Fable - Ask The Fires of the Heart

[Lyssia D'avore]

It was the screaming that woke Lyssia up from the utter exhaustion of a night spent working tables, doing dishes, and a host of other menial, demeaning tasks for the harridan of a woman that ran this run down inn and watering hole on the edge of Dornoch, jewel of Erdinenn. She sat bolt upright at the sound of something crashing in the common room, not far from where she realistically only rested between grueling shifts.

It was dark, but that did not mean anything. Her room had once been a storage room, too small to comfortably put anyone in except, of course, for her. With her diminutive frame, a child's bed had been brought into the cramped space to turn the dusty place into a room as part of her meager pay. Looking around, there wasn't much to mark who lived there; a chipped pitcher and bowl for her morning ablutions, the tag end of a candle set in a crack saucer. Sitting up on the stone-hard mattress, she held a hand out and concentrated for a moment. A pale orb of light flared into cool life, illuminating the dusty floors and cobweb haunted ceiling.

It certainly did not look like the abode of a noblewoman, of a Bursar of the Dynasty. And that was, more or less, the rub. She should have been, but events had come to pass that had changed everything. Stolen everything from her; her family, her status, and even her dreams.

Now, a year and some later, she was working as little more than a slave, carrying the heretical title of a traitor about her like an evil miasma that none had been able to dispel, least of all her. There had been a moment not so long ago when, caught in culmination of despair and loss, she had nearly taken her own life.

The girl that stood up, still dressed in a wrinkled, shapeless dress, was still that woman inside. Oh, she had steel in her spine, but there was a fragility to that strength, a sense of desperation to her resolve to reclaim what belonged to her. It seemed ridiculous, of course; how did one such as she, with less influence and power than even the most base of the commoners, grapple with one of the greatest Bursars in the scope of the Dynast' power? Maybe she had cracked in that moment sitting on the floor of a guards' home. Gone insane from the pain of loss.

Lyssia D'avore, daughter to the traitor lady that was no more, stepped into the narrow hall beyond her squalid room, stepped past the kitchen and cracked open the door to the common room of the dingy inn.

The commotion turned out to be a fight that had broken out in the common room between a couple of men, a woman, and the innkeeper herself. The two men and the woman looked furious, staring daggers at one another with the Mistress standing between them, a restraining hand out to keep the woman from doing anything rash.

"She cheated us out of our coin, mistress," the men growled, fists clenched at their sides. A table lay on its side behind them, cards scattered on the ground and coins with them. Broken crockery littered the reed-strewn floor. "Been hanging on t'cards the whole time, she has!"

One, a tall and sallow fellow with a decidedly shifty look about him, scowled at her. "They got laws about cheating 'round here," he said.

"If they can prove that I did anything, which you certainly cannot," the woman said. She wore a dress that was of fine cut but not rich, long sleeves and high neck marking her as one of the merchant class within the city. And one that was well enough to do, as it might be. What someone like her was doing in a place like this was anyones guess, but most would not question it. The innkeeper certainly wasn't going to, though; the woman was paying a premium price for staying in this dingy, low class establishment.

"The two of you need to leave. If you want, go talk to the Royal's," the innkeeper snapped. She did not like men too terribly much. She didn't like anyone, actually, unless they had a lot of coin and then only if they were spending their coin in her establishment. "I should make you pay for my broken property, but as its late, if you leave I won't say anything.

The larger of the two stared at the innkeeper darkly, but said nothing. To the woman that was an accused cheat, he scowled, and spat at her feet. "Don't think this is the end of this," he said. He took hold of his companion, who was muttering under his breath, and left out into the night darkened street.

Lyssia blinked. The heaviness in her eyes made sense, then; it was still night, and probably not long after she'd gone to bed. "You," came the commanding voice of the innkeeper, and the young woman jumped. "Saves me having to wake you. Clean this mess up, I need to discuss some things with the Lady here," she said and turned away.

She stood there, eyes underscored by dark circles, and sighed, and then went to fetch a broom.

 

[Kiros Rahnel]

It had been a few hours since he had departed from the Steepes portal stone. He was still getting used to them; most of his life had been spent in Amol Kalit before he hastily fled for his own safety. Betrayed by his own mentors, rejected by the priesthood and eventually even wanted by the law – it was a land he could not return to. He wasn’t sure of the charges; heresy or murder was his own best guess. And doubtlessly constructed as attempted punishment for his disobedience. He knew better than to stay and find out. The social rank of priest would now be ever beyond him.

In hopes to establish a new life, he took what wealth he had to Elbion and began to establish himself as a merchant of magical services. The shift in lifestyle from the esteemed clerical class to that of merchants was jarring, but he managed to adjust. The destruction of the city however put an end to that era of his life; and in so doing eliminated what remained of his wealth.

Without his shop, he could not sit still and count on income finding him. Penniless but not powerless, Kiros had become a roamer. But still a man of valuable talents and still able to eke out a living, however more modest it now was.

The life of constant travel was still something he was getting used to; the last time he trekked across such great distances was as a young Kaliti conscript. Now, aching feet and a sore back was constant reminder that he was no longer that spy and fit young man. The darkness of the night made it hard to see, but by his travel time he knew he would be upon the city shortly. He could hardly wait for the sorely needed opportunity for rest.

The maintained roads and comfort of the city was a relief to the weary traveller. He roamed the streets in search of an inn, a task that took some time in such a vast and unfamiliar place. He had roamed for the better part of an hour, his eyes looking towards the organized yet diverse array of buildings lining the streets when two surly men nearly knocked him off the path. Their harsh offensive words were met with dismissal by Kiros, who simply continued on his way. Soon they did too, consumed by problems greater than a strange priest who doesn’t look where he’s going.

But off in the distance a short while away laid the answer he had been searching for. With rest and recovery finally in view, he continued onward with renewed haste in his step. Tossing open the door, he looked around; and then down to the short red haired servant woman sweeping the floor.

“I take it there’s a vacancy?” he asked in a tired voice, marked with subtle Kaliti accent.

 

[Lyssia D'avore]

The task was approached with the same desultory, apathetic approach that anything else so late of an evening was tended to. Lyssia was not by any stretch of the imagination well suited to long work hours, or any work hours at all. The fact that she was worked as hard as a slave and only paid the barest sliver more than one did not help any at all.

She looked up as the stranger walked in off the streets. It was immediately clear that he was an outlander by his style of dress. She did not particularly like having to look so far up to meet someones eyes, but she was certainly no timid sheep of a commoner. She fixed him with a tired, violet-eyed gaze. "That is likely," she said at last, the timbre of her voice communicating clearly how exhausted she was at the moment. She went back to sweeping the mess up from the fight that had broken out earlier. "The Mistress is currently speaking to another guest."

