The Prophecy

[xbriannova]

It didn't take very long before the cure for the Withering arrived, rescuing her from the tension and anxiety that came with waiting for such a history-making potion to appear. As the crowd rushed forward, Annabelle was caught in the storm of eager buyers- It was a surprise that the crowd did not just swarm onto the stage to claim the cure for themselves. Two giants protecting a little Penin would not have been enough if there were a hundred souls an inch from dying- And the 'death at the doorstep attitude' was dominant these days. Anyone and everyone but those of Theodore's or Tarken heritage would succumb to it with enough ill luck in a day. Thankfully, as hard as it may be to believe, society had not crumbled to resemble a region of ghouls just yet.

It was then that Annabelle noticed something peculiar about the Penin- A decade of relative peace and lack of action had not erased her knowledge of the dark forces at work. What with having fought them for a decade, spilling their blood and having blood taken from her, nearly dying on many occasions, it would be very difficult, if not, impossible to forget any finer details about them. She had witnessed many things Demonspawn, dark sorcery and cult related, right down to the gritty and disturbing details. It would be impossible to forget, if it all started right from her childhood- Annabelle's had... Run-ins with them even when she was young.

The Penin was wearing the colors and symbol of the Crusader's Guild- Scarlet with a sword and flail in their coat-of-arms. Though, how on Earth did a Penin managed to procure a membership in such a xenophobic organisation was a great mystery to Annabelle. Mystics aside however, the presence of the Crusaders was a worrying development- She had fought them numerous times before, caught them in acts of terrorising the city of Pelgaid and its non-human guests and citizens. Most of them were just rabbles, common thugs and money-loving soldiers selling themselves to the guild, but some were dangerous- She knew that for a fact, having fought a few who operated as Knight-Paladins or Clerics of Hazzergash, individuals beyond her power, individuals whom she had killed far too few, and those times were with help. Many of her comrades were similarly slaughtered by them.

Seeing the striking color of red had only attuned her eyes to that color- Not that it was hard to see a pool of blood on marble floor, and what she saw worried her even more- There were more of them far behind the platform. Taking a glance at the corner of her eyes, she could see more, guarding every street leading away from the market. Nothing good could come out of this- Her thoughts were only confirmed by the 'cure for the Withering' that the Penin pulled out from his garment- It was one of the Crusader's Guild's favorite weapon of destruction, 'Liquid Fire'. What better way to send the message of Hazzergash's utter destruction by lighting their targets with fire, the Demon Lord's element? The liquid, once thrown and the container that held it within broken, would conjure up an explosion of fire, laying waste to whatever or whoever was unlucky enough to be standing around it.

Sensing the potential for so many lives lost, great pain and suffering, Annabelle's sensibilities as a Paladin of Liya was riled up, and seeing that there was no better alternative, since her course of action was limited what with no fellow soldiers of light around her, no resources and reaction time, there was only one way to defuse the situation, or more accurately, salvage it such that at most, optimistically, a few dozen would live to tell the tale of Borstown's square.

Unsheathing her glorious longsword of the light and pointing it skywards, she screamed as loud as she could, as if her lungs would burst at the seams- As a housewife, it isn't everyday that one would do such a thing- Annabelle had lost some of her stamina from ten years out of active order service, "Liars of Hazzergash! They bring death by fire, not life!" The plan was to scatter the crowd, so that if the canister of liquid fire was thrown, fewer lives would be lost to the flames.

To hopefully delay the Crusaders, Annabelle would have to throw herself at them, in hopes of buying the masses some time. Wasting no time as many in the masses of brown, grey and black clad men and women heard her, with some of the more learnt ones attempting to flee while the less informed were slower on the uptake, though some were beginning to realise their folly of being in the auction, Annabelle, without bothering to take up her kite shield from upon her back as it would waste too much time and effort, waded through the crowd towards the Tarken, Penin and Melenian chaos mongers on stage, ready and expecting to die for the greater good...

Just as she was close to engaging the Penin and his bodyguards, an arrow shot over the crowds and caught the shortest creature in the chest, perhaps where a weak point of his natural and metal armour was at. The canister fell with the body of the shocked but pretty much alive armor-encased creature, and was rolling towards the crowd. The Tarken was making a move to take and throw it...

