Fable - Ask The Fires of the Heart

[Kiros Rahnel]

The spell was swift, and one again her arcane action had evaded his notice until the magic took effect. Without resorting to his power of insight, he could only be aware of what he recognized within the magic’s presentation. The situation before them, and the magic’s lack of other immediately recognized effect suggested it was protective or warding. Likely fire, and undoubtedly needed. That she wielded magic as well as she did implied that she knew what she was doing; no one masters the craft otherwise.

Kiros himself had no such protection to weave over her. His mastery of magic was nothing like hers, unable to sense the true nature of the fire as anything but natural without his invocation of insight. He had but two blessings to bestow, neither of which could provide any useful protection against fire; though her wounds would need tending to.

The bag was clearly a burden to her, but he listened intently to her words as she spoke. He didn’t want to interrupt and had no doubt that they would hold importance. But she was far more spent of breath than he was, no doubt having exerted a great amount of effort in pushing through this far to retrieve the bag she currently hauled so preciously. With the idle moment he had in waiting for her to continue, he prepared his blessing of health with quiet words and soft gesture. Inefficient and energetically expensive,yet effective; or at least it was in most instances of use. For reasons unknown, his blessing was struggling to take effect on Lyssia. The spell was potent but the effects were slow, and did nothing for her asphyxiation. Yet the spell did heal, stopping the pouring of blood and shrinking the nasty gash that crossed her face; albeit at an arcane cost that should have been enough to mend an injury far more severe.

There was hardly time to consider the oddity however, before her sentence reached conclusion. Lyssia's efforts to push past both him and the debris was both a further hint to the location she had referred to, and prime opportunity to relieve her of the heavy bag that was clearly weighing her down.

“I can carry that.” he spoke out, reaching down to grab it from the tired woman’s arms as soon as his mouth made the statement. The bag felt heavier than it appeared, holding more weight than it appeared it ought to and clearly hinting at the bag’s true contents. Opening up the drawstrings for a peek inside confirmed his suspicions, eliciting a dismayed furrow of his brow.

“For coin?!” he spoke in tone of frustrated shock, the words more statement than question. Witnessed truth betrayed his optimistic presumptions, and he held the bag aloft in hand a moment more in disgust that this had been the unknown target of her efforts. A small part of him simply wanted to chuck it away as he had done with his own belongings out of principle, but it was minuscule. That was a lot of money he was holding, and he hadn’t true need to throw it out...making his concerns ultimately negligible as he eyed the bag of wealth with unspoken greed before securing the sack to his belt.

Any frustration would be temporarily put aside out of necessity, given the escalating fire making scorched ruin of the surrounding inn. They had to get out, and at a speed faster than she was capable of doing on her own. Kneeling down so that he was well under her height, he took her arm over his shoulders to help her up onto his back; she was a light burden at least. The only further disdain he would express would be a subtle shake of the head, as he nonetheless pressed back through the kitchen at a hobbling crawl under her direction.

 

[Lyssia D'avore]

Too breathless to object to the sudden lifting of her burden, she was also completely oblivious to whatever reaction he might have to its contents. She had thought for one thing and one thing only, and that was certainly not whether he peeked into the bag of coin - not worth nearly as much as he likely thought - or his approval or disapproval. He was a stranger, after all.

Her thoughts were singularly focused on leaving this building. The suspicion of what was being birthed here grew to certainty as she pushed through the door into the kitchen, the thunder of burning timbers and other detritus crashing down from behind them as they left the hall. The door outside was still there, blessedly still accessible. Lyssia hurried forward as fast as she could, pushing the door open awkwardly and stumbling outside.

The cold air outside was like a physical blow, and for a moment she nearly swooned at the sudden change from blistering heat to sub-freezing wind. The sky overhead had turned overcast, and a spitting rain had started to manifest itself; the droplets never came near to where they were, however.

Lyssia sagged against the far wall, and then heedless of her companion, stumbled down the alley to the main street. There, she fell to hands and knees, coughing and retching and spitting thick, dark stain mucus onto the street. She seemed oblivious to the crowd that had gathered, standing at a distance while Royal Guards held them back, was equally unmindful of the Royal on their way to take her and the priest and pull them back to safety.

But she felt, more than saw, the thing in the building suddenly reach that tipping point. A solid whoosh of air, a gust of wind drawn back into the blaze, and a moment of silence...and then, screaming pandemonium. The people standing watch shrieked in terror and fled. Lyssia, shivering in the cold through her sweat soak shift, turned to look at the cause of the ruckus, knowing full well what it was she would see. Or, rather, having read about but never actually seen.

The shape crouched atop the collapsing remains of the inn, and it was only just possible to make out clawed hands and a body, and a head with brightly glowing blue-white eyes. A fire elemental, a creature borne of pure elemental energy and magic, looked down upon the world it had just been born into, and roared with the sound of a blazing inferno. Droplets of fire splattered from a mouth made of semi-solid fire. Wherever those droplets touched, flames erupted regardless of what they fell on; stone, metal, water, it made no difference.

The creature swiped a clawed paw, more immaterial than physical, at the guards throwing water on the building, and the poor souls were immolated at a touch, flashing to ashes as the spectral flaming appendage passed through them.

Lyssia struggled to gain her feet, and could not. She felt paralyzed by fear, looking at this immense unnatural creature.

Mother!

 

[Kiros Rahnel]

With Lyssia to guide his exit, the wand had served no true purpose aside from providing a sense of safety at the cost of magical energy. Perhaps wise preparation at the time, in hindsight it was a waste and drain of power. It was no concern of Kiros, at least not presently; there was just a bit further to go, and their escape was moments away. Once he could seek relief anew in the cool night air he believed his ordeal would be over, with little magic to weave but a personal healing of burn wounds.

Once Lyssia pushed open the door he followed urgently behind, bursting out into the fresh air with alacrity. He graciously basked in savoured relief from the heat of the fire, and freedom from former potential demise. Truly, it felt as if he had faced hell twice that night. First through a dream of imagined terror, and second through the very real inferno that had ravaged the inn.

Bracing himself with his staff against the ground, he gave a moments pause for breath, ignoring the shock of his lungs so suddenly filled with the cold night air. Once renewed with much needed oxygen, Kiros wasted little time in delivering himself further away from the still burning building. He moved in the direction Lyssia had gone by automatic choice; falsely secure that the worst was over. With a hacking cough of his own expelling nothing but air and spittle towards the ground, he seemed to be in better condition than her; but not terribly so.

The sudden, unexpected sound caught his attention with immediate stillness. The following screams caused his head turn up and bring his gaze from the ground to the source of commotion. Nothing could have prepared him for the unreal catastrophe forming before his own horrified, unbelieving eyes.

Every fibre of his being cried out for him to flee the events unfolding before him, a notion chillingly reinforced by the sounds of the frightened crowd. Of elementals he knew not; but he had heard tales of such entities from the lector priests in the temples of his homeland. Such stories described the horror before him as an Ifrit – a being of fire, hate and malevolence born from the spirits of the dead – only seeking death and destruction. The tales he had heard contained a plentiful amount of both. Only ever to be slain by great heroes or the gods chosen; of which Kiros was far removed.

Innocent lives certainly wasted no time in making a bid to save themselves. Whom could judge Kiros for joining them? Rather than rhetoric, the question was existential.

“And when I make plea for redemption,
On what grounds shall I speak?
Sins washed by recreant cowardice?
Forgiveness for the weak?

That I crumpled and fled in terror
Bearing soul tied to life,
As my own regretful sacrilege
Bars me from paradise?

Gods will aid me neither here nor there,
No guidance can they give.
Inner council offers naught but fear
As I so want to live.

