~~[RP Start]~~
[IC] Legacy of the Dark Earls
- Large Group
- Apocalyptic
- Post-Apocalyptic
- Fantasy
- Advanced
- GM Virgil
Join Status:
Full
GM
There, yonder, past the motley line of brush and trees -- beyond the range of so many peasant's terrors. It stood tall and proud, surrounded five-fold by mighty sentry towers, and mightier, lofty brick-work barricades between them. Over the course of centuries the walls of the stone city had been coated and recoated in hundreds of thousands of gallons of lime-wash; to the consistent, splendorous effect of casting the entire collage of structures from a singular piece of rock. For six, hundred, years it had sat there -- slowly expanding, slowly growing in strength. In infancy it had been nothing more than a hastily constructed Keep -- a retreat for the cowardly lord that'd so brutally worked his serfs to finish it. Only 'after' he perished did it 'truly' begin to flourish, steadily adding atop itself. First, another hut, a doctor's hut; and following this...? A blacksmith's lodge for the rescued smith's son -- his father had died a midst the terrifying forms that occupied the great forests surrounding the tiny settlement, only occasionally breaking forth--thankfully into the ready blades of the land's guardians--at the tempting intrigue of a stray or weak worker. Steadily, gradually, the land was tilled and sown; years came and went, and the village grew into a town; and from there--following the birth of its greatest benefactor--it sprouted magnificent walls. Walls telling of a place of great protection, or great opportunity. A place of life and death, work and relaxation, career and sloth. And with these triumphs rose the population, capable of providing more for the expansive community, capable of allowing for a greater surplus of supplies to be used most ably by its myriad of craftsmen. From workers of the plow, to thinkers of the pen and from there to artisans of the polearm...all of these things would arise, in time. And the city would become renowned for its culture, for its long history, for its masterful achievements, for the tremendous shelter it gave to those trying to escape the chaos outside its walls.
It would 'be' a great city.
It 'is' a great city.
And the city was born with a single name...
...."Yvindel!"
"...And the people would shout and praise its great walls, and its powerful military, and its tremendous economy. It would be worshiped by all those who loved and cherished it, and they would shout--and are 'still' to this day shouting...that name..."
She paused, gazing upon the speckled city that glimmered so brightly on the plains. Outside of the reach of the darkness, it seemed to glorify itself in the naked eye of the great creator above, who's fiery beams lit upon its shimmering white walls, and the great, thronging multitude of rooftops that--assuredly--outshone an even greater number below the line of sight. The sight from 'outside' those massive walls, away from the great shelters it provided, and the innumerable happy families it had birthed, and the immense plains of wheat and crop grown to sustain it, and all the other many wonderful things 'it' had created. The woman raked her pale, slender fingers through the sloppy mess of jagged, jet-black hair atop her head, completing the history:
"...and today, that name will live no longer."
Following the signal of her risen arm as it jutted forth, the creaking groan of their preliminary trebuchet shot flew overhead the witch's ears. With a rapid sense of urgency, the hurtled cargo sailed through the air, progressively decreasing in size as it passed further and further more beyond the mind's eye. She watched as it arced, dropping...dropping...
"MISS! RE-ADJUST FOR ANOTHER SIXTY YARDS!", came the shouting cry of one of the secondaries, his voice sending the lengthy line of trebuchet crews speeding into action as they set about following the command. Midia expired in minor disappointment -- what a waste of a good speech; though, she supposed she'd probably been the only one capable of hearing it at that soft a tone. A set of five digits rapped impatiently along the spear in her right, waiting for the others to finish correcting their error.
Talk about waste -- the short woman's blue eyes seemed to lapse from the anxious excitement they'd held before. They trailed the package, observing the faint dot as it dropped just short of the eastern outer wall, bursting forth into a wicked titian flame. It snarled and whipped about there, in the distance, as the siege engines readied for a more accurate volley.
"READY!"
Again, her arm summarily rose and fell, preceding the groaning launch of several dozen fire-bombs as they raced across the sky, striking past the first wall. Less than a minute passed, and what little smoke the first miss had produced was now replaced by a long, thick barrier of the choking smog -- its presence casting a foreboding shadow over that proud engineering feat. The first wall--home to the majority of the city's agriculture--would soon be in uproar, with massive, enraged fires greedily devouring the bountiful surpluses...all they need do was wait.
