Shienvien

The Prophecy

Aemoten can't be mind-controlled, as you might recall, though with some rather unpleasant side-effects ... so it will be anywhere from hurt like ten kicks of the sort Jaelnec was subjected to outright shorting his mind/soul and killing him (which he, granted, would recover somewhat more easily than from a more, uh, "messy" death, but he still wouldn't be capable of really functioning for quite some while, at least). But I guess he'll explain it to Thaler himself (though he wouldn't quite put it like that).
...I don't think he'll try to stop her for any longer than is necessary to give a(n uncharacteristically short, for once) explanation on a few things, unless she decides to completely go running off, not in his current condition. I think they've both equally reached "enough of that BS already, just fucking leave us be for once" by now... If it weren't for sheer sense of duty (leader of the party and what not) and stubborn determination he'd probably just wander off and flop over face-down somewhere, too.
((IC, I don't think he'd have been mad at Thaler if she had killed Angora, either ... killing in self-defence, especially since she *did* literally ambush them with no apparent reason, is fully permitted. It's generally preferable to not (immediately) kill any subdued opponents - if for no other reason, then interrogation, maybe they have another 50 guys sitting in a bush somewhere, or someone has put a bounty on their heads or something -, but in the middle of retaliation ... immediate threat eliminated, basically.))

The Prophecy

Hmm... Nessa in response to me, Jack in response to Legion (not sure where Jaelnec is anymore), then me on that side again after him?

The Prophecy

Aemoten

That was it. He was permitted no rest. No respite for him. No break. He could not relent. Could not falter. Could not close his eyes and rest. Could not even collapse... No longer, not anymore, not... It would be far easier to simply give up. To not fight anymore. To let oneself to slump down and let the world end if it so desired. It seemed to be headed that way - either all world had gone to hell already, or all of Reniam had a personal vendetta against them. Heck, all Planes, if the appearance of the DevilGod and "the first of the nephilim" was any indicator.
But he could not let go. For everything that he had been taught and raised with. For everything that he believed in. For everything that he stood for. For his duty, his subordinates, his friends, the woman he loved... If he breaks, then how long it would be till the rest followed? It had been a close call for them, this morning. Too damn close... Thaler, Olan, even Jaelnec ... he could have lost them all. He had to go on, to continue onward. To carry on, here and now.
Koraakan knew how that was supposed to be possible. He was but a human man. He needed rest to maintain his basic functions, lest he succumb completely and be rendered dead altogether - or at least as dead he could feasibly go. And there was no one more useless than a dead man. And even tired men ... tired men made mistakes. Grievous ones.
Later. Now, he had to act.

From leaning on a shaking arm to half-kneeling, from half-kneeling to unsteady standing. The foreign warrior's pallid face was stern, his eyes hard. A mask hiding a mix of ire, annoyance, hopelessness, and determination. A grim, fatigued figure in a dark coat. His right hand moved to grip the handle of his sword as he moved onward - striding forward, not running -, though to what avail, he did not yet know. He would make a suboptimal combatant in his current state. His head was pounding. The air was too cold.
From that distance, he could do little to intervene what was ensuing; he could see Jaelnec block the ... woman's strike, her drop the blade, and Thaler rush forward to drag her off and latch onto her back, only to immediately be slammed to the ground under the assailant.
Thaler... He felt a stab in his chest. He had just wanted to reach Zerul City without another incident. Get one night's worth of uninterrupted sleep before being up against the whole damn word again. Provide that much, at least. Ensure this one little thing. But not even that had he been able to do... He could not fight it all... Not alone. No matter how much he wanted. He would grow weak, wear out, and then fall. Broken men cannot ... but that meant someone else took the blows. I'm sorry, Thaler.... I could not. I just ... could not. I did try... I did try, but my body and mind gave way. I could not...
The woman fought with savagery he had only seen once in the recent history - from the three-quarter-demon. Only, she had assaulted him firsthand. Torn Brian's face off for trying to aid him before his eyes. There was little doubt in the outlander's mind that if she would get the chance, this strange woman would not hesitate to tear Thaler's face off, too... As if she had not been through enough already today. For a moment, a bolt of white rage coursed through his mind - indeed, this time he would not have been certain he would not have succumbed to the urge to inflict a sudden and brutal death upon the woman, if she were within a hand's reach and he had the energy left for it -, but as it were, he managed to subdue the feeling by the time he had moved another dozen feet closer. Only the look in his eyes hardened for a moment, and a muscle by his jaw twitched as he clenched his teeth. He could still taste blood.
The fight progressed fast - as most fights against a much more numerous adversary were wont to. He could see Jaelnec approach and stagger back, and Iridiel make the decisive move - break her neck or knock her senses out of it, either way she was no longer a threat. The Sekalyn's hand dropped from the grip of his sword, now hanging limply by his side. Considering that Iridiel went through the effort of standing on her and pointing her weapons in her face, probably not dead...
He could see the splotchy-skinned man crouch by the downed woman, saying something he could not quite make out, Olan moving up to her, and Thaler crawl out from under the woman (ignoring Domhnall's held-out hand), but not before elbowing her to the head one more time, briefly knocking her out.