Her manner of speech was a bit more refined than one would expect from a tavern wench, which was just as well because she was a bit more refined. A lot more refined, in fact. She crouched to sweep the mess into a pan, and straightened, knuckling her back as she did so. "I can bring the Mistress out, if you would like. She will likely make you wait, though," she said for all that he would understand why. He was a man, after all, and it was late. The innkeeper was not nominally up this late, but her husband had not returned from wherever it was he dithered about during the day.

She groaned inwardly, knowing that was going to create more hardship for her later on.

 

[Kiros Rahnel]

The mess of clutter and shattered dinnerware strewn about the floor was next to make his notice, causing his sentence to end at an abrupt pause. He silently reconsidered his tone, with the mess being swept away by the diminutive woman with all the apathy and indifference one could expect. Scattered cards and coin among the mess spoke to the issue at hand, and implied the cause of ire for the two burly men he had encountered a short moment earlier. Another game of cards gone amok, as they often tend to do between strangers. Kiros was never one for gambling or the problems they bring. While he found he held a fair amount of skill at cards himself; the exact reason he’d never bother to play was laid on the ground before him.

Better to be a merchant, he mused. The last of his customers who acted in such a way was promptly dragged out and beaten by marketplace guards, who were all to happy to perform their profession. He did miss the sense of security.

"That is likely,"

He couldn’t blame her tone, what with the apparent situation and hour. The woman was short, about as small as the halflings he had met on his travels. Any similarities were clearly in stature only, the young woman clearly didn’t share their chipper attitude. Whatever she was, he’d encountered her kind not. And he wasn’t about to make a guess with one wearing a scowl such as she.

"The Mistress is currently speaking to another guest."

And her well spoken words and noble tone was yet another surprise. He’d given himself the benefit of the doubt at her first sentence, but upon hearing her continued words the tone and cadence of nobility was readily apparent. Kiros appeared somewhat taken aback by this unexpected manner of speech; he recognized it well. He could only guess why, however.

"I can bring the Mistress out, if you would like. She will likely make you wait, though,"

Seemed somewhat stunned by candid declaration that he be made to wait. Not that the innkeeper would remain busy, not that there was any pressing reason for the inconvenience; merely that it would be there. The statement gave him an expression of subdued irritation – he was about set to turn about and leave in search of another inn. Yet it was late; and these had taken long enough to find. It would probably take even longer to find new lodgings; and there’d be no guarantee of actual service there either.

“Please.” came his response.

“And very well, I shall wait then.” he added.

 

[Lyssia D'avore]

"You need not wait long," said a woman's voice. She stepped out of a room from behind the stairs leading up, a private dining room reserved for well paying guests. Not that there were many such in an establishment like this one, which was clearly not a fine location. She closed the door behind her, and scowled venemously at the diminutive woman that was just finishing her chore. She was a heavier woman, with graying hair tied back at her neck and a gold chain round her throat. She wore a rather severe, dark grey dress with an apron tied over the front that was as immaculate as she herself was.

"Giving guests the rough side of your tongue again, girl?" The voice was like a whip, and Lyssia visibly cringed at the sharp tone. She had been on...well, never mind. She had always been on the Mistress' bad side, ever since day one. Lyssia was half convinced she had only hired her to heap more miseries upon her already downtrodden life. "I could just throw you out onto the streets, which is honestly where you belong," she said in a nasty tone of voice.

But she wouldn't. She enjoyed the constant taunts and abuse, seeing in them a kind of punishments the courts would not force upon her.

And so she said nothing, straightening the table up.

"It is rather late, but I am afraid I do not offer discounts in such circumstances. As it happens, we do have a vacancy," she said, rounding the counter of the bar and stopping to lean against it from the other side. "A silver will do fine for that, my Lord. If that is acceptable then this...young lady can show you the way." Her eyes glittered like chips of ice. Likely, once she had doneh er duty there would be words, or some other punishment.

 

[Kiros Rahnel]

Any sign of annoyance washed away from his expression before he gave a turn of his head towards the source of the words. A turn of fortune from the previously forecast waiting; though the foreign traveller was well used to such inconveniences by now, having long left the confines of the comparatively cozy temples behind. Still, he had his cultured manners, and awaited her with polite patience.

"Giving guests the rough side of your tongue again, girl?"

He gave a subtle pause at the words; even if they were directed to another besides him. He hardly wanted to be the cause of any further hardship. From what he could tell in these short moments, she was already burdened by it plenty. His own burdens, after all, were laid upon him by a deity who could not be pleased. Such experiences had at least given him empathy for the downtrodden, for he knew all to well the misfortunes the world doles out with indifference.

“No, she’s-” came his soft attempt at protest – cut off as the scolding continued.

"I could just throw you out onto the streets, which is honestly where you belong," she said in a nasty tone of voice.

Colour subtly faded from his cheeks by as much as his tanned complexion would allow. While the tone was harsh and unmelodic, the tone and words of her speech a reminder of Her. Angry and spiteful with her poor servant to suffer her wrath and blame, Kiros couldn’t help but envision Itra in the wrathful innkeeper’s visage. Stunned shock lasted but a moment before he silently composed himself in the momentary break in conversation while the innkeeper turned to address him.

"It is rather late, but I am afraid I do not offer discounts in such circumstances. As it happens, we do have a vacancy," she said, rounding the counter of the bar and stopping to lean against it from the other side. "A silver will do fine for that, my Lord. If that is acceptable then this...young lady can show you the way."

There was an ever-so-slight pause before Kiros responded in tone stoic and quiet.

“Certainly so.” he responded; the silver coin already in the hand that reached out to dispense it in payment.

“And I am sure she shall. A pleasure doing business.” he concluded, the plainness of the words concealing his own inner emotion.

 

[Lyssia D'avore]

"Very good," the innkeeper said in clipped tones, brisk and business-like. Her troubles with the girl were seemingly forgotten as she took the coin from the gentleman, scratching it with a fingernail with a practiced hand. "Not proper weight for the city, but it will do. A discount after all," she said. She pocketed the coin, and then snapped a finger. "The Pleasure is all mine, I'm sure. Lyssia, show the guest his room. Second floor, fourth on the left," she said. "You can finish that when you are done."

The woman turned and disappeared into the back, likely to to go to bed finally. Lyssia stared affer her, pale eyes unreadable as she watched the mistress of the inn bustle out of sight. After a moment, she shook her head as though to clear it of whatever she was thinking. She cast a sideways look at the customer, and sighed.

"This way," she said as she set her things aside, and made her way to the stairs. She was too tired to fight, and in any case fighting seldom did any good. She was stuck with her current problem until she could put together a solution ,until she could find an appropriate way out. So long as her employer did not try to sell her flesh to the customers, she could endure it. Had to.

But base servitude did not sit well with her, and she could not fake it convincingly. She could not lower herself to fit the mold that the real traitors had cast for her, could not talk like the commoners, move like them, or think like them. It certain did not ease the tension between her and her tormentors.