Wait for their opportunity.
Wait for the first stage of the end.
It would 'be' a great city.
It 'is' a great city.
And the city was born with a single name...
...."Yvindel!"
"...And the people would shout and praise its great walls, and its powerful military, and its tremendous economy. It would be worshiped by all those who loved and cherished it, and they would shout--and are 'still' to this day shouting...that name..."
She paused, gazing upon the speckled city that glimmered so brightly on the plains. Outside of the reach of the darkness, it seemed to glorify itself in the naked eye of the great creator above, who's fiery beams lit upon its shimmering white walls, and the great, thronging multitude of rooftops that--assuredly--outshone an even greater number below the line of sight. The sight from 'outside' those massive walls, away from the great shelters it provided, and the innumerable happy families it had birthed, and the immense plains of wheat and crop grown to sustain it, and all the other many wonderful things 'it' had created. The woman raked her pale, slender fingers through the sloppy mess of jagged, jet-black hair atop her head, completing the history:
"...and today, that name will live no longer."
Following the signal of her risen arm as it jutted forth, the creaking groan of their preliminary trebuchet shot flew overhead the witch's ears. With a rapid sense of urgency, the hurtled cargo sailed through the air, progressively decreasing in size as it passed further and further more beyond the mind's eye. She watched as it arced, dropping...dropping...
"MISS! RE-ADJUST FOR ANOTHER SIXTY YARDS!", came the shouting cry of one of the secondaries, his voice sending the lengthy line of trebuchet crews speeding into action as they set about following the command. Midia expired in minor disappointment -- what a waste of a good speech; though, she supposed she'd probably been the only one capable of hearing it at that soft a tone. A set of five digits rapped impatiently along the spear in her right, waiting for the others to finish correcting their error.
Talk about waste -- the short woman's blue eyes seemed to lapse from the anxious excitement they'd held before. They trailed the package, observing the faint dot as it dropped just short of the eastern outer wall, bursting forth into a wicked titian flame. It snarled and whipped about there, in the distance, as the siege engines readied for a more accurate volley.
"READY!"
Again, her arm summarily rose and fell, preceding the groaning launch of several dozen fire-bombs as they raced across the sky, striking past the first wall. Less than a minute passed, and what little smoke the first miss had produced was now replaced by a long, thick barrier of the choking smog -- its presence casting a foreboding shadow over that proud engineering feat. The first wall--home to the majority of the city's agriculture--would soon be in uproar, with massive, enraged fires greedily devouring the bountiful surpluses...all they need do was wait.
Wait for their opportunity.
Wait for the first stage of the end.
GM
The solid, undeterred strength of the dust-covered boot hammered deep into the crawling beggar's stomach, causing him to hack forth a breathless grunt of pain. The ragged figure now fully collapsed onto the roadside, open mouth gaping like that of a fish out of water -- all the while numbly waiting for his internals to reorganize themselves into the coherent state of 'breathing' that they were normally used to. Both lips lay cracked open on that dry earth -- tongue cut and bleeding from the man having inadvertently bitten it. Another powerful kick landed him upside the head, whip-lashing his face--and a newly acquired broken nose--onto its opposite side, coughing and sputtering forth crimson iron as the enraged voice of a distant tormentor seemed to mumble in a frighteningly loud tone. Slowly, it faded into the background, seconded to the emerging darkness that now began to consume his consciousness...
A sharp sting struck him across the face, and moments afterwards he could feel his upper-torso lifted. One after the other, both swollen eyes peaked open to stare in dreaded anticipation at the red-faced demon that now held his collar. Both pupils watched as another fist raised upwards for an assumed finishing blow. However, the faint sound of ripping clothes preceded a dramatic escape of this fate, as his collar tore itself from Feraen's shirt, thereby allowing him to slip out of the grasp of his attacker. He landed heavily, seeking--despite the aching pains pounding out across his body--to scurry away on his hands and knees. Footsteps recovered from their stupor, and he managed to rise to his feet, stumbling and stop-starting all over the road in his flight of flurry. Something seemed...off, however -- though he didn't dare look back, lest he lose any sort of distance advantage he had over his pursuer.
