[center][h2]The Tempest[/h2]
[i]~Collabed by BBeast, Cyclone, Kho and Antarctic Termite, with consultation from Rtron~[/i][/center]

There were the shouts of hain, the clacking of spears against the ground, and the rustling of arrows in their quivers. Today was the day when these hain would stand united to defend their homeland against the threat of the horde. They had been training and arming themselves for a month, gaining from the peerless combat skills of Wind Striker and industriously crafting armaments under the guidance of Gerrik Far-Teacher. And now the horde advanced, and would be upon them very soon.

Gerrik walked along the defences, shouting orders to the warrior hain which assembled themselves. As the hain coordinated themselves, Gerrik made his way up to Wind Striker.

"Is there anything more that needs to be prepared, Wind Striker?" Gerrik asked.

Wind Striker stared out into the wooded marshlands for a few moments before responding. [color=orange]"No, everything is in order. Get yourself ready, Gerrik, for they will arrive in a few minutes."[/color]

Gerrik nodded and left for his own post. He lifted his bow from over his shoulders and held it in his left hand. With his right hand he counted the arrows in the quiver by his waist, despite the fact that he already knew the exact quantity. This task being inadequate, he used his Perception to count every arrow in the village. This task was finished in moments, and there was no point in counting them again, so Gerrik's only stimulus was to watch the horizon and the forest for any sign of the horde.

It was only a few minutes, and Gerrik was completely conscious of that, but they felt like the longest minutes in his life. The whole village was silent in anticipation, sensing that the time was near. Every breath, every rustle, seemed amplified tenfold. Gerrik could feel his own heart pumping harder, and he Perceived every other heart on the wooden walls doing the same. Every heart, that is, except for Wind Striker's, who seemed unnaturally calm despite the nerves which were ubiquitous across the village.

Wind Striker sensed this too. So he turned to the assembled warrior hain and [url=https://youtu.be/8WcNH73PX78]projected his voice as he spoke to them all[/url]. [color=orange]"Hain, the time for battle is near. You are nervous and fearful, and you have every right to be, but [i]do not let your fear consume you[/i]. We have trained. We are prepared. We will be victorious!"[/color]

A wave of courage washed over all the hain present, and the warriors all raised their fists and cried out a cheer.

Moments later, something could be spotted flying over the treetops. All the warriorhain quickly snapped to attention and watched the approaching flying figure. Although it had wings, it was also humanoid, and unlike anything which the other hain had seen before. Soon two more joined it, and as they approached around forty more of these winged beings could be seen flying over the treetops, well behind these forward scouts. As soon as the first angel had come close enough to be seen clearly, a glowing spear of amber light appeared in his hand and was raised above his head, waving to the ones behind as some kind of signal.

Suddenly, those three angels dove towards the village, thirsting for the first blood of the battle, heedless of the walls and weapons that were defending the village. As soon as they were in bowshot, a few of the braver warriorhain loosed arrows at their airborne enemies, but a translucent wall of blue light appeared between the angels and the hain, deflecting the arrows as if they were nothing. The angel with the spear lifted it up to throw at the hain below.

Yet Gerrik was faster. He had Perceived the angel's muscles preparing to heft the spear, deduced that its function was similar to the Eenal Bow, albeit with less power, and saw the necessity of action. He had to shoot first, or those he had been charged with protecting would be struck down. Swiftly an arrow was fired from the Eenal Bow, streaking a path of golden light through the air, smashing through the magical shield, and tearing through the spear-angel's chest.

As the slain angel fell, there was a battle cry from the hain defending the village, and arrows were shot at the two startled and retreating angels, wounding them. At this moment, the other angels of the horde all crossed over the tree line, and from the forests burst forth a ravenous horde of two hundred hain, screaming and wailing their own vicious battle cries.

As the chaos hain charged up the hill, brandishing their crude axes, spears, clubs and bows, they were met by a rain of arrows and javelins. Many were wounded and fell, to be trampled by the hain behind them. Yet before the chaos hain could reach the village the fallen angels were upon the defenders.