[Autumn Leaf]

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.

"Concordia!"

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.

[xbriannova]

Annabelle was not alone however, in saving her fellow beings, in fighting the forces of chaos and Demons. A Deigan with a large runeblade who was most likely a rune mage as such, was able to stop the Tarken from smashing the canister right in the middle of the panicking crowd in the nick of time, using some rune spell that causes untold pain in his head- It was evident from how the giant of a creature was clutching his head, writhing and bellowing like a tortured bull. Following this, a spell was casted to calm the masses, who were killing themselves with their lack of nerve, which came in the form of a sort of shockwave from the Deigan's glowing runesword. Immediately, much of the weaker members of the crowd was brought into a state of euphoria, peacefulness, and they all stood like plants, unmoving. Unexpectedly, her crude, last ditch plan to spread the crowd out had worked, what with the strangers who helped.

The strain of casting such powerful spells had however, tired the Deigan out, gave him magical exhaustion, causing him to fall flat on the floor, his eyes staring into the deep, blue sky, as though his soul would float upwards soon. That would be true soon, if he doesn't act, as one of the Crusader soldiers was intending to bring down the head of his axe into his neck, beheading him. Thankfully, the Crusader of Hazzergash was a human- The giant piaan-addicted Melenian had wandered off to fight some other warrior who had unluckily gained his attention. Rushing forward, neglecting to defend herself by putting on the helmet strapped to her belt nor taking up her shield strapped to her back, Annabelle took a hard, underhand swing at the Crusader, severing his hands.

The axe fell with a loud clang, and as it did, Annabelle ended the now disarmed (literally in two ways) fighter's misery but slashing him in the face and chest a few times over, cutting past his poorly manufactured vest and helm, killing him. After the Deigan's life was preserved, the Paladin threw back a hand at him, and blue light shined from her gauntlet- She was casting an invigoration spell through a quick prayer to Liya, reenergising the Rune mage and giving him clarity of mind. As she was looking the opposite way, watching out for danger, another wretched Crusader wielding a crossbow fired a bolt at her.

Before Annabelle realised what happened, the bolt had dug deep into her throat, penetrating right through her neck, the arrowhead sticking out just beside her spine. Blood tainted her face, hair and armour, and shock overwhelmed her senses- Her pupils dilated as it happened, and she started choking on her own blood, falling to her knees from losing the feeling and power in her legs from shock. Despite this, the Banisher of Evil kept at her spell until a moment later, the deed was done and the Deigan should have enough strength to fend for himself, but not cast rune magic- That would have required a stronger prayer.

Clutching her neck with her left hand, Annabelle was convinced that she would breath her last, but she would rather die than to let her Spirit be humiliated. Hoisting herself up with her sword, the Paladin got to her feet again painstakingly, and intends to return to the fray.

[Autumn Leaf]

William could feel death falling towards him. Ready as he would ever be, his mumblings continued. Rhyme after rhyme in rapid, endless succession until he could hear a heavy figure's footsteps on the wooden stage, and a screech as blood splattered against his open eyes. The Paladin was there above him, severing his attacker's hands off and slicing him open, killing the human. William's blade remained stabbed into the wooden stage, solid. The Paladin then proceeded to speak words William could not distinguish. Healing him? Why? She was a Paladin, and she was surrounded by still some Crusaders, though much of the chaos had died down due to 'Concordia.' Was she so inclined to heal him that she would allow herself open to other dangers?

And just as William noticed the second Crusader with the crossbow, about to yell out to his savior of the danger, the man fired, and yet more blood dripped down upon William. This time the blood of the Paladin. The bolt had plunged into the Paladin's throat, though it was not an immediately fatal wound, it would kill her if she did not seek attention. Her flesh had been split apart, and she was choking on her own blood, but still she continued the spell, even in the pain she was in. William could feel the infinite pain of his body leaving, and he returned to simply spell exhaustion. He had the strength to stand and move, but going past exhaustion again could easily be fatal. His goal now was to aid his new savior, and he smiled at her in thanks, even as she stood back up to fight, a bolt through her neck. Such dedication, it made William envious he had not decided upon a better cause to use his magic for.