In trepidation of death I freeze
Yet I know what is right;
No soul worthy of heaven’s pardon
Could ever flee this fight.”​

As unprepared as he was for battle and as fearful as he was of death; he was ever more unwilling to flee. A vengeful spirit he could only assume to be undead, and Kiros held power against such. And with swiftness he’d wield it with staff held upright on the ground and determined word of magic spat from his mouth to weave a blessing of health over the newly made terror.

It did nothing – the spell failed to even take form with nothing living or dead to latch onto. The words and gestures caused not even visual effect; were it not for his staff and robes marking him as spellcaster, the act might have made him appear mad.

He felt perhaps he was, to even have made such an attempt.

 

[Lyssia D'avore]

It took immense effort, immense willpower, for the girl to get back to her feet and not immediately flee the scene as so many others were doing. She was no great hero, no adventurer, and no great mage - although given her nature, many might doubt that last. She was a dispossessed noble of a defunct house, hated by the populace and ridiculed by the aristocracy that she was no longer a part of.

She saw the priest - the one with her money! - stand to fight this creature, and did not know if it was a foolish gesture or not. Lyssia could feel the elemental, could feel it in her bones. It was a creature of magic, pure elemental magic. The titanic amount of the prim that swirled around the fiery creation was staggering, far more than Lyssia herself could wield unaided. It stepped away from the burning inn, sparks spilling into the sky with every movement. When it settled a fiery paw on the paving stones, the stones cracked from the intense heat, turned pale red, then orange, then brilliant yellow. The heat wafting off the beast was incredibly intense, far more intense than the fire in the building had been.

Kiros attempted magic of a kind Lyssia had not seen employed before. She could feel the intent behind the spell even as he worked through his incantation, and knew it would be ineffective. But she was terrified in a way she had never felt before, and though she tried to cry out to him that it was not how to deal with this threat, her throat simply locked up and no sound came out.

The fiery beast took another swipe at some retreating guards, and not all of them managed to get out of range. Ashes swirled through the air where the ephemeral claws carved through them, leaving behind glowing, misshapen metal.

And then the thing turned towards the pair of unfortunates sitting in the open. Kiros had drawn its attention with the failed spell, and it now rounded on them. The guards had fallen back and the majority of the commoners had already fled, so that there were only a handful of people present.

And then it roared, and the heat of its breath washed over her, reddening her skin as it burned her. It took a step forward, heat cracking paving stones as it did.

And she stood there, paralyzed with fear, eyes as wide as they would go. Almost without thinking, she drew deeply on the prim, filling herself with its chaotic energy as much as she could. She tried to craft her art, to summon some kind of offense, some kind of defense...but the pattern fell apart inside her terrified mind, again and again. As the beast reared back to strike again, claws of white fire and paw of red, a single tear streaked down her face.

She was going to die. She did not want to die, even as awful as her life had become. She wanted to live!

Chaos snapped into the proper pattern, and as the thing swung something sprang into existence round the pair of them. There was a terrible moment where it all hung in the balance...and then she felt it strike the thing she had made, which buckled under the weight of that implacable blow. Steam cut across the pair of them, as the elemental staggered back, shaking its fiery paw as though it had touched something it did not like.

Lyssia stood there, eyes wide, a puddle of her of her own urine spreading between her legs as she stood there, physically shaking.

 

[Kiros Rahnel]

On witnessing that his spell had done nothing, Kiros’ face contorted into one of pure horror. As terrible as the legendary descriptions of efreet were, he could only hope that such was what he saw before him. An efreet was a known entity, one he'd learned about, even if only in ancient tales. The realization dawned on him all too late that the colossal entity of malevolent fire he was facing was no efreet – and neither holy teachings nor power could aid him here. Yet the entity was as fearsome as the false legends his memory carried, if not more.

Any doubt that the creature was anything less than formidable disappeared in an instant, along with the lives once belonging to those hapless people caught in the path of the fiend’s swiping hand. His own despair escalated further on seeing that they had gained the abomination’s attention, causing him to freeze in fright as it turned its head to gave the pair an intimidating glare. He found himself with nothing to shield himself; nothing to provide cover from the flames that threatened to consume them. Only if the ward did provide the protection he suspected would he live. His own magic failed against this infernal beast; now he would have to put faith in Lyssia's powers. Both in her ward, and in the arcane might she wielded.

Hesitant but purposeful steps took him in between her and the elemental, and he placed himself to shield her with his body; fighting against every instinct bidding him to flee. Despite the great desire to, it clearly was no option. There was no avoiding what would come next, and Kiros looked down and closed his teeth, bracing himself with no certainty that he would survive – and he was surrounded by the blasting heat in the very next moment.

His valiant attempt did little for his companion. The radiating wave of heat merely moved around the protected priest, where a very horrified and unprotected Lyssia was stood. None of this reached Kiros’ immediate awareness, as his ward did protect against the burning heat. He still lived; a present truth still under dire threat from the roaring elemental about to do to them what it had done to the hapless citizens. The scent of burning flesh from the smouldering pile of charred bone and molten metal serving a grim reminder.

He had no time to meet that threat though; no magic of his could be woven so quickly. Yet no other reasonable option remained, and he summoned his arcane energy as fast as he could, eyes closed so the sight of his own impending doom would not break his concentration – Such was the great priority that speed had become. With no true answer to the infernal aggression, he could only hope something would buy him time.

His hopes would be answered when the roaring fire from it’s furious swipe was cut short, becoming a piercing hiss of steam that fogged over their surroundings. The elemental remained visible as a bright and menacing orange glow beyond the haze of steam; with the pair still in its complete focus while Kiros gathered his energy. Only when his incantation was ready did he look up, wearing an expression of shock at how much closer the elemental had drawn to them.

But his spell was ready now. He could only hope that it would hold more effect than his last.

He blurted out his incantation quickly with an urgent tone, and struck the end of his staff against the ground to invoke the effect. A single piercing ray of light descended from the night sky in response, striking the ground between the priest and infernal beast. From this line a shimmering wall unfolded, spreading out in opposite directions until a curtain of semi-translucent light barricaded them beyond the reach of the elemental. It would not hold long but these precious seconds would be moments longer in which the two might remain alive.

He could only hope they would remain on this mortal world for longer than that; he had long since stopped counting on it. With the incantation in place he looked to Lyssia with terrified eyes. He spoke nothing, but his expression told her that his forecast for their situation was as grim as hers.

 

[Lyssia D'avore]

She wanted to run. She wanted to run more than she had ever wanted anything in her entire life. Failing that, to be anywhere but here, in this moment and at this place.

Oddly, though, the fear had gone; something inside of her had broken at the last fiery attack that had been leveled at them. Maybe she had gone mad; she was not clear on that at the moment. Everything seemed to stand out in sharp contrast, every detail visible. Every tiny tongue of flame seen through the barrier of light, ever grain of sand on the cobbles, every cobweb on ever building eve. Staggered, her legs folded under her; she landed in her own effluent. That seemed to snap her out of it, at least a little; she got back up, careless of her soiled clothes.

What to do? What were they supposed to do? Hold out for a little while. The city will respond to this threat with overwhelming force but they do need time to report and return. So she needed to stay alive, and in so doing give those without even her scant protection a chance.

And she had never been more afraid in her life.

The power of the prim thundered through her mind and her flesh. The elemental reached out and touched the barrier, almost as if testing it. It resisted that magical touch, but even Lyssia could feel the strain on it. And then...and then it just turned away from them with a fiery snarl. The massive shape lumbered back the way it had been going, towards the city center. People were still pouring out of houses and shops down the street as the thing moved forward, setting ablaze anything it touched.

It cannot go that way!

