[@Neianna86]
[hider=Within the Apothecary]
Jerald shakes Dag'Tyr's hand thoroughly, and soon sweeps himself into an explanation of Heartroot;

[b]It was a thick root, growing out of the ground in wild places; usually tended by the Wooden Ones as a commodity of their territories. The root was a deep red in color, similar to that of a freshly sliced ripened beet. It seemed to grow outward from exceptionally old trees, age being the critical factor rather than species- but Jerald remarks that many of the nearby trees of suitable age have been found to be rotting rather than alive, leading to this particular shortage he's experiencing. He also comments that the roots, when it rains or when they get wet, can throb like a beating heart and it makes him quite uncomfortable in a general sense- but that this can be a good time to look for fishing bait as well, as their movements draw out worms and other insects.[/b]

Jerald casts his gaze out of the shop, towards the girl indicated by Dag'Tyr; the Behemoth cub only just now appearing back at her side.

"Ah...It is unfortunate, but they are orphans and homeless. Rapscallions too, truth be told. They've bitten the hand that feeds more than once, they're a fearful bunch, and now few are willing to trust them. There are beggars even in Fenhall these days, though I often see that girl staring into that shop. Even beggars have dreams, it seems."
[/hider]

[@Guardian Angel Haruki][@XxFellsingxX][@karamonnom]

[hider=At The Palace Courtyard]
[b]The Palace Courtyard[/b]
Pyke appraises Amaryllis in an indirect manner as she speaks, his gaze lingering primarily on the Lady of Waltone after her verbal interjection into his conversational play. He pats Tomas on the shoulder, turning finally to look directly at Amaryllis. He doesn't look her over like Tomas had, but rather meets her gaze evenly as he slips again into an easy smile. Before he can speak, Alison of Waltone chimes in once again. Interrupting Ser Pyke seemed to be a habit of hers.

"I agree; this is ridiculous. I understand her to be 'Unready' but I had not anticipated it to mean 'Lacking in Punctuality' as well!"

"'er behaving didn't last long." Tomas mumbled, his discomfort apparent. Ser Pyke keeps his gaze on Amaryllis, but gestures to Alison with a hand before he speaks;

"A few minutes more, m'ladyships..." His tones were assuaging and calm. "I assure you-"

A horn blows; this was not Pyke's day for dialogue, it seems.
[/hider]

[hr]
[h3]A Horn Blows[/h3]

The sound resonates and spreads. Originating from the outer wall, quite near to the Noctem Shanty where a guard has raised horn to their lips, the sound is echoed within the city in multiple locations, then finally upon the tall palace exterior walls a trumpet player sounds the alarm in a more complex manner. 

The peoples of the city gasp, cry out, or shout- then begin scrambling.

The Noctem outside all move with haste, the elderly amongst them clicking-and-clacking as they move; the weaving couple are lifted and carried, their work not disrupted in the slightest by this delicate act, and brought inwards into the cover of the heavier wall of tents. Wagons are shifted, great effort taken against the entrenchment of the mud, but their shanty is swiftly, efficiently, fortified and closed off; the tent-tops layering tighter together as many of them seek the cover within wagons or beneath the wide tabletops present.

Within Fenhall, The smith welcomes panicking people into the forge, placing down his tongs to free his hand for a weathered axe he produces from near the anvil. Jerald, the Apothecary, throws his doors open as a tide of people rush inwards to the store- and, indeed, into other stores as well. Soon the marketplace lies abandoned- Almost abandoned. In the chaos of the panic, [b]Dag'Tyr[/b] witnesses that young girl pick up a stone and cast it against the music shop window; in the ensuing rush of the crowds, she clambers up through broken glass and grasps the somewhat warped lute in her hands. As she descends back down from the window her foot slips on rainslick wood, her leg catching on a broken shard of the windowpane and she falls to the ground, cradling the Lute in her arms and shielding it with her body as she lands heavily upon herself. The Behemoth Cub rushes towards her, having been separated by the sudden press of the throng...