Etakar had moved over, and was now looking down at the humanoids with a measure of rather pointed mild disapproval.

Aemoten came to a halt for a moment, hesitating, eyes moving from their new "detainee", to Jaelnec, to Thaler. In the end, he decided that Olan and their new acquaintances had the situation well in hand (Etakar's looming presence withstanding); Thaler was perhaps the most troubled for the time being. He sent a tired look in Jaelnec's direction, looked once more at Iridiel, wincing and motioning down with his hand, and then turned to meet Thaler on her way.
She was a mess; her clothes torn further, covered in scratches and bruises, a number of which no doubt covered up by what remained of her clothes. He could find another shirt, maybe ... with anything else they were out of luck for the time being. They'd all need to buy a few sets of clothes each once they finally make it to Zerul City...
"Thaler..." His voice was unusually rasped, though this time equal measures from his throat being raw and him being soundly asleep not two minutes ago, as well as weaker than usual. In truth, he also did not know what to say... Maybe start from the beginning. "When I was asleep ... what happened?"

The Prophecy

"Any and all applied blunt trauma to the head is to be considered the use of lethal force." - From actual mil/police manuals.

Angora might not be dead, but now she definitely isn't in any shape to talk any time soon.

I think I'm going to post Aemoten next ... then we'll see what who and when.
EDIT: Legion could post, I think ... I reckon Aemoten would be hanging back a bit for now.

The Prophecy

Domhnall

In spite of the fact that the savage was an unquestionable adversary and had obviously aimed to attack and more than just probably kill them, a part of him nevertheless instinctively wanted to flinch when Iridiel proceeded to kick her in the face. It was brutal, and somehow more disturbing on a base level than a kick to the ribs or some other, less expressive part of one's form would have been. It was quite surprising the kick had not wholly snapped her neck and killed her nigh instantly; for the blink of an eye, Domhnall had figured his companion had done just that, but the woman, though no longer fighting back, persisted to feebly move - more so than the the reflexive twitching of muscles that were yet to realize they were no longer subjected to the control of a functioning mind - and tears started to well up and drop from the savage's eyes. Pain, the realization that she had lost, the forestfolk did not know...
The kick had served its purpose, though... The savage had been quite effectively placated, even before had a Iridiel planted a foot to her chest and pointed her crossbows at her face. She uttered something, though not in Rodorian (let alone in Éireann)... It was desperate, though who in the face of death would not have been? Criminals always pleaded innocence, did they not, and she had, without doubt, made a beeline for him and Iridiel with a clear intent to do harm... Strategic harm to top it off, seeing how Iridiel was the only one of them wielding obvious ranged weapons.
Letting her talk, though ... it seemed fair, if there were someone who could comprehend her... Right. And what were the bloody chances, had they not just figured out this group had a person amid their ranks who could speak every damn language there was, at once?
"Ye ... Thala?" he inquired, addressing the white-eyes. He did not have a good memory for names, let alone foreign ones, unfortunately... "I think she's not a threa' anymore. Can ye ge' out?" Carefully moving closer, he held out his free hand, ready to help the white-haired woman out and up if need be (if she had not moved, chances were she was now pinned under both the savage one and Iridiel's boot). Careful, though... Though pacified, the threat was still there; the woman's fingernails were literal talons, for Sulis' sake, and he did not need those things anywhere close to in his face...
"And ye..." He continued, louder, looking behind his back (still making sure she was out of arm-reach, still with a knife in the other hand; there was no obvious violent intent in him, yet he was ready to react in an instant, and that reaction was liable to involve a swift stab to whichever body part had reached out to grab him), seeking out the older black-eyes - what was his name now? - "Ye ... could ye understan' her?"

