Open Chronicles Shadow and Ash | Instability

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Ánië Táralóm

Ánië Táralóm

High Councilor of The Order
Member
It had been weeks since the battle of Salquenor Minassë, where the Order's allied forces had narrowly arrived in time to secure the bridges there and turn Arkhivom's army away. Though this had been a great victory, it marked the reignition of a war long since gone cold. But this time, unlike in the time before, the Aerai were not alone. For many years now, much of the lower city had been uninhabited and abandoned. There had even been parts of the city there that had been plagued by monsters. After the allied forces had arrived, this quickly changed. They quickly occupied the city to house their own forces, and before long the entire city was a bustle of activity as it had been in centuries past, albeit far more diverse than it had been since its beginning. Warriors and forces of all kinds had come to face what was described as a "great evil," which did indeed seek the complete genocide of the Aerai people, or so it would seem. Some answered this call for righteousness and justice. Others for glory, and some for coin. It did not matter. It was a worthy cause in any respect.


It had been so long since she had strolled through the Sharyrdian City Square so casually, it was almost surreal. But too, it was not like it once was. Above the sky was still darkened by rolling black clouds, and the city was still littered with wreckage and ruin. But there was life again, and though it was always as night, the city was once again filled with light, and few places dwelt in shadow.

As she walked, she could overhear some of the interactions of others.

"I've killed fourteen fanged ones, and claimed the heads of five fallen elf-kind," declared a brutish Orc warrior, hoisting his mug up high, "and I will slay many more."

A cheer rose up around him.

Some, however, had not been so fortuitous.

"I've never seen anything do something like... like that... it just, grabbed him and..." the man's voice froze.

"Don't you worry," the dwarven warrior next to him replied, "we'll avenge your fallen friend."

Her eyes cast down as she moved along, but she pushed her own dour thoughts aside and lifted her gaze again to meet with those passing by with a smile. And she encountered many as she moved through the vast city square which had been dotted with many tents. And though she was in the very heart and home of her people, she felt like she could encounter anyone, or anything in this place now.
 
When he'd left Amol-Kalit, he did so with the intention to take him and his wealth to Alliria and begin anew there. He had been well on his way there when he'd heard tell of some conflict to the south, in Falwood. He heard tell of the call for aid put forth by the Aerai, a people he was not sure he was familiar with. Their tale and situation intrigued him in several ways, but most notably two in particular. Firstly, they sounded to be a people well acquainted with the ways of magic, and to possibly be bearers of knowledge he could find useful. And secondly...

...war was profitable, no matter who you supported.

* * *
​
He was fortunate to not come across any of the vile things the soldiers spoke of while he'd traveled down the northern road to the city. Apparently that was the only safe path into the country, and even then it wasn't always safe. He arrived in the great Aerai city of Sharyrdaes just a week or so after the war's first real conflict. The dead meadowlands that spanned for kilometers before the city still bore the scars, but it was clear that the battle was not nearly as brutal as it could have been - at least from what he heard. Once he'd been safely in the city, he was quick to get to work.

In the weeks after his arrival, he'd come to learn a great many things, not least of which being how peculiar a people the Aerai were to deal with. Their economics and, their culture as a whole was such an enigma compared to what he was used to. In Aeraesar, the Order owned everything. But, also, in Aeraesar, everyone was a part of the Order. Their society operated on such a telepathic level that many of the administrations that he was accustomed to were largely... archaic by their standards. But, this was not to say that they were not prepared to deal with outsiders.

He wished not only to take up residence in Sharyrdaes for the duration of the war, but to also operate a business. He found that though he could not own any real estate, if he either constructed a place or - given the widespread abandonment of much of lower Sharyrdaes - acquire a place, then he need only sign a contract of residence and of his business. And, given the Aerai's strange economy, he found the taxation rates to be quite fortuitous for a tavern with such an abundance of patronage.


Much of Sharyrdaes' lowest and most vast level had still remained untouched even after the allied forces gathered in the city. It hadn't been difficult to find a location suitable for his enterprise. So with the help of his vast wealth to employ manpower from the mercenaries and sell-swords awaiting combat, and his powers which he did well to maintain secrecy of, he quickly made renovations to a rather vast establishment. But, everything in Sharyrdaes had been built to an enlarged scale it seemed, almost as though it was once inhabited by giants.

