"No plan, however good, survives first contact with reality. Given how many oddities and abnormalities are apparently going on, shouldn't be too surprising the posts are abandoned..." V mentioned being safe if they intended to escort them back after all, though Walker didn't believe that for a second. Oh no, escorts weren't always a safety thing. There were plenty of times that an escort was there to make sure the person being guided didn't wander where they weren't supposed to go and were shuffled along straight to where they belong. He raised an eyebrow as the golem went about answering his question in a vague and unhelpful manner. Well, he could understand that at least. Instead of mage trickery she had 'words' of power? That made her even more dangerous if she could do the worst that a mage could do with a single word. "Swordplay, words of power, and raw strength. No small wonder no one seems to get in her way when possible..."

The...absurd abomination of wood, metal, and steam was lumbering in the distance, and he could see smaller than expected figures running and clambering around. Dwarves, if he could tell right, it was oddly relieving to see those shorties still at work building all sorts of absurd machinery and inventions, though they always worked rather well. The thundering roar it emitted sounded like a horn. Warning, probably, if he was to hazard a guess, though he did move a hand to the hilt of his sword just in case. The Brass Bastards, now that was a properly Dwarven name, though the continued remarks from the golem caught his attention. Once Kaath caught up she'd butcher the band? Well when you wielded as much power as she did, really could do just about whatever you wanted. Best option was to stay out of her way, second best was to not piss her off. Third, it sounded like, was slash your own throat if she wanted you dead, probably be less painful that way. The golem offered apologies about things really not going along as they normally would, and he shrugged idly.

"That kind of damage all but screams her preferred sword, near as I was able to tell. Good news, this wasn't a fight, it was a butchering." The condition of the camp was...sadly familiar. Too many bands of resisting soldiers and conscripts had been busy in such hastily erected camps only to get overrun by the invading forces without warning, getting slaughtered when they were too tired or preoccupied, or even damn foolish, to run. Walker started picking through the ruined camp, glancing back at the mention of a mercy killing. Talk about diplomacy, but Walker focused on finding anything of value that had been abandoned in the fighting and fleeing that had happened here. Might find something of value, be it the former belongings of others, or something more practical. Either way, the dead didn't need their trinkets or items anymore. He listened to the back and forth while he looted the camp of anything of value.

"Some mercy that is, and I'm pretty sure you can see what happened."

The moment she leaped after Walker's vanishing trail, she realized her life was over one way or another. So it was with grim determination that she lifted her crown to watch and see where the trail went. The wind rushed past her ears as she fell, its deafening roar a precursor of an end to follow. Had Walker survived this fall? Was it even possible? It didn't matter much, though. If he was dead, there was no point in living without him. If he was burning in hell, she would burn at his side. Whatever his end, she would meet it with him.

Then, she saw it.

Isabelle screamed.

A horrified, blood-curdling scream.

A splash, and her screams turned to muffled groans underneath the rushing river. As her mind struggled to comprehend the things she'd just witnessed, breath began to fail her, and soon she found herself instinctively clawing at the water around her. Down, down she sank, until thoughts of "air" or "surface" became but a distant memory.

Then just like that, she found both again. Isabelle burst from the water coughing and spluttering, mysteriously alive, but with no conception of where she was. Normally she'd never even go near any large body of water since she couldn't see the coastline, but now she was smack in the middle of one, an utterly foreign one at that. There might not even be a coastline, for all she knew.

She did know one thing, though: if Walker had fallen down here, he was probably floating in the water too.

"WALKER!" she cried out.

No answer.

"WALKER!" she cried again.

Still no answer.

Then she heard someone sob over the sound of the waves. It sounded like a woman's sob. Isabelle turned her head to identify where it came from. It sounded like it came from somewhere right next to her. When she picked a direction and began to paddle, she heard the sound again. Then she realized.

It had come from her own throat.

She was alone.

"...help..." came the whisper from her lips.

"Help."

"Anyone?"

"Please!"

"Oh gods."

The strength in her limbs began to fail, and soon the waters began to slosh at her nostrils once more. Just then, she espied the faint ember of a drifting soul in the distance. Isabelle summoned the last of her strength and swam toward it. "HELP ME, PLEASE!" she screamed. The ember flickered, a possible sign it heard her. The ember started drifting in her direction. Just as her arms finally gave out, someone grabbed her wrist and pull her up onto a wooden surface.

