@Sembas:
The falconer’s quick reaction spares him from being injured by one of Coward’s throwing knives. He sets to tracking the injured assassin, which seems to be rather easily done.
Above, Anlaf makes wide circles in the sky as Sembas realizes the trail has died off. There no longer seems to be any visible sign of blood upon the ground. As if in reply to Sembas’s unasked question, Anlaf gives a slight shake of his head. The assassin has managed to evade even Anlaf’s keen gaze.
Chico pops his head out of Sembas’s pocket. “No, no, human! You’re doing it all wrong! I don’t get it; you have those big, bulbous beaks on your faces, but you can’t manage to track each other down. Honestly!” Chico scurries down Sembas’s arm and lands on a tuft of green grass at the falconer’s feet.
Sembas can see Chico’s whiskers twitching wildly. After a moment or two, Chico comes to an abrupt stop several feet in front of a few large, tangled bushes not too far from the place Fjorin and the others entered in their rescue mission.
“Sembas!” Chico hollers. “I think he’s in those bushes!”
As you draw closer, three shadowy forms erupt from the bushes, each of them training a throwing knife upon you. Where there had once been one Navar Coward, there are now three, but it is nearly impossible to tell which one is the real Coward.
Three arms pull back in the air, then snap forward to release their weapons in your direction.
@Fjorin:
As Sembas prepares to defend himself, nearby, two forms explode out of the torture room. Fjorin’s body swiftly leans to the side to evade the bolt from Catujel’s hidden weapon. In response to the attack, the Ebonmane warrior strikes forward in attempt to take the fleeing enemy’s feet out from under him.
Catujel is a blur of impressive speed and motion. As Fjorin’s sword swings forward, Catujel leaps into the air, just a hair’s breadth higher than the weapon. The strike is so close that the blade shaves the bottoms of Catujel’s boots. Catujel, with cat-like reflexes, lands upon his feet. Alarm seizes Catujel’s face. Perhaps he is realizing the Ebonmane warrior is a greater force to be reckoned with than he had initially though.
Catujel’s hand disappears into the folds of his jacket, and emerges with a long, thin chain with a small, metal ball at the end. It is obvious that Fjorin is far stronger than Catujel, so the brother of Siron must resort to his speed and guile to even stand a chance. As Fjorin barrels towards him, Catujel, forcefully throws one side of the chain towards Fjorin’s throat, while maintaining his hold on the other end.
The chain hits the Ebonmane warrior squarely in the adam’s apple and tightly wraps around his neck. Catujel gives the chain a mighty tug, causing great pain and discomfort for Fjorin, but ultimately, not bringing him to his knees.
“Will you stop for a bloody second?” Catujel reasons. “For pity’s sake, man! If you insist on pursuing me like a dog, then I’ll treat you like one and you can stay leashed like this until you calm the hell down!” Catujel shakes his head in frustration. “Think about what you’re doing, man. You Ageless are so blind to the truth! Big, bad Forsaken are just plain evil! Awfully one-sided if you think about it. Who determines what’s good and what’s evil? Those Ageless up on their thrones in Avalon will tell you all the atrocities the Forsaken have committed, but what about the Ageless? They’ll step on anyone’s head to get what they want.”
In your heart, you know his words are lies, but you are frozen in your tracks. It’s not the chain; though that is impeding you, you know you could break it if you tried. It’s something else… Your mind feels cloudy, and every word that pours from his lips sounds more and more like truth. You know no amount of physical strength could help you act against this man, not while you are under his spell. His words ensnare you, clouding your judgment and binding your actions. Yes… perhaps he is right… perhaps the Ageless are truly the evil ones.
@Aeliana and Siron:
Punisher nods obediently to Aeliana’s request. “Of course, milady.” He turns his attention to the young knight, giving him very specific directions as to how to find Aeliana’s belongings. “Whatever you do, don’t try to open the chest. If it is indeed warded, attempting to open it could serve to your detriment. We need to get it to someone powerful. Someone whose power is equal to Fortuna’s.”
@Siron:
Siron follows Punisher’s directions, moving back through the hallway he had originally come through, and into the room where Honor breathed his last. As he enters the room where his mentor’s body rests, he feels a chill creeping up his spine as his eyes fall upon an impossibly beautiful woman. Her stormy gray eyes peer from beneath her helm, and she is adorned in golden platemail. There is some familiarity in her features, and it is at that moment that Siron’s eyes fall upon the enormous, white, feathered wings folded behind her back… The leader of the Valkyries, the same one General Fury is rumored to have defeated, and the same that bore Constancy away shortly after Siron’s arrival in Avalon.
The Valkyrie is kneeling beside Honor, her hand upon the sword sheathed at his side. Two more figures emerge from the darkness, slightly smaller in frame, but wearing similar armor to their leader. As Siron enters the room, the leader of the Valkyries stands, her posture precise. She is awe-inspiring, both a vision of elegance and a presence of authority at the same time.
When her voice emerges from her lips, it feels as if Siron’s sense of hearing is being caressed by some unseen force.
"You must be Siron, the boy of whom the departed speaks."