In all this time, Gerrik was frozen in horror. His Perception gave him a gruesome vision of the battle which he would not have wished upon anyone. He saw every single wound inflicted, every bone broken, every artery burst, every organ ruptured, every ragged breath and fading heartbeat. The violent death of every creature within his Perception was seen in full detail, inside and out, and the sheer volume of this terrible scene was utterly overwhelming.

Gerrik was thrown back into reality when his left arm jerked up above his head and the Guardian Shield grew to block an energy blast from one of the angels above him. The angels were attacking, some firing bolts of energy from the air, some landing behind the defenders and engaging them in melee combat. The shields cast by the angels made it difficult for the hain to strike back, and those wounds they did inflict were healed before their very eyes by some other magic. Simultaneously, the chaos hain were assaulting the wall and trying to climb it, now that the attention of the defenders was divided.

Although the horror was still great, the will to survive was greater. Gerrik nocked an arrow and struck down the angel who had attacked him. Gerrik then fired another arrow through an ethereal shield and slew the blue-haired angel projecting it. But shooting down the angels one by one would be much too slow. The defenders were in a dire situation.

Side stepping a spear thrown at him and shooting an arrow through the skull of a chaos hain trying to climb the wall, Gerrik shouted at the top of his lungs to the defenders. "Group together! Use your shields! Do not get split up!" As trained, the warriorhain assembled into tight rows, spears bristling from behind shields. Between the two rows, facing each way, were the archers. Three of these clusters were formed. This was a formidable formation, but there were not enough defenders to effectively defend from all directions. It was still vulnerable, and would not hold against the entire horde.

The effort of their manoeuvre was far from wasted, and the swooping angels visibly reacted to the display of defensive discipline. A ripple of hesitation swept over the onslaught, a startled moment, like a flock of birds disturbed. Only one among their number did not move. A solitary angel with hair of coal-smeared straw, hovering high, with a carefree heart of broken glass. From her neck whipped something like a scarf of black and red. She whispered.

[i]"Do you see that, Violet?"[/i] A brief tightening of the scarf. [i]"I like it."[/i] The eerie fabric made a faint rustling noise, and the fallen angel giggled. Then she screamed, and plummeted into freefall.

[i]"RALLY![/i] Farshteln, ershter! Shverd, aroys! Roseve tsu mir![i]"[/i]

Converging on her as fish to a bait, the winged fighters aligned in a messy order as they fell. The command made immediate sense. In the chaos, the angels had been fighting in loose teams, the three powers haphazardly mixed. Now the blue shielders became the spearhead, pushing through the rising arrows, as golden lancers sheltered in a loose ring behind them, healers in the center.

[i]"Crush them!"[/i]

The wedge formation fell into the inner-row of one of the clusters and burst, shields forcing the melee apart as healers and lancers scattered overhead, blasted and were shot, cut and were cut down. The scarf whipped behind the angel as she flew, frayed into tendrils, and flicked slingstones at her prey with whipcrack speed. Two curved sabres materialised in her hands, and she laughed as she spun over the dissolving rows of warriorhain.

As things were starting to seem dire, the wind rustled over the treetops. While this might have seemed mundane, at the last second the source of this breeze came into Gerrik's Perception. Djinn. There were but nine of the greater elementals, but an army of hundreds of little Flickers followed behind them. And they were closing in on the airspace above the village.

[center][h3][b]≈≈≈≈≈[/b][/h3][/center]

With the passing of the last few days Ventus had managed to gather about a mere fraction of the grand host that he had imagined; where Teknall and Zephyrion might have expected him to muster some grand communion of skylords that could conjure a hurricane, Ventus had about him...eight djinn of high standing. But that would be enough, for this battle at least.

As fast as the wind, nay, swifter for they pushed the wind to greater speeds than even it yearned for, they made for that one Hain village where Teknall had requested their aid. To his satisfaction, Ventus observed the Horde already beginning their assault. There would be no waiting.

With but a thought, Ventus ordered his following to attack corrupted angels. With their minds connected to one another in a grand communion, they did so decisively and with flawless coordination.