"Oi lass! Y'lalt a breath?" said a young man's voice in a strange accent. "O'll hells y'doin'n a place loik this?"

Isabelle hugged her arms close to her chest let out a few shuddering coughs. "I f-f-fell. Th-thank you f-for rescuing me."

"Ah nah jeh! Hardly a qualm, miss-" they lead to encourage her to introduce herself.

"Isabelle."

"S'moity proper a name... Moine's Davon. Tha pleasures mine, if'n oi may."

Isabelle adjusted the crown over her eyes and buried her head between her knees. She could almost feel the man staring at her as he rowed quietly back the way he came. And why shouldn't he? He'd just found a well-dressed priestess floating in the middle of nowhere. That would shock the words right out of anybody.

She lifted her head and smiled at him. "How can I ever repay you for saving my life, Devon?"

Davon awkwardly scratched his head and chuckled, a blush hidden by her blindfold as they boldy considered. "Sh't...ah, oi can think a few ways a lass loik y'self can start, ah?"

"Oh! You have but to name it, kind sir!" she replied, oblivious to his meaning.

"A-AH! W-Well..." he began, now a little nervous about exploiting her naivete, "Y'moit...y'know...show me...a good toim'n oll...when we get back, ah?"

Entertaining people certainly wasn't her forte, to be sure, but it was the least she could do for someone who'd just saved her life. Isabelle clasped her hands and replied, "Then I shall do my absolute utmost to entertain you! I cannot promise to be very good at it, but for you, I shall try my best! Do you prefer dancing, japes, or perhaps a bit of playacting?"

The man let out a long sigh, followed by an exasperated chuckle which a soft grin could almost be heard behind. "Ah hells, f'get it. Tha soft voice ouf a lass loik y'self. S'nuff fer me an tha boys. Long roads, good company, ah?"

"Are you quite sure? My dancing isn't terrible."

Devon burst out laughing. "NAH! Nah jeh jeh.. Oi'm 'eaded back ta join mi'friends, Kedvin and his crew. Oi'll insist ye accept hospitality woill ya recover, ah?"

Isabelle smiled. "That would be lovely, Devon. Thank you."

---

How wrong everything had gone.

Just when she thought she'd found someone she could rely on, the gods had to come and take them away from her. She could still hear their horrified screams as that creature rampaged through the camp, snuffing out their glowing embers without so much as breaking a sweat. Isabelle prayed her hiding spot concealed her, since she had no way to discern whether she was actually visible. The most she could do was stifle her breath and hold still. Hunters were drawn to motion, to change, and if she held as still as she possibly could, she would be less noticeable even if she were otherwise visible. She did not come out from her hiding spot until she heard friendly voices in the distance.

One of them sounded vaguely familiar.

Isabelle emerged from the brush and stumbled in the direction of the voices, her cane unslung from her back in case she had to defend herself.

"H-H! N-no!" The man barked, flailing to scramble back from those wishing to offer them 'mercy'. "I-I'm not going to be your slave!" They barked, a soft sound of steel against leather before they were brandishing a dagger in defence, the shriveled hand clenched before them in a versed defensive stance, hopeless in their state, but they were still keen to fight. "I'm fine on my own, witch! The city can help me!" they continued, holding their knife to the edge facing the group to hopefully parry incomming attacks. "Who-Who are you! What happened!? What did you-!" Their alarm cut off by Isabelle emerging to blindly brandish their cane. "A-Isa-!" They began before a renewed vigor took them. He tried to rise and take a swing at Walker, going wide as the goat-leg kicked and they stabbed into the ground in their flailing. He was scrambling, now, his actions erratic as he swiped at the group in his struggle just to coordinate.

"Stay-stay away from her! I am your enemy!!" They declared, propping themselves up enough to stand-ish with a tree to brace against. The goat-leg angled, the man gaining an understanding of how to potentially use it to spring upon the group.
Their fingers were keen, the blade twirling between their fingers to slip from an overhand grip to an underhand stance, the shriveled hand on the back of the dagger. In their blatant panic, they sprung for Walker in this telegraphed lunge, no means of catching themselves from this desperate effort. "BE DAMNED!" They roared, the small blade of the dagger crackling to some glowing light on their declaration.

