William stood astute as he observed the tarke yell out to the crowd that this auction was about to begin. No doubt the Crusaders had their own reason to use those who they saw as insignificant compared to humans. Reasons that William wanted to learn soon. He approached the front of the crowd quickly, pushing by the masses of brigands and cutthroats and eager men wishing to save their sick friends. He managed to avoid going near the Paladin, avoiding the attention that it would bring him. He frowned as the men clad in Scarlet armor smiled in preperation for their ordeal. The Penin drew out a vial slowly from his pocket, and held it up to the crowd a moment. Just long enough to let William realize what the hideous plan of the Crusader's was. And long enough to realize he would have to have a part in ending this chaos, whether it exhausted him or not. He dashed up to the stage just as the penin was about to toss it to the crowd, when an arrow flashed from a rooftop and pierced the penin's back. William wished that his prayers would be answered when he begged that the vial would not break on it's short descent down, and to his luck, it landed on the penin's fallen body and rolled off gently.
Then the explosion. Those who did not understand what the vial was dashed to the front of the stage, screeching words that no one could understand. Not even themselves. They wanted to feed their sick fellows liquid fire. A tarke leaned down and grabbed it from the penin's injured body, ready to throw it. William slightly chuckled at their naivity, and then felt poorly that he had done so as he grabbed one of the men by the arm and threw them back into the crowd with some effort. He was off balance and half insane, so it wasn't very difficult. And then William gripped the side of the stage and hoisted himself up, and stood there before a very angry tarke.
He ran at the man, drawing his massive blade from his sheathe effortlessly and aimed it at him, speaking a word that would be the last one this tarke would ever hear. The sword began to glow on a specific rune near the tip, and then the glow expanded in a dark red hue all around the blade. William slowed and the tarke now aimed the vial at the center of the crowd, and just as he was about to release it, the tarke felt massive pressure upon the sides of his head, and he felt disorientated. He stumbled back, gripping his ears, hoping to end the endless screeching that originated within his mind, and so was impossible to stop. The screeching grew to a higher pitch gradually, and continued on this trend for a few seconds before it became absolutely unbearable, and the man collapsed, deafened and rendered incapable to do anything more then cry out mindlessly to end the horrid sound. It would never end. Not until the man died. A horrid way to spend your final moments, but William knew no other way to engage another in combat.
William dropped the sword, magical exhaustion near, and dove to catch the flame as the tarke collapsed. He just barely caught the vial with his fingertips, moving it into his palm slowly and standing up with great care, holding it tight to be sure he did not drop it. He then examined the crowd for a few seconds. Insanity. He slipped the vial into his pocket and stabbed the sword into the stage and gripped it tight with two hands, and another rune began to glow, closer to the hilt this time. With his already natural talent and affinity for magic doubled with this sword, the spell he would soon release would be powerful, but be at great physical cost to William.
A wave of emotion exploded from his sword, invisible but all too real. The lesser humans and beings lacking the strength that only a few in the crowd held felt peace fill their minds. The thought of escape was now dead. They all practically froze in place, save the few able to resist the large, but not very concentrated spell. They smiled slightly, lost in state between consciousness and unconsciousness. Blind to the impending danger. Almost as if one where half asleep, in an infinite state of bliss. And William collapsed, in pain, as the spell was released and the crowd began to simply walk off, fear and pain absent from them. It was oddly silent, and the Deigan who had used the spell now lay there on the stage, at the mercy of a crusader who then raised his own large axe, ready to sever William's head and steal back the vial before the crowd had fully dispersed.
Now only those of power great enough to withstand the spell stood ready to fight, including the crusaders, and those where the only ones William wanted to be fighting. The civilians should not be caught up on this. He mumbled to himself endless rhymes as he waited for the axe to take his head off, his eyes closed and in great pain.