The vengeful wind swept over the battlefield and the flanking djinn immediately attacked those angels that had been closest to the settlement's walls. With varying degrees of cruelty and ruthlessness, they disposed of ten or so angels that had been taken by surprise.

One found itself suddenly swept up by a storm of winds so powerful that they broke his wings and left him spiraling helplessly down to his doom. Two others were slammed against the wall itself and battered by the fists of djinn. The concussive blasts of air left those victims far beyond death.

As in for Ventus, he remained amidst a stormcloud and observed from afar. A stormlord alongside Ventus busied himself with hurling lightning down upon the angels. The aim of his first bolt was true, and in an instant he incinerated one foe. The second missed its mark and struck the wooden walls of the village. Paying no need to the defending mortals, that lord continued his work and simply bombarded the airspace below with more lightning. The lives of the Hain within the village and even those corrupted ones attacking it were of no matter; their sacred task had been to fell the angels, and so that was what they would do.

The angels had been hapless and taken by surprise at first, but upon witnessing the demise of their brethren they became aware of their own peril. In like manner to how they had attempted to block Gerrik's magical arrows with barriers of their own magic, they began to shield themselves from the lightning above. The stormlord paid that no heed; he simply prodded at their barriers until he found a gap or weakness, then struck.

As in for those zealous djinn that had engaged the angels directly, they were quickly turned upon by magic of a more offensive nature. Blasts of raw chaos magic were hurled at the vaporous form of one djinn, and as the concentrated barrage of magic struck him it fused with his essence and devoured his very form. With an otherworldly howl, that djinn met his end.

Never before had any of them fought with living creatures in a battle such as this, and indeed they may have been the first of their kind to experience this strange sort of battle. They had expected these angels to have been as mindless and helpless as a flock of birds, and were of course taken aback by the angels' retaliation. Birds and the like dared not oppose the forces of nature; what wretched vermin were these?

With both sides spurred into a fervor to avenge their fallen, they fought with even greater brutality. While those bound to the ground below fought and died, another battle of equal vigor raged above. One angel was seized by a hundred lesser elementals and savagely torn apart. A grisly rain of blood fell down upon the warriors below.

[center][h3][b]≈≈≈≈≈[/b][/h3][/center]

In the carnage, the momentary unity among the angels did not survive. Social by nature, the warriors continued their ragged teamwork, at times coalescing for the span of a few seconds into bundles before splaying out to dig their teeth in. But as the scarfed angel watched, in glances and glimpses between the blood of battlefield survivalism, she knew that her chances of rallying them again were slim. The inky scarf, stained with far more red than it had been patterned with an hour ago, tugged and tickled at her neck. Their message was obvious. Urgent.

[i]"Alright,"[/i] mouthed the angel in a breath. [i]"I'll run."[/i]

For a moment she crouched, then leapt at the sky. The air blurred before her, and driven by vicious instinct, she whirled, threw both sabres, and watched as one, then another lesser spirit exploded into motes of golden dust.

Others were gaining. Drawn to the scarf that marked her out like a target. Violet shuffled, then loosened their grip.

[i]"Go,"[/i] said the angel. [i]"I'll come back for you."[/i]

Violet held her tightly with a woven arm, then slipped off into the open air. The moment slowed. Their hand was still outstretched. Feathers flicked. She was just out of reach. Violet watched the arrow cut through her wing. She began to flounder. Wind shear seized her in an unseen grip and hurled her out over the plain. Another arrow pierced her belly. She was out of reach.

[i]No,[/i] breathed a voice in Violet's mind as they fell.

And then she was gone.

[center][h3][b]≈≈≈≈≈[/b][/h3][/center]

Murmur breathed deeply and reveled in the Storm: its beauty, its power, its cruelty, its [i]awe[/i]. With each spear of lightning that the Stormlord conjured, Murmur beat upon his chest, and there was a deafening boom of thunder to accompany it. The crackle of lightning, the cries of those below, and his drumming came together in perfect harmony. [i]Another masterpiece.[/i]

It had been too long since last he had accompanied the Stormlords and made his Voice heard.