"Slavery? Mate, that's piss poor business practice. Put the steel away, I'm the one saying that 'mercy' was awful to begin with, remember?" Walker's hand tightened on his own dagger, though he didn't produce steel yet. Ideally he wouldn't be slashing this poor fool's throat, he was about the only information source they would have that wasn't the golem or plague doctor. Or Kaath, but given recent events he couldn't exactly rely on her to be a consistently available source of information. However, a very familiar sight stumbled into view, though the saying was rather on the nose given who it was. His eyes genuinely, albeit briefly, widened in surprise at the sight of that poor lass Isabelle stumbling into the clearing, clutching that cane of hers and remaining as blind as ever. A low, weary smile cracked across his face as he spoke a phrase that, well, she'd recognize instantly if she remembered their first meeting well. "Now, what's a saint like you doing out in a place like this?"

Seemed the wounded, battered, and defiled man took exception to that, and given the flailing from before it seemed that the man saw Walker as the biggest threat. What brought a cocked eyebrow was the roaring cry and the dagger flaring to life, glowing brightly as it was thrust towards him. He sidestepped, left hand flashing out with his own dagger, catching the blade and, with a twist, aiming to send it hurtling to the ground as Walker caught the man to keep him from falling from the lunge, holding him very still and looking him dead in the eyes, speaking lowly enough so that only he would hear him. "Stand down, we're not enemies, I'm not here to kill you, and I'm sure as Spite not here to enslave you. You're in no condition to be fighting, fancy Church tricks aside, and if there's anyone in the realms that isn't going to hurt Isabelle it's me. I'm going to let you go slowly, and then we'll talk, figure out all that's going on, and get somewhere safer, savvy?"

Once Walker got a reply, even a negative one, the man would let the assailant loose, slow enough for the mutated fellow to get his bearings as Walker stepped back out of swinging range again, which meant it would take another lunge to get within reach of him to actually make an attempt on his well being again. They were too lean on bodies and knowledge to be slashing throats, and he almost shrugged idly as he resheathed the dagger in his left hand, hidden once again beneath his cloak. While he was watching the man out of his peripheral vision, he was once again processing how some poor soul like Isabelle ended up here. She'd been too good for the Church, and he never was successful in convincing her of that, though he never had the heart to be crass or rude about it towards her. "Once you get used to that...thing you got going on, you need to learn the Chergurd handshake from someone who's better at doing it. Given the extenuating circumstances though, you get a pass this time. No more offering 'mercy' towards the poor bastard, alright V?"

It's easy to blame Kaath for this Walker, but I don't want to jump to conclusions. Obviously, this looks like something Kaath could do, and given her attitude and what the group has seen and heard of her, sounds like something she would do. Violet wasn't sure why she didn't want to blame Kaath immediately but she wanted more proof. Looking back down to the man his eyes were filled with fear. That fear turned to panic, then to anger. Violet started to move back a bit as the man started to scream and shout.

Just calm down, I only wanted to he- Then the man began shouting again and drew his weapon. Ooookay this has escalated rather quickly. There has to be a way to calm everyo- Then a woman popped out of nowhere with a cane. She appeared to be blind; the mask over the eyes, the cane, it'd make sense. And Walker appears to know this person? I've never seen him talk nicely to anyone. Always so guarded, mysterious, sometimes even rude. That sounded... almost kind. As she was thinking about it, the deformed man got angry at this. This man appeared to be very protective of her as a new resolve appeared in his eyes. Quickly gathering decent control over his new body he manages an attack, albeit a bit sloppy, but an attack towards Walker. It appeared to be some type of light magic but it was just a myth in her world she had no idea how it would work here. She thought about tripping him on his way to Walker but Walker's stance looked like he was ready. It was better this way, while Walker dealt with this man, Violet could think over this scenario. There's too much that isn't adding up.

I can understand being upset at the idea of a mercy killing, but why call me a witch? I don't even know magic, I can just move... a... ball... But I haven't done that yet. How would he even know about that? And he made too many assumptions based on a group of people he's never met. From what Jasper said, he's just a guide and they should have had plenty of interactions with him. Kite would fit the bill as a dangerous entity and could even be called a witch, but then why attack Walker? Maybe he believes Walker holds the string... that's a big jump to make Violet tried to make sense of everything that's been going on. But Walker chastised her for her offering of mercy. In my line of work, some would consider it preferable. I'll do better to remember not everyone has the same mentality.