Just a week ago now the finishing touch had been placed, a sign hanging out over a great set of doors atop an ornate lift of stone steps. It read:

Within, a diverse lot had gathered to enjoy food and drink, and many rented rooms for themselves on one of the two levels above. Several servers patrolled the vast floorspace of the tavern's dining hall, and just down a short corridor by the bar, the sounds of many cooks hard a work preparing meals could occasionally be heard as the doors to the kitchen swung open.

Az'Marith was behind the bar, surveying his apparent success and feeling quite pleased with himself.
 
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A pall of silence followed in his wake. It draped across his shoulders thicker than the road-stained, tattered thing he actually wore, protected him at least as well as the steel and leather that encased him. It was as much a part of his arsenal as all the varied weapons he carried on his person.

Of course, none of that mattered. The Divine was his weapon, and Her Truth his shield. No matter what.

In this blighted land that had forgotten Her touch, he would have to be a brand bringing Light into the Darkness. So it had always been, it seemed.

He paused outside the establishment She had whispered the name of and frowned behind his steel visor. The Black Talon did not sound a very noble place. Still, it was not his place to question the Divine. He had come all the way here to bring Her justice abroad. It totally did not have anything to do with being cast out for bringing that selfsame justice to one of her supposedly chosen.

He placed a hand on the door, and entered.

***

Heavy booted steps and the clank of armor as he stepped into the common room. It was probably just as well that Erin wore his helm just then; the scowl of distaste at the sight of so many drinking poison would likely have raised a few brows and quite possibly started a fight in certain company. The door closed behind him, he moved with slow and deliberate purpose to an unoccupied table.

The man took a seat, turning the chair sideways as it creaked beneath the weight of armor and arms. After a moment of pause, he lifted the helm from his head and set it on the table, and surveyed the room as though he expected demons to materialize at any moment. Not fear, but readiness. Although he looked older, and though heavily armored, he was quite capable of sudden, violent motion if required.

Right now he simply wanted food, and to ask questions. She had said this city needed help. The whole land, in fact. Steeped as it was in shadow he could believe it. Steeped in shadow as it was, he had to wonder at what vice could cause Her to turn Her back so thoroughly in the first place.

All there was to do was wait in his customary silence for the attention of the house.
 
From his place behind the bar, Az'Marith could see the entryway quite well. Only a passing glance had alerted him to Erin when he'd entered, but unlike the great many others who had come this evening... or morning... one could hardly tell in this place, something had spurred him to alert one of his servers. A little pst and an inclining of his head and they were only a few short moments to attend to their most recent guest. And then from there Az'Marith thought nothing of it, carrying on as he had before.


The Black Talon
​
Yes, the not-wizard scribe's tavern. Aerai were not so easily fooled - but he was harmless, this much they could also tell. Still, she could not help but feel he'd chosen a provocative name for his business on purpose, to test the boundaries they had established - and he'd been given a great deal of leniency. Some things were permitted that, in the older days, would never have been. But in those days there were only the Aerai. Many had come from many walks of life to aid them against their greatest foe. They would not deny them their way of life. And then there again, very few Aerai had chosen to visit the tavern. Perhaps it was not so bad. After lingering for only a moment to study the sign, she walked up the steps and entered in.

She had to admit, the tavern was quite something given that this place was likely rather desolate before this. As she made her way toward the bar, a stranger caught her eye. Though truthfully everyone around her was a stranger, she had grown familiar with their colours, their signs, their marks. There were only so many individuals, and this one stood out.

She reached the bar and spoke to Az'Marith. She'd actually spoken to him herself when he arrived at the temple, insisting to speak to "someone in charge." She found him... humorous. Oddly enough, he actually pointed the newcomer out to her himself, insisting now that she talk to him. He couldn't say why, but after further insistence she of course acquiesced, there was certainly no harm in greeting someone who had come to her home.

So as the server departed, Ánië drew near. She was not exactly dressed for combat as he was, but the clothes she wore would certainly not hinder her should the need to draw the sword on her hip arise. Her hair was woven into several lines of braids brought neatly into one, similarly so that her sight may be keen in a dire need. Still, she carried a regality to her that could not be ignored.