Perhaps his Crusade was drawing ever closer to its end; he would be allowed at last to rest, and perhaps then recover the peace and content his former occupation had given.

But then he saw [b]it[/b], and the air itself grew deathly silent. One of the abominations, this one a hideous mass of fibres all bound together by an unholy Jvanic magic. Right before his eyes! Armed with deathly purpose, he rocketed through the skies towards Violet and steeled himself to sing a more violent song.

Basheer hung humbly in the presence of Murmur, his own harmonious music overawed by the Thunder god's cannon strikes and the delirium of the raging slaughter. As he watched, he could not completely grasp the purpose behind it all. He could see no difference between those attacking and those being attacked. For instance, look at the little white ones. Look, there on the walls, were those not them? And look there, those ones assaulting the walls, are those not them also? This was akin to fire djinn fighting fire djinn! Or wind djinn warring with wind djinn - it made very little sense. 

But then again, he had not been hunting down wind djinn and fire djinn and creatures of all types? Had he not hunted them down for the corruption within them? Perhaps there was a corruption in these attackers that his eyes were yet too weak to see. One who stood in the darkest caves had to have faith in those who stood upon the peaks and could see all that lay on the wide horizons.

As Murmur left the clouds above and raced downwards, the living explosion that was his body rippled through the air and left out a low rumble of a din. In each and every shudder upon the sky's back, there whispered a voice, [b][i]"Noble Basheer, let us find your vengeance."[/i][/b]

The lethal core of intent in those words sank deep into the air. Violet fell through an atmosphere tense with looming violence of which they knew they were the target.

And yet the lost creature's thoughts sprawled wider than that. As Violet curled and began to mat, the hollow of loss began to fill with watery emotions that they did not understand. Questions without aim only gnawed at the empty listlessness. [i]What now? What's left of me? Who calls my execution? Should I let him?[/i] 

Violet's form continued to tighten in on itself as it fell to earth. They bundled up mass and knotted each hair intricately into a single weave, a dense, flexible hunk of keratin, hiding from the outside as the inner voice only echoed, louder and louder without the release of an answer- [i]Why?[/i]

It was a question that, from time to time, racked the minds and souls of all beings with wakeful minds. And suffering gave them even greater cause to question. Could they be counted, the times when Basheer would wail that self-same question to the ephemeral winds. Could their pain be realised, those eons when his tormented freak-song clawed at the sturdy roots of the towering mountains, and struck upon the proud peaks whose whiteness was once a sign of wisdom to the little spryte? But he had lived long enough to know it was not out of wisdom that the peaks whitened, but out of arrogant pride and apathy to the suffering of others. For had they been less proud, they would have come to his aid or died in the endeavour to do so - and so their peaks would never have lasted to become old and white, but would have erupted in a blaze of momentary - yet ever-lasting - glory.

One who knew not the meaning of suffering could not ask, 'Why?' One who was merely blind to the bliss in which they lived could not wonder, 'Why?' It was a heinous error, a grievous crime, for ones such as those to so much as utter - think -  'Why?'
For they did not have the capability to answer. Only those who understood suffering in its truest, gravest, and most terrible sense could ever hope to attempt a successful answer. So ask not 'Why?' ye ignorant ones! Aye, do not ask, but give up the soul forthwith and simply die! And so saying in the depths of his flickering soul, Basheer gushed forward, the calm of his flowing wind song giving way to the terrors of a death song. And sound and wind whirled one within the other, and with all that he was, Basheer drilled forth through the ether towards the waiting ground and Violet's keratin form.

[i]Why,[/i] pulsed the thought, a stubbornly apathetic fever working towards haemorrhage.

Murmur advanced in kind, and in his path the lesser elementals and angels alike scattered. Yet even winged angels could hardly outpace thunder, and so he washed over them like a nova of flame and through them like a hundred swords. A namesake from Murmur was all that it took to create a thunderous blast of compressed air that flew towards Violet. What would pulverize beings of flesh might only batter a fibreling, but Basheer would surely finish the task. With that in mind, the Djinni Lord turned his attention then to the angels about, and smited them down as his Vizier had willed.