A lot isn't adding up though. Sir, if you don't mind me asking, who do you think we are? A direct question would be best here. It's a bit of a jump to think we're a gang of murderers who just kill whatever moves. Why would you think that about us? Are you confusing us with someone else? Also, what witch do you refer to? No one here can use magic. Sure it could just be a rude term to call someone in this world... but it'd still be nice to know that moving forward. Admittedly, Violet knew she was making assumptions in her thinking but she still needed answers and this was the only person she could talk to get any of them answered.

Essentially catching the man, their flailing would have brought the underhand grip on the dagger back into the side of Walker's head were it not for his reactions to hook his own blade past the blade to pry it from their handwith a twist. With the hold, the man half knelt at Walker's feet, their arm held up in the air as the dagger spiraled away.

Now they decided to be silent, still meeting Walker's eyes with a stony and expecting glare. The dagger clinked to the ground, the crackling parchment hue of the blade sparking once as the weapon itself shuddered across the ground in the direction of the dead patch of grass, its efforts fading like its glow before becoming innert. The man's eyes looked from the dagger to the others, contempt dancing on their expression as Jasper tilted their head in response. The construct remained quiet, watching the man, in return, with his fingers laced behind his back. At Violet's assertion, both Kite and Jasper looked at eachother, but with no way to understand eachother, the stare would have to suffice before the two looked back upon the scene. Kite huffed a sound like a sigh.

"Lost...bandits or Daggard's goons," They simply answer, then looking back to Violet after her question, grunting as walker dropped them. "Fancy hooded cloaks...odd baubles...no wizard of the house, for sure..." they spat, gesturing to Violet in the same motion as easing themselves to their human leg, as the other seemed ill-suited for kneeling or similar motions by the way it awkwardly pawed the ground. "Oh, my pardon...sorcerer? Warlock? Crone? Acolyte? Hedgemage!?" they growled as if they didn't really care, but were just offering dorrogotory terms for a mage. They squeezed their eyes shut and tremblingly shook their head, fighting to hold composure...perhapse afflicted beyond the physical sense. "I...hnnf....I saw it...I..." they tried to articulate, their thoughts slipping through their fingers the same as the soil through their good hand as they dug their hands into the dying grit that spread from the splatter. "They...showed me your faces...I...I think..." he continued, his tone growing defeated with a growing realization, lucidity clawing its way back. "I-I...I do not know who!!" they wailed into the ground, struggling to rip up a dead patch of grass with their bad hand, plopping it back down with as much force as they could seemingly muster...likely having once been their dominant hand.

"The words say you will kill me when I tell you..." he hissed after a short pause, swallowing hard as he slowly grew pale. "...A...shadow fell upon us..." they grimaced as they fought to recall, the fluttering of their eyelids and small shivers painting a picture somewhere aside from hyperboyle.

Jasper slowly turned to look back down the bridge the way they came, wholly unpopulated. They did not look away.

Kite gently paced through the scene, hesitating before the patch of dead grass and kneeling to pinch one of the blades that crumbled like ash in their touch. "Lhffph...L-leerff..." they tried to sound, a thought in mind from how they furrowed their brows, then sweepin their hand directly into the soil that crunched from the force, kicking up a bit of dust from the dead grass and dessicated soil. "Strhfffuheffefefef..." Kite commented, looking at the mess on his palm he then dusted off, standing and then looking back to Jasper who had began to pace to stand in the mid-space at the end of the bridge, taking a wide stance with fingers still folded behind their back as their full attention was turned down the bridge. "Yes. An astute observation," Jasper softly commented in response, their attention focused.

The hobbled man continued, "...It came with the ones that crawl a..." their head twitched a few times, their teeth grit in this, nostrils flaring in the restrained emotions that would only serve to smear the story. "a-and...she...was here...this time..." his words hissing to a whisper as if the shame was a weight upon his chest.

A distant creak, indistinguishable from the groaning trees, Jasper's arms fell to his side, their palms clenched to fists as he abruptly began pacing down the bridge the way the came, purpose and threat in their steps. Their stance was something of balance, they nearly seemed to float between the grace of their steps as they slowly raised their fists to a boxer's level. With this, trees and bushes on the other side of the river rustled before once more growing still.
Jasper paused, still in their stance for a few palpable moments before lowering their hands and relaxing their fists to rejoin the group without a word. They briefly looked off to the left, a place where nobody stood, but upon reaching the end of the bridge the group was on, they turned and reassumed their stance, hands folded.

