[i]To say that no mind is purged of fear is to lie; it is what one does when terror weighs on them that determines one's fate[/i]

[center][b][h3]Woodstop[/h3][/b]
[@TheFake] [@Lord Zee][/center]

Revenmar's request garnered a nod from Effin, who crossed his arms in anticipation of watching the silver knight at work.  He strode over toward the butcher duo, each heavy, armored step creating a sound intimidating in itself, and before he'd even reached them the pair had abandoned their current tasks to stand facing Revenmar as attentively as they could.  When he stopped, there was a moment of absolute silence.  The change in Revenmar's bearing told everyone present that he was on the hunt for someone, and not a soul in the kitchen dared display any kind of disrespect, lest they be targeted.  This feeling only deepened for the two old men the ominous and immaculate newcomer approached when he spoke, not to them, but to the cookmaster he'd left behind.  Morderik, feeling the pressure himself, hurried to answer, but before he could say a thing Revenmar interrupted him to address the butchers himself.  Of course, this left Morderik worried.  People of his caliber, lowborn but used to the haughty and even tyrannical ways of most lords, knew too well some of the ways smallfolk could be taken advantage of in even mundane social interactions.  If this knight asked a question but did not permit him to answer, he could accuse him of all manner of things, no matter how unfair.

At this point, however, the tensions and concerns in the background had fallen out of relevance for Markris and Setheo.  Their hearts, wizened over the years like their owners, pounded for the first time in decades to hear the edge in Revenmar's voice and to see the hand upon the hilt of his sword.  They hadn't the slightest idea why this person, obviously a man of authority, had appeared and singled them out for hard words and threats.  Setheo, distinguishable from his friend by the bandanna on his head and his longer whiskers, tried to respond but found himself paralyzed.  Instead, he almost gagged on his own saliva.  Meanwhile, Markris tried to control his breathing.  His nerves were going haywire, and it felt as though his lungs were wrapped in chains.  It was he who managed to construe a reply to Revenmar's inquiry.

“M-milord, I wasn't p-payin' much attention, but ch-chances are, Angenny took it when she went to d-deliver Count Niklas 'n Count Ingvar their lunch.”  He looked around the room, trying to find support, but everyone else turned their eyes away when his drew too close.  If Markris was implicated in something, none of them were interesting in being dragged along beside him.  The old man knew he needed to deflect suspicion somehow, and luckily a truthful redirection lay right in front of him.  “Uh, t'answer your other question, s-sir, 'Genny was here a minute ago, jus' left in fact.”  His voice had grown a touch steadier, but the throb of his heart made his fear all too apparent.

[center]-=-=-[/center]

Fleet-footed as they were, the beastmen archers stood no chance to evade the deathly blast aimed at them.  Their stolen life, however, flew not toward its taker, but toward Lenore; noxious red and yellow fumes eked from her skin as her passive skill Blood-starved sucked it up.  If the clones Kallahar destroyed harbored and life energy to give, as doubles made of force magic seldom did, the meat maiden would have unwittingly devoured those too.  In any case, she did not appear aware of what she'd done.  Her focus lay on the ground, shame and guilt visible in her slouch and on her face as the foxmen who had rallied their courage to challenge her fled, shrieking and scattered, into the underbrush.  The horrific sight of two of their kin mutated into fleshy abominations broke what resolve they'd drummed up, but it left the one who'd committed that act shaken too.

[i]What I just did was twisted,[/i] she thought, clutching her staff with whitened knuckles.  [i]I can't do that, even to enemies.  Whether this whole crazy thing is real or not, it's not just a game anymore.  It's just like Batman: it's not what's inside that really matters, but what I do with it.  If I'm gonna be a good person, I have to find other ways to beat enemies.[/i]  

'Enemies' did not quite describe the situation that faced the death knight and the flesh smith now, however.  The only foe that remained was Rorryln—three of her, to be precise.  Though her muzzle and face proved difficult to read in terms of human emotion, particularly as she dashed around to attack, there could be little doubt about the grimness of her bearing.  Even a handful of second of fighting told her that this skirmish would be her end.  All that stood between the vixen and a painful demise or worse were two force fakes and her agility, but neither would hold out for long.  Her natural cunning, so powerful a tool under normal circumstances, was of no avail when her head was spinning in barely-concealed despair.  The only possible advantage she could perceive was that the second of the two unholy beings before her seemed somewhat reluctant for reasons Rorryln couldn't begin to fathom, but when the first demonstrated the power not just to slaughter her fellow foxmen but to do so with offhanded ease, the fleshy one's hesitation mattered naught.

There was a shadow of a chance that the vixen could escape, since her double were spread out enough that the death knight might not catch all three if they turned and ran, but Rorryln retained very little in the way of hope.  If she was going to die, it might as well be with some honor.  “Thou art powerful beyond my reckoning,” the three gasped as one, before gritting their teeth and steeling themselves.  “...But I will not die a coward.  Phantom attack!”  At the incantation, the three shot straight toward Kallahar at the same time.  A bright blue magic aura surrounded them, and they turned intangible for a split second to perform slashes that carried them through their target.  In midair, each summoned a rune beneath her feet and used it as a springboard to leap back toward the center.  A meter above the death knight, the trio crashed together and recombined into a single fox whose kukri burned with great force.  “My all is thine!” she cried, and with all the resolve she had left she dove with her weapon held horizontally.  Its empowered blade cleaved the air, and like a flying guillotine it fell toward Kallahar's head.  “Kyaaaaaah!”