The Prophecy

Domhnall and Iridiel

Still in a state of semi-daze from the word of power and frozen in a semi-adequate knifefighter's stance, his mind yet to catch up with the fact that there was nothing physical actually holding him place, Domhnall stared impotently as the newcomer and the younger black-eyes' swords clashed. There had been a stagger in his new acquaintance's step; it would appear that whatever invocation had stalled him and Iridiel had worked its magic on the squire, too ... but not the newcomer, who persisted her savage onslaught. With a flurry of white hair and oversized skirt, the white-eyes stormed past them, making a valiant effort of tearing the much larger frame of the newcomer back from her companion before latching herself onto her back and prompting the woman to drop her sword and throw herself backwards, onto the white-eyes, in what quite possibly was an actual attempt to crush the smaller person.
For a moment, his eyes flickered off the struggle and onto Iridiel.
"We should help?" he voiced, his intonation transforming the simple statement into a question. There was a measure of uncertainty in his tone, but nevertheless there was little doubt he considered it the right course of action. These people seemed like decent folks ... and truly, had it not been them wandering onto the scene not long ago, it could have quite easily been them fighting her alone.

"Should we help? You're the master of stupid questions, aren't you... that... thing was about to go after you were it not for that man in the scale armour! Come on, let's get a move on before we lose the advantage!" Iridiel crouched to pick up her crossbows and then willed herself as strong as she could to move - like the woman, Iridiel had not been as affected by the word of power of the white-skinned girl. She began to move towards the two struggling women, before she saw the man in the scale take a kick to... well... somewhere that a kick was not supposed to hit. She winced involuntarily.

Iridiel appeared to have recovered somewhat quicker than he had; quite evidently, they could still move, though he somehow had persisting difficulties actually believing it for himself. He had to consciously remind himself that there was nothing tangible that prevented him from proceeding onward. The bizarre disoriented sensation - which he could only compare to having downed slightly more than a reasonable amount of strong spirits - coupled with the similarly odd feeling of fear, or perhaps uncanniness, was not helping, either.
He had had the higher ground and unclouded mind when he had opted to go for the grey-skinned brute (the intelligence of the decision was still up to debate, though it had worked out well enough for them); now he had neither. And, for the matter, he had not really done much fighting against humanoids in the past (excluding a couple of brawls he had somewhat involuntarily been involved in). His targets - and occasional opponents - had been animals. The brute was just about bestial enough to be seen as one, but this "thing", as Iridiel had put it, albeit savage, still bore a semblance a bit too strong to his own kind.
And on top of everything else, with his proper weapons too far to fetch, he still only had a knife.
Nevertheless,as Iridiel moved, so did he; worst came to worst, now that he knew the newcomer was a humanoid being rather than a beast of foreign and mysterious nature, he could probably stab her and hope that the effect would be not dissimilar to stabbing any other human. Or maybe borrow a page from the white-eyes' book - throw himself at her and hope for the best. There was enough of them there for each of her limbs, and then some. Enough to overwhelm her by sheer numbers.
The younger black-eyes staggered back from a rather nasty kick indeed (Mind the boots. Got it.); he could only send the fellow a sympathetic look as he moved to circle around the struggling women, even though inwardly he wanted to cringe. Even Iridiel was wincing, and she did not have the anatomy to be able to properly relate...
Now what? He sent another questioning glance in Iridiel's direction; by now he had made his way to the opposite side of the white-eyes and newcomer (with Iridiel presumably on the other side), which left him quite open to try and disable her closest hand and arm or, if it came down to it, go for a stab from that side while the savage was otherwise occupied.

"Domhnall, stop faffing about, and back me up, damn you!"
Iridiel sprinted over towards the battling duo on the ground and aimed her crossbows at the bestial human woman, who was still struggling to throw off the white-skinned woman - Thaler, Iridiel remembered her name being - and somehow failing. Iridiel decided to inform the brute woman that this fight was well and truly 'over'.
Stepping back for a modicum of additional leverage, Iridiel kicked the black-haired woman hard in the side of the face with the heel of her boot, sending a spray of bright crimson blood exploding from the point of impact, as well as several nasty scrapes and cuts on the woman's cheek and a possible broken nose - at least from the blood streaming down her face. If that weren't enough, Iridiel took advantage of the woman's inability to defend herself by planting her foot directly on one of the woman's breasts and pushing with most of her weight, whilst pointing her left-hand crossbow at the woman's face.
"Your move, bitch."

In the background, the leader of the group and the beast from the faraway lands were making their way over.

The Prophecy

Next possible point of meeting: morning at the place (provided they don't get turned away by the destruction at the place, or similar)?

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The Prophecy

(Oy, and no need to specifically wait for me at this point - Jack/Nessa/Legion are free to go as many times before me as they desire until I specify otherwise.)

The Prophecy

Go Thaler!

(Looks like we're on the roll today.)