Kite watched them the entire time, standing to brush the ashen foliage from their black attire, and then following their gaze off into nothing, looking to Violet then back to Jasper, then to the man who once more spoke, "...D-Daggard's beasts took the rest, a...and..." they'd been delaying this next bit, the words slow to form on their tongue before they growled, "Th-That bitch Kaath went after them...I wouldn't be here to tell you if she hadn't shown up."
They looked into the dirt with this confession, but a defeated chuckle added, "She did this to me...so I could could tell you this...because I would have ran..."

There was a long pause, they looked up to Isabella.

"I...I am sorry, Miss Isabella...h-" he began, but at this point he blinked a few times, regaining clarity enough in this abrupt instance to stop talking, seeming surprised and clasping their good hand over their mouth as if what they had been saying was not what they had wanted to voice.

Isabelle could hear Davon defending her off in the distance. "Stay-stay away from her! I am your enemy!!" he cried out. She clutched at her heart. He'd been wounded so horribly, yet he still had the strength of spirit within him to raise his knife to the enemy. She raised her head and offered a silent prayer to the heavens on his behalf.

Her prayer cut short when she heard a familiar voice, uttering a familiar question she'd heard so long ago: "Now, what's a saint like you doing out in a place like this?"

"Walker?..." she whispered, "Walker? Is- is that you?" She stumbled and caught herself on her cane. "Are you- are you really alive? Oh my- oh my gods. Oh Walker!" Tears welled up in her eyes, and she would have rushed into his arms right then and there had not she heard a fight break out in front of him. It took her a moment, but she realized Davon had drawn a weapon on Walker. Her lips pursed and her brow furrowed.

From that moment on, Davon was nothing to her.

When at last the fight concluded, Davon was on his knees weeping, with her name on his lips. "I- I am sorry, Isabele...h-"

Isabelle put on her Kindest Face and knelt down beside him. "There there, worry not, friend. All is forgiven," she replied, her intonation calm and soothing. "What matters is that you fought in the end, right? You fought, you struggled, and you are still alive."

She touched his withered limbs and whispered a prayer for him. "O gods in heaven, restore thee this day Davon's limbs to their former state prior to the Withering, to their condition three days prior. I offer up unto thee a portion of my blood in sacrifice." Then under her breath, so quietly even one sitting next to her could not hear, she added: "And weaken the tendons in his thumbs so he shall never again wield a weapon against my love."

"Amen."

She felt the telltale tingling of magic surge in her veins as it drew power from her blood. Isabelle felt up Davon's arm and leg to ensure the spell worked, along with a subtle exploration of his thumb, before rising to her feet to find her beloved. As she made to approach him, she remembered that his was not the only voice she'd heard. There was another, a woman's voice, and a pretty one at that. From the way they spoke, he was familiar with her. A twinge of jealousy touched her, but she pushed it aside for the moment - she had more important things to attend to, like hugging Walker. She tried to pace herself at first, not wanting to look more needy for him than she was, but her methodical pace evolved into a full-on run until she collapsed into Walker's arms.

The comforting warmth of his body coaxed a hitched sob from her throat. She pressed her face into his broad chest and nuzzled into it.

Isabelle was home again at last.

This new person's response only confirmed that the two of them knew each other Maybe she could meet Xendrik here in due time. Wouldn't that be something? But now isn't a time to be daydreaming. She needed to remain focused on this man. With that said... looking at the situation, it looks like Walker can handle this from now on. Violet tried to get information out of this disabled man and he threw more insults at her. As far as she was concerned, she couldn't care less about this man's fate. Instead, she'd move her attention to Kite and Jasper. Kite seemed fixated on something on the ground, making comments about it (that she couldn't understand) but Jasper seemed to agree with it.

She'd try to see where Jasper was focused towards then Jasper began walking towards the bridge aggressively. Jasper, is something wrong? Jasper would stop and would look to his left. For a moment, Kite and Violet would lock eyes and look back to Jasper. Violet was confused as to what was happening. She felt a bit on edge but didn't know why. Violet would tune back into the man's conversation only to find out Kaath didn't exactly do this. There was a fight but it seems it wasn't Kaath against these men, just caught in the crossfire. He'd add that Kaath cursed him so that he could be a messenger and not run away. Deep down, Violet felt pretty good knowing that but now wasn't the time to be petty. Something felt like it was coming.

