Fable - Ask The Toll

[Lothar]

As Zinna came riding close, Lothar reached out.

His hand snapped around her wrist, fingers extending as he pulled himself up and into the saddle behind her. Using the weight of her form to counterbalance his own. He let out a quiet grunt as he fell into place behind her, his hand extending almost immediately.

The wood which had floated around him seemed to shift. Within an instant the shards whipped forward, cutting through the air and slicing through one of the Legionnaire's that had jumped in front of them just seconds before.

His body turning into a bloody mass before he even had time to think.

The eye on the back of his hand pulsed once again, thin red lines beginning to draw through it as blood vessels popped from the strain. "I'll keep them off us!"

He said, turning on the horse.

Another eye, this one closer to his elbow, seemed to pulse. The air shifted to the left of them, seeming to shimmer. Then suddenly a burst of flame erupted just to the left of them, creating a slice of flame that arced through two of the transformed guardsmen.

Creating even more space for him and Zinna to pass through.

 

[Kristen Pirian]

The Mayor's Manor was in sorry shape, and the arrival of the Dreadlords could not have come at a more opportune time. The Manor and all of its hastily erected barricades had withstood admirably the ferocious assault from the Legionnaires, but the wooden boards, the furniture, the doors ripped off their hinges and nailed across windows, all of it was breaking down and being torn through. The villagers on the inside held off the Legionnaires from behind their withering protection with a vigorous phalanx of spears through the opening gaps, even managing to kill some of them, but the maddened and mutated Guardsmen were ultimately winning the battle.

Then came Alistair's fireball, relieving pressure on the front door. The front door, which, from the looks of it, one more half-decent shoulder-ram would see collapsed to ruin. The spearpoints from the inside retracted, and then could be seen the shocked (and very quickly relieved) faces of a few villagers inside.

"Thank Kress! Dreadlords!"

"Hurry, hurry! Inside!"

"Quickly! They're coming!"

Kristen leapt off of Feldaris, hitting the ground at a running start; Alistair she trusted to keep the horse safe. As for herself, a Withering Chain snaked out of her porcelain palm like a whip, and she lashed it in a wide arc as she ran against a few oncoming Legionnaires, stunning them with the Chain's debilitating touch. Mayhap only Lothar would join her on the inside, Alistair and Zinnia perhaps opting to stay mounted and distract in such a manner, but whether it was her and Lothar or her and everyone, Kristen pushed inside the Manor.

As much as she desperately wanted to inquire of Redoran, she stifled her personal worries. Said instead to the villagers inside holding the entrance hallway, "Where else is in risk of a breach? Quickly now!"

"The kitchen backdoor!" said the burly miller.

"A-And upstairs! The second floor bedroom! Fiends are hammering away at it!" said the woodsman.

Three. Three, including the front doors. Three potential points of weakness.

Zinnia Alistair Krixus Lothar

 

[Alistair Krixus]

Alistair watched Kristen leap from his horse with surprising grace for someone in a suit of armor. Wow, she was amazing. He whipped Feldaris around only for a moment as he took a good look at the city and the battlefield. He fired a few more wandering arcane bolts into the horde of legionnaires before making a snap decision.

The young swordsman jumped from his mount and planted a firm slap on the horse sending it off into the forests. Feldaris was strong and smart. He would survive, and Alistair would go find him later. Right now, what they needed was a momentary reprieve and the best way to do that was on the defensive.

"Everyone inside!" He shouted while taking his own time backing into the manor, doing his best impersonation of an artillery machine.

Once inside, he took a moment to overhear what the survivors were explaining to Kristen.

"I'll handle the upstairs. Kristen take the kitchen." That should leave Lothar and Zinnia to take the front door or wherever they felt was best.

Wasting no more time, Alistair rushed towards the stairs bounding up them two at a time.

Kristen Pirian Lothar Zinnia

 

[Zinnia]

With Lothar's aid, their duo made it to the manor right alongside Kristen and Alistair. Zinnia noted the decision Alistair made to get his horse out of dodge; so this was it, then, the place they might make their coffin. She had Lothar dismount and followed suit with Alistair, sending her mount (hopefully) safely away.

Zinnia piled inside as well, knowing well that she did not have the time or luxury to let herself relax--even for an instant. Kristen went right for it, not only clearing them a path inside but assessing the situation as well. Alistair gave an order. Everything was happening so fast.