Once she'd drawn near, she raised her hand to her chest and bowed her head, saying, "welcome to Sharyrdaes, I hope you found the way safely. I am Ánië."

 
He was lost in thoughts of home, of wintry days and nights that these southern places would never understand. Even so, his eyes remained open and vigilant. He had been an inquisitor, after all; being observant was part and parcel of that ancient occupation.

Therefore, he was quite aware of the beautiful woman as she approached. It was not until she actually approached that he bothered to take in any details beyond whether or not she was a threat (or a sinner - a joke, that part). His pale eyes swept over her figure from head to toe swiftly, assessing. There was a timeless quality to her that was only somewhat marred by the sense of time and a trace of regret.

His eyes went to hers, and he nodded ever so slightly. "Erin," he replied in a basso rumble. He did not smile. "In this benighted land there is no safety. I was able to bring Her justice to a few wayward souls on my journey here. The way is safer now than it was before Her Light blessed its roads," he added solemnly.

He raised a gloved hand, fist clenched, toward the sky. After closing his eyes for a moment, he let it fall back to the table. "The Grey Lady led me to this place, lady Ánië. And this place leave me curious. How did such a curse come to be?" What manner of sin would cause Her to turn Her back on an entire land?
 
He did not smile, but this did not deter her own from softening her features. A quick glance over him revealed little of his mystery, but his few spoken words revealed much. Though she knew not who this Grey Lady was, he spoke of the Light - Her Light, but an element of righteousness all the same. Perhaps he spoke of Astra, who had many names across all the land. Perhaps he did not, but it mattered little. The Celestials, to the Aerai, did not demand recognition from all - only benevolence.

"Almë," blessings, she said with an inclining of her head, praising his deeds against the dark, and then turned a more solemn eye upon him, "you ask something that even we do not know..."

Her thoughts drew back to her friend Raëlta, and Ánië's own admissions to the Order's Priestess...

Ánië Táralóm said:
"I must admit, even I have to ask what transgression we must have committed."​
Click to expand...

Her eyes glanced down to the empty chair just near her, and then looking back she asked, "might I join you?"

 
He held his silence for a moment, then nodded in acquiescence. He could not sense any deceit or ill intent here, after all.

"There is never an explanation, is there? Only punishment or exaltation and neither of them on a whim. None can escape their deeds."

He clenched a fist unconsciously, remembering how he had been cast out for killing one of her anointed. It was not shame that coursed through him; he had done nothing wrong, after all. The fact that the Divine still protected him and granted him Her strength said enough. No, it was anger. Anger that the faithful would conceal their sin and sit in judgement upon others while pretending to righteousness.

"One would think the Divine would have thought the debt paid at a certain point," he said in the same solemn tone. "But it is immaterial. I am here to bring Her righteous vengeance upon the unclean. One sinner is much like another and the sickness must be purged. She will not permit this blight to remain, and neither shall I. Assuming, of course, I am allowed to participate in the cleansing."
 
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She sat, placing her hands neatly in her lap, her back kept upright. She did not look down her nose at him, but her chin remained high. Her smile had faded away, and as he spoke her mind was drawn deeply into the dread that lingered beyond their city's walls.

"For many years we have dwelt on this matter, and still it eludes us."

For everything they were capable of, it was this that seemed so diminishing that they could hardly fathom it. How could they be so lost in their own way to be blind to such evil?

"How does one repent of something they do without any knowledge," she asked with an inquisitive gaze, then said, "we are a faithful people, Erin. We meet this darkness and mean to undo it. We pray that this be our charge, our debt to pay. But we cannot do it alone, we welcome you to join us in this, and all the city is open to you. But if I may ask, who is She who has led you here?"

 
"Her name may not be spoken," Erin replied evenly. There was an edge of unhappiness in his tone, as of one aggrieved but unable to voice their disagreement. "Only those who serve in the highest capacity my know Her name. I am but Her sword, nothing more. She is the Grey Lady and I know not of Her name."

Definitely unhappy. He had cut true for twenty years as Her blade and still it was not enough. Even when others less worthy were permitted.

"One repents the same as always. Lack of knowledge of the Law does not obviate the sin of violating it." Unless, of course... He ruthlessly clamped down on that line of thought. Something of it crossed his features, but he schooled them back to the even mask that he always wore. "Though he may not know Her ways, the scales of Justice are blind to all but the Law, and so is he bound," he said, quoting from memory a passage from the Kalli. He had recited that and others to many that had broken the Iron Law of the Lady as they lie bleeding before him.