Her words are sweet and pleasing, and never has Siron before heard something so euphonious. It is enough to make his knees tremble. Siron offers no reply, and the Valkyrie tilts her head to one side, a small smile of amusement playing across her lips.
One of her companion’s leans forward. “Brynhildr… Perhaps the boy is mute.”
The second companion giggles but ceases after a sharp look from Brynhildr.
“Jest at him not,” comes the reply of their leader. “Surely this has been a day marked by grief for his loss. Have you forgotten yourselves? Is your own sense of grief so far removed? What is a Valkyrie without some sense of empathy?”
Her companions lower their heads in shame. Brynhildr bends down and unbuckles the belt around Honor’s waist to which his scabbard and broadsword are attached. Wordlessly, she crosses to Siron. She places her hand upon his and a shudder of ecstasy seizes his limbs. She turns his hand over and places the sword upon it.
“He wished for you to have it. It is his final gift to you. May it serve you well, Siron Entrima.” Brynhildr’s face draws closer to Siron, and her lips lightly brush his forehead. A shockwave of emotion ripples through his entire body. It is a strange feeling, as if all of his anger and grief has been forcibly ripped from his heart and mind, and taken away, leaving him with a renewed sense of clarity.
Brynhildr makes her way back to Honor’s body, her expression thoughtful, almost sad. She crouches down beside him, and takes his unmoving form into her arms. She offers a sympathetic nod in parting before she and her companions are enveloped in a brilliant white light, so bright that Siron is forced to shield his with a forearm. When he opens them again, all three of them are gone.
Left with Honor’s gift in his hands, he is free to make his way to the living quarters to retrieve the chest that holds Aeliana’s belongings.
@Aeliana:
Blood is truly in rough shape as Aeliana attempts to tend to her wounds. Were she a mortal, she would have been dead several times over. Crimson blood pours from several wounds upon the Captain’s body, and she fights to maintain her consciousness.
As Aeliana’s healing begins to take effect, her eyes focus on the mage, and as Aeliana reveals her recent gift at the hands of the Divine, Blood smirks slightly.
“That sonofabitch was right…” She laughs but is seized by agony. Your healing has certainly aided her, but you quickly realize that your spell is far more potent on mortals than Ageless. Nevertheless, her wounds stop bleeding and she looks considerably less worse for wear.
“Dethys always thought… he thought you might be called upon one day… Said it would be a waste if the Divine didn’t recruit you.” Blood attempts to sit up, but her wounds are still fresh and ache terribly.
“Here… Let me…” Punisher moves forward to assist Blood.
She eyes him warily, glancing to you, then back to Punisher, before reaching out her hand to allow him to pull her up. He leans down, putting his shoulder under one of her arms, and helping her to her feet. Blood breathes in sharply as pain affects her body. Her wounds will certainly need more attention back in Avalon.
“Thanks.” Blood glances around the room and her gaze falls in the direction of the narrow hallway that Siron had disappeared through.
You catch a glimpse of something… something you’ve never seen before. There is a woman… no… three women. But with wings and golden armor. There is light, a blinding light, and they are gone.
Blood hangs her head in silence. When she lifts her eyes again, you see a flicker of emotion pass through them. She shakes her head as if dispelling the unpleasant feeling away and motions towards the wide, gaping hole she had made with her entry into the room.
“We need to get out of here,” says Blood. “The others are waiting outside. We’ve got to get you to safety, Aeliana.”
Blood begrudgingly allows Punisher to help her outside.
Once there, you quickly realize that though the fight with Fortuna has ended, there are still matters to be tended to.
To your left, a man seems to be following a mouse towards some bushes just as three shadowy figures explode from within. Nearby, another large warrior explodes out of the torture room, intent on skewering his fleeing opponent. You can hear the latter’s voice carried upon the wind; it is that of the Childer Forsaken.
There is a tree aflame and man of diminutive size fights to free himself from the vines that ensnare them. It is a familiar move, similar to the one Fortuna used against you and Punisher. You catch a glimpse of Fortuna’s apprentice, her gaze firmly locked upon an enormous machine, a construction of terrible power. She seems to be controlling it and it is making his way towards the unsuspecting short, stocky, fellow.
Even further down the field of battle, you see an enormous hole in the ground. There is a woman with long, blonde hair and flowing robes, and a mountainous young man you recognize as General Fury’s son, Dennan. The latter’s gaze has fallen upon the construct and you see his hand fall upon his axe. He lets out a feral roar and takes off in the direction of the construct.
@Sig:
You successfully manage to free yourself, despite the persistent clawing of the vines to ensnare you again. You take your lute in hand and begin to strum the opening notes to Crescendo, but find yourself unable to finish the tune as the ground beneath you vibrates so violently that you miss the next note.
With a grunt of irritation, your eyes lock onto Ravana, and with some degree of panic, the monstrosity making its way toward you, a mechanical behemoth she seems to be controlling. As you contemplate what to do, you see a streak of silver tearing across the field, and watch as Dennan barrels towards the construct, his axe poised to strike the mechanical legs that carry its cumbersome form.
