A man began making his way through the crowd, spear in hand. On the stage the flames were growing. Knights moved, shunting people out of their way. Some people began throwing rocks. More than one person lost their footing.

Hart saw the little girl on her father's shoulders fall into the crowd. Her father went after her, desperately. Not far from them, Sintih was moving Tristan to safety.

The guards on the walls nocked arrows and aimed crossbows, but didn't yet fire. From the stage, a voice rang out, "Arrest him!" A saber was drawn as the man leapt into the crowd. People screamed and backed away.

No one and everyone knew what was happening.

The knight who had touched Hart had fallen. He was on the ground in the mud on his knees. He kept shaking his head as if to clear it. He seemed confused, hazy. "Wha--" he asked, slurring, "Wha' happened t' me?"

The mage's mother had fallen with him. Like the knight, she seemed hazy or drunk, her movements slow and wobbly. But when she looked up she-- she was smiling. She had said ot djal, my ly'oat as if to ask Hart to do something.

Tied to the stake, her daughter burned. She gulped in huge gasps of breath as if she couldn't breathe. And then she began screaming, hoarse and smoke-choked, screaming.

The chants of Burn her! had died to nothing.

Hart had needed to get to the stage. He'd needed to do something. He had called out in Rakahi so that the girl, Sarah, might hear and know that someone, at least, was trying. But she was dying now. She was dying.

And he hadn't been able to stop it. It was Jovy, it was Jack. It was the maze all over again.

Under the spell of her screams the crowd had gone quiet. Beneath the screams, there was the sound of retching. Retching, and someone sobbed, muffled, almost silent. Mercy! someone sputtered. Amongst the crowd, a woman fainted. Mercy!

"You can stop this!" came a shout. Another person: "A clean death!" Yet another, "End her suffering!" They began pumping their fists at the guards on the walls. Mercy! Mercy!

Beside him, the mage's mother tried to stand and Hart helped her to her feet. She looked at him sweetly, blankly. Then stood on tiptoe to watch her daughter writhe in flames and agony. "Sarah!" She held up one hand as if to wave, and hummed under her breath. The song she sang was the death rite Hart had sung before. She hummed it in Rakahi, absently.

"I'm sorry," Hart told her again, this time in Common, and when the knights got to him, he let them take him into custody.

"Please," he said. They grabbed him by the arms and he tried not to resist. The one in pitch armor wrenched his right arm to get it behind his back, twisting. Hart tried to keep his hands from touching them. His hands curled into fists. They had swords pointed at him, and he could only pray that they wouldn't think he was struggling. "Please."

He didn't know what he was asking. The pitch knight twisted again, and Hart had to bend so his shoulder wouldn't pop or arm break, gasping. "Please," he asked one last time and then fell quiet when he saw they were bringing the mage's mother and the fallen knight.

They dragged him away.

OOC: Side thread it is. ^_^ Sorry for the late response. Also if it's of poor quality. Could not write for the life of me.

[Nathaniel Endor]

Nathaniel was one of those act-first-ask-questions-later in situations he felt passionate about. He did not really calculate panic and anger that his words would bring forth from the crowd. For the most part, he literally lived under a rock and did not understand the mob mentality unless it pertained to a riot from the criminals in the mine. Even then, it was brute force that quelled the issue; not calm, collected decisions to remove an offender. He applied everything he would normally feel to the situation at hand: protect those that mattered; all others are collateral. To him, he had gotten Velaine well on her way to removing herself from the problem and he needed to get to Caius.

The oblivious nature of the spear wielding idiot prevented him from factoring in the panic that would cause Velaine's injuries, to put the guards around Hart in danger, and from noticing other bystanders that he knew like Oliver Venora and his manservants. Somewhere around him someone cried out, "He's no mage!" If Nathaniel had been smart, he would have gone after that voice. Why would they be able to differentiate a mage or not? For the most part, he did not even hear it.

With every step, he was getting closer and closer to striking distance. It was still too risky to throw his spear. It could easily make him a murderer of an innocent. Before he could make much further progress, a massive and strong arm wrapped around his spear arm. Nathaniel was tugged to a stop and his own panicked eye found Gustauv's. It took him a moment, having tunnel visioned into his mission to recognize everything going on. At the same time that Gustauv was implying that Oliver insisted upon having help, the screams of the perpetrator pierced the air and he became overly aware of the crispy smell of a woman burning. Dumbly, the Endor questioned, "Lord Venora?"