Remorseless. Implacable. Even cast aside by the Iron Church, he remained resolute in Her will. "I cannot offer my blade fully, but so long as Her will aligns with the will of this city and her people, you may have it. Your enemy shall know the fear of Her regard." Guileless and straightforward. His grey eyes regarded her, seemed to see through to the soul.

An illusion, surely.
 
Though he seemed to be someone who trifled with something within, it was clear that he was not the sort who would do undo harm to them there. His ire would be pointed cleanly into the same direction as their own, this much she was fully confident in. And though his stance was a sharp one, she could not deny the legitimacy of it, or the Order's own agreeance. The curses of their home made this much quite clear: their debts required payment, to one end or another.

"In this we have no argument, for it seems Her ways are not so unlike our own," she replied.

And though he pledged himself only so much, such was the same for all who had come to their aid. But very few had come under such beholden righteousness. So she met his gaze, and were he so perceptive into the windows of one's soul, he'd find beautiful stone walls, hiding behind it a vastness unseen. There was far more to her than just her, but to any who knew the Aerai, this was no surprise.

"If it is Her will to see this darkness undone, then I foresee you being among us for some time," she cast a look around, and then regarded him again, "though your faith and ours may not be one and the same, I believe those we serve seek the same things. Once you have finished your meal, I would invite you as one of faith to come with me to our temple, and you may dwell there in your time here, if you wish."

It was not unheard of for outsiders to be invited to stay in the Aerai's most holy place, but it was uncommon. Still, she felt he may find it a more comforting place than one such as this to frequent.

 
And in his own, fanaticism in his faith reflected. He could not pierce her walls and would never try (unless she broke the Law, of course), but he held no such walls within his own. And unlike her complexity, his was that of a simple man. A human, with all their faults. His was zeal, the all-consuming flame of faith.

"I am not here to dine. I came to seek information, and to have a drink of water. Having encountered sinners twisted by the touch of corrupt magic, I felt it prudent to fast and seek guidance." He paused, and looked meaningfully to Anie. "Sometimes guidance comes in different ways. If the Grey Lady does not find the temple of another cause for offense, then I shall gratefully accept such hospitality as offered."

He stood, then, and adjusted the heavy blades on his back just so. "Purification will be required, in any case. I have touched the unclean. Again. The role of a warrior in Her name." He lifted a fist to the heavens again in supplication, and then lowered it and bowed at the waist, stiffly and precisely. "If it is your will, Lady," he queried, the words a low rumble in his chest. He remained bent, the scent of polish and leather and old, old blood wreathing him like incense at an altar.

​

 
If it was information he sought, then she would gladly share it. She had already, many times over. To those who wished it she offered more information, but to all one thing had been made clear: the enemy meant to devour any who opposed them without relent. To be a friend of the Aerai was to be against them, and in this there was no discussion.

There was no diplomacy. There would be no treaties. But this much, from what he had said, he could likely already perceive.

She looked up at him as he stood, and as he underwent the small ritual before her, she looked on rather plainly. She did not fully understand what he was doing at first, and then realization - thankfully very quickly - dawned on her.

"Yes, of course," she said somewhat abruptly, rising then from her seat in as little awkward a manner as she could having been caught off-guard, "if you'll follow me."

She turned then, not quite on her heel, and started on her way back out of the tavern. She cast Az'Marith a warning glance as they passed the bar, threatening her return. She'd have to speak with him a bit more at a later time. Then to the door, and back out into the torchlit streets.

 
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He ran his eye over the people in the common room quickly, appraisingly, as she glided through the room with a grace that he definitely lacked. After a moment, he nodded to himself and turned deliberately, heavy footsteps and clinking armor following in his wake.

"As you lead, so shall I follow." He kept a few steps behind and to her right as they went, eyes scanning every shadow and every face, looking for any trace of deceit or ill intent. He had been a blade for the Lady for many years, and had garnered a great many enemies over the years. He was a Seeker, after all; all of the Seekers After Truth were held in a certain regard and not a small amount of fear.

Except, of course, among the circles of power. They were the wielders of the Seekers. Or so they had thought.