"R-right! I'm on the front!" she hollered. It made sense, at least to her. She had a shield. She might've had the most physical ability of anyone here. If anyone could be considered the most adept at holding the primary chokepoint, it was likely her. She just hoped her battery didn't run dry in all of this.

 

[Lothar]

Lothar threw himself from the horse, following the others inside without a second of hesitation.

In the milieu of blood and death it was easy to lose oneself. The shouting had grown so loud that Lothar struggled to hear any of the calls of his allies. It was only when Zinnia turned and brandished her shield that his mind seemed to catch up with the mad scramble of getting inside the house.

A breath pulled into Lothar's lungs. His head shaking as he dismissed the haze which had been hanging over his mind. Focus drawing forward once more.

"Hold the door!" He called to Zinnia.

Madly he scrambled for the bandages which still clung to his arm. Drawing them free so that every single one of his stolen magics would be ready. They had to hold the door, there wasn't any other choice. Right now holding back would only doom them both.

His shoulders rolled.

"I'll burn them away." A figure of speech, though a red an orange eye on his upper-forearm seemed to twitch to the left as he spoke.

It's pupil contracted, and the lid fell shut. The air besides Lothar seemed to fizzle, shifting and growing hazy as though seen through a flame, then suddenly, an eyeball came floating into being. Hovering besides the Initiate for just a brief moment before it seemed to pulse.

A haze of flame erupting just beyond the front door. The wave of fire lancing through two of the twisted guardsmen who had been scrambling forward.

 

[Kristen Pirian]

"The kitchen! I've got it!" Kristen replied, tone firm and loud, and she almost with eagerness threw herself into following Alistair's orders. Certainly this was a far cry from the blatant anxiety of yesteryears. Still it was there, but this tremor of worry was kept locked soundly within her breast, where it could only torment her heart and in all other ways fall short of making itself known.

Kristen went rushing down the hall and into the manor's spacious kitchen. And in there stood a small handful of townsfolk defenders, spears in hand, and the barricade of the door breaking and failing.

What followed was a solid ten minutes of nonstop combat when the door was at last breached and the Legionnaires broke in. Kristen arrayed the spear-wielding defenders in a line to each of her flanks, taking position behind the makeshift rampart of overturned tables and crates and furnitures of all kinds. They were the last line of defense, and their spears gave them plenty of reach for attacks of opportunity otherwise, for Kristen's battle plan was straightforward: use her Conjurations to hinder the intrusion of the Legionnaires, slow them or stop them or leave them vulnerable. Her Impalers were of course used to deadly effect, but also could they provide sudden obstacles to impede a wily Legionnaire's advance. Her Chains she used liberally, these being the most effective in slowing and weakening the Legionnaires, providing the quickest and easiest opportunities for the defenders at either of her shoulders to thrust and end them. Twice she had to conjure a Crucifix, each time advising the defenders to "Avert your eyes!" The petrifying fear instilled by the sight of the Crucfixes helped stop small packs of Legionnaires from slipping through and getting around the makeshift rampart and setting upon them, and Kristen herself dispatched these renegades while the defenders held the line.

When it was done, the kitchen was absolutely littered with bodies. Enough so that a whole new barricade was practically formed. Kristen felt the heavy weight of arcane fatigue settling in, that spiritual encumbrance, this most similar to the foggy haze which addled the sleep-deprived mind.

Still Kristen and the townsfolk defenders stood guard for a few minutes more, ensuring that no straggling Legionnaires might try coming through. And in this quiet, Kristen asked the question which now had occasion to creep back into the forefront of mind: "Is there, by chance, a man named Redoran Pirian here in this manor?"

One of the townsfolk, a brewer by trade, bald man with a bushy beard wearing a stained apron, looked at her and said, "No, not that I know of. We didn't have much time to make introductions with each...wait...you're Kristen Pirian."

"The Darling Daughter...!" said another of the townsfolk, a sun-tanned farmer's wife. She had the same light awe as the brewer.

"Heard about your visit to town yesterday," said the brewer. Then he huffed with wry amusement. "What timing, huh? You leave, and then these things show up. They're either smart or lucky, eh?"

The farmer's wife brought it back around to Kristen's question. "Well, as for Lord Redoran, Lady Kristen, someone like that surely would be noticeable in here. So..."