Lyssia forced herself to move, to take a step. To do what needed to be done, though she would have given anything to not have to be the one to do it. She could not look the stranger in his eyes, though; she could feel the terror radiating off of him and wondered, momentarily, if it matched her own in intensity. It did not matter, though. She had to do something.

She could not work with fire, not to any great degree, and so she abandoned any ideas of trying to control the beast that way. But she could, with a great deal of difficulty, affect the weather. Lyssia drew mightily on the primordial forces of creation, handling very nearly as much as she possibly could. The cost for this act would be great, but hopefully it would not have to be paid for until later. Unseen to the eyes of any but those with the talent for magic, a profusion of gleaming lances of magic in a kaleidoscope of elemental affinities stabbed into the piercing blue overhead. It was enough magic to clearly be sensed from great distances, which would hopefully draw even more of the cities defenders.

Fortunately - and unfortunately - it attracted the attention of the elemental. A creature comprised of pure magic could not help but be keenly and acutely sensitive to magic. Her act caused it to spin around, a fiery tail crashing into a building and setting it ablaze, masonry shattering at the intense heat. It breathed in, and then exhaled a blazing plume of flames and heat that struck the barrier erected with nearly physical force. Even with the thing up, the air temperature began to quickly rise.

"Quickly, run," she screamed in a thready voice, and suited her own words. Instead of running away from the thing, though, she ran obliquely towards it. She knew it wanted her - the source of all that magical power - more than it would want the priest. She just needed to stay alive just long enough for the Royals to get here and deal with the problem.

Overhead, the blue sky was marred by wispy white that thickened to grey here and there. Magic crackled through the heavens as far as they eye could see, for those that could see such a thing; weak given the scale, but implacable.

 

[Kiros Rahnel]

As the beast moved to test his own arcane handiwork, Kiros knew what the result would be. His work, or more specifically Her magic craft, left much to be desired – the curtain was barrier to physical and arcane attack alike; but to a sentient entity it was mere suggestion. The beast would push through; but Kiros would be prepared for it. The curtain shimmered chaotically when the elemental’s firey digit pierced the veil, barely pushing through at a discouragingly sluggish pace. Far too wise to fall for such an obvious snare, the beast began to pull it’s claw back in search of more feasible prey.

He still held no clue as to what he was doing battle with; only that it neither efreet nor undead. His glance to Lyssia gave him no further hint, and whatever wisdom she held was completely unknown to him. He could hardly assume she knew more than he or anyone else did about the roaring infernal horror slaughtering and razing the city. This ignorance had nearly gotten them both killed once already; it would ever remain a threat so long as he didn’t remedy it.

But of the few powers She bestowed, one was a fortunate remedy for this ignorance.

Before the beast could pull back entirely he ended his incantation; the exact same one he had used to investigate Lyssia’s sparked flame back at the inn. With no choice but to lean on his unreliable incantation of insight, he cast the spell; hoping it would yield more use now than it did then.

This is a malevolent arcane abomination of elemental fire
​

New information this time, gratefully; Kiros had managed to gleam some wisdom through his magic before the elemental managed to pull free. Against elemental fire he held no answer; but against an arcane being he did. Realizing that he did hold power to bring harm upon the elemental, it was knowledge gained too late. He was no longer able to the target the elemental though his spell-casting now that it had retreated from the curtain.

Lyssia's incantation gained his attention next. With another spell at the ready – he could only be grateful for the magical back up she provided. Yet what sliver of hope he grasped at sank into horror as no tangible effect came. He began to shake again, fearful that her incantation had failed as well; he couldn't know the true magical effect that she weaved above them. He could only be grateful that he remained behind the safety of the barrier once the beast launched a barrage of flame towards them. The shimmering curtain flickered in response to the arcane magic, holding back the fire while the temperature began to rise.

He listened intently when he heard her speak; but all she implored of him was to run while she herself did the opposite. A very tempting thought that matched his base instincts, and he began to move immediately though he too would betray the words. Rather than away, he ran alongside the curtain towards it's outer edge. Distance between them would be vital, it was likely only one of them could perish at a time.

And he was not quite useless yet – he had the power to at least distract or disrupt this entity. and as he moved into position he prepared his incantation of Immute, hoping he understood the results his spell of insight properly.

 

[Lyssia D'avore]

In response to Kiros' attack, the best seemed to shudder, a ripple of flame running up a flank on one side very much like skin on the rump of a horse twitching at a touch. And, quite like a horse the size of a house, it lashed out with a hind leg as though to kick whatever had touched it away. Kiros was in no way nearby, running parallel to the diminutive woman. Still, the spectral claws struck paving stone, and sent a splash of liquid rock flying through the air. Some landed on a nearby roof, and immediately set flame to the wooden tiles of the roof.

A thunderous roar, like a blast furnace being opened, made the air ripple with heat mirage. Lyssia could not look back, did not want to turn and see a fiery maw open, the blue-white light of some doomsday breath being prepared to be unleashed by a living force of nature. She squeezed her eyes shut, and just ran harder.

Overhead, the sky began to cloud up. The wisps and patches of grey began to drift together, an errant breeze suddenly kicking up from the south to stir her red hair that streamed out behind her as she ran. A little longer. Just give me a little longer, she thought to herself frantically and fervently.

"Strike!" A woman's voice, full of command.

With her eyes closed, she could not see who it was that spoke with such a commanding voice, nor what it was that they were doing. But she could feel what they were doing as clearly as if she were being physically struck. A moment after the singular word, the swell of magic that she felt in the air lurched overhead, and something struck the elemental with enough force to explode.

And then Lyssia was flying through the air, her feet completely leaving the ground as her heart lurched into her boots. Scalding heat slammed into her back, damp and searing beyond belief. There was only a moment to shriek in pain before she hit the paving stones some dozen paces from where she had been, rolling a dozen feet to land in a heap as bits and pieces of timber and masonry rained around her.

She rolled enough to look back the way she had come. The remnants of the spell hurled at the beast still hung in the air, wisps of steam drifting and shredding in the air as the wind picked up from the south. The street was filled with the debris from some great explosion; bits of wood, tiles, shattered stone and broken glass littered the ground like a carpet. Standing amid the chaos, shrieking to the heavens for all the world like it was enraged - or possibly hurt - the elemental remained alive. Right now it was not focused on anything at all, laying about it with ephemeral limbs and setting everything around it alight, melting the street below it with its intense heat.

"Gather your strength and strike again! Come on, you worms! Cowards! Gather all you can, and hurl it at that infernal creation!' Lyssia snapped her head to the side, and saw the woman, mounted atop a winged horse in full armor, waving on to the squad of defender she had brought with her. The woman - and one man, she noted - were arranged to either side of her. Two stood in the front, heads bowed and eyes closed as they muttered something under their breath. An incantation, and it was maintaining a barrier of some sort ahead of the rest. A shield, something to protect them while they recovered from the last group casting that had caused all the destruction before her.

There was no time to look down her nose at their clumsy ability with sorcery. She had to get up, and so she levered herself back to her feet. A myriad of scrapes and abrasions were her prize so far, but they were the furthest thing from her mind at the moment. She looked for the strange priest that had helped her from the burning building at the start of this nightmare, and could not find him. Perhaps he had perished in that explosion, perhaps not.

Behind her, the beast roared, and rounded on the Royals. A blue-white eye crafted of liquid fire glared at them malevolently, and then it hissed at them and readied itself to charge.

"Quickly, quickly before it attacks again," the Captain of the Guard snarled, turning on her mount ti square with the fiend as though she could face it herself.