Stepping outside and into the relatively fresh air, he maintained the respectful distance.

"I find that I am appalled that the Aerai permit the use of magic so freely," he said after a period of silence, walking along the streets. "It is permitted by your patron?"
 
As they left from the Black Talon and stepped down into the streets, they started on their way from near the city's square on deeper. And as they walked, it was apparent Sharyrdaes was no small city in any regard. The streets were a great deal wider than they ever needed to be. They were made of remarkably large and flat, though porous stones set tightly together. There were various elevations, one a step higher running along either side closest to the buildings, and another running down the center. There were lamp posts affixed down either side and down the center of each street, tended to diligently.

Their buildings, though all of them quite clearly their own, were all built one off of the side of another, even the shorter of their structures were several stories tall, most with archways and doors far larger than any Aerai would really need. But for all that was grand, and for all that was intricate and ornate, there was also the marring of not just time, but of conflict. While in most places there were great pillars and idols that stood, tall buildings untouched, in some places they were fallen and smashed, and in other places quite thoroughly so.

The way Ánië would lead Erin through, however, would be largely untouched by such damage, and be well lit. However, from their place on Sharyrdaes' first and lowest tier, it would take them some time to reach the temple, high above on the sixth.

"There was a time my ancestors thought not so differently about magic," she replied, looking back at him casually as she started, "even going as far as to suppress their inherited traits. But they learned that our enemies rarely have such inhibitions."

"Nykios said: 'only if you wield your sword may I strengthen it,' and 'if there is a threat, there must too be an answer.' Our enemies would use magic to defeat us, and so we master the gifts given to us to remind them that darkness flees from the light."

 
He went along behind her quietly, observing their surroundings with the alertness of a warrior. And one who had seldom known peace. He nodded as she spoke, at first at least. Eventually he frowned and shook his head.

"We humans are not as you," he replied evenly in reply. "Magic is the gift of the Divine, the manifestation of Her will. It is not for we humans to use without Her permission." He cast his thoughts back through his years in Her service and scowled. "I am as guilty as the others. Weak willed sinners with a breadth and scope of vision that extends barely beyond the end of my own life. Certainly far short of the glory of the Divine."

There did not seem to be crowds as long as he would have expected in a city of this size. But it was a city at war, after all, and certainly that kept all but the adventurous and foolhardy at bay.

"She has given us other tools to counter magic. How could it not be so, when the arcane is her realm? The faithful are taught how to deal with such threats. How else could I hope to defeat heretics with nothing but a blade?"
 
"Indeed," she replied curiously.

As they conversed, her pace slowed somewhat for them to fall into step side by side, and she looked up to him as he spoke.

And they traversed through the streets, it was clear this lower tier of the city was inhabited by very few, if any Aerai. There were, however, some here and there, tending to different tasks. There were the odd few who patrolled the streets, donned wholly in intricate and well crafted armour, adorned with the blue, white and grey colours of their Order. As each one came and went, it was also clear that not one suit was made like another, each one crafted specifically for its wearer. Others were of more casual dress, but even of those appeared to be of finer and more formal cloth than most would find themselves in. One of these sort could be seen just there across the street, tending to a spent street lamp with little more than some passive gestures with his hand, influencing objects around him with relative ease.

"Our oldest tales tell of one we regard as the Patriarch, an emissary of the gods to us. It is written that it was he who gifted us our magic, charging us to uphold the light with this gift. And truly, not all elf-kind are as we are..."

She looked up at him inquisitively, "and forgive me for saying having only just met, but I hardly see you as one of weak will." Quite the opposite in fact. He seemed as though his was as hardened as steel. But he also afforded little effort in hiding the fact that he was in conflict with himself, something that seemed somewhat contradictory to his character, or rather her own assessment of him.

As they traveled further into the city, the encroaching height of the city's second tier became more and more looming. Tall, grey walls lit well with torches spanned higher and higher the closer the two drew to them, and the street began to incline more and more - but it would incline only so much.

"There are those among my kind who are afforded little gifts in such ways. Some, none at all. But all too often these sort have proven to be some of our deadliest and most efficient warriors."

"Tell me, does the Grey Lady forbid such practices as ours?"