 

[Kiros Rahnel]

He waited silently with tactful posture while the innkeeper inspected the piece of silver. Relieved that the payment was accepted without issue, this wasn't conveyed by his steady expression; he simply forced a convincing polite smile.

He watched on as the woman took her leave. He had been so distracted by his travels and search for available bed that She had been blissfully out of mind for the better part of the day; until the innkeeper's tirade. His face was largely expressionless when Lyssia glanced his way, though slight furrow of his brows conveyed apologetic displeasure.

Staff and belongings in hand, Kiros followed behind the much smaller red haired woman in silence. Curious as he was about the refined tone present in her speech, he knew better than to make inquiry of it. Whatever cause the notable trait had, it would doubtlessly bound to only fuel her ire; something which she evidently had plenty of already.

Ascending the stairs behind her in silence, Kiros merely continued along behind her, towards his room and well-anticipated place of rest for the night.

 

[Lyssia D'avore]

She ascended the flight of stairs to the second floor, as had been described, and went to the the assigned room. She opened the door and went in ahead of the man, making sure it was clean. To her relief, it was, and she quickly exited, gesturing to the room. "Your room," she said, bowing to him and hating herself for it. "If you need anything else, you can go downstairs and request it at any time," she said as she straightened, fain spots of color on her cheeks.

The room beyond was simple and spartan, offering a bed, a narrow table with a pitcher of fresh water and a basin for washing in. Beyond some pegs on the wall for hanging clothes and a frayed rug on the wood floor, there was little else to remark upon in the room.

Lyssia blinked, and cursed under her breath. With barely a thought, she reached for the Prim with her mind, a feat that was difficult to explain to others. The chaos of that primeval source of magic was like life and light to her. For a moment, she basked in its light and savored the feeling. It was dangerous to do so, but she could not help herself. Then, with reluctance, she set about to perform the unremarkable task she had intended for it. The tried to enforce order upon chaos, to will it into an elemental affinity that she could then use for a purpose. Fire was not one of her best elements to work with; she worked best with wind and light, in particular with healing. The first attempt failed, and she grimaced as she tried again.

The lamp in the room flared to light after the second attempt. She held the Prim a moment longer, before releasing it.

"if there is nothing else?" She felt the aching need to sleep, and it was being denied to her by this very late customer.

 

[Kiros Rahnel]

Led along by the servant, his footsteps were silent but for the creaking floorboards beneath each step he took. He came to a stop once she approached the door, standing back and looking on as she ducked into the room, hands clasped around his staff in a sign of patience. Prepared for a wait, that she returned so swiftly was a beneficial surprise.

His still posture broke at her bow of requisite respect, a hand moving from the ashen wood of his staff in a gesture of reluctance. Well used to such customs, he wouldn’t normally pay them mind with most servants; this one clearly held difference to others. Though she fit the role in her manner of dress and apparent social status, she was clearly of stark contrast to her supposed peers. Exchanging such respects with a commoner was something he was used to; but he held doubt that a commoner was truly what she was. Still, he gave a cursory bow of his head so as to not snub the gesture and avoid possible insult to the noble-mannered servant.

“Thank you. But that is fine; I’ll require nothing more for the night.”

He replied, words paused for a subtle breath before he continued.

“The path you walk is one laborious enough, I can tell.” he concluded.

Lyssia’s inward reach for her source of magic caught the priest’s attention. Her sudden focus with no apparent task to apply it upon spoke of mystical talent to the experienced practitioner of divine magic. It was an unexpected shock, though the pause she gave as she held held the prim began to spark doubt as to whether this assumption was apt. Doubt that faded away upon bearing witness to her attempt – she truly did hold magical power. The realization raised his curiosity further; he would have invoked his own powers on insight to learn about it, were he more timely in gaining awareness.

That she faltered gave him another opportunity, and when she focused anew he did as well. With his magic prepared and at the ready, he let his incantation of insight resolve once she had invoked her own powers to whatever effect she’d cause. Mentally braced and at full attention, he kept careful perception upon the room until he witness the lamp’s fire spark to life.

“...To light a lamp?” He thought. He’d no idea what he expected to come from her magic, but he imagined something more. Still, she held the incantation; and with that opportunity Kiros released his own, casting a spell of insight upon the newly borne flame:

This is magic-sparked fire ​

He sighed inwardly, having learned nothing not already apparent to his eyes.

“No, I desire naught further; only sleep. Farewell; and bless you.” came his response, leaving the bitter servant to her own continued troubles.

 

[Lyssia D'avore]

She could feel his magic quite readily, though the nature of it was not readily apparent. It was not uncommon for people that traveled abroad to be adepts of the arts, though human arts tended to be...rather mundane and uninspired by her view. Perhaps it was simply a viewpoint impressed upon her by her parents, though.

His magic was no less uninspired than her own had been, though. Trying to divine what she was doing made sense. Who was she to remark, anyway? Any task she could perform by magic, she did so. Most things were easier to perform in that manner than they would have been to actually perform with her own hands.

"Very well," she said, offering the barest sketch of a curtsy, and then turned away. He was right about one thing, though; she was bitter, and had her own troubles to deal with.

---

"...found to have been involved, if not directly, in this...plot. Were it not for the dilligent efforts of the Royal Guard, it is likely this plot would have gone off without a hitch. The documents lead to you, the hired hands accuse you of being the hand that moved the pieces. What more can I say?"

A dreadful hush held sway over the chamber. This was not any simple court, but rather one of the highest in the land. A place for the Dynast herself was set out to the rear of the high chair that the judge sat on. She was not present today, though. Likely, she did not wish to hand down judgement personally to the ones who were accused of attempting to take her life, or else she was simply otherwise indisposed.

"Well, then. Kerri sur Pendraeg D'avore, this court delivers justice and a judgement. You are hereby found guilty of high treason and attempted regicide." A soft susurration among the gathered nobles, but no one spoke out in defense of the dishonored Bursar, who stood there like a disheveled, worn monument of what had once been a proud woman. Prisoner's grey did not suit her. She made to speak, but the judge cut her off ruthlessly.

"There is no need for the condemned to speak. You are to be hanged, Kerri, like the common criminal you are. Your lands are forfeit, your titles stripped, and your life is at an end." The judge did not look triumphant at all with this denouncement. The creed of Erdeninn was as solid as stone: law for the high and the low, and all equal before it. The high, if anything, were held to the law more strictly than the low.

The low sound that came from Mother tore at her heart, and she could hear her own voice raised in defiance even as Alric tried to pull her back, the incredible fire of her anger washing through her....

---

Lyssia's eyes opened slowly, at first not registering that there was anything wrong. She couldn't have been asleep very long at all, for it felt like she had but laid her head on the pillow a moment before.

Something was wrong, though. The chill of the room was absent, and as she sat slowly up, her blankets pooling round her waist, she fell into a coughing fit. Thick smoke filled the air, and it took a moment for her sleep addled mind to connect the dots. Fire! The ancient enemy of every city, and of every person living within one.