"I understand," Kristen said, nodding, though dismay fell like a thin rain upon her.

Redoran didn't have much reason to stay in Selmack after he had had his talk with her. Surely he would have left about the same time she and her group departed for Fort Velkath. Surely he would have. He was safe. She knew it.

Alistair Krixus Lothar Zinnia

 

[Alistair Krixus]

As Alistair bounded the stairs, he was not surprised to only find two other individuals upstairs both using what looked like fireplace pokes. The area up was tighter with less room to work, thankfully that also meant less of the Legion had managed to get up her. Still, it looked like the man and woman were beginning to get overwhelmed.

Activating the runesaber, he wasted no time in pushing the intruders back to the windows. What followed was Alistair and the others carefully holding the line against the few legionaries who tried their luck at heading to the second floor. Every time his team was granted even a moment of reprieve, Alistair would add another rune to the door, walls, floors, or windows. Small runes that added minor benefits, but as more of them were added it began to have an added effect, so much so that even the other two fights were able to fend off a legion member on their own.

It was only as Alistair managed to place two runes down in front of the reinforced windows that he realized the assault had taken a momentary pause. He took a moment to finish the trap before calling down the stairs,

"No more up here. How are we doing?"

He had confidence in the others, but if the assault had stopped on all needs then they needed to take a moment and plan some things out. He probably needed to move downstairs and add some runes to help support their positions.

Zinnia Lothar Kristen Pirian

 

[Zinnia]

Hold the door Zinnia did. She braced herself against the entrance until it began to splinter and rupture apart at the manic clawing of the Legionnaires. The flimsy barrier of wood that it was wouldn't hold up much longer in the face of this assault. It would have to serve as a conduit for Zinnia's magic, and unfortunately there was only one element she could produce that would be both effective and not annihilate what remained of the barricade.

Zinnia placed a hand against the door and breathed, channeling power out of her own body and through the wood. Abruptly, and just as one of the maddened soldiers shoved a hand through a gap in the wood, the door lit up bright yellow. Stilted, jittering screaming could be heard as precious lightning arced through the Legionnaires' bodies. When the door returned to its normal state the screaming stopped, replaced instead by the sound of sizzling, fried corpses and the scent of seared flesh.

Speaking of.

This all occurred in the instant before Lothar followed through with his own magic, and through the cracks in the door Zinnia could see that blazing eye obliterate more of the soldiers. Her mouth went dry. Just what was Lothar's magic?!

Distraction came in the form of Alistair's callout.
"Umm! I th-think we've bought ourselves some b-breathing room down here!"

 

[Kristen Pirian]

The defense of the Mayor's house held, and soon all Selmack was quiet. What straggling Legionnaires had been left in the village fell to their last. Gratitude and praise became general from the Selmackers to the Dreadlord and the Initiates. It almost became a touch difficult to extricate themselves from the effluence of good-will and gracious offers, but the mention of duty, that other villages much like Selmack also stood in grave peril, allowed them to take their leave from the villagers. Not before Kristen had asked if anyone had seen where the greater swarm of Legionnaires had been last sighted heading, and there was indeed an eyewitness who advised: east. They were heading east.

Outside the manor, Kristen, Alistair, Zinnia, and Lothar conferred. A difficult choice lay before them.

"They shall do this again," Kristen said, looking out over the smoke and the fire and the overall devastation of Selmack for a second. "From town to town they will go, spreading death and ruin in their wake."

She closed her eyes and pursed her lips, a hard grimace that manifested the pain stabbing into her heart.

"We have to get ahead of the Legion...which means...gods...which means we cannot stop to aid every village."

Lest they lose time. Lest they fall further and further behind the larger threat trying to quell the smaller ones. Lord Aionus, the people unwittingly in the Legion's path would have to rely on their own means for defense, else the whole countryside might burn.

Alistair Krixus Zinnia

 

[Alistair Krixus]

Alistair stood there taking a rare moment to catch his breath, while he activated a simple rune that would tell his horse to return. All around them, the few surviving townspeople were doing their best to salvage what they could, but the damage was extensive.

As much as he knew it hurt Kristen, she was right. This would keep happening if they kept chasing them like this.

He paused and closed his eyes as he did his best to remember the map. Northon and Velbury were as good as done. They just wouldn't be able to catch them by then, but that would slow the Legion down long enough for them to reach...