William gripped his runesword's blade and used it to lift himself up, managing to keep himself from being cut. He stood up, his sword now his only weapon as he could not risk magic again. He would use this blade as well as he could, though he was not trained to use it as an actual physical weapon. He lifted it up effortlessly, as it was still weightless to him. The fellow with the crossbow had been tackled to the ground by an elderly man, to William's amazement.

"You are bleeding, my dear friend. Do not let this be your end. Go and heal, I still have a blade. There are others against our enemies to enter this fray."

He wished for her to find a place of safety to heal, rather then risk her life. He did not understand what a Paladin's powers were, but he assumed that with enough time she could heal herself as long as she went uninterrupted, and there where others capable of combat to aid against the crusaders. As long as they both survived, he wished to speak to her later. He was fascinated.

[Nougat]

Theodore watched the ensuing chaos with a quirked brow, stepping to the side as a crazed man ran past toward the stage at the introduction of the man who held the cure, held at bay only by the tiniest fraction of hope that this could save them. The grip on his staff tightened as he looked around, noting the appearance of several more armored men lining the alleys and streets leading to the town square. Odd and foreboding, even more so with the increasingly familiar symbol of flame on one man’s tabard.

Disturbing. The screams as the man on stage revealed the canister caused the crowd to erupt in insanity, some crying ‘Fire’, others crying for it and others already offering vast sums of money. His attention turned toward Annabelle with her shout, the sound of her sword leaving the sheath ringing loudly even amidst the chaos of the crowd. Screams, people throwing each other out of the way...hm. Disturbing indeed. At his age, Theodore wasn’t so often surprised as he was just unexpecting of certain events, and the betrayal of these people on such a scale was quite unexpected.

The penin on stage held the fluid high and triumphantly as though he had won until an arrow streaked from some height and buried itself into his torso, giving him a slightly comically shocked look before he tumbled to the ground alongside the volatile container. He slowly made his way toward the stage, neatly stepping aside as people both sprinted toward the stage and away in hope and terror as one man didn’t know one from the other at this point. People were such curious things.

Theodore disappeared into the crowd toward the stage and neatly snatched another purse from a screaming merchant. He wasn’t so worried about the death by fire. He’d survived fire fire before, but not many of these people had the same experience as he had. Hm. A crowd of delinquents mixed with the hopeful sick. With both soon to be dead, what was the harm in the slightly sooner mercy of death?

Theo shook his head with a grimace. No...not all here were so beyond retribution and some were here for family. This couldn’t be allowed. The sight of Annabelle ready to stop them only solidified the decision, since he couldn’t very well let his mother’s ally get the glory of killing the proud warrior. He ducked beneath a rampaging tarken’s massive arms and continued his slow pace to the stage, waiting for an opportunity. Another player in this little drama dove on stage, crippling the tarken who had tried to snatch up the fallen container of fire with a word and brightly glowing rune. Heh. This sort of gathering brought together the most interesting of people.

The runeblade stabbed into the stage with a burst of energy that immediately quieted the crowd into simple vegetables, though he did let himself admire the dull smiles of the people. Such a spell had to have been draining to the rune mage as the strength of it forced him to the stage. Still, he waited even as a Cultist found his way to the stage with a heavy axe already in mid-swing even as he ran toward the fallen mage. The swing fell far from its mark, as did its owners hands still gripping the haft of the axe. The Paladin Annabelle was a spry one indeed. Through the crowd he spied a crossbow taking aim at the stage and only two targets available, both of whom had proved to be halfway sane.

He burst into a sprint faster than most things his age should be able to and weaved in and out of the now docile crowd. He coiled his legs and clambered up the back of a still-as-stone tarke to dive at the crossbowman. Too late. The bolt flew true just as Theodore collided with the man and tumbled to the ground, coming out on top with a vicious back hand that shattered the man’s jaw. He planted the end of his staff into the dirt and hauled himself up with a fierce burst of strength with his free hand gripping the neck of the cultist, only to slam him back the ground with a another crunch of bone and cartilage. His glance to the stage showed what he had hoped to stop as Annabelle sagged to her knees with a bolt sticking from her neck. That was disturbing turn.