She rolled off the stone-hard mattress that served as her bed, hitting the floor before standing upright. The smoke was not terribly thick here, but it was present. She coughed harshly, then opened the door into the narrow hallway in the back of the inn, careless of the thin linen shift she wore. Out in the hall, the smoke was heavier, and the glow of flames could be seen coming from the common room. Lyssia could feel the heat from here.

She made her way forward, and opened the door. The common room was ablaze, but it was not out of control yet. Tables sent tongue of flames upwards, belching thick black smoke that pooled on the ceiling; the walls at the rear were already ablaze. There were no people running, and for a moment, the noble-born woman stood on the cusp of rushing out the door into the sweet, clean air outside. Something held her back, though...a moment only, and then she was rushing to the stairs to make sure no one was still indoors.

 

[Kiros Rahnel]

That she’d be aware of his spellcasting was expected, but whether she could sense what he had done was a quality he’d remain unaware of. The incantation was clunky and unreliable in true fashion of his regrettably chosen deity; written as a means of, in divine terms, telling Kiros to "go figure it out yourself". Aside from enabling Her laziness, it had become his primary means of gleaning arcane knowledge from the world around him. His clergy was beyond contact, Elbion would provide no such materials to the odd ‘holy warlock’ they dismissed him as; and She certainly seemed to have scant little wisdom to dispense.

The spell itself was inefficient and seemingly woven in a manner haphazard, yet hewn through such methods and means that only a deity could access. It was awkward magic bound together by some entity that cared little about the end result - if Lyssia could read the magic that far. It could be one of many possible deities as humans had numerous gods they deemed holy; along with heroes, concepts, and plenty else. What, if anything, humans wouldn’t worship seemed to be a mystery indeed at times.

With the inn servant bid away, Kiros settled in for the night of sleep long awaited. There were still several days of travel ahead of him on his journey north to his meeting in the interior, and he'd need a hearty rest for it. Snuffing out the light of the lamp brought the room into total darkness. A few short moments later the tired priest had collapsed atop the bead in a deep dozing state, having fallen asleep before even removing his robes or climbing beneath the sheets.

* * *

A place he'd not seen in over a decade; the familiar grandiose decor designed to inspire awe, rather struck fear into the heart of Kiros during his uncomfortable walk down the palace hall. The guardsmen watching on allowed his passage, but not without leers of disgust shot his way at every step. He could feel the shame directed upon him, but he was here for a reason. After all, for him to be bid back to lands that held him in such ire there must be good cause; even if he was not yet aware why.

The truth would be clear soon enough. The staff in hand was the key to it, and the sacred mosaic decorating the floor was the lock. All eyes leering upon him, Kiros set the staff in position and spoke his prayer from his place atop the pattern on the floor; a universal shrine serving as altar for all deities Annunaki.

"Itra! I arrive and beseech You to know; why for have I been brought here?"

"For disposal;

as I am done with you"

The shock of the sudden situation hit the priest's psyche with stunned disbelief; and all around he could see the bloodthirst in the eyes of his former peers.

"Here? Why?! You spoke of deliverance from damnation! I placed trust in You!"

"I break no promises;

and handle your soul in accordance with My word"

"You said You'd obliterate my soul! That Hissut would not feast upon it! You gave word of it!"

"Make not demand of Me!

Did you truly expect Me to dirty My divine hands,

over your worthless mortal soul?"

"But I have done all You asked!!"

"Then you hold perfect understanding

of why I need you no further" She concluded, Her harmonious tone tinged with dismissive disdain.

"...YOU CAN'T DO THIS!!" came his final, futile plea. But the goddess would not hear it, closing the lines of communication for good as the guards to his flanks descended upon him. With firm, hateful grip he was demoted in an instant from high priest to condemned prisoner. Frightful eyes scanned the crowd of gathered nobility, with rulers Cambes and Ozman sneering among them in cruel grins of anticipation. All around, eager stares awaited the gory entertainment his execution would bring.

Archlector Snaaib stepped forth at slow pace and with downward gaze, either unable or unwilling to look upon Kiros. The captive priest's own eyes remained fixated upon the superior's in unseen desperation.

"For your crimes against the priesthood..." the archlector spoke in sombre, oratory tone.

"Of heretical treason, apostasy and murder..."

"I must condone your execution here today; in accordance with divine punishment scripture demands." he continued, the regretful tone of the archlector a stark contrast to eager, expectant grins from the crowd. It took an awkward moment to turn the pages of his holy text; Kiros' face contorted into grimace even before Snaaib began to speak again.

"For those who walk in the coverings of divine robes, with actions of disgrace; deserve no mortal covering." he continued in joyless tone, eyes fixated on the open book in hand.

"Undeserving of their own skin are they, that it ought be flayed and fashioned into flag. Flown as warning to all who might defile the grace of the Annunaki." As he spoke, a dark-robed figure drew the ceremonial knife. An instrument of cruelty, forged for but one horrible purpose.

"Thus, we conduct here the hereticide of wayward kin. Kiros Rahnel! With my declaration, you are sentenced to death. In final mercy we draw the process out; to delay the time of your greater torment amongst the three." he spoke of the cruel logic; a twisted justification that he had difficulties even approving of.

"I can offer no words of comfort for a fate such as yours." came his final words before he turned away from the sight of the executioner's approach to the captive, shaking Kiros.

* * *​

Kiros tossed and turned atop the bed, wracked by his ongoing nightmare in complete unawareness of the deadly growing blaze consuming the house, nor of the billowing smoke creeping into his room...

 

[Lyssia D'avore]

The heat was not yet intense, and despite this she sweat as she climbed the stairs through the ever thickening smoke, coughing harshly as she made her way up. With every step, she asked herself why she did this; she owed these people absolutely nothing. Most reviled her as some kind of apostate to a religion she did not even know. Or, rather, she did - the worship of the Dynast, ruler of the Dynasty and keeper of her peace.

They hated her. All of the people of the city seemed to hate her with a passion she could not match, and one she could scarcely understand. She did not know, then, why it was that she was doing what she did. She should have fled from the building and saved her own life; none would thank her for this.

And yet....

And yet, she could not. She could not fathom why, but she could not turn herself around and flee.

Lyssia hit the first landing, but she was no longer running. The old inn was made of ancient timber, and it burned fiercely and quick. The flames were spreading downstairs rapidly, and already the fires were burning at the back of the inn as well. That detail should have caught her attention, but she brushed it off, bursting into the first room on the left. It was empty, the bed scattered on the floor and belongings strewn around as though someone had packed in a hurry.

She turned and went to the next door, and found a woman trying to grab her things, to stuff them into the sack she carried with her. Coughing harshly now, her throat raw, Lyssia called out to her in a hoarse voice. "Leave it! Get out of here now!"