"What about Bluecott? That's in the direction they are heading, and if we hurry that means only two towns would be..."

He did not want to use the word 'abandoned'. but that is what it was. Still, that was the closest town to make their stand at.

"We could also head to Delmon, that would give us more time to prepare." It would also mean another city burned to the ground.

Kristen Pirian Zinnia Lothar

 

[Zinnia]

A horrible decision to make, to have to sacrifice the lives of untold numbers of villagers to save untold more. It was not a decision that Zinnia would want to make. Yet it was a wholly necessary one, lest all Vel Anir suffer at the hands of these men made monsters. A horrible thought occurred to Zinnia then.

"We also have n-no way of knowing if this m-madness can spread...by the time we g-get ahead of them, their numbers m-might have increased..."

She looked from the ground in front of her to the others.

"We should rout them s-sooner rather than later."

 

[Kristen Pirian]

Kristen bunched up a fist and pressed it hard to her mouth, and she was clearly in an agony of thought and decision-making.

Bluecott, or Delmon? These were the two immediate choices they had based on all they knew, and yet it was more than merely a strategic choice. Lives were on the line—their own included. Gods, if they hurried straight to Bluecott and the swarm proved too much? Kristen shuddered at the thought. Earlier, Alistair had said that they could send for reinforcements, and at this point, any able body which could wield a weapon to fight could be gathered to hold in Delmon, especially if they'd time enough to shore up what defenses the town had.

But Zinnia struck upon a chilling truth: this madness, this foul magic, which warped the minds and bodies of the Legion could perhaps spread. Mayhap some number of Selmackers bolstered the numbers of the swarm already! It could well be that by deciding to make a stand in Delmon, that this would lead to them being overwhelmed, whereas if they had but intervened early in Bluecott they could have prevented the Legion's numbers from swelling.

In the end, as was Kristen's usual inclination, she opted for caution. Haste she had passionately vouched for with regard to returning to Selmack, and certainly the possible peril of her cousin Redoran accounted for a significant portion of it, but they were in a way fortunate that the whole might of the Legion did not oppose them here. They might not be so lucky again.

"I...I say that we go to Delmon, gathering what reinforcements are possible within the time we have, and make our stand there." Even so, she added, "But I shall defer to the judgment of the group, and to your station, Dreadlord Alistair."

Alistair Krixus Zinnia

 

[Alistair Krixus]

It wasn't often that Alistair was surprised, but he found himself shocked into silence. He had not been surprised at Zinnia's outburst, but he had expected Kristen to back her. Which was why Kristen's own judgment would surely lead to the death of an entire village. It showed her growth, but it also stressed the seriousness that this choice entailed.

Alistair paused for a long moment as his mind went through several possibilities. There had been no reminisce of magic at the fort, which means this madness could indeed be undead or biological...if so, then the chance of spreading was high.

With a sudden bark of an order, Alistair called over one of the few able-bodied men left in the town of Selmak. He wasted no time in securing the man a horse and sending him to deliver a message requesting reinforcements in Bluecott.

"We will head to Bluecott. We should be able to make it in time for some preparation. The first order of business will be securing an avenue for retreat. Then if we have to, we fall back to Delmon...We might even be able to evacuate some of the area...Let's move out."

Alistair mounted his horse as he worried over his decision. Ultimately, it came down to the fact that the potential for spreading was to dangerous. If the Mad Legion grew to the size requiring a response from an army then it would take weeks to respond. By the time they got out hear, the Legion would have doubled if not tripled in size again.

Kristen Pirian

 

[Zinnia]

This was not for Zinnia to decide. She'd spoken her piece, and Alistair had made the choice.
"B-Bluecott it is."

Zinnia followed suit, thankful that her and the full Dread's horses had been recovered without too much struggle. It was time to ride on, into damnation.

 

[Kristen Pirian]

BLUECOTT
FIVE MINUTES PRIOR​

Nearly two days of hard riding.

A couple hours of frenzied preparation with the locals.

Fifteen minutes of watching the first distant sign of the Legion swell to reveal its whole strength.

Fives minutes now until the full force of the Mad Legion crossed the field at Bluecott's western outskirts to join battle with them.