When had Oliver showed up? Another man showed up on his other side, silent. Nathaniel barely noted that it was a gray-cloaked guard that had been nearby Caius. Taking in the sudden onslaught of sensory information took several trills. Hart was surrounded and being dragged away, he had two men on either side of him practically forcing him to desist, the crowd was humming with strange feelings, Oliver was being helped up by another man, and he recognized he had no idea where Velaine was.

Sard it.

"Send my regards to Lord Venora, but I think he has enough help at the moment," Nathaniel murmured, rolling his arm backwards and out of Gustauv's grip. He caught a faint glimpse of the man near Oliver. He looked handsome and faintly similar. As if he was a twin to someone he had just seen. "I guess the situation is being controlled. No need for further assistance from me, right?"

As dense as he could be, Nathaniel was catching on slowly. The cries for mercy were starting to peel up from the crowd. Nathaniel dug the butt of his spear firmly into the ground. "Since Lord Venora has the assistance he needs, I need to find my Lady Velaine. Tell him I will seek him out to inquire after him at a later trial. Ser, will you help me find my Lady?" Nathaniel questioned, his voice dark as he turned to the gray cloak. If it meant the man could watch him closely for further disturbance, he doubted the guard would do anything but comply. Nathaniel nodded curtly to Gustauv before turning around and forcing himself back through the throng of people the way he had come.

The mage's screams hitched up and octave before there was sudden silence. Nathaniel stopped to look up at the woman. The flames had completely enveloped her, the previously unmarred skin was crisp and black. Her hair was burned off along with the beauty she had been. Her head lolled down in her silence. Death must have come for her, but not until she had suffered greatly. Grim, Nathaniel turned away. He would blame the smoke that hung low in the air that cause his eyes to appear wet; however, he felt pity for the way she had suffered. Certainly there had to be a better way?

Are you alright, my lady?

This not something a woman should watch.

She must be sickened by there people’s cruelty.

The statements were barely audible to his right now that the screams and cries had died down. He turned just in time to see Velaine collapse. Nathaniel shoved his way far too forcibly to get past a line of people before dropping to his knees next to her. Hadn't he made her turn around and get out of there? Disturbed that she had not listened, but not necessarily surprised, Nathaniel reached down to pick scoop her up from the slush and mud. This whole idea of hers had been a terrible idea and one he would not allow in the future. Cradling her against him, he barely saw the gray cloak picking up his spear to keep it from being extra cumbersome and in an uncontrolled position. That could have hurt someone. There was an unspoken agreement that the man would follow them out. This time, he did not have to move people out of his way. The mood had sobered greatly and many simply just side stepped out of his way as he carried Velaine away.

[Kayleigh]

At this rate she knew there was very little she could do to turn the tide, as the crowd were already in a panic over yet another potential mage. But not her. She didn't want to believe he were a mage so quickly, and if he were then she certainly didn't want him to suffer execution also. Her advancement became completely halted by the mob of scared people around her, like sheep they practically rioted once they heard the name wolf cried; and that exact name would be mage. Were they truly terrifying? Truly that savage?

She didn't want to think so but she didn't know what these people did, didn't understand their suffering well enough to agree either. Yet when she felt her cloak tugged on, she turned to find the source of the pull behind her. Somewhere underneath the crowd a child had fallen, his only hope the one thing he held onto dearly. Kayleigh wanted to help as much as she could but with all these people surrounding her, that effort became severely crippled unless she could clear out somehow. And this child definitely needed to find safety above all else, otherwise the mob crush him with their carelessness and fear.

"Seven help us." She muttered to herself within the crowd as she pushed an arm through, a gentle shove didn't seem to help when she tried so instead... Kayleigh literally pushed with all her might to move a few people aside. Sure they wouldn't appreciate or likely tolerate the behavior, but as of this moment Kay didn't really care what these people thought of her. The child beneath them was all that mattered. Maybe that was just the maternal instinct inside her, since she did help raise her little brother throughout her life. She didn't know quite honestly but it drove her forward, guided her actions almost like a secondary instinct.

