[h3]Aemoten[/h3]
	
	[b][i]That was it.[/i][/b] He was permitted no rest. No respite for him. No break. He could not relent. Could not falter. Could not close his eyes and rest. Could not even [i]collapse[/i]... No longer, not anymore, not... It would be far easier to simply give up. To not fight anymore. To let oneself to slump down and let the world end if it so desired. It seemed to be headed that way - either all world had gone to hell already, or all of Reniam had a personal vendetta against them. Heck, [i]all Planes[/i], if the appearance of the DevilGod and "the first of the nephilim" was any indicator. 
	But he could not let go. For everything that he had been taught and raised with. For everything that he believed in. For everything that he stood for. For his duty, his subordinates, his friends, the woman he loved... If he breaks, then how long it would be till the rest followed? It had been a close call for them, this morning. Too damn close... Thaler, Olan, even Jaelnec ... he could have lost them all. He had to go on, to continue onward. To carry on, here and now.
	Koraakan knew how [i]that[/i] was supposed to be possible. He was but a human man. He needed rest to maintain his basic functions, lest he succumb completely and be rendered dead altogether - or at least as dead he could feasibly go. And there was no one more useless than a dead man. And even tired men ... tired men made mistakes. Grievous ones. 
	[i]Later.[/i] Now, he had to act. 

	From leaning on a shaking arm to half-kneeling, from half-kneeling to unsteady standing. The foreign warrior's pallid face was stern, his eyes hard. A mask hiding a mix of ire, annoyance, hopelessness, and determination. A grim, fatigued figure in a dark coat. His right hand moved to grip the handle of his sword as he moved onward - striding forward, not running -, though to what avail, he did not yet know. He would make a suboptimal combatant in his current state. His head was pounding. The air was too cold.
	From that distance, he could do little to intervene what was ensuing; he could see Jaelnec block the ... woman's strike, her drop the blade, and Thaler rush forward to drag her off and latch onto her back, only to immediately be slammed to the ground under the assailant. 
	[i]Thaler...[/i] He felt a stab in his chest. He had just wanted to reach Zerul City without another incident. Get one night's worth of uninterrupted sleep before being up against the whole damn word again. Provide that much, at least. Ensure this one little thing. But not even that had he been able to do... He could not fight it all... Not alone. No matter how much he wanted. He would grow weak, wear out, and then fall. Broken men cannot ... but that meant someone else took the blows. [i]I'm sorry, Thaler.... I could not. I just ... could not. I did try... I did try, but my body and mind gave way. I could not...[/i]
	The woman fought with savagery he had only seen once in the recent history - from the three-quarter-demon. Only, she had assaulted him firsthand. Torn Brian's face off for trying to aid him before his eyes. There was little doubt in the outlander's mind that if she would get the chance, this strange woman would not hesitate to tear Thaler's face off, too... As if she had not been through enough already today. For a moment, a bolt of white rage coursed through his mind - indeed, this time he would not have been certain he would not have succumbed to the urge to inflict a sudden and brutal death upon the woman, if she were within a hand's reach and he had the energy left for it -, but as it were, he managed to subdue the feeling by the time he had moved another dozen feet closer. Only the look in his eyes hardened for a moment, and a muscle by his jaw twitched as he clenched his teeth. He could still taste blood. 
	The fight progressed fast - as most fights against a much more numerous adversary were wont to. He could see Jaelnec approach and stagger back, and Iridiel make the decisive move - break her neck or knock her senses out of it, either way she was no longer a threat. The Sekalyn's hand dropped from the grip of his sword, now hanging limply by his side. Considering that Iridiel went through the effort of standing on her and pointing her weapons in her face, probably not dead...
	He could see the splotchy-skinned man crouch by the downed woman, saying something he could not quite make out, Olan moving up to her, and Thaler crawl out from under the woman (ignoring Domhnall's held-out hand), but not before elbowing her to the head one more time, briefly knocking her out.

	Etakar had moved over, and was now looking down at the humanoids with a measure of rather pointed mild disapproval. 

	Aemoten came to a halt for a moment, hesitating, eyes moving from their new "detainee", to Jaelnec, to Thaler. In the end, he decided that Olan and their new acquaintances had the situation well in hand (Etakar's looming presence withstanding); Thaler was perhaps the most troubled for the time being. He sent a tired look in Jaelnec's direction, looked once more at Iridiel, wincing and motioning down with his hand, and then turned to meet Thaler on her way.
	She was a mess; her clothes torn further, covered in scratches and bruises, a number of which no doubt covered up by what remained of her clothes. He could find another shirt, maybe ... with anything else they were out of luck for the time being. They'd all need to buy a few sets of clothes each once they finally make it to Zerul City...
	"Thaler..." His voice was unusually rasped, though this time equal measures from his throat being raw and him being soundly asleep not two minutes ago, as well as weaker than usual. In truth, he also did not know what to say... Maybe start from the beginning. "When I was asleep ... what happened?"