 
He seemed uncomfortable as she slowed her pace to walk alongside him, and not necessarily because of her regal nature. Rather, it was because she was clearly of a higher station than he was. In his home country, status had rigidly defined roles. Everyone had a place as was deigned by the Lady, and each and every soul fit into that place.

She was far above him, and that much was quite clear. "If I had a stronger will, I would not be here. Patience is one of Her virtues, and patience would have served me better. I am afraid I do not have much patience with heretics."

The looming wall brought some interest out of him, the architecture of the city fascinating and beautiful. The people, much less so. He was out of place among so many finely adorned men and women, elf or otherwise. Once, he would have been resplendent. Now, he was diminished.

"Once, long ago," he began in solemn tones in response to her question and partly in response to her mention of the Patriarch, "humanity was gifted such power as we can scarcely comprehend now. The Lady favored our kind, and in return for Her favor we nearly destroyed the world. She did not withdraw the gift of course; instead, our order was born to save the world from the wicked who would use Her gift for evil. We are expected to police the heretics ourselves."

He cast a sidelong look at Anie. "She does not forbid magic, she merely forbids its use for evil. Among our order and within my home country, it is not permitted to be practiced without consent of the church. You and yours are free to do as you wish, of course."

What was not said, but implied by his tone, was that the Seekers would come for any who practiced heresy. Bending magic to the detriment of the world and its people was forbidden.

Something tickled the back of his mind and he stopped mid-stride, alert, as she continued on. There were only a handful of pedestrians on the street, but his skin crawled as though he were being watched from the shadows. He opened his mouth to say something before the sound of a crossbow catch loosing and the heavy thrum of the quarrel flying cut through the silence of the street, a spark and chips of stone flying up from the pavement several feet in front of Anie.

The quarrel had passed close enough to her head to stir her hair. It was only by the blessing of the Lady that she had not been struck.

"Take cover," Erin growled, spinning to face the way the quarrel had come from, scanning the street and buildings for the assailants. He himself did not take cover, willing the attackers to show their face.
 
She nodded, following along with his tale, recognizing the many similarities to their own stories. They too had written of a time when the likes of mankind had risen to great prominence, and they too had written of its brilliant end. They had shared in the calamity, or so it read.

"Then this is good. Though we would hardly change our ways on the whim of another, we would not wish to insult one who-"

She nearly gasped as the pointed bolt flew past her, free strands of hair even tickling against her pointed ear as it shot by.

Bending lower and turning on one foot, she spun away from Erin and faced the direction behind them. In the same motion the sword on her hip was brought up to her fore, silently pulled free from its scabbard. But she lingered there for only half a breath, and she leapt several meters away again, this time finding cover behind a large, raised planter, one of many that were placed down the center strip of the road, each one home to small, dead looking trees. She knelt there behind the stone, peering over to catch a glimpse of their attacker.

There were a few others in the streets who had either fled or taken cover and lingered nearby. She noted their presence, many meters away from them, just a handful of would-be helpers. But they were just as confused as she was.

Who would do this?

Then, from somewhere in the shadows above, a figure descended behind the cover of a building nearby. And then, unseen, the sound of several others doing the same.

"We're surrounded..."

 
The former inquisitor laughed at Anie's observation. Actually laughed, a rich sound that seemed wholly out of place in the situation. "Lady Anie? We are always surrounded by sinners," he said, and then started forward, reaching over his shoulder to grasp the long handle of the great sword on his back. A subtle flick of his wrist and the blade came free, swinging round in front of him. The damned thing was nearly as long as he was tall.

The sound of a catch being release followed by a sharp pain in his left shoulder and the solid clang of a steel quarrel head slamming into his armor. Erin grunted, staggered a step, and then quickened his pace.

"In glorioso nomine Eius," he said, and then broke into a heavy run, armor clanging noisily. His blade drug on the ground behind him, scoring the pavement with its relatively blunt edge. He charged straight at one of the robed figures, righteous disdain in his eyes. "Accipe iustitiam, haeretici!"

He swung hard, angling upwards. The air of arrogant indifference that rolled off the hooded figure as it whipped a blade up to intercept it was dispelled in a moment. The sound of snapping bone and breaking steel as Erin threw his entire weight into the blow and sheered through steel and magic and eventually careened into flesh, biting bone. The jarring impact rolled up his arm, but his grip did not waver.