With a part of the boy finally visible Kayleigh had only one window of opportunity to grab him, and she didn't hesitate to stoop down low and sweep him into her arms. Muddied or not her clothes weren't important here, not when it could accost the life of another innocent child. "Get back you feking assholes!" She demanded as she tried to push a few more aside and lift the boy, it took her a few Bits but she finally held the sobbing child in her arms.

She felt others step on both her heels and her toes then, a few soft Ow's squealed under her breath as she forced her way through the mob. She didn't want to look back behind her anymore, not when she could hear the cackling of fire as it burned wood. What came next was the accompanied cries of pain, pain that could only come from the suffering child who burned at the stake.

Kayleigh's heart sank as she pushed herself harder through the crowd, already she felt disgust over this event and wanted to put it behind her. The boy sobbed in her arms and she shushed him softly, humming to him as she made sure he didn't look over her shoulder. She needed to get him to safety first, and then she could determine how badly injured he might've been.

[Amaryllis]

Amaryllis watched the lines of his face; the way that his hands gripped the hilt of his cane, the rigidness that wracked his body. It was something she was good at, and had to learn at an early age; watching people, judging their mannerisms, their body language, and what that meant for someone like her, who had not the protection of a title or a lineage—or even a family. Something in him had hardened to stone, but was it his heart, or merely his gaze?

When he mentioned the Lord Arbiter, the half-breed’s lips widened that ruby tinged smile. Terrorist mage? She’d heard the rumours, but to her chagrin, she had not been present to witness the spectacle that claimed the lives of so many fools.

“There is no doubt you are a true citizen of Rynmere, my Lord Venora, whether you had been present here or not,” She assured him, her velvety tone taking on a measure of empathy. “I was hoping—” She began, only to be interrupted by the cacophony of voices that exploded near the dais.

The defier’s gaze had narrowed toward the stage, where the Empath was bound and screaming as the flames licked at her legs and devoured the hem of her dress. Suddenly, she felt the brush of a hand in her own; a solid grip that led her from where they’d once stood. When she turned back to the owner of that hand she realized that it was Oliver, himself, who led her away from the danger.

As he explained the situation, her gray eyes darkened to a stormy steel, then narrowed as the actress glanced over her shoulder, where she caught a glimpse of a jostling group of knights headed toward a singular direction. An arrest? She dare not speak a word aloud, not yet, not until she was abruptly pulled behind a set of hay bales, where the Lord Venora subsequently feel to his knees, wracked by an unseen pain.

“My Lord?” She called out, bunching the hem of her dress around her knees when she knelt at his side. Blood smeared the hilt of the canesword and the hand that had been clutching it. Bewilderment and confusion were heavy in her thoughts as she gazed at the sight of a man so… broken in agony. Yet, a noble, of all people, had at least had a sense to care enough for her well being. And why? She had merely been a whore years ago. Dispensable, reviled. All her life she had lived a lie, biding her time to strike, but now? The waiting viper was no where to be seen.

“Give me your hand,” she told him briskly, gripping it herself if he didn’t extend it toward her. She took the very hem bunched around her knees and tore the fabric in one swift motion, using it to wrap the calloused, bleeding palm with it tight enough to apply ample pressure to the open wound. “I won’t comment on what you’re doing to yourself, my Lord Venora, but you cannot die here, not today.”

There was a pause as a shadow fell over their forms. Amaryllis promptly glanced up, and perhaps unbeknownst to the noble, she had been prepared to lash out at anyone who meant him hard with the hard grip she held on the hilt of the sai strapped to her waist. “Who are you?” She asked plainly, eyeing the dagger that she procured for Oliver.

[Narav]

Fuck magic.

As fire crept hungry-quick along the kindling and oil-soaked wood, Sara had reached out with her blind panic for the closest mind. Like some impromptu club, she swung her magic into the young Purifier at the base of the pyre and tore into his consciousness. Red-black strands of hatred and fury were ripped haphazardly from his chaotic tangle as she tied in her wild panic. Bugs, it was like bugs, burrowing and biting through his mind, nestling into the soft agony of his brain and leaving him nothing to grasp.