A momentary pause, and then she had seized hold of the prim, drawing heavily from the primal source of all magic. Unlike the trick she had done earlier in the evening, this came much more naturally to her. It was only a shame she could not performed the same feat on herself as she could for others; without thought, she forced chaos into a semblance of order, creating threads of water-aligned magic that she swiftly wove into a ward round the woman. The sweetness of that chaotic power seemed to push some of the heat away, but that was an illusion on her part.

"Go," she said as she coughed. "Get out. Flee."

She did not wait to see if the woman did as commanded, whirling about and going to the next door. The room beyond was empty as well, and she skipped past it with alacrity.

The fourth room contained the sleeping form of Kiros, the man she had - perhaps only an hour gone - led to his bed. Smoke poured into the room now, and the ruddy glow of the flames cast the scene in an eerie light. "Hey," she called, coughing more. When there was no immediate response, she darted across the room, bare feet slapping on wood worn smooth over decades. She took the man by the shoulder, already preparing to weave her ward over him as well as she tried to shake him awake.

"Get up! Get up! Fire!"

 

[Kiros Rahnel]

Step by step, the faceless executioner beneath the hood and robe approached with the curved knife a bright, gleaming omen of his impending demise. His twists of futile resistance brought nothing but laughter from the guards and gathered audience. In the next moment he found himself violently tossed aside, landing with a painful thump upon the stone executioner’s table. Continued, vain struggles did nothing but bring further amusement to the crowd, all while the executioner’s aides kept the frightened Kiros pinned down.

He opened his mouth to protest, yet no speech flowed forth from his lips; only an empty, choking breaths of air. Any attempt made to push past whatever force or effect forbidding his own vocalizations was met with failure. Unable to deliver protest, no sound other than desperate gasps would leave the priest’s trembling agape mouth.

Helpless and doomed, Kiros his best to prepare as well as he could for what he was about to endure. He eyed the blade in one moment, but it’s immediate presence in his suddenly robeless flesh was a surprise that his own eyesight didn’t foretell. Pain surged through the terrified priest’s body before being bolstered by cruel twist of the knife into his blood-leaking skin.

“Katup![Suffer!]” screamed the hooded executioner in the Kaliti tongue they had all been speaking, her voice angry and feminine. The cry was immediately echoed by a malicious chant of “Katup![Suffer!]” from the jeering crowd as they all leaned closer. Kiros let out a renewed howl of horrified agony as his executioner dragged the blade and screamed out again:

“Fire!”

* * *​

The sleeping priest reacted to the awakening with a horrified scream of pure terror and his body straightened to sit upright within an instant. Panicked breaths were barely audible over the growing roar of the fire; his eyes were wide open in shocked fear that had been induced by his own cruel, overactive subconscious. That it was so intense and so vivid had primed him a surge of adrenaline that jolted him from deep slumber to alertness in an instant. It made the terrifying dream oddly beneficial, given the disastrous events that threatened to claim their lives in reality.

He wasted no time in taking action. His bindle was attached to his staff, and within an instant he had it in hand as he rose to his feet. Flowing smoke assailed his eyes and forced him to squint before he dropped to his knees to duck beneath the billowing irritant. Slowly, he made his way to the door, illuminated by a great flash of fire a moment before reaching it.

If the sudden roar of the fire was insufficient to tell of the harrowing development of disaster outside of the room; his panicked expression of fear certainly would.

 

[Lyssia D'avore]

She stumbled backwards as he lurched upright, startled out of all countenance. Whatever it was that had brought him out of his torpid state so suddenly, she could care less. She struggled a moment with the prim, for it was never a thing that was quiescent even at the best of times, and the shock had made her lose focus for a moment. The surging, thrashing thing in her mind would scour her mind clean, and probably bring about the end for the both of them faster (and likely more mercifully) than the flames would.

She managed to regain control, weaving the same waterborne fire ward with reckless speed. The magic fell in place with a practiced ease, and she was already turning away from him. "Snap out of it," she said in a thick voice, nearly doubling over as she coughed. The air was too harsh to breath, but she had more to do. More to do for a bunch of ungrateful, hateful people. Flames bathed the hallway she had just come from, and she despaired for a moment, and then pulled ever more deeply upon the source of all things.

Water was not one of her best elements, either, but pure elemental magic was much easier to deal with than anything that was intended to do something more intricate. She beat back the flames with a hand raised before her, pulling water from the air and casting it towards the flames. Scalding steam hissed from the burning wood, but blessedly the flames retreated. "Go," she coughed at him, and then darted back into the hall, heading towards the stairs going up. There was one more floor yet, and she had to at least try to get there as the flames quickly accelerated, consuming more and more of the inn. She did not look to see if the fellow had left or not; the sound of screaming above her spurred her on.

 

[Kiros Rahnel]

The words that followed were lost in the flurry of activity his awakening caused; yet he’d obey the contents of her message unknowingly. The roar of the fire elevated concerns for his own life, and he surveyed the burning hellscape before him for a way out, finding none.

He had expected fire, given the results of his prior arcane inquiry into her spellcasting; the sudden presence of moisture condensing out of thin air was an unexpected surprise. The resultant bright white cloud of steam resulting from the quenching blast of water was a sight of hope against the billowing black and red of the ongoing fire. There was no time wasted in his escape from the room as he crawled out with haste, his staff clattering along the floor.

Hearing her next words of dismissal before he could reach the steam-hissing stairwell, Kiros turned his head to catch sight of Lyssia heading not away from the fire; but further towards the heart of the blaze.

“Where are you-” Kiros coughed out, only to interrupt his own question upon hearing the terrified screams of those still trapped within. He had opportunity to leave, to spare his own life. Failure to do so would be ruled as suicidal recklessness, and he had no doubt She would punish that; a fate his avid mind had so recently and unwillingly regaled him with. Yet he couldn’t allow himself to do so, knowing such lives are in peril. And knowing that it was but the servant valiantly acting in preservation of their lives.

“Why are you?” came the next question to his mind. It was obvious that she had the opportunity to do the same as he had considered, yet she had not. It was far more dedication than what belied one in her position, and action unheard of for one so enslaved to take. Surely, she might meet her end here, trapped within the deadly house consuming fire – all for those who value her not.

With body disposed of by burning flame.

No. Leaving her to her forecast fate was simply not a thing he could live with. His nightmare had been one of helplessness; but here, he could take action. Detaching the bindle from the staff, he flung it downstairs towards the entrance doors; largely in effort to be rid of it than to save it.

He turned about in the other way on hands and knees, crawling through the smoke and further into the house. Pressing on, he continued in the same direction he last saw Lyssia descend within the flowing, obscuring smoke.

 

[Lyssia D'avore]

It was growing damnably hard to breath the further she went on, the thicker the smoke began and more intense the heat. There could not be a great deal of time before the conflagration grew to a point where there would be no escape, but she was caught in the moment and the demands of it. Clutching at the power of her species' magic, she shifted the air of this floor enough to disperse the worst of the smoke, pushing it up toward the ceiling. The air was by no means clear, however, and she still hacked and coughed as she hurried along.