 

[Kiros Rahnel]

As he released the magic onto the infernal being he could sense it’s very essence for the brief moment when his spell made contact with the magical energies that bound it together. The spell unwound the fibres of magic that formed it’s very essence – but it was akin to dousing a campfire with a thimble full of water. He had managed to rob it of arcane energy, evident in the great flames spewing forth from where he made magical contact . Yet the structural harm he had caused was negligible at best, and about as effecting as kicking the shin of a Hill giant – bothersome but ultimately nonthreatening.

The luminance of the curtain began to flicker and fade, foretelling the incantation’s last moments. In knowledge of its imminent expiration, he looked about in search of the one he had meant to protect with the spell, but could hardly see through the thick fog and smoke lit by the flickering glow of the city’s fire and the flickering brightness of the fading curtain.

He heard a voice from beyond the obscuring cloud that hung over the square, but it did not belong to her. Upon making his way from the curtain towards the corner of an as-of-yet unburnt building, he saw the beast flinch back from an explosive force clearly of far greater magnitude than he had been able to muster himself. And hurled from the deafening hissing burst of steam as if she were but a piece of debris was Lyssia, who flew through the air from the force of the effect until unceremoniously landing on the pavement and rolling to a stop amidst a growing pile of wreckage and rubble.

The building served cover to both the force of the resulting blast of water turned steam, he began to prepare a blessing of health to heal Lyssia – but before he could complete the incantation a large stone crashed into the wall near his head. He recoiled in shock, falling onto his rear unscathed but with his spell incomplete and interrupted. Climbing back to stand on his bare feet again, he returned to the corner of the building in search of Lyssia again, managing to locate her again after a brief search.

With his staff in hand, he managed to cast the spell to completion in his second attempt, and though stunted by the arcane resistance the holy magic worked to heal the wounds and burns she had suffered while the elemental still recoiled from the force of attack unleashed against it.

He was about to call out to her, unaware of how unnecessary such an act was to a Sidhe who could locate him by arcane activity alone. Instead, as soon as he had cast a healing incantation upon her his attention turned to the enraged elemental, now turning on the sorcerers who had unleashed the first attack. The fiend continued to approach, and the wizards continued to prepare their magic – a situation all to tense for Kiros, who knew he held a suitable distraction. Maybe they needed the time, maybe not; but better to be cautious than regretful.

Pulling his energy together, he experience a bit of a strain from the continued casting he had endured; but the incantation was woven without issue, causing much the same effect as last time. Long tongues of flame flinched and burst from the back of the beast, lashing out at the air in all directions until the spell came to and end.

If they did need more time, Kiros hoped that this action had bought it. If they were to have any chance of success, they would well need the assistance.

 

[Lyssia D'avore]

Thunder growled overhead, barely audible over the roaring flames. The sky, minutes before as blue as a sapphire and clear as spring water, sported angry looking clouds now. What had been little wisps of cloud had coalesced into something more formidable. Lyssia could feel the sorcerous avalanche her magical pebble had started gaining steam, figuratively. It would not be long now.

In the immediate moment, she turned at the touch of divine magic. The resistance was already strong enough without adding that he had not laid his hands upon her directly, and much of the effectiveness of his healing was lost as a result. The redness in her cheeks and arms and back faded a bit, but the cuts only shrank. For a moment, she felt as though the muscles in her flesh would cramp and knot and leave her twisted on the street...but it did not happen. Still, she broke out in a sweat over that relatively ineffective aid.

She spun in time to see the elemental gust out a gout of flame from its ethereal mouth and then charge at the squad of Royals with a furious roar like a forest going up in flames. Lyssia could hear the shriek of terror from several of the magi within the group, even as another squad of Royals rounded the corner at the far end of the street where the elemental had just been.

At the head of the short column was the woman they had seen in the inn, the one that had made the strange comment in passing.

The elemental struck with the force of a hurricane, and flames swirled round the defenders like a tornado. The barrier held under the assault, even as the ghostly head of the creature snapped down and bit into one of the casters. Their shriek was cut off short, the top half of their armoer chest plate slumping inwards as steel melted and fell into the space occupied by only ashes. The barrier buckled as one of the ones maintaining it soiled themselves, breaking concentration -

-and then the other column halted, and the woman stepped forward and unveiled her power. A few drops of rain began to fall from overhead, the thunder growling ominously from horizon to horizon as the black clouds churned in the heavens. It proved a brilliant counterpoint to the howling wind that rose as the robed woman, standing tall, unleashed a scythe of wind from outstretched hands. It slashed through the ghostly beast, doing very little damage, but making it snap it attention to her instead as the blade of win crashed into the side of a building with a splintering, cracking crescendo.

"That's right, pet, look at me," she said. The voice had an odd quality and echoed through the street. The few drops turned into a light drizzle, and steam wafted off the back of the elemental as it slowly turned away from the stricken crew. "You do not belong here," she said.

Lightning flashed overhead.

 

[Kiros Rahnel]

He heard the thunder and noticed the shifting clouds but could not know about who brought it forth, nor of it’s magical origins to begin with. More magic tends to go on about the world that evades his notice, given the way he moved through the world with arcane eyes closed – only ever flashing open for brief peeks of insight granted by magic itself. His knowledge of arcane nature of the was elemental borne from such a flash; the sum of his knowledge of the situation he had found himself in. He might have bothered to learn about it at Elbion, were money not such a barrier to wisdom. His priestly education cost him nothing, and considering how ill-prepared he was for such a threat, perhaps he got what he paid for.

Using his arcane dispel in attempt to damage to the elemental proved pointless. By now, Kiros could ascertain that all such invocations accomplished was causing the firey beast to slough off magic – paying for it through expenditure of arcane energy rather than allowing it to compromise it’s own structure. A facet the elemental itself seemed to understand too, given the fact that his attack was ultimately and wisely ignored. Kiros was already low on arcane energy for now, and so decided that it was best not to waste it so frivolously during recovery time.

Instead he’d call out for the red-haired woman next, his eyes ever on the towering elemental of flame focused on the new arrivals. The words barely had time to leave his mouth before the infernal being took a swipe at the barrier and the formation of mages powering it; and to his horror saw the magical protection break after one of the mages was cut down by the elemental’s savage bite.

He watched the scene in hesitation, tempted to reach for magic again before his attention turned to the sudden noise from the second formation. And none other than the woman from the inn, holding the power to cause damage to the infernal beast that he wished he held the power to do. Grateful that she was present, yet irked that she withheld wisdom. For Kiros, bringing the beast down was merely a means to his greater goal of preserving life; he had seen enough lost to stamp out any positive of hopeful feelings at the revelation.

With his powers already recovering, he still waited in hesitation to follow up with another spell, another incantation of the curtain. There was no strategic purpose in doing so now; such an action would merely cut off the wizards’ access to the elemental. There was no room for error. The lives already lost spoke well to that fact.

But enough others had shown up to convince Kiros that they could prove a viable threat to the elemental – and so he held onto the spell in event that it made attempt to flee.

 

[Lyssia D'avore]

The beast rounded and charged, and as it did the fiery tail of something not quite there lashed into another building across the street from the burned wreckage of the inn. The face of the structure fell to the blow, sparks flying everywhere, and the screams of the occupants - foolish, foolish people who had sought to take refuge rather than flee - rose as the building partly collapsed. People fell from the ruined structure to the street, their cries abruptly ended.

Lyssia hesitated only a moment before heading towards them. She knew she was next to useless in a fight, more of a liability than a boon. But she had to do something. The desire to flee was still there, in the back of her mind...but she was looking at people in the streets, and while one group of Royals was retreating from the fighting to regroup, another was preparing to do battle. It was the way of a nation built round war, of course; the threat needed to be eliminated before they could assist anyone.