Panic. Blind, white-green panic.

Narav reeled as the Empath tore into his consciousness and bound her own emotions there. Ever eating, the fire had already begun to blacken the skin of her feet and blister up her thin legs. Silver blood bubbled and burst from white-seared flesh, the scent of burning meat thick on the smoke that rose up and around her. But it would seem that the smoke was not the blissful choker of life that might end her suffering. Cold Cylus wind bucked against the growing inferno, dragging the trail of sooty clouds away from her face and gasping mouth. Spittle had collected there, fear curdling it into tiny bubbles that popped as she screamed and screamed. Hoarse, hoarse, her throat was drawn ragged, dragged through terror and agony till her voice was a stranger's, thick and bellowing.

Narav could hear it all. Feel it all.

Rage could not stick, he

Fractured torment, ice-burn fingers crawling

Up! Up! Her body, HIS body, Shook, struggled, flailed.

The link was gold, emblazoned murder, torture, help me, save me, Oh gods the pain, the pain, the PAIN

No. He didn't feel the pain, but the randomly firing bludgeon of the Empath's panicked mind laid his out like a desolate wasteland. Nothing of his own was left in the onslaught, burned bare, wiped clean, a mind salted with her own teeth shattering panic.

Narav buckled where he stood, both hands flying to his temples, balled into fists. Each blow he rained down on his own head was thunderous in his ears. He had been screaming the whole time, but the sounds were so distant against the desperate thud of his own desperate hands trying to cave in his own skull. Her many-legged fingers were in his brain, they tore through his mindscape with reckless madness. He pictured her, now, weaving hands that crawled with thousands of spider legs, brushed across the inside of his skull.

He wanted to run, puke, scream, fight, die all at once and the creschedo of the dying Empath only built in the desperate link she'd forged in the Purifier's mind. Although he was on his knees he might as well have been in an entirely different time, a world beyond this dark spit of courtyard and their flickering false sun.

Perhaps it was only the Egg, Lisirra's cursed gift, that saved him. Quietly it thrummed its own pathos into his thoughts, sliding beneath her wild manipulations to set teeth against teeth and fresh blood bursting from his lips. There was only one way to stop the agony, one way to end this horror that coiled blackly around his throat and body. Staggering to his feet, Narav focused on the sadism, grasped the thread of spiteful hatred and fanned it. His own shadow danced wildly in the fire, seeming to contort and twist as it whispered secrets of violence and pain into his ears. Ah yes, the secret tongue of blades and broken blows, the song of ripping flesh and shattered bones. The dagger was in his hand before he had realized it and the young Purifier leaped up toward the cracking blaze with speed born of desperation. Sara writhed there, burning slowly, granted no reprieve or peace by the uncaring gods and her mind an army of hurled spears, raining down on Narav's own fractured consciousness.

The cries of the crowd were nothing.
There was only the snap-crack of flames

The orders of the Lord Arbiter were nothing.
There was only the hiss-hiss urging of embers

Narav drew back his dagger and buried it in Sara's breast with enough force to bury the blade to the hilt.

The link between them shuddered, fractured by the intense focus his blow drew her mind towards. Momentarily there was peace, the sense of her withdrawing power as she stared, agog, at the hilt glittering in the ashen blaze. Her drawn breath was gurgled, wet and she even managed a smile at the man beneath her. Agony retreating she was only dying now, swift on the wind to Vri's embrace and the judgement of the twins.

But Narav was not content with such a peaceful passing and he twisted the blade within her, jerking it cruelly in her breast as though he might pierce all her organs, scrape past the cage of her ribs, leave only the torment trail of pain in his wake. Panic tore its way through their link again, but Narav had been planning for it and drew the blade swiftly from her breast and turned it toward its pommel, slamming it across her face with enough force to break her jaw. Sara, bewildered, in agony, slumped in her restraints and the spell was broken.

Only then was Narav aware of the pain as the fire indiscriminately mistook him for its offered prize. He did not so much as dismount the scaffolding as he threw himself backwards, desperately rolling away from the ember blaze and to the foot of the pyre. Cheers, jeers, gasps, outcries, they were all like the pounding of rain on the roof to him as his mind desperately reeled and drew him back toward himself.