The hooded figure did not scream. Erin allowed the momentum of the swing to spin him so he could face another, and went after the next.
 
A brief look of shock found her features, Erin's laugh at first coming off somewhat disconcerting. But his comment immediately following brought light to his reaction. We are always surrounded...

As Erin started forward, from her place behind cover Ánië managed a decent survey of the situation taking place around them. To their benefit, the few who had remained nearby in curiosity had drawn their weapons, a few brawlers and a couple of archers, but even with them they were outnumbered at least two-to-one. They drew near to the pair, rallying together and covering their flank, so Ánië focused her attention ahead again.

In a brilliantly brutal display, Erin made short work of what should have been a much more worthy adversary. She was quick to determine who their foes were once one had revealed themselves from the shadows, and she was surprised to see Erin cut through one of her corrupted brethren so easily. She looked down at their broken heap for only a moment, both pained to see them fall and comforted to see them released from their plight. Then she too sprang into action. She'd not leave him to face their enemy alone.

She leapt from her place and started forward to draw near to Erin. A bolt sent toward him was deflected with her mind, and she shot through the air to plunge her sword deep into an enemy who had burst forth from a darkened alley to assail him. She drove them down onto the ground, ripping her steel from their chest and then in a whirlwind she twisted around and beheaded them without an ounce of hesitancy. She cast a look back to the others then, and she saw the half a dozen who had come to help them clashing steel with several foes, but arrows came down upon them and they were forced to move further away from the pair of them.

Then, once more the arrows came from the dark towards them.

Her sword clanged against the stone road.

Her hands clapped together, and a gentle concussion reverberated the air around them. Light wove around her, and as she pulled her hands apart, crackling energy arched from her fingertips and palms into a brilliant center. She pulled her arms apart and then stretched her open palms out to either side of her, and the orb at the center stretched out around them. As the arrows fell upon them they were caught in bindings of electrified light that appeared in small flashes, hanging in the air little more than a meter away from either of them. But this had no bearing on those who drew near with swords drawn.

 
Magic touched him, crackled round his frame and across his armor. It drew lines of soot where it tried to claim purchase, but it was ineffective. The Divine protected him, and though the magic of the corrupted hurt, it could not kill.

At least, not without them trying quite a bit harder.

The warrior charged again at the next available foe, who lashed out with dark sorcery unseen. Erin hissed in pain, but aside from etching the steel of his armor it caused no further harm. A great over-hand blow descended on the unfortunate soul (if they even had such a thing any longer) and that wretch raised a hand, fingers splayed.

His blade struck something. That something held for a moment, then buckled and finally shattered. Robbed of much of its force, the blow would not be a clean killing stroke. It struck the foe in the right shoulder and instead of cutting, it merely snapped bones and knocked the man down. He did not shriek in pain. Erin did not care, he was already moving past even as the blade slammed into the cobbles and cracked them, notching his two hander anew.

"Surrender," Erin suggested as he came back alongside the Aerai. His tone was funereal, the judge that had already condemned these men to their deaths. "There is no quarter for sinners, but your deaths may be quick. Painless."

They shifted, but made no move to disarm themselves. The inquisitor smiled a mirthless smile, lifted and slung the great battering weapon of his onto a shoulder. "As you wish," he said.

They had twice underestimated him. They would not likely do so again. Their magic was their crutch, but their magic was next to useless to them against the likes of him. He schooled his face to a blank mask, but inside he was delighted by the prospect of a proper fight. She seldom sent trials of note to him and his (former) order.

He stepped forward, planting a foot, and waited.
 
Ánië remained preoccupied for only a few moments. As Erin felled several enemies at her back, the arrows ceased to come their way, their usefulness having been clearly spent. As they relented, so to did she, and the arrows that hung about them dropped harmlessly to the ground. She knelt down, whirling around in a sweeping motion as she gripped the hilt of her sword and lifted it off the road. She came up and took a ready stance alongside Erin as he came alongside her, and he suggested their enemy's surrender.

She admired his bid to them, one she had also offered in the past. But, she also knew it would be fruitless. As much as it pained her, these once-Aerai that had come to assail them were of no retribution. Not in this life.

He stepped forward. Her stance deepened. Those Aica nearby with their swords drawn shifted no longer, and prepared to attack once again.