But Lyssia, she was not involved in the fight. She hurried to render aid even as lightning flashed in the sky overhead, fat drops of cold rain starting to stain the cobbles as the wind began to pick up. The beast was doomed. The storm might eventually become a bigger problem than the monster it had been summoned to quench, but that was a problem for the future.

The wyrding woman laughed, and threw magic at the beast as it charged, steam flashing in front of it. Despite its immaterial form, it was struck backwards a dozen paces by the force of that magic.

Lyssia reached the first of the victims lying on the street, but did not even slow her pace. Her neck was canted at an odd angle, eyes filming over in death. She pushed herself forward, breath coming harsh as she sprinted. The next, a young man with a leg twisted round a shattered timber, screamed helplessly. There was no way she could shift that beam, and she gritted her teeth to the blood curdling screams. The next, a little girl, lay with her dress sprawled around her. Lyssia skidded to a halt, an touch her arm with her hand. She could feel the faint stirring of life within. It was enough; she called upon the prim and felt it thunder through her, eroding a bit of what was herself in the process. The light of magic flooded into the small shape; the girl stiffened and cried out once, muscle and bone righting itself. And then it was over, and Lyssia was left to rock back on her heels as a wave of dizziness struck.

No time. She had to keep moving, and so she got to her feet, careless of the blood that now ran from her nose in a thin rivulet. Up the street, the beast struck again, the rain quickly picking up in pace. The street started to flood with steam.

 

[Kiros Rahnel]

So focused on the rank of mages was he that the sudden turn of the beast caught the priest by surprise, demolishing a building with an malicious swipe. He could only watch in horror as terrified screams preluded the crash that brought the horrified noises of many to an abrupt end. It had been a struggle to use his magic to cause any damage or disturbance to the infernal beast, but these new victims would require the protection and healing he was suited for Refocusing his arcane energy, Kiros let loose his luminant curtain once more; cutting off the elemental’s access to himself and the survivors as he rushed in effort to save them.

As terrifying as the situation was, the curtain provided some feeling of security. The battlemages were dealing with the elemental; given that his wisdom had mistakenly took the thing for an eefrit they were undoubtedly better suited to do so. The curtain lit the streets with flickering light, obscuring the events on the other side as the elemental was knocked backwards from the magical attack, recoiling until it had nearly struck the barrier itself.

Only one entity could occupy the curtain at a time; this often worked against him when he first learned the spell, but he had long learned how to turn the quirk in his favour. He extended his staff out, causing the curtain to flicker brightly once it pierced the veil of light. In doing so first Kiros had rendered the barrier solid to the elemental, preventing his passage through it. It would keep the malevolent entity of fire on the other side, and an easier target for follow up incantations, he hoped.

He stopped and checked on the first victim; an expenditure of precious seconds of time that revealed no breath flowed from her lips – grimly telling him that hers was not a life he could save. Attention next would turn to the agonized screams for help – screams that grew more desperate once Lyssia moved past; even moreso at the very sight of Kiros on his approach. Howls of panicked agony met a stoic gaze; Kiros knelt down and invoked the spell on himself again with a gesture before wrapping his hands around the felled beam, hoisting the heavy mass several feet of the ground. More than enough time for the man to pull his mangled leg to safety. The effort was more taxing on his mind than his muscles.

He didn’t have the luxury of a deep well of magic, and what shallow well he did have had been constantly near depletion. A heal would be too costly an incantation for someone with injures that were not immediately fatal – no matter how gruesome it might be. Instead, he looked around for some debris the man might use as a walking aid, locating such a stick and handing it to him deftly.

“This is all I can aid for now. Have you seen a red haired-” he spoke in quick words, halted by a pointing gesture by the victim he had stopped to heal. With a nod, he took off, a look to the side told him the curtain had expired, leaving them exposed to the elemental once more. He opted to renew it, draining his energies further still, his dull headache growing more painful from the process.

He didn’t have long. With the curtain renewed he rushed off in search of Lyssia, following the given directions with a hand rubbing his temple in attempt to assuage the ache.

 

[Lyssia D'avore]

The rain gathered itself, as though it had a mind of its own, and then launched its final, terrible assault on the fiery beast below. And, alas, on all those unfortunate to be outside.

The torrential downpour made it so it was nearly impossible to see more than fifty feet in any direction, and the steam that burst from the beast as it howled in agony and terror somewhere in the dusky light only made it worse. Almost as quickly as the thing had been born, did it vanished from sight. To Lyssia's sensitive senses, though, she knew that it had not been killed - not by her, nor by the sorceress that had been doing battle with it. No, it had merely slipped underground, greatly diminished from the towering inferno it had been.

Muted by the downpour, she could hear the sounds of soliders moving, giving chase. They would pursue the thing into the sewers, likely, and keep after it until it had been destroyed. That left the streets above, though, in ruins. With dozens, if not hundreds of people left trapped in the rubble of collapsed buildings or burned and laying in the rain on the streets.

Lyssia stepped away from a little girl, her arm so badly burned that even with her own ministrations the child would likely lose it. Thunder growled overhead, the rain - cold and hard - intensifying. They needed to get people out of the weather, get them indoors where proper care could be given.

She grabbed a man that was hurrying by, nearly spinning and falling herself in the process. "You!" she snapped, and then motioned to the girl she had been helping. "Get her into one of these houses that are still standing. We need to get all of these people that have been hurt somewhere dry." The tone of her voice brooked no argument, was clearly the voice of command. Although inexpertly done, it was still reminiscent of her mother, though she herself would not have seen the similarity had it been pointed out.

She went about the work of setting up a temporary field hospital with absolutely no idea how that was done, but determined to do it all the same.

 

[Kiros Rahnel]

He continued behind the curtain until it flickered in closure, with the last of it’s light reflecting off the raindrops from the storm that grew at unnatural pace. The cloudburst that drove the elemental off also drenched the priest, his rain-slick robes clinging to his skin as he rushed through in search of both shelter and Lyssia. The perilous wreckage of the surrounding buildings would not do, but in the ruins of a house he spotted a boy too young and frightened to hold such wisdom.

“It has been dealt with, but the state of this house is of danger.” he remarked, not that the boy would listen. So Kiros delved into the perilous building to retrieve him; carrying the reluctant boy back out over the debris-strewn floor. He ignored the young one’s cries, and would only carry him briefly until passing him off to another of the townsfolk, who in state of shock simply accepted the child without words. Given the look that was exchanged, direction was unnecessary.

With the discernible threat absent, Kiros looked around at what surrounding wreckage and death was visible through the obscuring storm. The grim scene of what had once been an orderly city brought back memories of Elbion, and the great devastation he had witnessed there. He had further been present for the Elbion disaster’s recovery efforts; an experience that prepared him well for the present situation at Dornoch. That the destruction before him was far more limited in scope now than then provided insignificant solace.

Surveying his surroundings, he took note that he had managed to attract the observation of onlookers, and they too would serve purpose. He spoke to another in authoritative tone, trained and prepared for a role of leadership that his exile had ultimately denied him. Yet he retained his position as healer and protector; a role he would lean into with the removal of the baleful elemental’s frightful presence.

“Gather the wounded for healing. Seek others for help.” he spoke to one, before turning to give direction to another beside him.

“Gather the able-bodied.”

“Are you with the other one?” another citizen inquired of him, catching a quizzical gaze from Kiros

“Who?” he inquired.

“There’s another lady directing a recovery effort. ” he responded.

“Where?” Kiros inquired further. He was about to look for Lyssia, though he already felt she was likely the one the citizen spoke of. Were she not, then finding her could certainly wait. Tending to the wounded took priority – and he held no doubt of her understanding, given her nature this far. That he still had her coin was a sign he was bound to encounter her again sooner or later. And as fate would have it, it would be the former.