He lay there on the cold cobblestone as the world went on above him, mute to the elements and only the cold burn of fire's touch on his own legs. Just a little while longer, he thought, dimly, let me lay here a little while longer.

Somewhere, a sea away, Edalene stood side by side with mages like this one upon the pyre. Somewhere, a sea away, people praised the name of magic and the miracles it conjured.

Let them cheer, let them stand. In the end every mage was just another power-mad fiend in the guise of a mortal. One way or the other, they would reveal themselves one by one for the demons they were. He needed to be stronger, better, or else he'd fall like every other victim before their call.

Above him, the wind howled and the flames growled. The crowd surged their babble tongue fury. Narav Tobelle only breathed, and tried to ignore that it all just sounded like laughter.

[Oliver Venora]

3 Cylus 718

Lying there, Oliver knew the voice before he looked up at her. His hand was incapacitated, held in Amaryllis', but the words slid into him like a cold serpent, weaving through his entrails to rest solely against the raging agony of his side. He craned his neck, turning to see her cold, blue eyes under the brown of the hood, and his heart stopped. Time itself stopped. And as quickly as she was there, threatening, she was gone.

He lied there, broken and defeated like the trial she'd stabbed him and left him face-down in the frost. He wanted to scream out, to cry, to fight, to draw the canesword from its sheathe and swing at his youngest sister, but he knew she was gone before he ever looked again. Sighing in relief, or frustration, he looked back to Amaryllis, but his relief was even more short lived than Pythera's presence. Instead, powerful hands grabbed his shoulders, lifting him from the ground like a side of beef. The strain on his wound was extraordinary, and the pain left him dizzy and delirious. To Amaryllis, he spoke, but his words were jumbled and soft.

"Don't forgetmycane. I... Can't.... walkwithou t it." He mumbled, trying to sling together the words as he begged the woman he knew to accompany him wherever this stranger was taking him. His vision wavering, he tried to keep his head straight, but struggled to muster the strength to even do that. Instead, it lolled on its axis, spinning the chaotic crowd around him like a top, the world continuing to move long after his head came to rest.

He saw Nathaniel shrugging off Gustauv, saw him rushing towards where Velaine dropped. He saw Narav on the pyre, drawing his dagger in slow motion. The chaos was mounting, the throngs of the crowd surging and pulling back and trampling each other in their hysteria. Oliver saw it, his vision blurred, black edges circling and swirling like smoke on the edge of a fire. He was trying to find Caius, to find Charlie, to make sure they were safe. Caius was moving, he knew, probably heading towards safety, and Charlie was still poised out of range, hopefully with an arrow trained on the man holding him. One could never be too careful.

Mercy. Mercy. Mercy.

I shall not betray, my lady. Oliver thought, his shark-black eyes pale cream-coloured. His eyes fell back on Amaryllis, and a gruff voice kept him clinging to consciousness.

"Get your fucking hands off him," the smooth growl came, Oliver's wavering vision filling quickly with Gustauv's body. He felt the weight shift, Gustauv lifting him from stranger's shoulder and supporting the right leg to avoid the injury worsening. Oliver muttered something, and Gustauv's fiery eyes shot back to Amaryllis. Appearing at their side, Jericho approached with his sword drawn, shield over his arm. Gustauv looked at Tristan, and nodded.

"Ser Jericho. Put the lady in the group of the Duke and the Baron, and follow up the rear. Let the Duke's men lead, and you bring up the rear. Oliver's life depends on your shield, Burning Rose," Gustauv used his knighted title, drawing a blush from the Aukari. His lineage was no secret, but he liked it not to be pointed out. Jericho nodded, gently ushering Amaryllis into the pack, spinning to defend it from the back as they progressed.

Oliver never saw Narav's knife enter Sarah's heart. He never saw Hart's arrest. The last thing he saw was the pretty blonde prostitute's steel-grey eyes, and his softened to their usual black.

"You're safe with us, Amaryllis." The words were coherent, and then Oliver's consciousness faded, the pain overwhelming him finally.