Kristen stood with Alistair, Zinnia, and Lothar at the very front of the line. Behind them were the hasty earthworks and buildings which made for the pseudo-rampart, the men of Bluecott stood armed with spears, swords, woodcutting axes, weapons of all kinds, and with these they manned the rampart. Before them were all of Alistair's own personal preparations. Farther across the field their foe, by now whose feral cries could be heard building in intensity as their collective charge brought them closer.

Kristen steeled herself, yet couldn't resist a small shuddering gasp of anxious exasperation. What reinforcements other than Bluecott locals weren't going to make it in time; likely they were coming from Delmon, the safest route so as not to be caught out by the Legion. What they had now in Bluecott was all they would have.

So here they all were, the four of them, their magics the first line of defense.

"Alistair..." Kristen said, knowing she ought not say anything of this, but nevertheless compelled to do so. "You...you were at Vel Janix, yes?"

What comfort did she hope to gain from his answer?

Well...

It had to be said that while Vel Janix fell, Alistair Krixus was still here.

Alistair Krixus Zinnia

 

[Alistair Krixus]

"Uh, yeah. I was there...This will be easier."

In Vel Janix he had been run over by a horse, so at least the enemy did not have any horses to deal with. Of course, he also had Edric and Ralene back then...They would be helpful right now.

Alistair shifted from his spot as he took time to look over all of their work. He waved for what little archers they had to be ready to fire when they got closer. Then his gaze turned to the Dreadlord initiates that accompanied him.

"Be patient at first. Let my runes start things off. We need to be able to save our big moves for later. Once the Legion starts getting organized then go for it...However, I trust you all. If you see something that needs to be done then do it. Be decisive, but cautious. If one of us goes down then that makes it harder for the rest of us."

He had to stop himself from continuing his rant. It was a bad habit that he was starting to get a little nervous. The closer the battle grew, the more anxious he was getting.

The Legion would be approaching his runes soon...Let's begin.

Kristen Pirian Zinnia

 

[Zinnia]

Fear, uncertainty, panic. One could smell them on the air if one simply inhaled. Bluecott felt like a sepulcher in waiting, at least if the townsfolk's demeanors were anything to go off of. The ride here had been exhausting. The fight in the previous town had been exhausting. The numbers that were charging toward them were much greater than they'd been before.

Zinnia couldn't help but share the town's trepidation. The only thing standing between them and certain destruction was a quartet of battered and bone-weary kids. Sure, Alistair was a little older and technically a full Dreadlord, but the sentiment still stood. Zinnia was anxious, and she was sure the rest of Bluecott's people were too.

Small blessings, however: Alistair's magic seemed perfectly suited to the rapidly approaching task of defense. Zinnia didn't know how they worked. Explosives, perhaps? Hopefully something to thin the Legion's numbers. They needed to narrow the odds as much as they could.

"H-hey, um...you guys?" Zinnia said softly, nervously. It needed to be said, before it no longer could be. "If things get m-messy and we...you know, d-don't make it...th-thanks for standing by m-me. By our h-home. It might be awful, but...I c-can't picture a better way to g-go."

She swallowed hard. The very real possibility of just how terrible things might get in the next short while truly began to settle in.
"And if we do make it...p-please, try not to j-judge me."

 

[Kristen Pirian]

And with Alistair's planning, Zinnia's gratitude, the final moment of peace at last disintegrated, and carnage reigned.

Alistair's runes activated, one after another after another, as the forefront of the Legion washed over them. But they were a tide of madness, heedless of any danger to themselves. Ferocity and relentlessness ruled them. Though great slaughter thinned their numbers before ever they got close, the name so given to this forlorn unit of Guardsmen once garrisoning Fort Velkath was apt, for they were legion when compared to the paltry resistance arrayed against them in Bluecott. The rest of their immense number reached the defenses of the town.

Then for Kristen all the world became blood and fury.

The van of the Mad Legion crashed into the Bluecott militia's rampart. Spears and woodcutting axes thrust and chopped down at them as they in their own turn savaged the defensive constructions and swung away with their own weapons up at the militia defenders. These brave men, veterans all, for none who lived in Anirian territory did so without giving of themselves to service in the Guard, held their ground for as long as they could—but the difference in might was simply too great. The Legion were beyond human, many were armored (where this armor had not been grotesquely subsumed by mutated growths), and their weapons were of military quality. So overwhelmed, even the hearts of the most unshakeable of men could not be faulted for the shattering of their morale. After sustaining terrible losses, seeing the horrific fates of their comrades—militia men torn from the company of their kin and ripped apart by the Legionnaires, cut to pieces, trampled beneath stomping steelclad feet—what few militia men who still lived broke and fled into the town.