Theodore rolled to the side as he caught sight of a claymore swinging toward his neck and sprung back to his feet in time to tumble backwards to avoid a second one aimed at his throat. The brute of a man holding the sword gave the old man a look of incredulity as Theo dusted off his robes, gave him a mischievous smile and sprinted toward the stage, the man following a split second later. Annabelle was still moving, so that was a blessing. He chuckled at himself and came to a dead stop to leap backwards into the man, who didn’t have the time to swing his sword to attack. More surprised than injured, he tried to grapple with Theodore and managed to grab a hold of an arm that was much too large for someone as frail looking as Theo. The elder’s elbow cracked across the man’s face with a shock of blood spilling into the man’s eye. He cried out in pain and attempted to curse the old man before Theo’s elbow swung about to jab a thick bony protrusion straight into the man’s forehead, silencing his voice.

With a light push of his hands off of the man’s body, Theodore hopped back to his feet with an amused giggle as the other Cultists tried to make their way to the stage and to their precious fire. Goodness, was this day becoming more interesting...

[AM Oneechan]

Thelos was in awe with the glowing red liquid in the canister that the penin on the platform held out. It was glowing, for the love of the spirits! Yes, Thelos had a slight tendency to like glowing and shiny things, though it was not something he paid any heed to other than noticing the giddy feeling that would tickle in the back of his mind, far overshadowed by his desires for chaos. And then the chaos he was longing for so deeply began.

Someone in the crowd - he was not entirely sure who – shouted that that liquid was no cure, rather than death by fire. The shout was soon discovered to have come from the follower of Liya as she rushed towards the platform. And the crowd reacted quickly. Some rushed forwards towards the platform, obviously not understanding what the woman had said. One of those that rushed forwards turned out to be a rune mage which Thelos discovered shortly after the penin on the platform was shot with an arrow from a direction he could not be bothered to even glance at.

Such delicious chaos was erupting all around him, screams of terror and hopeful shouts and cries for the assumed cure was filling the air, tainting the area with auditive chaos. Masses were pushing and shoving at each other, some even drawing weapons and fighting right out with the men dressed in red that were quickly entering the crowds. The visual chaos of both living and dead bodies falling to the ground, being trampled upon and moshed into the ground below was downright thrilling. And the fragrance of blood and fear hung thick in the air, tickling at both his sense of smell and taste.

His gaze whipped around everywhere, taking in as much of the beautiful sights of death and destruction as he could. This was much more than he had hoped for. A grin made it's way to his face, stretching as his cheeks so much that his muscles hurt. He could not care in the least. Pain was a form of chaos, too, in his mind. He drank in the sights, sounds, smells and feelings and never moved from his spot in the crowd. He was shoved at a few times, but why would he care? That brief contact with whoever touched him caused massive tremors down his spine. He felt like he could drink up their fears through the touch.

Then suddenly, all too suddenly, most of the crowd just stopped panicking. He felt a slight tug of something he could not quite describe somewhere in the back of his mind, back with the giddy feelings for shiny things and the fear he had long ago stopped caring about. It was as if something was trying to sort out his thoughts, although it was probably not the intention of the spell. But really, who could calm the mind of the insane, when such chaos and unsightly darkness was hiding within? He could not accept the feeling, even though it whispered for him to calm. It was pushed back even further.

With a sound ripping from his throat that sounded somewhere between a frustrated scream and an annoyed groan, he ripped his daggers from his loincloth and gripped them so the tips of the hilts were only barely touching at his palm, the hilt running along the length of his fingers. He rushed towards the nearest of the men clad in red. These men seemed to be the enemy, whoever they were, and none of the beings around him would blame him for taking a few of their lives. His strides were as long as his short legs allowed of him and his movements were fluid and graceful with the agility his training through his entire existence had brought him.

As the man clad in red had been facing away from him, he never had a chance to stop the attack aimed for his right shoulder. Taking out the arm he used to wield his sword would be enough. He did not have to kill the man. If he dies now, he would not have a chance to come back for his revenge, bringing with him another wave of beautiful chaos. As he thrust his weapon forwards, he let go of the hilt with his fingers and used only his palm to force the blade through the flesh of the shoulder, grinding against bone inside the man. He drew the blade back out, gripping the hilt with his palm like one would normally do, and jumped back. The man clad in red let out a wail of pain and faced him, slight terror entering his features at the look of pure malice and sadistic pleasure on Thelos face. The man did the smart thing and ran for his life, leaving his weapon behind.