Between zephyr's teeth and cannon's shot, the bloodstained sable bundle heaved with pressures all its own, blind in emotion and far removed from the violence they had all so readily joined. Willfully. Ignorant of consequences. Destruction came in bursting air that forced shimmers through a convulsing atmosphere. Destruction came.

For Vestec had given his faithful a gift, and the arms of His horde accept all. Violet's first magic ruptured from them and split the sky asunder.

[i]WHY[/i]

Every question and every doubt found its culmination in the Mera-Sidie's twisting soul and burned out into the world, and everything it found was gripped and torn and shredded in a unified instant of raging loss. Murmur's shout integrated with the Chaos and only blasted further the shock of that moment that tore atom from atom in a vain attempt to find something in between, some answer, anything that would fill the hollow of grief.

Basheer's song was lost in the explosive [i]snap[/i] of magic, and his fluid body was blown far by the initial burst. Murmur and Violet's painfully colliding energies had stunned the field of battle with sound, and as aftershocks cracked violently from Violet's unravelling form, spatters of molten sand particles ricocheted from the shells and walls of the fighters through a wave of hot air and dust.

Scorched, battered and fragile in the wake of its own power, the Insidie fiberling stood for a moment in the wreckage, a dark figure aglow with red whorls. Four knife-like eartips crowned a lithe silhouette, slowly becoming aware of the noise and the chaos, returning to the world.

Then the figure collapsed into a streak of hair that burst and burned and ruptured its way down into the soil, fleeing the sky and the invisible monsters that roared dominion over it, tunnelling to find safety in the cool earth where Violet unfurled over the bedrock and crept through the earth like a mould.

Violet could feel the faint weight of something small in their strands. An angelbone hairpiece, an heirloom of Hefin from ages past. It had tangled with them while- While they fell away. They held it.

Great bodies creaked through the stone on their way to the surface. Violet felt their vibrations and waited motionless as they passed, rippling the lightless earth like whales. But the rising Stonemen did not hinder the freak in their mist, for they sensed no danger in Violet. Only sorrow, and bitter thoughts of the future.

[center][h3][b]≈≈≈≈≈[/b][/h3][/center]

As the winds themselves fought against the angels and drew them away from the hain, they were able to redouble their efforts to repel the invading hain. The spear walls rearranged into a much more favourable formation and began to force back the corrupted hain. The barrages of lightning were of no help, striking down defender and invader alike and weakening their defensive line, but the best they could do was press onward.

However, in the prior chaos some of the hain had managed to scale the palisade and get into the village. Rather than pick a fight with the defenders, they ran deeper into the village, seeking out the non-combatants who were hiding in their tents. The other defenders were all preoccupied, so Gerrik was about to divert his efforts to stop those hain, when he Perceived motion from beneath the ground and remembered the reinforcements Teknall had promised.

The marauders had found a family hiding in a hut, and advanced upon the family who were screaming in terror. But they were saved as a hand of stone burst up from the earth and crushed the chest of one of the marauders. The hand was followed by a whole Urtelem, who smacked another marauder into the dust as the rest fled from the stone man.

More Urtelem rose from the ground in the village, and the mere sight of the chaos hain threw them into a terrible frenzy. They rolled towards the invaders, mighty limbs of stone shattering hain shell and crushing hain limbs. Urtelem sunk into the ground behind palisade and rose up on the other side, crushing and scattering the chaos hain who were still attempting to scale the walls.

The chaos hain may have been bloodthirsty, but they were not senseless. The Urtelem were forcing them to scatter, and without the weight of numbers in their attacks the skillful defenders were gaining the upper hand. There were some shouts to retreat, and the chaos hain turned to flee. The defenders fired a few parting arrows, and the raging Urtelem gave chase as the hain of the horde fled into the trees.