But the sky darkens; what light had been eking through the cloud coverage suddenly gone. Speckled shadows dance over Fenhall, then the clouds seem to descend;

Tralaya, the fanged swarms of the dreadlord Dykto, descend over Fenhall. The singular mass of monstrous birds split, descending over Fenhall in a stream of foul screams; their jagged beaks parting in a shrill cry that resembles the wail of infants. Crossbow bolts hail into the air, initially stemming the onrush of the birds- but in the lapse of fire brought about by the need to reload, the wave of birds crashes down into the city walls like a loam-laden tide. Screams rise from the city.

[hr]

[b]The Market Place[/b]

Dag'Tyr witnesses, perhaps the sole person of this area besides the Smith and what few Guards have scrambled to this location to keep his wits, the initial descent of the Tralaya. The throng splits and diverges, the singular dark cloud above the city writhing into a series of living tendrils that split into smaller, individual, swarms as they pursue diverging targets. The Guards all make efforts to use crossbows, but are forced to draw swords and don shields as the cloud descends upon the Market; combat is soon to ensue.

The young girl and her behemoth companion are hindered by her wounded leg, and as they attempt to move away from the scene of their crime and this place of danger, the Behemoth is forced to drop the girl upon her knees on the ground and whirl about, the delicate-seeming spines on his shoulders rising into a full, porcupine-esque, flair as he prepares himself for combat. The girl, shaken as she is from her fall, clutches at the Lute feebly at first- but then the fire of conviction surges back in her eyes, and despite the danger or rain she begins softly plucking at the strings and tuning the instrument...

But the Tralaya descend upon the Market Plaza. 

[i]Initiative is not necessary here; Dag'Tyr may act. One (1) 'Tralaya Swarm' descends into the area; others are being dealt with by the myriad NPCs in the area, but this one appears to be closing in on the young orphans. At the moment, Dag'Tyr is 'safe' within Jerald's shop; he could remain within without fear of harm. For the purposes of 'distance', it is at ground level and rushing towards the young ones.[/i].
[hr]
[b]The Palace Courtyard[/b]

The Palace Walls are suddenly alive with the heavily armored movements of guards. Even Pyke's calm demeanor has been replaced by one of austere severity; his charisma bending itself from casual friendliness to the importance of the task. He makes a gesture with his arm; this act holding some significance with Tomas Smithson, who draws his smithing hammer with a slow and weighty deliberation. Pyke's longsword is suddenly in hand as well- in good time, too! for the Tralaya surge over the walls.

The Guards make good work of battering the beasts from the air, but the tide is simply too weighty. One guard is lifted off his feet as he swings about with his blade, a dozen Tralaya biting into his armored body and limbs with their jagged beaks, as they throw him from the battlement. Crossbow bolts and sword slashes thin the tide, but cannot stop it. Over the walls and into the courtyard the tralaya surge.

Alison grips the grips the gemstone medallion at her neck, Crimson already with scimitar drawn at her side, and soon the air around her crackles with a strange power as she casts her hand into the air and speaks in the strange tongue of magic; "[i]Fire![/i]"; from between her outstretched fingers, fire surges into the air and consumes a part of the Tralaya coming towards her. Her magic forces the singular cloud to split and break up into smaller, more manageable, swarms; Crimson already soaring into one, blade a blur of movement. From that erstwhile shrubbery, a methodical and strangely paced series of arrows rain out; the Noctem Woman appearing to be selecting targets in a very precise manner from her hiding spot. Tomas, for his part, seems to see a hole in that group's needs and soon he's swinging his hammer with immense strength to bat the Tralaya away from Alison as she recovers and prepares her next spell...

But that is them. Amaryllis, Vigil, and Iris have another problem. The splitting of the Great Swarm has made the Tralaya more manageable- but still a threat.

[i]Two (2) 'Tralaya Swarms' descend over the area; others are being dealt with by the various NPCs, but these two are a direct threat to you three. Vigil, Amaryllis, and Iris, may act as needed; no Initiative needed here. The monsters will act after you three have had a chance. For the purposes of 'distance', one is at ground level and approaching, while the other is still descending from the air but will arrive when the monsters have a chance to act.[/i]