And so he ran...
...and ran...
...and kept on running, all the while expending the powerful surge of adrenaline he'd gained earlier; now, he began to ease off...
...and slow down a bit more...finally stopping entirely as he dropped to his scraped knees, huffing and panting for breath. What would it matter if he was caught now, he couldn't go another step. Let it be done then -- and with this final thought, the beggar shut his eyes tight, waiting...
...his left eye flickered open, rotating with the turn of his head as he looked backwards over his shoulder.
No sign of his presumed captor, but...something far, far worse. A beast of malignant flame and smoke, columns high and almost as wide as the district itself. The man gazed in awe and terror at the billowing form as it shifted dreamily across the massive fields, swallowing them whole as it used the city's own harvest for fuel. A ripple of cold tingled down his backside whilst he sat there...just...staring.
"..."
A sharp sting struck him across the face, and moments afterwards he could feel his upper-torso lifted. One after the other, both swollen eyes peaked open to stare in dreaded anticipation at the red-faced demon that now held his collar. Both pupils watched as another fist raised upwards for an assumed finishing blow. However, the faint sound of ripping clothes preceded a dramatic escape of this fate, as his collar tore itself from Feraen's shirt, thereby allowing him to slip out of the grasp of his attacker. He landed heavily, seeking--despite the aching pains pounding out across his body--to scurry away on his hands and knees. Footsteps recovered from their stupor, and he managed to rise to his feet, stumbling and stop-starting all over the road in his flight of flurry. Something seemed...off, however -- though he didn't dare look back, lest he lose any sort of distance advantage he had over his pursuer.
And so he ran...
...and ran...
...and kept on running, all the while expending the powerful surge of adrenaline he'd gained earlier; now, he began to ease off...
...and slow down a bit more...finally stopping entirely as he dropped to his scraped knees, huffing and panting for breath. What would it matter if he was caught now, he couldn't go another step. Let it be done then -- and with this final thought, the beggar shut his eyes tight, waiting...
...his left eye flickered open, rotating with the turn of his head as he looked backwards over his shoulder.
No sign of his presumed captor, but...something far, far worse. A beast of malignant flame and smoke, columns high and almost as wide as the district itself. The man gazed in awe and terror at the billowing form as it shifted dreamily across the massive fields, swallowing them whole as it used the city's own harvest for fuel. A ripple of cold tingled down his backside whilst he sat there...just...staring.
"..."
GM
Unhindered, the massive fire-wall now stretched the length of the outer district, its unrelenting flames licking crops and abandoned houses left in the wake of innumerable terrified hearth-keepers. Divinely did it glow, casting shadows all its own across the landscape; and now the penned beast ravaged its cage with cruel ferocity. Here it devoured the golden strands of wheat and green husks of corn -- there it sucked in cows too close to the vacuum-like flame. No escape, no alternative, no mercy could be had from this annihilator, this gods' wrath...