[url=https://youtu.be/iArgqkwlza8]Finally, there was calm[/url]. The chaos hain had fled. The angels had been scattered. The elementals had dispersed. The Urtelem were wandering off. All that was left were the survivors of the village, the bodies of the dead and wounded, and the gathering crows, drawn by the scent of death.

With adrenaline wearing off, Gerrik was left trembling, his breathing shallow and bile rising in his throat. The wounds and mutilation across the bodies strewn across the battlefield was horrendous. Gerrik closed his eyes, but he was not spared his Perception, which showed him more detail than anyone else could possibly see. Gerrik had never seen death on such a scale before.

The other hain were grieving, shaken, sombre, or mournful. Those who were able were tending to the wounded among the warriorhain. Some were crying over the dead.

But they had been victorious, had they not? Though it had required the forces of the sky and the earth combined to ensure the victory, the horde of chaos had been crippled and scattered, not to return. But was that really a victory? Some of the hain of this village had been slain. The walls were smouldering. The earth soaked in blood. It hardly felt like a victory.

Gerrik took stock of the situation, counting. Counting helped take the focus off the wounds. He realised that though the battle had been intense, and far bloodier than anticipated, the dead among the village hain numbered only fourteen out of forty three warriorhain, while one hundred and seventy out of two hundred and eight chaos hain and forty nine out of fifty seven angels had been slain. By the numbers, this was a reasonable result. Granted, the majority of the warriorhain had been wounded, but they would recover if they could be kept from succumbing to infection. But still, the death toll had been surprisingly low. Every death was felt hard, of course, but things could have been so much worse.

It was then that Gerrik realised that the hain of the village were looking to him in expectation. Were they expecting him to say something? Could not Wind Striker say something instead, speak more of his inspiring words of courage and bravery?

But as Gerrik looked through his memories of the battle, for he always remembered every detail of everything ever since he had first been blessed by Teknall, he knew why the hain looked to him and not Wind Striker. Wind Striker was no longer here. And Wind Striker was also the reason that more hain survived than expected.

For Wind Striker had been amongst the warriorhain, fighting valiantly. And those around him also fought valiantly. The hain who fought by the Great Combatant's side could not be shaken, and though they might be struck and wounded, they kept fighting, as though driven on by divine will. Their spears held firm, their arrows flew true, their shields stood strong, their hammers struck hard. Even as the elementals rained lightning carelessly onto the ground below, those who fought by Wind Striker's side did not scatter and did not fear, and seemingly by luck most of the bolts missed the hain of the village. As the chaos hain attempted to breach the walls, Wind Striker was there to hinder their efforts. Yet, as the Urtelem emerged, tipping the scales of battle one last time, Wind Striker simply vanished into thin air, defying notice until Gerrik carefully replayed the scenes in his mind and found the discontinuity.

Wind Striker had been a god amongst hain. He had allowed the battle to inflict enough pain to ensure that the bitterness of war was known, but not enough to cripple the village, such that this battle could be retold as a victory, an example to other hain, and a warning to the forces of chaos. And, once his task was done, he had quietly left, allowing the hain to take their own lessons from the experience. Where he had gone, not even the gods knew, but he was no longer amongst mortals.

The hain of the village were still waiting. They needed words of encouragement and support, and Gerrik would give them those words. He stood boldly and spoke in a loud and clear voice, "Hain of the village, we have won a great victory today. He have stood firm in the path of the horde of chaos and repelled it. It was by no small cost that we won this battle; I too mourn for the fourteen who were slain today. But know that their sacrifice was not in vain, for by their bravery, and the bravery of the other warriorhain, and the tireless work of everyone in this village, every other life in this village and the lives of every other hain the horde would have reached are safe. Know that the world is a safer place now because of our actions today. May we also thank the gods for sending the spirits of the air and the men of the earth, who provided much needed strength in battle, as well as their emissary Wind Striker, who had prepared us and fought along our side.