The new woman appeared to offer a prayer to this man. She's some kind of priest or something. She'd wonder if her powers were real or if they're more meant for comfort. She'd have to think about it later... until she heard the woman used some of her blood as a sacrifice. That made it feel a bit more legitimate but still nothing to guarantee that she had true magical cleric powers. She'd only read about them but didn't know about them in practice. Ah, so you're a cleric? That's really good to hear. We're happy to have you. And I'm glad you two could be reunited. Now look alive, something... feels like it's coming. She'd move her focus back to where Jasper was focused.

Kite looked up from his attention paid to the dead grass, having gently sank the tips of their gloves into the soil that yielded like sand. In the time they'd been holding the small scoop, it continued to desiccate, the grass crumbling to dust as Kite looked back from their exchange with Violet to their hands as the fine powder sifted through their fingers. They clapped their hands off as they stood up and back off a step, not wanting to inhale the small cloud the disturbance had briefly kicked up. "Thfflef-phelt prrefefefefff...." they tried to articulate, frustratedly trailing off with a small growl before looking around, trying to catch remnants of the unfolding actions.

Isabelle's efforts earned them the acute sensation of plunging their hands into an ice-bath upon contact with the man. Though the glow of her efforts staved off the brunt of the maleficence, it was sickeningly clear to the woman that the darkness from which the man's afflictions stemmed was something made weak in spite of its oppressiveness.

Fraying edges that dumbly sizzle and evaporate in flourishing plumes of flame; a tapestry set alight.

A hand passing through the web of a spider.

A lantern on the edge of night, needing only to be shifted an inch in order to illuminate the man's true form.

Though what divinity Isabella's powers were claimed to originate from were effective in driving out the curse, with ease it was excised, the struggle more akin to opening a letter than driving out an inherently evil affliction. The cruelty blatant with the apparent lazy amalgam of curses bundled together in haste like a snowball. What Isabella could feel behind the spells was a spool of anger and quickly plunged stakes to anchor each shallow enough only to stick.

No passion. No nuance. No design.
This was the work of punishment, not passion.

Davon took his time to silently look over his restored limbs, his toes curling as the leg properly filled the leg of his pants. Wonder and amazement ruled his expression, but not surprise, having had nothing but full faith in Isabella. The first actions tasked of his restored state were to manage himself to his knees and clasp his hands in soft prayer, Isabella's name sharing adoration in the murmured gratitude. Eyes closed and head lowered, he was indifferent to if she chose to pay him attention, as the thanks was not necessarily for her, but for what powers at play allowed her to 'perform such boundless miracles in defiance of The Old Dark'.

Jasper turned their head, slightly as they listened to Violet. "There are shapes in the forest that I do not recognize. As they are on the other side of the river, I am not immediately concerned," They flatly said, speaking again after a long pause, after Violet had turned back to the group, implying they were continuing their conversation with Kite, "Unlikely. It may have burnt the soil down a few inches, but we are safe from it, in this state."

Somewhere out in the woods back across the bridge, the distant muffled roar of Vandal Savant rang out. Birds of all and other shapes scattered from the trees as five resounding 'thumps' concussed the air, the ground almost seeming to shake from the reverberations.
"That, however...may-" Jasper began, the treeline rustling once more as two tall shapes and a small handful of smaller ones emerged from the path in a jog to cross the bridge in a slight haste. The two were lanky, standing some six to seven feet tall with long muscular arms coated in a reddish-orange fur. Otherwise, they were clad in a sort of light armor and metal helmets, the details difficult to make out from the distance. One of them pointed across the bridge and a few barked words saw them and their entourage drawing weapons from their hips and backs. The four smaller ones were some 3-4ft tall with dog-like snouts from how pointed their noses seemed to be, matching their ears, their details standing out on the backdrop of water and wood by the distinct green hue of their flesh. The group must have noticed our heroes, as they picked up the pace to cross the bridge before they could be caught out in the open.
"...may drive them back our way." Jasper concluded, their tone pleasant as always even as they raised their fists once more.

From the commotion, Davon looked up from their ritual and darted back into the crumbled camp with a skip to their step after overcompensating with having a normal leg, once more. They had returned to their crossbow, quickly going about getting it ready for the new company.