Kristen, at some point after the fall of the rampart and the militia, had found herself deep in an advance into the Legion. The flow of battle had taken over not just her body, but her mind. Thought was smothered. There was only action, the resurgence of training, the pattern of moving from one foe to the next. Less and less was she using her actual sword, her other spells, and more and more as she advanced and as Legionnaires rushed headlong into her close, optimal range was she using her Impalers. Suddenly would they erupt from the ground, skewer and lift an oncoming Legionnaire into the air, leave him twitching in a death sometimes sudden, sometimes gradual. Behind her was left a trail of Impaled men—or what once were men—and the very field of Bluecott's periphery was becoming more and more with each step, each new Impaler, a grisly expanse of death, a forest of corpses held aloft by her Conjurations.

The strain upon Kristen was immense.

Until, at last, in the waning end of the fight, she could bear it no more...

Kristen fell to her knees. The entirety of her body trembled with exhaustion and depletion, both of a physical and arcane nature. She was spent. Utterly spent. Blood splattered her armor all over, streaked in great brushstrokes across her face, and drenched her hair so thoroughly that the auburn had turned wholly red.

Behind her was field of bodies, freshly impaled. Some twitched in throes of death. Some clung to life, on the verge of dying, but vain was their effort. These soldiers so impaled, framed against the blistering yellow and horrid crimson of the sunset, made for a grisly sight. And these were not the only dead, for her fellows had slain many of their own. Yet it all had to be done. The Mad Legion, so this band of mutated Guardsmen were called, had been corrupted beyond redemption. They would have seen all scoured before them: Kristen and her compatriots, every village in their path, perhaps even Vel Lameus or Vel Stratholm if they had gotten so far.

All at once Kristen's Impalers shot back into the ground from which they had burst, and a rain of bodies, the clamor thereof, ensued. Grim commotion, there and gone.

"Blessed Aionus..." Kristen spoke in a soft whisper, looking skyward, "preserve me..."

Someone said something. Pointed to the east, to the darker horizon of that battleworn field. Kristen summoned the wherewithal and the vestiges of strength necessary to look. And her breath caught in her throat.

A foe that no one had been expecting was approaching, the dark of the coming night to their back.​

Alistair Krixus Zinnia

 

[Alistair Krixus]

Before the first arrow was loose or blade swung, Alistair knew this was going to be tough. Many of his runes were already triggered, and still it looked like nothing more than a drop in a lake compared to the tide of enemies coming at them.

Originally, he had hoped that he could keep all of them close, but that quickly became nothing more than a dream. They were spread too thin as it is. Each of them would need to spread out to attempt to hold some sort of line.

Alistair watched Kristen dive into battle and then Zinnia before he ran to defend an area where he knew more of his runes were still left to be triggered. As he moved, he lashed out with his runesaber severing a leg or arm wherever he swiped. It was enough to lead a river of the enemy to where he wanted them to be.

What followed next would be described by any survivors as some horrific madhouse of slaughter. While Kristen's forest of bodies held horror in its repetition, Alistair's slaughter held horror in its variation. So many ways to kill a living creature, and it looked like Alistair wanted to test them all. Boiled flesh, frostbite, strangulation, decapitation, drowning, and the list went on and on.

A madhouse for a madman and Alistair was not willing to sit back and let his runes do the work. He dove into the throng of enemies as he bobbed and weaved through the crowd. It went on like this for what felt like an eternity.

He wasn't sure when it happened, he actually lost where he was on the battlefield as he could only focus on not dying. When he whipped his head around expecting the next enemy, he saw...nothing.

He was blind. It had finally happened. Alistair had pushed his visual magics to their limit to the point he could no longer pay the price. A perfect response to his years of magical use, burning away like a short fuse until it left him in utter darkness...No, wait!

His hand reached up and furiously rubbed at his eyes, his being begging to feel something. A shiver of relief shot through his body as he felt the dry, caked-on layer of blood finally give way. The rush of colors, or more specifically the orange and reds of the sky, were the first things to meet him.

The next was...Carnage.

Carnage that he had released onto the world, for the first time, with reckless abandon. Alistair knelt on both of his knees, exhaustion, both physical and mental weighing him down like the sky on Atlas' shoulders.