Crammed thick within the center of the thronging mass, the roughly-cut, winded beggar struggled desperately to keep his head above the churning ocean of escapees. Thrice now, he'd seen others go under, disappearing entirely beneath the weight of this mighty wave as it broke against the wall in a desperate plea for survival. Forwards...then back...now forwards again -- he felt his elbows land numerous times into the faces of others, seeking, FIGHTING to escape the rapidly approaching hunger that loomed in the distance; its ever growing shadow only serving to further increase the intensity of the emotions rippling through the crowd. Fear, despair, and ignorance combined within the wicked cauldron that was the entire length of the 30-meter entry-gate--one of three, now fully packed--and the crowd grew even wilder. Outcries burst decibel levels as they mutated into horrendous screams, the heads of some bobbed once or twice, then sunk under entirely. Children resting atop the shoulders of their guardians plunged below with the fall of their mobile platforms, and through all of this, Feraen continued onwards. The aching of his body, the solemn throbbing inside his head, the blurred vision in his swollen eyes mattered little in the unmasked face of true, internal survival instinct. Again and again he seemed to be submerged, dragged under by those attempting to do as he did, fighting the tide that they might live through this terrifying ordeal; but again and yet again he found the strength to retaliate. Once, he felt his fingers claws the eyes of another, tearing 'them' down in order to surpass them. Another would be felled after he yanked them back by the neck, pushing them into the faces and hands of those behind his ragged frame. His eyes--swollen as they might be--stayed quite fully open, vividly analyzing the chaotic state of affairs within the tunnel. The enormous portcullis raised over-head, the hopeful exit just meters away from him now, the horrid din that echoed and deafened the stone-workings around the horde; and the large wooden doors seeming so distant from his position...as well as the snarling light that seemed so close, spurring the beggar into an even greater frenzied panic to escape. There was a massive grating racket from above, and the shrill screams of dozens as a scattered spray landed across the backs of those closest to the portcullis. The beaten man dared enough to glance back at the horrific scene--
--they'd closed the grille right on top of those still passing beneath it; and worse...locking off those pleading, crying, shouting, bawling unfortunates who'd yet to make it past. They took hold of the great, hefty wooden beams with their multitude of dirty, sweaty, clinging hands; they clambered along the barrier and stretched their arms through the gratings, crying out to be saved...
...but the crowd moved on, the divided survivors continued to push forwards, leaving behind their homes, their livelihoods...and for some, their beloved ones. The chaos continued -- but it was enough to know that those who 'could' escape, 'did' escape.
For the rest...on this day, their part in history was marked. But history moves on, just as the survivors did.
Outside the raging, furious terrors, the witch and her siege-crews finished packing the articles of war, transporting them 'around' the great city. It was marvelous, watching as the denizens of that proud settlement scurried further and further south, away from the flames -- some even going so far as to attempt to hurl themselves over their own proud walls. Such was the beauty of this stratagem, the 'irony', if one had the tastes for it. What better way to defeat a mighty giant than by collapsing its own house in around it? Still--entertaining as these dreams might seem to her--she knew they had little time to spare; The plan had been set, and they must stick to it.
After all, they still had two districts to go.
Crammed thick within the center of the thronging mass, the roughly-cut, winded beggar struggled desperately to keep his head above the churning ocean of escapees. Thrice now, he'd seen others go under, disappearing entirely beneath the weight of this mighty wave as it broke against the wall in a desperate plea for survival. Forwards...then back...now forwards again -- he felt his elbows land numerous times into the faces of others, seeking, FIGHTING to escape the rapidly approaching hunger that loomed in the distance; its ever growing shadow only serving to further increase the intensity of the emotions rippling through the crowd. Fear, despair, and ignorance combined within the wicked cauldron that was the entire length of the 30-meter entry-gate--one of three, now fully packed--and the crowd grew even wilder. Outcries burst decibel levels as they mutated into horrendous screams, the heads of some bobbed once or twice, then sunk under entirely. Children resting atop the shoulders of their guardians plunged below with the fall of their mobile platforms, and through all of this, Feraen continued onwards. The aching of his body, the solemn throbbing inside his head, the blurred vision in his swollen eyes mattered little in the unmasked face of true, internal survival instinct. Again and again he seemed to be submerged, dragged under by those attempting to do as he did, fighting the tide that they might live through this terrifying ordeal; but again and yet again he found the strength to retaliate. Once, he felt his fingers claws the eyes of another, tearing 'them' down in order to surpass them. Another would be felled after he yanked them back by the neck, pushing them into the faces and hands of those behind his ragged frame. His eyes--swollen as they might be--stayed quite fully open, vividly analyzing the chaotic state of affairs within the tunnel. The enormous portcullis raised over-head, the hopeful exit just meters away from him now, the horrid din that echoed and deafened the stone-workings around the horde; and the large wooden doors seeming so distant from his position...as well as the snarling light that seemed so close, spurring the beggar into an even greater frenzied panic to escape. There was a massive grating racket from above, and the shrill screams of dozens as a scattered spray landed across the backs of those closest to the portcullis. The beaten man dared enough to glance back at the horrific scene--
--they'd closed the grille right on top of those still passing beneath it; and worse...locking off those pleading, crying, shouting, bawling unfortunates who'd yet to make it past. They took hold of the great, hefty wooden beams with their multitude of dirty, sweaty, clinging hands; they clambered along the barrier and stretched their arms through the gratings, crying out to be saved...
