Adolin Sinnet gave a small amused whistle as chaos suddenly erupted from within the crowds, running a hand through his unruly, brown hair. The strands remained standing up in peculiar, charming manner as he dropped his hands towards the hilt of his blade. He watched from backstage, hidden behind various equipment and decorations as he slowly drew out his sword, eyes scanning towards the source of this whole mess. The blue-cloaks seemed to be moving in units of pairs and individuals, hopping down from the platform with hungry swords and angry bolts. Already the streets was slick with blood, the innocents given no chance to even react.
But scattered about the massive wave of sweat and fear, a few were immediately at arms, magic flaring hot on their hands. One such hero seemed to be a winged elf, who flew above the masses and struck down the savages with light magic so dazzling that it looked like as if she was an Angel sent from the Gods themselves to execute the condemned. Another was a man who seemed to have been reincarnated as a machine, for the Golem prosthetics were evident in his brute strength, a single punch tearing through their lines.
Here and there were stationed these brave individuals, standing their ground as mayhem ran rampant though the screaming flurries of bodies. Teeth barred and weapons raised, they face these mysterious blue-cloaks with a certain blood lust that appealed to Adolin. The man grinned, sucking a breath between his teeth. Who should he accompany in this grand brawl, a surprising twist to the festival's 'main event'?
His blue eyes flared with such intensity as the excitement pulsed within his veins. Rolling his shoulder back, the man stepped out from his hiding place and brandished his gleaming blade. Adolin raise the sword towards his face, his lips barely touching the untarnished seal. With a gentle whisper, the wanderer coaxed living magic within the veins of his sword; the process was so delicate that it seemed like he was kissing the cold bronze as he trailed the incantation down the length of the weapon.
Glowing light burst from the sword as his lips reached the end, the magic breathing from the metal in radiance. Twirling the sword in his hand, he leaped down from the wooden stage and directly into the eye of the storm, where he had caught the attention of several blue-cloaks that saw his spell activated. With a wink to his enemies, Adolin stepped forward and brought his sword forward in a powerful, horizontal stroke.
It seemed that the commotion seemed to have congregated at the nearby tavern, the Flaming Dagger. As bodies dropped to his feel, Adolin made his way towards it.
Mana: 90/100
Divine Touch: x1
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