“That way.” the citizen gave his reply with a gesture down the street. Kiros promptly and urgently followed his directions, plodding with haste over the rain-slicked cobblestone until the sight of her broke through the concealing shroud of the storm. She was already setting up an area of refuge; one step ahead of the priest.

“One has been tasked to gather the able; another to gather the wounded.” he communicated in toneless words of concern, befitting the situation. That he had been able to give his use of magic a brief rest had eased his headache and recovered arcane potential; but he alone could not mend all the wounded. And he held no clue of the Sidhe’s powers – her abilities as a healer not yet known of. But she moved with a sense of purpose spurred him to join her in task, carrying with him experienced wisdom that would ease the task and aid in its organization.

“Have we shelter? We will need triage next; grim, but it’s employ was requirement in Elbion.” he spoke of the relief efforts. There would be those who could be saved, and those who could not. Kiros did not want to ignore the former in failed effort to save the latter.

“A mundane can be tasked; experienced warriors judge matters of mortal wounds well.” he added, in recommendation.

 

[Lyssia D'avore]

She straightened from another victim, their flesh a ruin that would heal, eventually, but leave them terribly scarred. The weight of her work was already piling on her a layer at a time, but there was more work yet to do. The storm raged outside, the torrent coming harder and harder still. Her magic was powerful, but something like this could not really be controlled once summoned. The storm would continue until it burned itself out, which might be minutes or might be days.

She turned and found the same priest she had met in the inn. A brief thought was spared for her coin in his possession, assuming he had not abandoned it, before returning to the task at hand. People were streaming in the door behind him in varied states of hurt, and someone was there to greet them and send them off into a room of the house to wait for someone to come and look at them.

"So you came back," she said in brisk, business-like tones. She affected a nonchalance about the wounded moving through the front door that was exactly that: affected, not genuine in the slightest. She was highborn and more accustomed to the more pleasant side of society. Even a year and more on the streets could not truly inure one to the harsh reality of the world, let alone something like...like this. "I am glad you are unharmed," she said as she turned to head into the other room where they were shifting new arrivals. Dark circles marred her eyes.

"It takes much to make a wound incurable," she said as she hurried through the hall and into the room new arrivals were directed to. "Even those on death's door can be saved," she added fervently. She went into the room with the priest behind her, and everywhere she looked was horror. Limbs with the flesh so badly burned that bone could be seen through the charred ruin; blood pooling on the floor before those that had been caught inside collapsing buildings. She felt her gorge rise at the smell, at the sight, but shoved both down. Taking hold of the prim did little to make the scene more palatable; the heightened senses drove the stink of burned human flesh home, the smell of bile and blood ripe to the point of being overwhelming.

"I can triage better than they can," she said in a wooden tone, stepping up to the first victim. A woman, cradling a babe in her arms; half her face was a twisted, burned ruin that wept clear fluid and blood. She laid a hand on her arm, and the woman screamed in pain; the arm was burned as well, but not as badly as her face. Lyssia jerked her hand back, and then placed it again and allowed the magic within her to flow through her hand and through the woman. Beyond the burns, there was no other injury to speak of. There was no need for her to waste some of her limited strength on her, so she left the woman - who had passed out at her second touch - for the next in line, her face blank and eyes wild, a touch mad. "I just need to..."

 

[Kiros Rahnel]

“As am I to find you unharmed.” He spoke in response. Fifteen years had been plenty to acclimatize himself to a life lacking noble title and grace, one that took him from a place of wealth to a life as pauper in priest’s clothing. Even before self-imposed exile, the Kaliti way of life did little to shield him from the sights of violence and death. Conscripted service saw to that – a requisite to maintain the position in Kaliti society he had managed to squander shortly afterwards. While they hardened his personality, none of those experiences prepared him for the carnage that lay before him; only Elbion had.

She spoke of her healing – that it could save even the most grievously wounded was akin to his own. Yet, there were only so many he himself would be able to heal without rest. Spell casting thus far had already left a notable strain on the man of divine magic; he anticipated the need to ration his healing for the countless wounded they were preparing for. The attitude she carried implied she didn’t share his concerns, though be it through confidence or ignorance he could not tell.

His own magic was of a form far less flexible, and ill suited for rationed healing among mass casualties. He held little doubt she’d be taking the lead in the actual provision of healing here; such drawbacks in his own healing had left him relegated to the sidelines last time. Ignorant of the Sidhe or their arcane ways, he knew nothing of how much healing she could put forth. He could only assume her powers surpassed his own given what magic he had seen her work. It was a presumption he viewed most other weavers of magic with, knowing well of his own limitations and arcane inefficiency.

“I’m still holding onto your satchel, I’ve not forgotten. I’m neither knave nor thief.” he mentioned in passing. It would have been tactful to hand it to her then and there were she able to handle the burden of the weight, and the potential for pilfering. Kiros was hesitant to speak of the sack’s valuable contents aloud lest he tempt those without qualms about stealing. Unforeseen destruction had no doubt rendered many destitute; he expected thieves would be as desperate for the wealth as she had been to preserve it. Presently, the safest place for it would be on his person – should she trust him with it. Bitter as he was about the avaricious and selfish act, far more pressing problems had pushed such agitation out of his mind.

Further, now was most certainly not the time for lecture.

Though the foul stench of burnt flesh caused him to flinch, he was long desensitized to such a grisly scene and looked upon it with stoic demeanour and expression. Here, Kiros simply saw work that needed to be done. Lyssia was present and determined to aid – and he was grateful for her presence. He’d hardly be able to heal enough if he only had his own magic to rely on.

Slowly, he strode along the victims and scanned them with a stoic gaze to assess their state of injury. Hopeful, pleading looks were returned to him; Kiros gave these no response. Though badly wounded – they would survive, and healing could not be squandered on them. Much as he wanted to aid, professionalism and diligence would accomplish that better than emotional response could.

His slow pace came to a standstill as he noticed one victim in particular coughing up copious amounts of blood. His chest moved in a disgustingly unnatural manner as he laboured for breath that his fluid filled lungs were barely capable of holding. Kiros moved at speed towards him, and knelt down to lay hand upon the man with a spoken and unintelligible prayer. A warm glow of light followed upon his chest as his ribs set back into their proper position, bringing the man’s coughing fit to an abrupt end.

“What do you require?” Came his response to Lyssia’s; toneless and composed. He had thus dealt with the stress of the situation by focusing on his task. He was well oblivious to her panicked state, until he turned to face her and caught sight of her expression. It gave him cause to stop and fret.

But a reminder that his emotionless in the face of terror was a learned response, and not a natural one.

 

[Lyssia D'avore]

She shook her head in response to his question; she did not have an answer to that question. Or, rather, she did: to not be here, not be doing this. She was meant to govern, not to be here, stepping through puddles of bile and vomit and blood, listening to the horrified screams of people on the edge of death. The atmosphere was cloying and close, and it took every ounce of her self control to keep her sanity intact.

She stepped past another, whom simply had a broken arm that was, amusingly, not likely to be related to the elemental and its fiery, furious assault on the city. The next was a woman, and when she laid her hands upon her, she shuddered. Her injuries were quite apparent - a crushed arm, an eyes that was nothing more than a bloody ruin...but the delving found worse, her lung pierced by bone on the same side as the shattered arm.

In short, she was dying.

"Miss? Miss? Can you save her?" She broke contact with the young lady, unwelcome hands tugging at her sodden sleeves like a supplicant at an alter. She turned and let her haunted eyes settle upon the owner of the voice - a man, about the girls' age. "Please, you must save her! Today was....you must!" He said a touch more forcefully than was strictly speaking necessary.