It was just him in the immediate area. Surrounded by death that looked like it had been unleashed from the madhouse of the gods. All around him, there were those with heads and limbs severed from a blade, scorched, and frozen from spells. Sand that had turned to liquid and drowned individuals. Even parts of the earth had risen up with thick earthen cords to strangle his foes.

Yes, Alistair had used every rune in his arsenal, and the sickening results would remain scarred in his brain for decades to come.

If he would have been allowed, he would have shut his eyes again and let sleep take him, but he heard the call from one of his allies. That was good. It meant others had survived.

He slowly forced his head to turn and see what the commotion was. The looming force seemed to put a whole other layer of exhaustion upon him. His body screamed for him to just lay down and accept death. To stop all of this constant fighting.

"Just one more," Al whispered under his breath, as his hands pushed off the ground trying to force him to his feet.

Kristen Pirian

Kristen Pirian Zinnia

 

[Zinnia]

Alistair's runes weren't enough. The militia's volleys weren't enough. The makeshift ramparts weren't enough. The Legion was innumerable. As nimbly as her feet could carry her, Zinnia dove headlong into what would surely be the end of her, and of her friends. She could never be as useful as the others, but with what meager strength and magic she could muster, she would fight until the bitter end.

That was what she had told herself beforehand, and again as she charged, and once more as her hammer struck the first Legionnaire, smashing through his skull and spraying gray matter across the monstrous soldier behind him. And once more as she buried the hammer's flaming head in the ribcage of that soldier. The bitter end was coming. She knew it as she encased another mutant in ice and then shattered it to pieces like a glass piñata full of viscera.

Release from her mortal coil must have been coming soon. She could feel it as a Legionnaire's sword smashed into her armor, feeling the shattering of some of her ribs from the weight of the impact. The crack of a fist across her jaw. Her skin was lacerated, her muscles bruised, her bones fractured. Yet each time she looked around she saw the others carrying on alongside her.

Kristen's Impalers skewering maddened men by the dozen. Alistair's runes dispatching yet more. Lothar's mysterious eyes reducing them to ash.

Not yet.

Such carnage. Such glorious carnage. Zinnia gave herself to it. Could feel it suffusing her as her body began to change. Was this it? Was she infected with the madness of the Legion? No, not yet. This was different. This was familiar. It felt right. Natural even. This was how she was supposed to be, unfettered by her own inhibitions and those of Vel Anir, of the Academy. Something was blooming within her, something primal.

At once it felt wrong...and it felt good.

Blazing, golden eyes, with pupils sharp like blades, darted around to drink in the sight of the warzone around her and the others. So many were gone now. So many that were still here were gone now. Zinnia, too, was losing herself. She felt the sensation of a growl begin to rip its way up from her throat, then heard the sound hit her ears a moment later. Warbling, ear-piercing, unnatural. Her canines glinted in the waning light, a tear of red dripping from a pearly, sharpened point.

The Mad Legion had spread its curse among them all. Zinnia had ripped more than one apart with her bare hands. Arms and armor had been cast aside, her hood in tatters. A crawling sensation crept across her skin, threatening to consume her entirely in the radiant, golden shell that gripped at her extremities. Tickling, tingling sensations rippled along her shoulder blades, some foreign forms longing to tear their way skyward. The pull was relentless, now more than ever.

"Stop, stop, stop! If you do this there will be no going back! They'll all see, they'll ALL SEE!"
​

Reason intervened. Interfered. Always in the way, always stopping her on the cusp. That weak side, longing for acceptance, clawing desperately for love and belonging, gripping tight to humanity. Another growling scream wrenched from her throat as she inverted the ribcage of the soldier beneath her.

A call. Eastward. Bones cracked as Zinnia's neck wrenched upwards towards that cry. The pile of corpses around her concealed her presently, but that wouldn't last if she crawled out now. What did it matter if they saw now? If there was no going back? If she stopped now, if she turned away, if she even relented, there would be nothing left to save. Not herself nor anyone else.

If anyone else was still sane enough to even care at this point. Her lips curled upwards, fangs barred and brilliant.

"Fuck it."​

 

[Kristen Pirian]

Alistair was still alive. Zinnia was still alive. Lothar was still alive. Thank Astra and the entire Court of Stars.