...but the crowd moved on, the divided survivors continued to push forwards, leaving behind their homes, their livelihoods...and for some, their beloved ones. The chaos continued -- but it was enough to know that those who 'could' escape, 'did' escape.
For the rest...on this day, their part in history was marked. But history moves on, just as the survivors did.
Outside the raging, furious terrors, the witch and her siege-crews finished packing the articles of war, transporting them 'around' the great city. It was marvelous, watching as the denizens of that proud settlement scurried further and further south, away from the flames -- some even going so far as to attempt to hurl themselves over their own proud walls. Such was the beauty of this stratagem, the 'irony', if one had the tastes for it. What better way to defeat a mighty giant than by collapsing its own house in around it? Still--entertaining as these dreams might seem to her--she knew they had little time to spare; The plan had been set, and they must stick to it.
After all, they still had two districts to go.
GM
"But we MUST leave!"
The elderly scholar sighed at this outburst, and though his body stood erect as the carved statues that adorned the city, his mind weighed heavily upon the sturdy orkin-wood in his left. "Jalani, it is understandable that you would think to run, but I tell you now, the foe that besieges us knows the forests better than Yvindel's finest scouts; should you leave, they can and will hunt you down -- provided the Rrreshkohfmehmtahv --in addition to the various other beasts of prey-- do not find you first." Iraasnej looked on wearily at the girl from beneath his heavy brow, seeing her fear but being unable to empathize with it. He strode towards the where the princess now sat, a pallor tone having taken hold of her horrified expression of doubt as she pressed her palms together in angst knowledge as to what lay in store for the city.
If they stayed, they'd burn.
If they left, they'd be slaughtered.
Indeed, the cruel irony behind their situation lay in the harsh reality of their own attackers -- the oppressed Deepmire was the only 'civilized' residence for almost a hundred kilometers, as it had always been. Even if they were to flee, where fore could they find shelter?
She felt the weight of her tutor sink the finely crafted bed as he set himself down beside her. She felt his hand nestle itself upon her shoulder, trying to provide some semblance of comfort.
But she could feel no fear in him -- and turning her gaze from the floor towards his weathered face, it almost seemed as if there wasn't a siege at all. No monstrous walls of flame coming to devour generations of people -- not all good, admittedly...but not all bad either; No panic-stricken crowds thronging through each of the district gates; Not even the known monsters lurking in the forests' gloom felt anywhere near reality when she looked at the old man.
"Listen, Jalani, you know well of the promise I made upon your mother's passing.", he began, his Rookwood eyes doing as they might to try and persuade their audience into a relaxed focus. Her own eyes --black as those of many of the women in her ancestral line-- blinked in understanding, and bade he continue. "This pact I swore oath to -- that within my power, so long as I lived in consciousness, I would do all that can be done to protect you; My advice may appear suicidal, but it is what I have found to be in your best interests -- in this way shall I ever serve, as I have all of these past fourteen years and to this very day."
"...And your own interests? What forces may protect you from all the ill-fortune that seeks me?"
He smiled in response to this, his gaze turning towards the noon-light that streamed in from their window opposite. "By the grace of the gods and the skill of my wit, I will live for those close to me -- even if they reside in peril all their days."
With this, the Headmaster rose, supporting himself a bit by the strength of his walking-staff. "Your time does not end today Lady Jalani, but there will be harsh times ahead of you."
"Ahead of us."
"Indeed, my lady."
The elderly scholar sighed at this outburst, and though his body stood erect as the carved statues that adorned the city, his mind weighed heavily upon the sturdy orkin-wood in his left. "Jalani, it is understandable that you would think to run, but I tell you now, the foe that besieges us knows the forests better than Yvindel's finest scouts; should you leave, they can and will hunt you down -- provided the Rrreshkohfmehmtahv --in addition to the various other beasts of prey-- do not find you first." Iraasnej looked on wearily at the girl from beneath his heavy brow, seeing her fear but being unable to empathize with it. He strode towards the where the princess now sat, a pallor tone having taken hold of her horrified expression of doubt as she pressed her palms together in angst knowledge as to what lay in store for the city.