"I can....try," she said tonelessly. Hand on the breast of the unconscious, dying woman, she allowed the power to flow freely and do what it willed. This was no minor wound, though, and she could feel the pull against her soul as she worked, oblivious to the sickening way that bone shifted under skin as the arm straightened itself, sinews writhing visibly. Oblivious to the startled, wide eyed expression that crossed the girls' face as she sat bolt upright, mouth opened soundlessly as she experienced that healing internally, a nightmarish hell of pain and torment that would leave their own scars on her psyche. Its felt like an eternity; in truth, it was but moments and the reconstruction of what had been savagely ruined was done. The girl was unconscious again, but this time it was that of exhausted sleep.

There wasn't time for grateful thanks to be given by the man - her husband, likely - before others noticed. People desperate to see their loved ones seen to sooner rather than later, they all cried out at once. Lyssia and Kiros were the only two that were doing anything so much as healing; the others assisting were bandaging and filing people through doors. The room descended upon the pair.

Lyssia was not ready for that, and she looked from face to face - eyes shining with hope or despair, sometimes both - and something broke inside her. It was too much. The naked need, the desperation in their eyes as they looked upon her...

She could not see to them all. Some of them would die, and despite her smoldering rage for the way she had been treated these last years, that was something she did not wish on them.

Hands clutching at her, she looked from face to face, eyes increasingly wild as she stepped back from the crowd and found no way out. "I can't," she said breathlessly, respiration increasing until it was quite clear she was having some kind of an attack. "..can't..."

 

[Kiros Rahnel]

He could sense something was not right by her response. He gave the slightest dip of his head in unspoken acknowledgement. These were trying times, and to be so devoid of energy was natural. What was important was the rendering of aid, and as before she did so admirably, and without hesitation. Much as Kiros did; but the throes of desperate wounded infringed upon them, sending Lyssia into panicked response.

When he looked upon her, he did so with expectation of expressionless face rather than the lost trauma she looked back at him with. Caught so off guard, he wasn’t sure what to make of it.

She held powers of healing and as he himself knew magic, it was an art to be learned; be it through discipline, study, or both. And he would assume, quite mistakenly, that the same applied to Lyssia’s arcane ability as well; the innate nature by which the Sidhe were granted magic was as much an unknown to him as the Sidhe were themselves. That she carried with her the ability to heal and mend implied, at least in his mind, that she chose the role of healer by choice; an assumption her dedication to saving lives had further cemented in mind.

No other healers had arrived, with none but himself and her to handle matters; and it was clear Lyssia was dealing with far too much to make order of the situation. A glance around showed him nothing more than panicked action and desperate looks. As questionable as it might be to take charge as foreign traveller, it was for the greater good of the preservation of life. There was simply none other to do so.

When Kiros moved his arm, he did so with sharp, sudden movements that slammed the steel end-cap of his quarterstaff against the hardwood floor – the thumps audible above the ongoing commotion.

“Clear space; grant us room to work! Your interference further contributes to loss of life!” he spoke aloud in a voice booming with authoritative tone, addressing all as if they were subordinate. Such was the mentality he was in; in the face of such stress and despair, he’d resort to handling his reaction much as he’d been trained to do. A coping method he held ability to execute, given training and experience.

This was not the time for despair or worry however; it was the time to work. Only once these strenuous efforts were behind him could he afford to give pause and think of those he failed to save. To wonder if different decisions would have yielded better outcome, to regret whatever mistakes he may make and what lives they may cost. No, the time to worry was not now – it would be at odd hours for weeks onward, taking the place of restful sleep.

Spoken words alone, no matter how stern, would be insufficient to bring the scene to order. Backing up demand with gesture, Kiros turned his staff sideways as a barrier against the desperate hordes. Regretful as he was to make himself obstacle to those grieving, it simply had to be done; a requirement to mitigate further tragedy. A forceful push managed to keep the crowd at bay for a moment, before the commotion of the crowd turned inward at the notice of the abrupt end of healing efforts. To say that any order had truly been established would be falsehood; but this turn of events did grant him and Lyssia some momentary space at least.

Looking back at her with despair in her eyes, his stoic expression hid his helplessness to handle the distress she so evidently showed. While he held empathy for her, it was with the mentality he held for an occupational peer. As traumatizing as the event was, her role was one he erroneously believed she had chosen and prepared for. His attitude was of numb discipline, knowing little other proper behaviour for a dedicated healer in times of need. And this was truly a time of need; it was her abilities that would carry the greatest factor in how many might be saved.

“Disallow them from disturbing so. We must to what we can.” The words were tone-deaf, and that they would be the source of any comfort unlikely. But he knew not what else to do; as much sympathy as he might have for her, the need to preserve life was one that took priority. To take effort towards that would require her well being.

A problem he was entirely unprepared for. He paused as his mind raced for any further words before he abandoned his own effort for a second – already seeming to be more time than could be spent. Catching sight of another with grave wound, he’d guide Lyssia over; or at least give an attempt to. He had to get back to healing: lives were currently dependant upon them.

How he’d help Lyssia however, was an answer he was still searching for.

 

[Lyssia D'avore]

It was too much to handle, for her at least. She had been trained to lead, and that leadership had not been geared towards the personal kind, where she would be in the thick of things trying to direct the flow of the insanity all around her. Maybe, in another life and without the interference of others in this one, she might have eventually grown into that capacity, been capable of dealing with all the stresses that it entailed.

That was not her life now. She was exceedingly young by the standards of her kindred, not fully mature in any meaningful way. She worked through another few of the patients with trembling hands and blank eyes, the prim a torrent that thundered in her ears and pounded through her veins.

It was the child, maimed and doomed to die, that finally battered down the flimsy walls she had tried to erect around herself, the core of who and what she was. Her healing was, as always, complete...but there was a point when the victim wavered on the edge of death, where her aid would push them into the abyss...

Lyssia backed away from the elfin boy, looking into those uncomprehending eyes as his life slowly bled away, the scream of his mother - "Do something, just do something!" - and then turned and fled. She pushed past the priest and the shrinking crowd of supplicants seeking her aid, ignoring the few hands that grabbed at her, before pushing through finally and pelting through the door into the deluge coming from the heaves.

At least the rain hid the tears.

 

[Kiros Rahnel]

A distraught woman caught his attention next, the motionless and blood-soaked body of another before her. While it was unlikely he could be saved given his appearance, Kiros couldn't know for certain and had to check. Looking down upon him, he hid his own sorrowful reaction and laid a hand to check for signs of life he doubted would be present. None were to be found, and he had nothing to offer the woman but his condolences – to which she reacted with anguished wail. A guardswoman was on hand to forcefully guide the mourning woman off, and clear the way for the two healers to treat those whom might still be saved.

He had absolutely no clue when the guardswoman had shown up. The scene before him was but a chaotic mass of moving bodies, in numbers far too great for his continued attention. Only the wounded held that, and even then he only identified and mentally referred to them by their varied states of health. There was no time for emotional attachment when there was duty to be done. Such disciplined and reserved attitude could not possibly be shared by the panicked and unprepared citizens however. They only wanted their loved ones back, and understood little else in their time of desperate mourning. But as much as it he held sorrow for them, there were numerous others facing the threat of death to be concerned with. He had to remain focused on those he could help and stow emotion away.

He was a healer, and it was a required attitude for his role; one he shared with the shorter red-haired one. Yet unknown to him, she was far from prepared for it. It was not until she took her panicked withdrawal from the scene that the notion even dawned on him.

The guardswoman shared a look with him in uncertainty of what to do. There were many present in desperate need of healing, and disdainful as the idea of abandoning them was, he needed her help. More lives stood to be lost without it. After only the briefest pause to ponder, Kiros spoke of a plan.