A door at the back of the hall burst open, and flames and smoke rushed out. And so did a...human, although it was hard to tell whether a man or a woman. Their clothes were aflame, their hair burned completely away and the flesh of their face blackened from the flames. Sightless eyes stared as they crawled forward on blistered hands, still screaming.

Lyssia hurried along to the victim but by the time she got there it was too late. They - a young woman as it turned out - had passed beyond any need for assistance. Perhaps it was a mercy; the magic required to restore someone so badly burned would not have been pleasant in the slightest. The horror of that ravaged body did not seem to penetrate her mind. She simply stood and went to the nearest door.

The door opened into a smoky hell, and there a man lay on the floor, overcome by the smoke before he could even reach the door. She rushed to his side, and was relieved to see that he was still breathing, although it was labored. She took his arms and tried to shift him, but she lacked the strength to move his bulk more than a few inches. He was too heavy by a fair bit for her to ever hope to get out of this building.

"Can't...stop...now...," she said hoarsely to herself. "I need...I need help..." she called out, coughing harshly as she did. Sweat ran down her face in a river, cutting tracks through soot.

 

[Kiros Rahnel]

His arm held to his face to pull the sleeve of his robe against his mouth like a mask, he continued to crawl further into the blaze on all three other limbs. Thick, chocking smoke forced him down during the ascent, crawling up the stairs like a serpent moving uphill to keep from choking on the thick, suffocating cloud. Crawling along on his belly, his eyes would tilt up with astonishment at the smoke that rose to the ceiling, before they looked back down the hall at Lyssia’s familiar silhouette. Kiros took a kneeling position as he scurried through the hall, dragging his staff behind him.

The surging flash of the fire poured out from the open door caused him to move forward with greater haste, moving from a scamper to a run with his breath held. Lyssia paused there for but a moment, before speeding off again with rationale that evaded him.

“I have y-” the words came out at urgent pace and tone; cut short once the devoted healer realized they fell on ears that could hear neither him nor any other sound. Inspecting the victim gave no signs of life, no motion, no breath; and horrid burns that would heal at a rate far slower than fire would consume them all. He had little time to make sure of it, his next plan was one of triage. Perhaps if he could put those flames out, there’d be a negligible but present chance she might be saved later.

Pushing with both his hands he made motion to roll her over, only to reveal wounds ever more horrid from the other side of her. The sensation of pain was well beyond her, at least.

Darting onward in defeat, he left the victim and sprinted further down the hall; towards the direction he had last seen the short redheaded savior of his life. Smoke billowing from the opened room obstructed his vision, and he could only look through the thick black fog in vain as he attempted to gain his bearings.

Wasting no time as he heard her words, Kiros immediately followed the needed clue that would bring him towards the target of his efforts. “Help”, he repeated in his mind. He could only imagine that she had already fallen in her efforts. He hadn’t time to feel sorrow; only frustration and anger at the indifferent world that might allow such outcome.

It was with mixed emotion that he’d spot Lyssia; glad for her safety, but concerned about the badly injured man she had tow. But this one still drew breath, and he too knew what she did.

“I got him!” he shouted out in tone matched to the dire urgency of the situation. Kneeling behind the man’s shoulders, deft arms hooked underneath them to hoist the man up with him, dragging him back a few feet before the choking smoke sent Kiros falling down onto his back. There was too little headroom to effectively carry him; there seemed no choice to save him but to drag him to safety.

With the heels of his bare feet braced against the floor, he continued to drag the man across the surface at steady pace. A turn of his head gave a worried glance at the rapidly developing fire. Safety was quite a ways away...

 

[Lyssia D'avore]

She stepped back into the hallway, and called on ethereal water once more to clear the path down the stairs. Seeing Kiros with a piece of cloth across his face, she did the same with her shift. She pulled it over mouth and nose, and found that it did not really help that much.

"Maybe...others here," she rasped, spinning to go check other rooms on this floor. She hadn't managed to get very far when another of the doors further down burst open, and the woman that had been in the common room earlier burst out. Unlike her and the man helping her, she seemed...pristine.

And she was wreathed in magical power. Lyssia thought, for a moment, that she could wield far more than this mystery woman could...but this woman was also clearly more experienced and skilled. She cast a look to the stairs, and it seemed as though the fires leapt back from some visible pressure. She looked back at Kiros and Lyssia without any expression on her face. "It seems neither of you did this," she said coolly. She started down the stairs,

Lyssia didn't have any time to think about what she had meant, exactly. Instead, she darted to another door and threw her shoulder into it to open it, finding another empty room. And another, also empty, and another with someone burned alive on the floor.

She was about to turn from the room and continue on when she heard crying. She paused, looking back; the door to a wardrobe was ajar, and Lyssia scurried across the room to throw it open. Inside, a small child of perhaps eight or nine lay curled in a ball, weeping. Still coughing, Lyssia tried to pull the child - a girl, as it turned out - from the wardrobe. The girl whined, but did not coem willingly, and so Lyssia hauled on her to get her out. "Come on, we have to-" she began, but couldn't continue.

And despite the girl being barely old enough to be off her mothers apron strings, it was all Lyssia could do to get her back to the haul, crying for her mother who, likely, lie dead on the floor of the same room.

 

[Kiros Rahnel]

With both his arms occupied with pulling the unconscious man out from the room and down the hall, he was unable to use his sleeve as a mask. In hindsight, it seemed to make no true difference. Scrapes against the floor from their continued progress were masked by the roar and crackle of the inferno, but Lyssia’s rasping voice was barely but understandably audible over it. Kiros turned his head towards her as she spoke, catching sight of the suddenly opened door and the strangely unworried woman emerging from it.

Unlike Lyssia, he held no immediate clue about the woman’s arcane nature. Untouched by flame or soot, her presence was nonetheless disturbing and odd; he looked upon her with expression to match. Only when she allayed the fire burning along the stairwell was her magical nature apparent, though Kiros too hardly knew what to make of her words. Seeing her descend the stairwell, it was clear she would be of no help, and the determined priest had far greater and more present concerns to deal with.

He continued to make steady progress while Lyssia kept ahead of Kiros and the man in his arms; opening each door with an effortful and noisy slam. He saw her give pause, but it was not until he had managed to grow nearer that the cries reached his ears. A cruelty to be torn at age so early from her mother; it was a pain he knew well. Now nearly at the stairwell, he stopped to give a brief pause and look upon the man again before his gaze turned to the direction of Lyssia and the child. His soul winced at the pleas of the mourning girl.