"Some of you are wondering where Wind Striker is. He is no longer here. Towards the end of the battle he was spirited away, for he had finished the task he had come to do. But let us focus no longer on the past, for the present brings its own concerns. Some must bury the dead. Some must burn the remains of the enemies. Some must tend to the wounded. Then we can return to our lives."

There was no cheer, for this was a time of sorrow, but there was agreement. Some went to undertake the grisly task of gathering up and disposing of the corpses of the chaos hain and angels. Some began preparing the funeral rites for the deceased among the villagers. And some, including Gerrik, tended to the wounds of the surviving warriorhain. Gerrik's travels gave him knowledge of a few good remedies for wounds which would decrease the chance of infection, which came as a boon to the village.

The clean up lasted a day. Mourning lasted a few days longer. Then, slowly, after thirty days of disruption, the regular rhythm of life began to return to the village. And once his duties were finished, Gerrik departed from that place of horror and death. The battle had pushed him to be tougher, braver, but it also left him with haunting images. Though he could not forget, Gerrik could at least do what he could to not remember, and also to try and not let such conflict happen again.

[hider=The End]
This post, the sequel to Stand, marks the end of the original Hordes of Chaos arc. It is set thirty days after Phantasmagoria. We're done this time for real, okay.

The fortified village, containing Gerrik Far-Teacher and Wind Striker (Kyre in disguise, for those who forgot), waits for the Horde of Chaos to arrive. Wind Striker gives a rousing speech.

The Horde of Chaos arrives, with its chaos hain and fallen angels. Gerrik's bow is able to penetrate the shields of the angels, but the other weapons of the hain are ineffective, and the village hain quickly find themselves fighting a battle on two fronts as the angels fly over the walls and flank the warriors. Among the horde is an angel wearing the fiberling Violet as a scarf, and this angel seems to hold some authority.

The elementals under Vizier Ventus arrive, and the angels are scattered, although not without killing a few of the djinn. Lightning is hurled at the angels without care for the hain below, striking defender and attacker alike being struck and the walls being damaged.

Murmur and Basheer are among the elementals. They attack, with Basheer seeking out Violet. Violet's angel companion flees as Violet flutters to the ground like an angry handkerchief, Basheer closing in. In a fit of raging emotions and confusion, Violet unleashes a blast of destruction magic, knocking Basheer and Murmur away and becoming an Insidie Fiberling Destruction Mage. Violet then flees deep into the earth.

Meanwhile, the village hain are regrouping, and a few chaos hain get past the wall and enter the village. They are crushed by Urtelem as they emerge from the ground. The remaining chaos hain are killed or scattered. The village is safe once more.

The battle is a victory for the village, with only a relatively small number of warrior hain slain. It is realised by Gerrik that Wind Striker had been working his subtle influences into the battle such that a favourable outcome would occur for the hain village. Wind Striker mysteriously vanished towards the end of the battle. In an address to the crowd, Gerrik refers to Wind Striker as an emissary of the gods.

The village buries their dead and burns the dead of the horde. The wounded are tended to, with help from some remedies Gerrik knew. Gerrik later departs.

Made worse by the combination of his Perception, eidetic memory and ability to process everything he perceives, witnessing the gruesome horrors of battle on such a scale has left Gerrik mentally scarred, to a degree. It also provides a degree of experience and resilience, enough to Level Up.
[/hider]
[hider=Khookie Summary]
[u]Gerrik Far-Teacher[/u]
Start: 18 Khookies
Spent: 16 Khookies (14 to Level up to 8, 2 for teaching improved wound treatment)
Earned: 10 Khookies (33000+ characters)
End: 12 Khookies

[u]Vizier Ventus[/u]
Start: 46 Khookies
Spent: 0 Khookies
Earned: 4 Khookies (3000+ characters)
End: 50 Khookies

[u]Basheer[/u]
Start: 0 Khookies
Spent: 0 Khookies
Earned: 6 Khookies (7000+ characters)
End: 6 Khookies

[u]Murmur[/u]
Start: 0 Khookies
Spent: 0 Khookies
Earned: 6 Khookies (7000+ characters)
End: 6 Khookies
[/hider]