“I’ll head after her. Please triage victims in my absence; retrieve me if a case is urgent.” he spoke in plain tone, and received a nod of acknowledgement in response. After speaking with her, he turned to address all; whether they were listening or not.

“We must adjust our spellcasting and will return promptly.” he uttered the lie at speed to placate the crowd. To do anything less would likely incite panic; better that they be led to believe the two were still at work providing aid, even in their current idle state. With the aid of his staff, he guided the crowd, pushing through them on his departure back out of the building and into the cold night rain. He prepared himself for how he might handle her reaction, or how he might speak. His prior attitude had no doubt contributed to it; the result of a hasty assumption made in error. She was clearly ill prepared for the situation, but he needed her to provide aid to the others.

Further: as dreadful as the scene was, she had seen it and known the losses the city suffered. If he let her go, she’d have to live with the regret of knowing she did not do all she she could when she was able.

 

[Lyssia D'avore]

She did not get far. The rain came down like a sledge hammer, a cold deluge that was out of season, flooding the streets with cold water that carried away charred wood and bits of detritus from the buildings that had been destroyed not long ago.

Lyssia stopped just outside the door, oblivious to the few who still came to be ushered in to the dry to receive aid, and stared at the sky. The fluttering of her heart and the panicked breathing quickly turned into choked sobs and then full-throated wails of anguish and loss. She wrapped her arms around herself and cried as hard as she ever had before - cried for the suffering and loss of the people she had just seen.

Was it for their sake that she wept? Probably not; every anguished wail from a mother losing her son, every tear streaking down the face of a man at the loss of a wife - all of these things, they clawed at the barely healed wound on her own heart, tore at the scab until it ripped apart and bled freely once more. In all of them she saw the faces of her family. Cold, lifeless eyes staring back from the other side of the abyss, from beyond any place she could help them.

Worse, she could feel the hot blood of Alric on her arms and breast once more, hear the dying rattle in his throat as he died for her, because she had been too paralyzed with indecision and fear to do what was needed. That feeling - that intense, hateful feeling of being powerless, unable to affect the world that marched on and left her behind - only made her cry harder, until she stumbled and fell into the running water on the street. the cold didn't seem to touch her, even as her breath misted in the air.

It was happening again, and there was nothing she could do about it. She hated the people of this city...and she loved them. The contradictory emotions, spawned out of nationalistic pride and hatred for what they had done to her family, and all the things that came from that, merely twisted her heart even further.

How could you hate someone whose eyes mirrored your own? How could she curse them when she could not even help them?

She sat, and wept while the stream of people thinned to virtually none, and those few who came only looked at her in her distraught state and walked on, neither offering aid nor words while she flayed her own spirit for her own weakness.

 

[Kiros Rahnel]

Free from the obstructing crowd within, Kiros continued into the rainy night at hasty pace. He sped forth in such a rush that he barrelled right past her, striding on for a few more steps before he heard the sobs. Halting, he gave a a glancing search of the scene around him and found her right beside the door. His brows furrowed in sympathy; in part genuine, but in part a forced display. The arduous work had left him emotionally numb; a state of mine he much needed for the depressing and ongoing task. Yet she was not; from her tears and expression, such was obvious enough.

With former assumption so clearly erroneous, Kiros was cautious about making any more; be it about her experience or the cause of her departure. She could be overwhelmed, or there could be causes he could not know. That she had been diligent in healing until now implied it was a desired goal, and a task they all sorely needed her to return to. Still, even though time was at such a premium it felt unbecoming to interrupt her moment of solace so immediately; despite that it were in a moment unfitting. After what brief pause he could allow, he approached and spoke.

“It is an overwhelming situation, I know.” he spoke solemnly, in genuine sentiment. There was little doubt it truly was to the unprepared.

“We need only to try; we are counted upon. Distressing as it is to lose a patient, inaction will carry far more regret.” He added, pausing to reflect again before continuing on. He looked to her expression to see if the words carried any weight, by her measurement. Not that he could know what experiences had brought her distress forth. Helpful as he desired to be, he was still a stranger; holding hardly any knowledge about her.

“It is a task most stressful; But carry through with it, and you’ll know you can carry through with what obstacles life places before you.”

But barely a moment after he had concluded his sentence, the same guardswoman he had spoken to barged right out the door before them. His gaze promptly turned to her in concern for what her presence implied before returning to the red-haired one. He prepared himself to return to the needed duty of healing, and could only hope she’d follow; he hadn’t the time to persuade her further. Else, he’d have to tend to the task alone as best he could manage.

If he was the only one who could aid, he’d do what he could.

 

[Lyssia D'avore]

With what obstacles life places before you.

You do not know what obstacles life has thrown before me, she wanted to say to him. But the words would not come. She had been struck dumb by the sheer horror she'd had to face today. Just another day, she'd thought at the outset. The smell of her own piss, sharp and disgusting, reminded her of her terror as she watched some beast ravage the city right before her. Try - and fail - to kill her.

Only to lead to this. Butchery on a scale she'd not thought to see in her life, blood and bile and urine and all kinds of effluent flowing onto a floor, filling the air with that stink that mingled with the scent of burned flesh. She had seen people die before, and felt the twist in her soul at each passing. But she had never faced such human suffering as lay within those doors. Her innate talent for magic was something she was borne into, not something trained for. She had as much choice about what her affinity for magic would be as she had for the color of her skin or the age of the world she'd been born into.

Too much. There was too much to deal with at the moment, more than she could rightly handle. Her options, then, were to weep in the downpour or to get up and force herself to follow the lead of the ostensibly older priest.

The diminutive shape opted for the latter, and re-entered the makeshift hospital, thunder growling low overhead.

 

[Kiros Rahnel]

The words had come out with anything but ease. Tending to the aftermath was one matter; dreadful as it was, experience prepared him for it. It was further hardly the first time he had seen the stress of duty take it’s toll upon a healer; he was familiar with the sentiment, but not in dealing with it. At least, not here. The standard fare for doing so would have been to place her on light duties and rotate another healer in.

But this was not Elbion. And there were no other healers to help them.

As impressive as her powers were and as much as they all needed them, it had dawned on him that a trained trauma healer she was not. He further had to remind himself that she was just an inn servant upon their meeting; another civilian caught up in the disaster despite her admirable determination to help. Yet these people needed her aid desperately. But what good would it do to mention it? She had seen as such with her own eyes and caused the very reaction he was attempting to remedy. To allow her to shield herself from the horrible situation would not only cost lives that might otherwise be saved, it would do her no good herself.

Kiros felt certain that were she to allow herself to remain idle, she would hate herself for it; one cannot do such in times of urgency, nor in times of need. Though her demeanour suggested anything but an easy life, whatever other difficulties life placed before her he could not know. Yet that she would need to rise up to meet them was knowledge the priest had firsthand.

Grateful that she followed, she spoke nothing to break the solemn patter of the rain. She hardly seemed one for words so far, and now was hardly the time. Those would come later; the time now was one of duty.

Upon making their entrance back within the building, desperate hands clawed out at them again. The chaotic commotion of many was present to greet them upon return. At once, he broke from his slow pace and stepped forward between her and the crowd in another attempt to establish order.

“Clear space! You obstruct our aid!” he shouted out again, though the commotion continued on.

“Leave them room to work!” shouted the guardswoman a moment after. While it didn’t quite bring order, it did reduce chaos enough to allow her to lead onward to the cause that caused her interruption: a young woman laden with severe burns, but barely any signs of life. Only her struggled breaths suggested that she lived, but they were short and infrequent enough to give concern that she might not remain so much longer.