Unable to rescue both, he left the unconscious man where he laid upon the floor. Were their positions reversed, he’d have desired the same without hesitation. The situation was apparent the moment he entered the room, spotting Lyssia's struggles with the girl and her presumed deceased mother in the corner. Before reaching the girl, Kiros made his way over to the woman and knelt beside her as if to check, despite how apparent her condition was. He held no hope he could save her; it was but feigned diligence in effort to comfort the girl who he knew well was in situation and state beyond rationality.

Still, he could not help but make an attempt.

“I know there is no day more difficult...”

“But we cannot stay.”

“She loves you. Always. She wishes you safe.”

“This I know. Please let her not lose you too.”

He honestly didn’t even expect the words to take hold, but regardless of her reaction he would begin to guide her to safety. Forcefully, if need be.

 

[Lyssia D'avore]

There was no consoling the girl, unfortunately for them, Lyssia wished that she had the ability to do so via magic, but not only was that kind of talent rare, it was also taboo to mess around inside the heads of others in that way.

It was with some relief that the outlander she had brought upstairs turned up to once again lend her his aid regardless of whether it was asked for or not. She did not have the breath for words, not right then; she passed off the girl to him, tugging her out of the room and trusting that he would get her out of the building and to safety. The man he had been helping lie on the floor, but she had no way of being able to help him, any more than she could the child.

It was times like this that she cursed her inability to help, her apparent weakness lending itself naturally to the suffering of others. It made her feel useless, irrelevant...and that was something that terrified her to her core, even moreso now that the events of the last year had come to pass. Dying in flames was terrifying, too, but in a way it was something she could come to grips with. And it would end much quicker, if it came to it.

She stumbled through the smoke, which had not lessened a jot, and pushed open doors. Every other room on this floor was empty, meaning the occupants had already left before the fire started or else evacuated themselves. There was nothing left to do here but flee, and so she made her way a fair bit slower to the stairs heading down. The man and the girl were nowhere in sight.

The heat was so intense. Summer held nothing on this, and as she descended it seemed to get even hotter. Her shift, designed to cut the chill of the season, clung to her legs and body as sweat ran down her in rivers. Fire licked at the ceiling in places here, crawled along the walls like something alive. If there was anyone here, they were far beyond her meager help, now, and so she continued to the ground floor, to the common room.

This was a small version of hell itself. Tables burned, and the stronger liquors had burst their bottles and caught fire, rivers of liquid with blue flames running down the back wall and pooling on the counter. Bits of the ceiling in the common had collapsed, charcoal spilled across the floor to add smoke to the general miasma that filled the place.

Lyssia was heading for the door, doubled over, when a thought occurred to her. My stash! She stopped dead in her tracks, and found herself caught in a moment of indecision. No amount of money was worth going back into this hellish blaze to retrieve it...but was that true? Counterbalanced against being reduced once more to a pauper, to irrelevant revenant haunting the streets. Worse, someone that was entirely unimportant, easily forgotten. It struck at the core of who she was, and for that reason alone she took the fools gamble and turned and headed back deeper into the burning inn.

 

[Kiros Rahnel]

The girl pulled and kicked, letting out a deafening shriek when he pried her away, his staff still in hand. Even if his magic might to little to help the situation, the magical focus doubled as a valued and potential escape tool. He struggled to get a good grip on the child who did her best to resist in her state of despair, before scooping her up in his arms and pinning her between his body and the staff. Save for stifled winces of pain, he ignored the kicks and bites that followed and descended down the stairwell into the flooding smoke it led down towards. While Lyssia continued to dutifully check each remaining room for occupants, the silhouette of the man and child became obscured by the thick haze filling the lower floor, her cries soon inaudible beyond the roaring crackle of the ongoing inferno.

Kiros was forced to take a meandering pace though the fiery blaze that was former foyer to the inn, errant tongues of flame blasting against his robes while he crouched down to gain better vision. The path he took was erratic, pushing through the thick, obscuring smoke only to find the fire that laid beyond impassible time and time again. What had begun as an intended journey to the front doors had taken him in a chaotic path until he found himself against the wall opposite to the stairwell. By now, he had lost his bearing and sense of direction, holding no clue where the doors actually were. There was no time to search. Safety was to be found on the opposite side of the wall, if he could breach the barrier.

A soot covered hand reached up to search the wall blindly until he found the windowsill, and upon doing so almost immediately reached for his staff with an urgent swing. The sound of broken glass pierced the crackling fire, with Kiros shielding the young one from the falling shards beneath the loose sleeve hanging from his other arm. Rising to his feet with the flailing girl lifted in his arms, his robes flapped and billowed from the wind pouring in from the broken window. The commotion had already gathered the attention of a small crowd; the very moment he had the girl by the window, their helping hands took hold of her and ushered the young one to safety. A bolt of cloth was unfurled over the jagged window encasement as they helped him escape from the raging fire soon after, pulling him by the arm until he tumbled forwards from the improvised exit to land on his back with a thump; staff tumbling by his side.

In a place of safety at last.

Eyes scanned the small crowd for the woman he had seen in the inn, but his visual search turned up nothing. Slowly, he rose to his feet, speechless amidst their commotion as he began to roam the perimeter of the house in continued search of her.

“...Looking for someone?” came the concerned but careful inquiry, spoken by a townswoman. Kiros paused immediately and turned to face her, though his ability to reply would take a second to prepare.

“Yes. A woman this tall; of red hair.” He spoke softly with stoic words, matched with a gesture to denote her height; merely bending his arm at the elbow with his palm held flat.

“I’ve not seen her. The last to escape before you two was a taller woman. Well dressed and immaculate.”

“There were none else beyond her?” he asked, his former steady tone shifting to worry.

“I’m sure of it. Was she-” she continued before stopping her words, as he had already turned his back towards her with the blazing house returning to his focused attention. It fell upon him to ensure her safety; he’d wonder why such matters often fell into such unprepared hands.

And once more, he’d recall the sorceress in the blaze, no doubt holding greater magic ability than his own meagre powers. The one who had done nothing.

It seemed bitterly clear enough to Kiros. “That would be why" he mused, holding that thought as he made his way back through the very window he had escaped from. The crowd of onlookers watched on as the foreign priest disappeared back into the blazing building.

He fell to his landing with another hard thump, this time on hardwood and not soft earth. Pained from the fall, he slowly turned to kneel beneath the pouring smoke once more and readied his breath for a shout.

“Where are you!?” He called out in urgency at the top of his lungs, slowly making his way from the window with care not to lose track of where it was.

 

[Lyssia D'avore]

The heat was too intense, but she pressed on. She had never released her hold on the prim, and so its light filled her to the brim, as full as she could draw into her mind without rendering her into a pile of ashes. She drew moisture from the air, forcing it to condense about her in a thin film of water that evaporated nearly as quickly as she could pull it back. Its was a war of attrition that could have only one outcome, but she did not care now.

She ducked past the flame-licked counter and the liquid fire that was alcohol of higher proofs, and back into the back hall. The kitchen was, surprisingly, not completely engulfed in flames yet. It was here, though, that she first sensed something slightly off. Something of a distinctly arcane nature, something that held life of its own. She had never sensed the like before and did not like it now, but she was not here to deal with that.

