[center][b]Uriel - Delacroix - Aryanpour[/b][/center]

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The roar of fires and din of battle assailed Uriel's ears as he hurried up the stair, breath coming in labored pants like the sudden clashes of the blades echoing almost imperceptibly for the inferno. An occasional weapon lay abandoned on the ground-as did bodies. Too many, his mind too hazy like the smoke-filled air and too rushed to recall whom the colors and designs belonged to right now, the mind-numbing agony in his forehead too distracting. He blinked hard, bringing his hand up to hold his eyes in blessedly relieving darkness for a moment-and began to hear voices. Close ones.

Uriel gritted his teeth. Not now... with anger in his sight, the bastard knelt to pick up a side-sword from the hallway steps and began to trace the edge of the wall to hide as long as possible. Slowly, he rounded the corner-as something began to trouble him. He knew one of those voices... a young man's. Familiar, linked to danger yet also care and gratitude... to whom did those words belong? Could this encounter, by some miracle, not be a threat to his life?

Then again... it might even if there was once something between them. Enemies and allies-who did he know was which as the burning walls began crumbling down? Uriel held his sword poised high, ready to strike if need be as he moved his head past to see an assembly of soldiers, guards and a nobleman knelt besides a woman laying on the ground. His glittering eyes scanned over them all, racing to understand-before one of them saw him with a sword raised near the presumed lord and pointed to him with a cry.

During the same instance the armed men and women vengefully drew their weapons, the finely dressed, Valanian nobleman rose and inched through the blinding smoke and fumes towards the armored man. As all eyes and cocked weapons pointed towards the new arrival, the nobleman shouted in an attempt to demand restraint and order. His words made little effect for a loud bang echoed through the Grand Staircase chamber. The effect was rather immediate in persuading the Valanians to lower their weapons in respect to the approach of a particularly imperious bearing lady. Her appearance marked characteristics that included straight ahead glance and a dignified posture to mark her formal bearings. Her arrival sparked enough of a resolve that brought the finely dressed within the armored man's vicinity and a look of curious familiarity.
                
“The Cometesse de Pompadour wishes to convey that the Comte de Le Crosse would at least offer his bearings as matter of proper courtesy,” the breath-taking lady addressed through a modest aristocratic nod, “Though fate has commanded, your meddlings here are beyond our understanding, though it's quite evident you have a way with words. Seems you and friends also levy a natural habit for locating the resistance and its dignitaries!”  

Upon returning the lady's gesture through the proper male greeting, the nobleman's eyes darted between the Valanians before hissing, “Etiquette be damned; you are all, completely mad! Cometesse Mirabelle, did it ever occur to [i]any of you[/i], that your arrivals might have stirred a few heads, most notably the Lord Sovereign? There presents no such ordinary coincidence that the resistance assembled under one roof?”

“How could we [i]possibly[/i] refuse an invitation from the Ecuyer D'Aubigne,” the Cometesse affirmed? “Gold and minted coins don't exactly grow on trees and acquainting the D'Aubigne family's renowned financial backing isn't a terrible stretch is it? Though I [i]do[/i] suppose we are of one breed given that your associations are ever more flamboyant.”

“Unbelievable,” the nobleman offered his armored companion a nod before coldly answering, “Did you [i]really[/i] believe you could sway the head of Aubigne family and…”

Through vision that occasionally swam Uriel listened, eyes darting back and forth between the two nobles quarelling with little comprehension, if mentions of fate, a resistance... then back to insults and matters he was not privvy to. At the least, he lowered his sword partway for the seeming lack of hostility...

... to gape slightly when the man retorting to the pompous woman's remarks nodded to him, revealing his face-one etched into his mind as though it had been carved into stone. With a tentative voice that carried a stronger note of raw, tender hope than he wanted, Uriel spoke out.

"Lucius?"

Squinting through the hazy smoke, the Prince's eyes strayed towards the scars along the man's neck and wrists. There was no mistaking the poor fellow's treatment and past wounds sustained during the harrowing nights, the two narrowly escaped Orad with their tails between their legs. Since the two split, it was the last Lucius saw of the man. There was little he could whilst on the run from many hundreds of Sarifen Sipahis and accompanying companies of mounted hunters. He'd hoped the young companion had escaped into the land where his talents could be put to good use away from vaunted killers and Sarifen soldiers.

"Magi!" he hissed through bewildered incredulity and throated gasps, "I don't know what you are doing here or your motives, however, I do hope you've good reason to explain your presence here or it seems we may likely all die here!"

The 'magi' looked back to him, his mouth a grim line. Of all the men to run into... probably the only one in the world besides his lost teacher he could rely on here and now was Lucius. With his free hand, he lifted a hand to his neck and extends a curled finger, pulling it to the side as though it were pulling on a collar. "I was captured-related to the same reasons as my fleeing when we met."

With a sigh, he took a step forward-and nearly stumbles, blinking as the blood in his body once again moves in dizzying circulation. A weak, ironic smile broke over his face. "I know not even where I am. Right now, my motive is survival."

An Ivalian screamed as she pointed towards the ceiling under where a man and a dishelved young noble lady emerged. The flames and embers fused together in a maddening inferno that not only spouted noxious fumes, but brought every trapped inhabitant gasping for air. Shouts and cries for help from respective deities all sounded at once as the survivors all dashed for cover. In the end, it all proved futile when a large groan sounded as part of the ceiling came crashing down, crushing various members of all parties. 

"I'm sorry, magi." Lucius glanced sadly towards the armored man as he moved backwards, "However, I'm afraid survival is for out of the question. [i]We are out of time ...[/i]" Just before the ceiling beams inverted upon the staircase chamber, the Prince defiantly glanced towards the ceiling and wrapped his arms around a panting, green eyed female companion. 

The unknown bastard grit his teeth as Lucius put his arms around the woman and clenches his hands hard. With a slow head and quick eyes, he scanned over the maelstrom of fire, wood, stone and steel throughout the room before glancing down with a hard, harsh look. A moment passed before he spoke, his haggard voice carrying an edge that burned like the fires around them.

"... there's a path below. While it, too, is aflame... I know it leads to escape."