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Talit’yrash’osmax sat among the branches of a yew tree, feeling the enemy’s approach, and began to draw energy to herself. Unlike those less practiced, unlike the humans, she did not draw all from one source, draining it, but rather in increments from many. Even so, such gentleness was difficult: akin to picking up fragile insects without harming them. With a deep breath, the yasoi rose and continued drawing. She could do this more quickly, of course, but she did not wish to disrupt her allies’ magic and the Eskandr host was taking some time to congeal anyhow. 

Murmuring the words, Tali made the sign of the Pentad, calling on each of the five Bringers in turn. Her left hand, she brought to her right shoulder, feeling that arm fill with power. [color=598527][b]“Ypti,”[/b][/color] she whispered. Her right hand came to her left shoulder, and it too crackled with magic. [color=598527][b]“Shiin.”[/b][/color] That same hand shifted down her body and pointed to her leg. [color=598527][b]“Oirase,”[/b][/color] she said quietly and all types of energy filled it. [color=598527][b]“Exiran.”[/b][/color] Her left hand gestured at her stump. [color=598527][b]“Damy,”[/b][/color] she concluded, bringing both hands together over her chest, pointing up towards her head. Her eyes fairly glowed with magical power, pupiless for a moment. Today, this would all be used in the service of Exiran, yet Tali was not at pains to offer him further prayer. He had already taken her right leg - the one dedicated to him – as offering long ago. Ever since that fateful girlhood misadventure, the death god’s blessings had flowed freely and vigorously, such that she could almost not begrudge him the loss of the limb, inconvenient though it often was. 
 
The yasoi took another breath, her moment of meditation over, and knew that she was filled. She stretched her awareness out across the battlefield, where her people were now starting to engage the southern barbarians who refused to leave their northern neighbours alone. [color=598527][i]Otios,[/i][/color] she remembered, [color=598527][i]the Thunder user. Lyen, the Maledict. Nettle, the puny half-blood.[/i][/color] It was the last who had conjured the rains that now coated the forest. These three had proven memorable upon meeting and Tali bowed her head momentarily, offering words to Vyshta that they might emerge unhurt from the coming danger. 

The Lady of Loriindton sunk onto all threes, crouched low on her branch and ready to leap from it. The musty smell of Exiran’s favoured tree surrounded her, as did its deadly red berries, like lanterns to guide lost souls through the burgeoning night. Like a great spider at the centre of her web, Talit searched for energies that stood out in power and purpose. Two such, she found. Peering into their chests, she could feel the racing of their hearts. [color=598527][b]“Will you walk into my parlour?”[/b][/color] she whispered into the rain, the steam of her breath wispy and then cut to ribbons. A wicked, toothy grin split the lower half of the dervish’s face as she found her target. Long, flexible tendrils of steel snaked out from the bracers around her wrists, and she leapt. 
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