Back, down the hall, to the small hole that served as her quarters. The roar of the fire was deafening, the sound of something high overhead collapsing in a rumbling roar. She ignored it, pressing on while her own sweat ran down her face, her clothes drenched in a combination of that and the water pulled from the air. The latter was becoming increasingly difficult.

Flames already burned along one wall of her little prison cell, as she saw it. She went to the spot with the loose board, and frantically pried it up with her fingers, driving splinters deep into her flesh. It was easy enough to ignore with the backdrop of searing heat. The board came free, and there, in the shifting light ofthe flames, lay the small fortune she had amassed. She stared at it only a moment before snatching the heavy sack up, drawing the strings closed. It weighed enough that it was difficult for her to carry (which meant it wasn't a big deal to anyone else). There might be what amounted to twenty or thirty gold crowns in that sack, but it was enough to seed other ventures, to get her out of the mud with the commoners who scorned her so.

Getting to unsteady feet, every breath a ragged agony now, she turned to leave. A groan of timber overhead...and then a sudden shower of coals and charred wood and burning joists tumbled down, partially blocking the hallway she came down. One burning piece of wood dropped across her face, and she shrieked in pain as it knocked her backwards, blood flowing from the laceration running from cheek to brow.

 

[Kiros Rahnel]

He’d give her a moment to respond to his shout, but in such pressing circumstances it was not a moment he was willing to remain idle for. Reaching into his robes he withdrew a slender wand, hewn from oak wood and holding a single lone charge of his own arcane dispersion magic. He had both crafted and enchanted the tool himself, always keeping it on hand so that he had the spell available even in times where his spellcasting was not. While the magic the wand held couldn’t serve a directly useful purpose it would remain useful as a beacon; even if the smoke and fire obscured his vision his spell of insight could help him keep track of the enchanted item. With a toss, the wand bounced off the floor and came to rest against the wall directly beneath the window.

Kiros made his way further inside the house with care and unhurriedness, returning to his former crawl beneath the gathering smoke. Constant turns of his head kept track of the window as he ventured on until he had lost sight of it, at which point occasional castings of insight would locate the wand and aid the priest in maintaining his bearings.

It had been some time since he called out, and still he heard no sign back from her. Perhaps she was couldn’t hear him over the deafening fire, and so he’d call out again. But the only sound he’d hear over the inferno’s loud roar was the creak and slam of heavy wood crashing onto the floor; giving the surroundings a tactile shake. The fire had been burning for a while now, and the event was a clear reminder that time was not their ally.

He had been careful enough venturing back inwards that he could still flee the deteriorating situation in an instant. All he’d have to do is hold his breath and give an errant sprint to freedom; it’s location held firm in his mind as the precious resource it was. The notion brought his own desire of life in conflict with his sense of dedication and purpose. He would have great difficulty living with himself should he abandon her... but he would live.

And with no clue of her location, holding onto hope became more and more difficult – he had but a shred left. It was all he needed to make one final hopeful push forward in search of her, and rather than away, he’d move towards the source of the noise. His motions along the floorboards grew faster once he caught sight of scorched but extinguished wood; an unmistakable sign of her recent presence here and a beacon of hope that provided motivation to continue.

The signs of further evidence of effort against the fire coaxed him along further along to the kitchen. A casting of insight confirmed his bearing, but he could not find further sign of her despite his slow, continued search. Kiros crawled forth, pushing burning debris out of his way with his staff to clear the way forward with sweat soaking his robes and dripping down his brow.

It was then that a second crash could be heard – followed by a pained scream piercing through the roar of the flame. Kiros turned to the source of the noise and bolted to the hallway, smoke and ash pouring out from it in a sudden blast of air displaced by the falling beams and debris. Approaching the felled burning barrier would finally bring her into sight of his concerned eyes, glancing first to her and her wounds before looking back at the obstacle before them. He could heal her or bring her to safety, and the current priority was an obvious one.

“I'll clear way; stand back! Shield yourself!” Came his cry, an urgent shout of instruction as Kiros braced himself for action. His lips were already moving with the words that would bring forth his blessing of might while his steps took him at an angle to the barrier. As the chaos of the fire continued, he remained still for a necessary, focused moment. Though measured in mere seconds, his spellcasting took time; and that was a dwindling resource he could not afford to be frivolous with. Faint light illuminated his robes, hardly visible against the bright, flickering illumination from the fire.

Prepared stillness was broken with rapid action. Bringing his foot up to his hip and balancing himself with his staff, Kiros let the spell take effect as he slammed the sole of his foot against the hefty felled debris with the force of an ogre, sending sparks of embers flying from the shock of the hit. The beam remained unbroken, but the sheer force of the kick had been successful in knocking it way far enough to enable his egress beyond it. He wasted no time in crawling past, ignoring burns incurred from the effort.

Whatever had brought her here, there had to be good reason, he thought. He well expected to find someone else here with her, even giving a brief search in vain to locate whatever he believed had caused her presence this far into the building. The search would turn up empty, with the pried floorboards evading his notice.

“We need to get out of here!” he spoke; an obvious enough statement. Further creaks of wood were prelude to another crashing slam from elsewhere in the house; as if in agreement with the priest’s dire observation.

It was when he reached down to help her up that he’d spy the bag - not that he’d give it any mention yet. Even if it was what he though, this was far from the proper situation and time for questioning.

 

[Lyssia D'avore]

Blood ran down her face in a thin rivulet as the priest crashed through the beams of the collapsed ceiling. She did not pause to ask questions; she was quite well aware of how serious the situation had become/ Still holding on to the prim like it was a lifeline. Almost without thought, she quickly wove a much more powerful ward around the priest. She could not, of course, do it for herself.

"Out...out the...," she tried to speak, but she was coughing to harshly now. Every breath was an agony, and she was uncertain how much longer she could press on before passing out from asphyxiation. She pressed on, though. There was nothing else to do. "The...back," she finished after a moment, trying to push past the rubble and the man both. Out through the kitchen, that was the best shot she had at escaping this inferno.

There was something even more off with it now, though. The flames seemed to have a life of their own in a very literal sense, and the beginnings of true fear stole through the young woman. What she was thinking - and praying was not so - was that the flames were truly taking on a life of their own. A fire elemental was being born here, born of whatever magic it was that had started the blaze to begin with and coming into its own as the flames grew hotter, stronger.

She tried to tell the man they needed to get out of here, and now, but she could now longer speak. It was everything she could do just to walk, hunched over, through the hallway. The door to the kitchen beckoned, and within the heat ebbed a bit, the brickwork at the back one of the few things not on fire. Lyssia cradled her accumulated wealth, such as it was, in the crook of her arms.

The heat intensified, the life burgeoning within the flames growing stronger.