Then, hurried footsteps in the distance. The shouting of elven words, common, and orcish grunts. In the fray, Ánië's mind had subconsciously reached out and sought to alert her brethren. And thankfully they had heard, and gathered who they could as they made haste to assist her.

Distraction. A momentary panic - indecisive. The Aica hesitated. Ánië did not. She hurled herself toward them and her sword tore through the air with such sharpness the sound of it whipping through the air came with clarity.

And a head rolled with a gentle thud onto the ground, and then the body fell into a heap.

Moving past with her momentum, her foot then planted and she whirled around again. Her sword slammed against another, and there she locked her steel against them.

None of them moved to retreat, but desperately now they sought to slay her, or Erin, even those few who were fighting nearby - any of them before the reinforcing allies came near.

 
The assault came, but when it did the Alca were not prepared for the savagery they had engaged with. There was no poetry. It was not a dance, nor beautiful, nor honorable. Sinners deserved no quarter, he had said; that included no honor and no sympathy.

Erin was keenly aware of his allies and his enemies as he moved with the heavy inevitability of a rockslide. The notched blade served as much as a shield as it did a club, and he wielded it with an expertise born of years or practice. He would spin behind it or shift his two-handed grip so that the blade would intercept an attack, and then he would kick at knees or use his mailed fist to smash a face. If the assailant was not quick enough, the heavy two-hander was employed as a club or a blade. Every part of the weapon was used, just as ever opportunity taken with whatever weapon he had to hand.

Dark magic curled round him, and time stood still for a moment. Then everything went white.

Erin picked himself up off the ground a moment later, smoke curling from his steel armor, his left arm hanging useless at his side. The called lightning had scorched the pavement where he stood; the two handed blade lie on the ground some feet away. Shaking off the ill effects of the blow, he drew a short sword in a one-handed grip.

Allies arrived, and the tide turned immediately. The Black stood there and watched as assorted warriors enjoined the fray. His head still rang from the sorcery leveled at him, but that was no reason to not do anything. Even as the other routed their foes, he sheathed his sword and drew one of the heavy knives he carried.

And then he went to the fallen enemy and made sure they were dead.
 
The Aica were sorely unprepared to find themselves set against the likes of one such as Erin. Ánië, too, had realized some while into the fight, that if it weren't for his being there she'd have been overpowered. The now dark, and twisted powers that her fallen kin relied on were of little use against this stalwart warrior of the light. It may have for a moment seemed that even together they might be overcome, but the arrival of their allies brought any inklings of this possibility to their demise.

They had won, though she was not without bruise, and nicks in her flesh in more than a couple places.

There was commotion, and though there were attempts to make prisoners of these fallen elves, there would be no such opportunity. Death, by an enemy's hand or their own, that was the only answer to a situation such as this.

As the scuffling began to subside, she was quick to dismiss those who hurried toward her and instead made her way back to Erin. He wasn't far of course, and she found him in the midst of being quite thorough.

No longer winded, but clearly quite tired from the ordeal, "Erin," she called to him, her pace slowing as she drew closer, "I must thank you, had you not been here I... none of us ever expected to seem them so bold as to come here..."

But this had, clearly, been foolish. No doubt this proved no better time - well, had it not been for Erin's unexpected intervention.

 
A knife, driven in to the left and upward from under the ribs. Quick, clean, efficient. For him, there was never an attempt to take prisoners after a fight. His order was quite explicit in their dealings with heretics. Raise a blade against Her church, and you will not survive.

He stood, left arm still hanging useless at his side, and turned as Anie approached. His shoulder ached where the armor pressed into it - product of a crossbow bolt to the back at the opening of this whole sordid ordeal. The arm was a living brand and doubtless scorched and enflamed. The magic could not kill, but that did not mean that it had not hurt. Other than the arm, there was no sign of pain or exhaustion on his part. A stolid rock, the surf and tumult of the world breaking round him and leaving him relatively unaffected.

"It is my pleasure, Lady," he replied in a basso rumble. It was tight with pain, but Erin had dealt with pain before. Service to the Divine was seldom easy. His eyes roved over her frame dispassionately, noting nicks and cuts here and there. She remained relatively whole and hale, it would seem. "They were not expecting Her radiance to shine here, clearly," he said after a moment. "You are unharmed?"
 
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