Thelos never changed his expression, still watching with malice and sadistic pleasure on his face at the rest of the fighting going on. The screams of desire in his mind died down to soft whispers in the back of his mind and he could not stop himself before a windy, dark laugh tore itself from his throat. His voice was rather deep considering his small size, but the hoarseness and raw insanity to the sound made it a little lighter. Forget all about not drawing attention: The feeling of pure bliss was too much to hold back. Even if the entire world was watching him now, even with the massive amount of people there that would gladly crop off his head and free the world of yet another of his kind, this feeling was so much more important. He threw his head back and raised the volume of his insane cackle, dropping his hands to hang limply by his sides.

So what if his actions made no sense what-so-ever? He was insane, after all. His mind was clouded ion veils of chaos. How could he ever make sense of any of the warning bells of his instincts going off inside that mass of jumbled thoughts and budding plans for even more chaos?

[mew77]

Everything that happened next was a blur, she saw armed armored men move to block the streets. Crusader’s Guild, her symbology knowledge explained that much. A peinin with a bodyguard entered the stage and pulled a red canister out of his robes. Lethe would have to consult her scrolls to know exactly what it was, but before that she could hear someone in the crowd gasp, liquid fire. She fought the urge to run on stage and shout, “I told you so” and instead ran with the rest. She barely made three steps before an arrow whizzed through the air and struck the penin dead. The canister fell, but bounced off the dead man’s chest and began rolling toward the crowd.

Crusaders charged through the crowd, stepping on some, and cleaving through others. Lethe saw the paladin take up arms, presumably to guy the crowd some time. Fighting, everywhere she went there was fighting, the withering had made everyone mad or something. Either fanatics such as these fought, or hordes of people had to defend their lands from other such fanatics. Chaos was the only rule to many it seemed.

Lethe jumped backwards, dodging a crusader’s axe. She lifted an arm to block another axe blow, the runes on her arm wrappings glowed for a moment and the axe bounced off harmlessly. She knew a mage armor rune was fading slowly. She channeled energy into her arm wrappings until the full length of the paper glowed. She fished several spell tags out. “Let’s dance”, she shouted. Not the best battle cry, but then again, it had been a while.

The crusaders attacked again, Lethe dodged and ran towards the stage, all the while crumpling an explosion tag. She flung the explosion tag which dazed her two assailants. Before they could react again, she channeled energy into a set of ten razor tags. Razor tags were an interesting bunch, the rune granted the paper the properties of metal. Razor tags were folded into different shapes to be used as weapons or implements. In this case, they were to be knives, she threw the set at the crusaders, and most of the razor tags embedded themselves into the crusader’s armor. A few had found chinks in their armor, but that seemed to only make them angrier. They charged towards Lethe like crazed red bulls, who dodged again by jumping onto the stage. As she got onto the stage she felt a magic force blow through the area. She crawled up to see civilians standing oblivious to the danger around them.

She then saw the paladin from earlier attempting to get up and fight with an arrow through her neck. Lethe rushed tup to the paladin and fetched two heal tags from her pack. “Don’t panic, I’m here to help, now let me get that bolt out. ”She broke off the arrowhead with one hand while channeling energy into both of the heal tags with the other. She slowly pulled the arrow out, quickly placing the activated healing tag on the wound. When she finally got the arrow safely out, she placed the second healing tag on the exit wound. “Now, these are healing tags, don’t make an effort to move them.” Lethe told the paladin, “Now hold still for a moment”. Lethe then took another sheet and wrapped it around the paladin’s neck to secure the healing tags in place. Why heal the paladin right now? The enemy of my enemy is my friend and the crusaders were enemies of everyone else, thus making her temporary friends of everyone else. She could see that the liquid fire was secured for the moment, that was a relief.

That was when she noticed the rune mage. He was carrying a rune sword and looked prepared to fight. The paladin would be fine as long as she didn’t move the healing tags. “You, what’s your name, we need to do something about the crazed crossbow crusader”, Lethe asked the other rune mage pointing to the crusader,who was now nocking another bolt. Lethe then wrapped an explosion tag on the crossbow bolt activated it and threw it at the crusader. It exploded near his position. He was surprised by the attack and it looks like he was losing his balance slightly. If they lived through this, she would love to ask them a couple questions.