If they stayed, they'd burn.
If they left, they'd be slaughtered.
Indeed, the cruel irony behind their situation lay in the harsh reality of their own attackers -- the oppressed Deepmire was the only 'civilized' residence for almost a hundred kilometers, as it had always been. Even if they were to flee, where fore could they find shelter?
She felt the weight of her tutor sink the finely crafted bed as he set himself down beside her. She felt his hand nestle itself upon her shoulder, trying to provide some semblance of comfort.
But she could feel no fear in him -- and turning her gaze from the floor towards his weathered face, it almost seemed as if there wasn't a siege at all. No monstrous walls of flame coming to devour generations of people -- not all good, admittedly...but not all bad either; No panic-stricken crowds thronging through each of the district gates; Not even the known monsters lurking in the forests' gloom felt anywhere near reality when she looked at the old man.
"Listen, Jalani, you know well of the promise I made upon your mother's passing.", he began, his Rookwood eyes doing as they might to try and persuade their audience into a relaxed focus. Her own eyes --black as those of many of the women in her ancestral line-- blinked in understanding, and bade he continue. "This pact I swore oath to -- that within my power, so long as I lived in consciousness, I would do all that can be done to protect you; My advice may appear suicidal, but it is what I have found to be in your best interests -- in this way shall I ever serve, as I have all of these past fourteen years and to this very day."
"...And your own interests? What forces may protect you from all the ill-fortune that seeks me?"
He smiled in response to this, his gaze turning towards the noon-light that streamed in from their window opposite. "By the grace of the gods and the skill of my wit, I will live for those close to me -- even if they reside in peril all their days."
With this, the Headmaster rose, supporting himself a bit by the strength of his walking-staff. "Your time does not end today Lady Jalani, but there will be harsh times ahead of you."
"Ahead of us."
"Indeed, my lady."
GM
As if in sorrow, tear-drops rained down the azure cheeks of the sun in irregular showers, bursting forth atop earth and flesh and stone with fiery anguish. Amok and wild with desperation, the denizens of the colossus flung themselves further and furthermore into the very heart of Yvindel, bucking and baying as the roaring blaze corralled them in for the slaughter. Like a beast mad with the scent of the hunt did that same enraged, unnatural fire slowly continue its greedy consumption of the city, swallowing beast, man and stone alike in its insatiable hunger...leaving only scorched ash in its wake.
A tribute to its destructive prowess, or perhaps a compliment to the vile creators of such a demonic force; Whatever the case, the outcome of the billowing wall seemed presaged by the violent shade it cast over the lands -- endearingly illuminated as it was by the procession of the sky into Evening's violet splendor.
Keenly aware of this terror, and with his heart threatening to escape its confinement within his chest, the bloodied tramp plodded heavily beneath the specter of their demise. The masses were long behind him now, giving him a while yet to recuperate from his over-exertion. Of course, this was all easier said than done, especially given that he could barely see, his skull was throbbing, his heart was on the verge of collapsing and his stomach seemed to be swaying every way that the wind blew. If he'd had the energy to titter, it'd be appropriate given the sudden focus one gained towards all the nitpicks of a disastrous scenario such as theirs.
A chill ran through his ragged frame, once more alerting Feraen to his senses, to that aged-old instinct: Danger
For a moment, he paused, but nothing came to mind. His arms swung loosely by his side, smashing into his hips with every weary step forward. The wall of the inner-most district appeared to only peak cravenly over the road, shivering in the haze that encompassed the lengthy distance towards it. The sweat that'd stung the beggar's eyes with salt had long since passed, leaving only irritated, reddening skin to bake in the unrelenting heat. The distant roars seemed to resurface arbitrarily, leaving him befuddled as to how close he was to that torturous fate...
Drearily, the swollen lids gave in to their own crushing weight, as did the rest of the figure. He felt an abrasive impact, dust racing past his face and into his lungs...and then sweet, comforting slumber.