Kristen sat on her haunches, having fallen back onto them from her knees. She did not know who had called out, but there came from the east a solitary figure. A figure who had come from seemingly nowhere, trailing some indeterminable distance at the rear of the Legion, but who was now here within view. The figure was coming close, close enough to be discernible.

And that figure was Redoran Pirian.

He eyed the four of them. Clapped with a slow but wholehearted vigor. An intense smile dominated his countenance. He called out to them:

"Well done."

Alistair Krixus Zinnia

 

[Alistair Krixus]

Alistair sat there on his knees a bit of a distance away from Kristen, but the surrounding area was still. There were no enemies from what he could tell and he was so tired. To be honest, he could not get a clear look at the approaching figure. Alistair's vision was blurry, likely from his magic, he knew the others were ok just because he had followed them throughout the battle.

He was ready to drag himself forward if it was proven they had to continue their fight, but the casual and friendly tone made Alistair deflate even more.

Had they really pulled this off?

"I-Is everyone ok?" Alistair yelled across the battlefield looking for confirmations from the team and any volunteers that had miraculously survived.

Even if they had won this fight, he had a duty to continue looking after everyone.

Kristen Pirian Zinnia

 

[Zinnia]

The ceaseless cycle of slaughter may have finally wound down, most of the Mad Legion destroyed, but Zinnia could not calm herself. She had well and truly let go, dispelled the idea of self control. Appendages that were alien to her had ripped their way from her body, stretching out in the waning light of dusk.

Zinnia's breath was heavy and gravelly, the edges of her vision cloaked in red as she was down on her hands and knees, staring at the wicked claws--her claws--that now raked at the ground. She'd felt inklings of this before, felt the pull of instinct gnawing at the corners of her mind, but she'd always been able to suppress it. Not now. Not anymore.

In the shadows of the flaming structures of Bluecott and the darkening skies above, Zinnia's silhouette stood hunched. Leathery wings curled out from her shoulder blades, a thick tail emerged from the small of her back trailing anxious lines through the air, scale-covered claws replaced her hands and feet, and prominent horns jutted out from atop her head.

She had to have looked like a monster, but she simply didn't care. As Alistair sounded off, as Redoran delivered his triumphant applause, Zinnia rose and staggered to the top of the mound of corpses she and her allies had created. She gave no answer to anyone beyond labored panting and a glare that could cut through steel. Whatever came next she would have to face as her truest self.

 

[Kristen Pirian]

"I'm okay, I'm..." Kristen called hoarsely to Alistair.

But two things stayed her tongue, two things which happened so close in temporal proximity to one another that Kristen, exhausted as she was, had not the wherewithal to process both. First was the utterly unexpected arrival of Redoran—this alone would have left Kristen stunned and baffled. With Redoran came a myriad of questions, foremost among them: what was he doing here? But as Kristen's gaze slid with dazed and mechanical motion over to Alistair, and then over to Zinnia...what she beheld in the latter was shocking, frightening, for all the abruptness of it. Kristen's first numb thought was that Zinnia had somehow gotten infected by the Mad Legion, that those horns, those claws, those wings were all mutations not unlike those which had corrupted the Guardsmen.

Redoran called out triumphantly to the Dreadlords, making a grand sweeping gesture with his hands, "You have put on a magnificent show of strength! In these trying times, you are all exactly what House Pirian needs! What Vel Anir itself needs!"

Redoran belted out proud laughter, and the tiniest tinge of teal energy crackled from his closed eyes.

Alistair Krixus Zinnia

 

[Alistair Krixus]

His adrenaline was still running high, but his vision was clearing up ever so slightly. He pulled himself to his feet, but what he saw made him wonder if he had just passed out during the right. Kristen was there, but ... was that Zinnia? What was Kristen's uncle doing here?

The runesaber was stowed on his belt as he pulled out a dueling dagger, and stumbled towards the others. Most of his magical defenses were used up, and he probably only had a little bit left, better to save that.

Zinnia's appearance worried him and he went to ask her a question but stopped himself. She wasn't attacking them so that meant she was fine for now. The bigger question was...

"E-Excuse me, Redoran was it?... What are you doing here? Where did you come from?"

As he said it, his suspicions only grew as his grip on his dagger tightened and he shot another glance at Zinnia. He then looked worriedly at Kristen who was a little too close to Redoran for comfort.

Kristen Pirian Zinnia