She was tiring out from the exertion, but still knew she needed to help fight. "Let's dance", she thought.

[Autumn Leaf]

William, upon the realization that this second mage was one of the two he had felt before, felt that the Paladin would be safe. If these 'healing tags' really did work, at least. He smiled at the woman and shook his head, not willing to give his name away so easily.

William turned around to the crowd that now began to disperse and walk off, as if nothing was happening, and after a few moments they had simply gone. All that was left was those who were already fighting, as the crusaders where too occupied with their opposing combatants to waste manpower keeping the crowd contained in such an open area. William realized he had helped, and he turned to the unconscious tarke that still felt pain even in his blackened state. Poor fellow, the pain must have been unbearable... William realized that if he went to battle with another crusader out in the battle, he would easily be defeated with the little training he had as a warrior. So he would instead do what he could for the wounded tarke.

He moved to the tarke, standing over him, his blade held tight in his hand, ready to end the misery of the poor fellow whose thoughts had become mush. He placed the sword against the tarke's massive bare chest, and held it tight, pressing down on it with great force. Blood spilled from the gaping wound that was forming as it moved deeper and deeper into him. He felt the tip of the blade strike the wood on the other side with a thud, and he then twisted the sword and pulled it out in one swift motion. He frowned at the now corpse. A powerful figure with a horrible cause. He then examined the battle that was still ensuing. A True Deigan was having his way with several crusaders, using his knives and natural dexterity to his advantage. The old man, who he now determined to be a demonspawn simply because of the unlikeliness that a man of that apparent age could fight like him, was completey dominating his human opponent in a great display of strength and skill. As he continued his survey, he turned around at the sound of footsteps. A short man. A human. Stood there in red armor. With a sword. Shivering in fear as he hoped he could gain the strength to kill him.

He charged, and tripped on the floor, looking up at his judge, William, as his sword fell across the ground and to his feet. William looked at the man curiously, and smiled.

"Run off, this is not your fight. You need not die this night."

[xbriannova]

"You are bleeding, my dear friend. Do not let this be your end. Go and heal, I still have a blade. There are others against our enemies to enter this fray." The Rune Mage said, after Annabelle had managed to energise him just enough to dodge and deal blows. Had her ability to channel Liya's powers been power, she would have given him enough strength to go back to using his rune spells, but as always, Liya has doubts about her, and the Paladin knew exactly why...

Annabelle tried to speak, but in place of words, only blood came out. The scene was a complete, utter mess- A clash between the red shirts and the colorful. People killing each other, men helping her with the Crusaders for one reason or another. Theodore, the wise old man who was speaking to her about the cure, had tackled her assailant to the ground and tussled with him, before ending his life with an unseen spike protruding from his elbow. He was a surprisingly good fighter- Being a Demonspawn, age never really mattered, this she knew from personal experience.

Then there was a scantily clad True Deigan who stabbed one of the Crusaders in the right shoulder, but did not kill him. From the insane look about his face, Annabelle knew he wasn't exactly stable and sane- In fact, from her instincts, she knew he was Demonspawn. From his actions, from what he seems to enjoy which was chaos and violence, he was either that or a True Deigan who could not take the strain of the world and had gone wrong in the head. She was inclined to think it was the former. After injuring the Crusader who made the wise decision of fleeing, the True Deigan gave a loud, huge battlecry of dark indulgence. Although his intentions to assist the soldiers of good was dubious, Annabelle could only mentally thank him.

Before Annabelle could sprint off and return to the melee, knowing her time was short with the crossbow bolt in her neck, just by a vital artery and windpipe, a rather young and short girl approached her, “Don’t panic, I’m here to help, now let me get that bolt out." The Paladin would be more than glad to comply, as it would be hard, if not impossible, for even an experienced warrior to extract a bolt from himself, especially when it was around the important areas. She would have to steel herself however, when she could feel the small hands of the girl around the bolt.

Snapping off the arrowhead with just her bare hands, a great surge of hellish pain surged through Annabelle's entire body, sending her into teetering between consciousness and the opposite, but a piece of paper fixed that- It was more of those rune magic, deriving power from a written character that invokes a spell. The healing spell took some of the pain away, and her skin and flesh were taking steps to close up.