Walker let Isabelle tend to the misguided poor sod who had pulled a knife on him and tried to go about that strange church nonsense of a magical attack. The man had been spouting out a rather concerning amount of information, even as the blind woman all but leapt into his arms, one arm wrapping around her in a familiar motion as he listened to what was being said and processing it. Something showed the poor bastard their faces, that they would kill him for speaking the words, that this Daggard and his beasts had taken the survivors of that viewing and Kaath went after them. Whatever this Daggard was, well, was trouble and Kaath had been falsly considered to be at blame for the majority of this. Majority since she apparently ensured he couldn't run with that...transformation, curse, mutation, whatever one would refer to it as. Kaath's capabilities only grew more known, as fractional as one could refer to that right now, and he regarded the healed man quietly. Attempts on his life had been commonplace enough that, well, it really wasn't anything personal anymore, and he didn't bother holding ill will towards the poor bastard.

Instead his attention shifted briefly to Isabelle who was buried into his chest and hanging on for dear life. How in spites name had she gotten here? The last thing he remembered was fighting on the bridge and she had been getting those who couldn't, or shouldn't, fight through the escape tunnels and to relative safety. Well, not safety he figured, but at least the slim chance of survival as they could imagine across the seas. "Now how did you even get here ahead of us, little Saint, last I knew you were helping people escape..."

The sounding of a horn interrupted his train of thought and thinking, as was the discussion going on between Violet, the golem, and the plague doctor. What came out of the treeline was trouble, or looked it, given they armed themselves and started making their way across the bridge. He shifted Isabelle behind him, unslinging his own crossbow as easily as one might simply report the time of day or the weather. The other fellow seemed to have a similar idea as well, fetching his own weapon and making ready to meet the newcomers. He loaded the bolts with bodkin tips for that armor, of course all of them were still laced with as potent a poison as he had time to procure and manufacture prior to being dumped into...whatever he wanted to refer to this spite driven mess of a situation he had found himself in. He had made sure he was squarely between Isabelle and any approaching trouble given her, well, obvious condition in being blind. He also spoke calmly as he held the crossbow at the ready as well, wanting to take a chance to draw a better shot as they crossed, as well as try and identify their intentions, though he was ready to open fire at a moment's notice. "That doesn't look like what you'd call a welcoming committee, especially if they were driven this way. Stay back if your not comfortable in a melee, goes without saying."

Violet would look in the distance and see the group Jasper had pointed out. Violet never liked big fights. She was always trained to get in, kill her target, and get out without leaving any room for fighting. She knew she didn't have what it took to be an assassin on her own, Xendrik did most of the heavy lifting for her. She was essentially a spy with permission to kill. As such, she'd have to find a way to make herself useful in the upcoming brawl. She'd assess the situation and think for a second before saying I'll protect Isabella and cover you guys from a distance. I can only throw this thing about 15 feet max. Beyond that, I can't do much.
Violet would go over to Isabella and the man she'd rescue. I'm going to need you on the front lines with Walker. Let me protect her and you protect Walker. Sound fair? Violet wasn't too concerned with his answer but she'd at least run the plan by him. Walker would need backup and wanted to be prepared should Kite and Jasper wouldn't be enough. She had no concern for their well-being, Kite's proven capable, and if Jasper teams up with Kaath, then he should be fine too. The problem is if they both have their own group to deal with leaving Walker with no one to watch his back.
Violet would get closer to Isabella and try to assess her abilities. The best way to do so was to directly ask her. She appears to be capable of blessings of sorts but if this extends to healing or just warding off curses was best left to her to explain. Hey... Isabella right? What can you do in a fight? I can see you're blind so I'll be your backup. I try to make it a point to determine my partner's capabilities before getting into a fight with them. Can you give me a brief summary of what you can do? For me, I'm acrobatic and can control a medium range with my ball. What about you?

What...can I do in a fight?

Isabella faltered. Rarely had she done anything in a fight. She'd always been a healer outside of fights. But...there was no reason she couldn't help in her own way. She had God on her side. Why couldn't she pray for her allies' protection - or her enemies' demise? If she could heal a friend, she could rot an enemy. Especially since they interrupted her conversation with Walker.

I'd tell them to rot in hell, but that's a little late for my liking.

She turned her head in the direction of Violet's voice. Oh, she would tell this wench what her power was, all right. if the girl didn't believe her, that was her problem. She replied cooly, "Then go control things with your ball. I will say a prayer for you." With that, she took a few steps back, pressed her hands together, and began to chant a prayer.