Iraasnej observed the brazen posture of the guardsman from where he stood, contemplating the report with collected scrutiny...but he refrained from responding. Instead, he remained yet neutral in the argument, opting to muse over this newfound information. In the meanwhile, the guard resumed: "Even as we speak, our riders are sweeping the eastern thickets for the enemy -- provided they reach them in time, we expect only the outer-district will have been afflicted."
At this, the young queen interrupted, raising a slender hand in preparation for her query: "--And the outer-district and those attached to it?"
Hammond shifted nervously --standing as upright as his figure would allow it-- as he responded in earnest: "While many made it into the second district, those gates and inner walls have been closed and abandoned in preparation for the flame; Those unfortunates who couldn't make it within will perish, but the fires will subside against the heights given time, my lady." With this he bowed, nodding towards the two of them as he made his exit.
Jalani dropped to her knees, her head in her hands, and the entire state of her frame a broken mess. Again, she felt the strength of her mentor's embrace as she pressed her face into his breast, soiling his garments with her sputtering, choking sobs. He rested the staff beside them, holding the girl close as she shivered against his old corpse. No words in the world could've eased her dismal state -- so instead, he let her lie.
"Rest now, Jalani, for I fear the greatest of our sorrows are yet to come."
A tribute to its destructive prowess, or perhaps a compliment to the vile creators of such a demonic force; Whatever the case, the outcome of the billowing wall seemed presaged by the violent shade it cast over the lands -- endearingly illuminated as it was by the procession of the sky into Evening's violet splendor.
Keenly aware of this terror, and with his heart threatening to escape its confinement within his chest, the bloodied tramp plodded heavily beneath the specter of their demise. The masses were long behind him now, giving him a while yet to recuperate from his over-exertion. Of course, this was all easier said than done, especially given that he could barely see, his skull was throbbing, his heart was on the verge of collapsing and his stomach seemed to be swaying every way that the wind blew. If he'd had the energy to titter, it'd be appropriate given the sudden focus one gained towards all the nitpicks of a disastrous scenario such as theirs.
A chill ran through his ragged frame, once more alerting Feraen to his senses, to that aged-old instinct: Danger
For a moment, he paused, but nothing came to mind. His arms swung loosely by his side, smashing into his hips with every weary step forward. The wall of the inner-most district appeared to only peak cravenly over the road, shivering in the haze that encompassed the lengthy distance towards it. The sweat that'd stung the beggar's eyes with salt had long since passed, leaving only irritated, reddening skin to bake in the unrelenting heat. The distant roars seemed to resurface arbitrarily, leaving him befuddled as to how close he was to that torturous fate...
Drearily, the swollen lids gave in to their own crushing weight, as did the rest of the figure. He felt an abrasive impact, dust racing past his face and into his lungs...and then sweet, comforting slumber.
Iraasnej observed the brazen posture of the guardsman from where he stood, contemplating the report with collected scrutiny...but he refrained from responding. Instead, he remained yet neutral in the argument, opting to muse over this newfound information. In the meanwhile, the guard resumed: "Even as we speak, our riders are sweeping the eastern thickets for the enemy -- provided they reach them in time, we expect only the outer-district will have been afflicted."
At this, the young queen interrupted, raising a slender hand in preparation for her query: "--And the outer-district and those attached to it?"
Hammond shifted nervously --standing as upright as his figure would allow it-- as he responded in earnest: "While many made it into the second district, those gates and inner walls have been closed and abandoned in preparation for the flame; Those unfortunates who couldn't make it within will perish, but the fires will subside against the heights given time, my lady." With this he bowed, nodding towards the two of them as he made his exit.
Jalani dropped to her knees, her head in her hands, and the entire state of her frame a broken mess. Again, she felt the strength of her mentor's embrace as she pressed her face into his breast, soiling his garments with her sputtering, choking sobs. He rested the staff beside them, holding the girl close as she shivered against his old corpse. No words in the world could've eased her dismal state -- so instead, he let her lie.
"Rest now, Jalani, for I fear the greatest of our sorrows are yet to come."
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