The removal of the shaft through her neck however, nearly returned Annabelle to the land of sleep, but another spell tag ceased that possibility. The 'paper mage' fastened the tags to her neck, forming something of a paper neck brace- Her grievous wound getting better, "You have my... Gratitude." Annabelle managed to blurt out weakly. Waiting for a moment, she waited for the rune spell to do most of its work, before she sprinted off- The battle was far from over, and Annabelle spied one of the Crusaders hacking and slashing at a downed fighter who was previously in the crowd. This time, putting on her helmet mid-way, she rushed at him.

A distant Hazzergash worshipper fired an arrow at her, but Annabelle wasn't keen on making the same mistake, so she twisted around and ducked, feeling the head of the arrow bouncing off her shield before she twisted around again and, with both arms, delivered an overhead swing at the sadistic Crusader. Her opponent had managed to block her blow however, and reacted by attempting a horizontal slash with his claymore, but it was simple to block with her own sword. They went at it for a while, striking and parrying at each other, before Annabelle's longsword was knocked away by the powerful Crusader's monstrous claymore.

Before he could deal a death blow at the Paladin of Liya however, Annabelle, putting her hands around her the back of her waist, unsheathed two gladius of ancient designs that was hidden behind her shield. With a scissor-like motion, the Crusader's head was lobbed off before he knew what happened. After so many long years, Annabelle had managed to use her 'surprises' again, the same one that had amazed seniors and fellow Paladins aplenty, and killed its fair share of foes.

Turning her attention to the downed fighter, who appears to be a simple warrior with leather armour and a spear, Annabelle knelt down to check on his wounds and most importantly, if he was still alive. After realising that he was still breathing from the heaving of his chest and the blood-stained air expelled painfully from his lungs, the Paladin hugged him closely, her gladius still in hand, as if he was a child and started praying, and as she did, the two figures started glowing blue. The holy light was faint at first, but as time passed, it attained a more deeper hue and became brighter. An arrow was fired at Annabelle, but like the previous one, it was only able to connect with her shield. Thankfully, there was no one to interrupt her.

It was a difficult stunt however, Annabelle being a Paladin with poorer healing abilities- Her elders informing her that she was the first of her kind to not take to Liya's gift so strongly when she first demonstrated her affinity with the Spirit. Sweat poured down her Annabelle was she attempted to heal the leather-clad fighter, and she was coughing up the blood left over in her lungs from her previously fatal wound. It was only after a minute or two when the ritual completed with an outburst of blue aura-like energy- A full body healing, the uppermost limit of her abilities to render the gift of life.

It was fate's worse joke yet- It was only days ago that Annabelle was tending to her home, children and husband as a housewife, and just days out of retirement, she had to deal with a Crusader's plot, and nearly died from a bolt in the neck. The Paladin had expected little drama and action, but here, she had already, regrettably, taken 2 lives and saved another 2.

[Ezrath]

Ez'rath gathered his energy even as his vision began to blur. The ground beneath the Crusaders feet began to shake, causing the ground to crack. His grip loosened just as the hole beneath him opened, an abyss to the depths of the earth, or so it seemed. Ez'rath slipped from his grip as he fell, and barely managed to grab the edge of the hole he'd opened. His vision blurred still, a result of the magic use. He probably could've thought of something less energy consuming, but he was desperate.

He hauled himself up out of the hole, a feat generally no challenge. Now however, he'd used his magic to an extent he'd only done once before, when the man he'd apprenticed himself to had turned on him. Not so long ago, but it seemed as though decades had passed.

Ez'rath rubbed the back of his hand against his mouth, and it came away with blood. He must've hit it when he fell. Able to do little more than sit, he brought himself into a sitting position against the wall behind him, and grabbed the shield of the first crusader he'd killed. The other Crusaders here hadn't seemed to notice him, at least not yet. When they did, he'd be in trouble. It was as the thought of archers crossed his mind, that he brought the shield up, in an effort to shield himself from any possible arrow fire.

An explosion rocked the marketplace once more that day, more than likely not the last either. He scanned the crowd, while holding his eyes open with every ounce of effort he could manage. He would be not more help in this fight. His foolish mistake would probably cost him his life.