"O almighty God, lord of heaven and earth, and master of all creation, hear now my plea. Bring thou upon these dogs this curse: that their bowels shall tear, and let loose within their flesh all the hosts of filthiness inside. May the filth consume their bodies as a welcome feast, and may the creeping things unbeholden to the eyes devour them."

Isabella lifted her face toward the sky. "And...if thou wilt, protect my love with thy mighty hand. Turn aside their weapons, that nothing which harms his flesh shall smite him with a mortal blow. For this my plea, I return to thee an offering of my blood. Amen."

The Kite shrunk back from the conflict, their eyes wide with an alien uncertainty as the forms charged them, though their head tilted towards Isabella before their eyes then followed them...before she began to speak.

Influence and raw inspiration, something was coaxed from her prayers. The air rippled around her, the wind alight with the draw of the ley-lines that were raked into place by her chant. While men would bend to worship such a force, the breeze grew icy cold from the soul her demands tore from it...a request so selfish and profane that the air would 'sparkle' in a way. Her second sentence evoked, with a sweep of the hand, to bend entropy to her words. With Mirth in her tone, Isabella then forsook the land and sky with the conclusion of her demand, the grass beneath her feet wilting and curling brown with each syllable.

This is not a land of gods.
This is a land of potential.

Kite abruptly keeled over, clutching their abdomen and kicked at the soil in mute agony, fighting to get out of the way of whatever the witch had unleashed upon the land that coiled and curdled like milk gone foul. What grass that was left boiled and popped like pustules, rotting into a horrendous stench that blew in a wave from her, directed towards Jasper and the approaching humanoid creatures.

One in back barked, most of the group stopping, save for two of the smaller green ones who toppled over, violently expelling the contents of their guts from both ends; the mixture being a putrid pale green...then brown in the second retch...and then blood...and then blood....and then they moved, no more.

Save for Jasper.

The tapestry coiled and descicated before sloughing off in chunks, caught in the full blast the witch unleashed without a single thought of where her prayers were offered. Their hat bent and fell in parts, and even their boots appeared to melt into rot with each step that they simply walked out of, without a thought.
...then Isabella's prayers and wills rebounded with a sensation of walking into a brick wall. There was a brief wretching sound...and then an animalistic growl. The ground grew fetid in a wash, then outlining the shadow of a figure who had, until this point, been seemingly unseen...something aside from vision, though the wash of entropy only carried this single pulse.
The dead grass washed over, and life was found in this new outline, detailed with the remaining flourishing dandilions and seed-grass.

"Roit...Oi see how it is..." A whisper hissed from this outline before the mash of death depressed in a bee-line for Isabella in a series of boot-prints that dug in like cleats before two flats planted themselves before the hag.

Isabella's prayers were cut short as anyone watching would see the impression of ram-horns into their gut, a crack of a rib resounding in accent to their 'prayer' which was cut short as the woman was thrown some ten meters away, like a ragdoll, into the foliage. The force behind the blow roared a sharp "S'DRAT!" with a concussive burst that blew the wind from the area, snapping back into position with a 'clap'.

Jasper, unfeeling in their awareness or indifferent to it, paced through their rotten garb, taking up a boxer stance to then charge, the burst of intended divinity freeing them from the burden of the heavy works of art they had been draped and clothed in...
With a hook of his leg on the approach, he trips the first goblin and punches their skull into the dirt with a harrowingly sickening 'CRUNCH', already lifting their clenched fist to back-hand with what appeared to be the weight of a sledge-hammer, caving in the side of the second goblin's skull. They stagger a few steps, their arms twitching as most of their brain remembers enough to attempt to keep running, but they manage about three more lop-sided steps before tipping sideways and limply swinging their fetid knife in the air, a single leg briefly kicking before losing life after the third kick
The third goblin, watching what had just transpired had just enough time to gasp and messily void their bowls as the golem snapped to face them, their blood-stained knuckles ready to make another example of them before a crossbow bolt delivered them from such a fate.
'Jasper' or whatever they were called, ignored this, no longer assessing them as a threat, paced over their body as it fell limp, their weight still enough to crunch the rib of the goblin-

What protection the hag appealed to their forces to avail, it was difficult to tell, as the construct interposed themselves to prevent any approach on the man with the crossbow.