506-05-24-Mists Wild Night
|Mists' Wild Night|
|RL Date||November 22, 2008|
|Players||Kyrie, Dyonith, Larimar, Serenity, Solesian, Citrine, Tobias, Addison, Lachesis|
|Location||Polaris Port, Mists|
|Crossroads Time and Weather|
|IC Date||May 24, 506|
The Dragon's Breath, Polaris Port, Mists
Some cities triumphantly bleat their elegance through great building projects and landmarks, but every single last one pales next to the very emblem of Mists itself. The massive ice-white spire stabbed through Polaris' very heart dominates the skyline in an unquestionable way, radiant against the vast sweep of the glittering sea and the blue-hazed outline of Gateway Isle lying to the east. Expansive, artfully arranged neighbourhoods lying northwest of the great spire up along the rolling hillsides complement the Fang's majesty rather than vie for the eye; gilded roofs and undulant walls awash in rubescent tones when the setting sun strikes against their tiles present a feast for the eyes.
Bare-leaved trees decorate the ring boulevard enclosing the upper terraces of the residential district, interspersed amongst the freestanding metal pillars holding light globes for illumination by night. Most of the shops do not obviously advertise themselves except through shape of their gated entranceways facing around small piazzas shrouded from public sight. Glittering sigils mark out destinations at every turn, eldritch traceries of cuprous and misty lavender favoured for the growing winter dark.
Polaris Port, the place where the hippest of hip come to hobnob and linger near the center of power, the Fang of Imperius. Even the heavy rain that falls from the sky can't quell the nightlife of the area. The upscale areas off of the docks where the finer inns and the more elegant places of socialization gather are rather full tonight, particularly the Dragon's Breath where a number of people have gathered to discuss plans for Everyday. Drinks spilling with fog or creations with fruit or flames are dispensed with enthusiasm at the ivy covered patio.
Having only come off the ship having heard of the wounding of some of his family, Tobias enters the area, looking around at the opulance, but it is someone in paticular that he is looking for. Not seeing his cousin, he instead seeks out of the liegely types, ending up near the reflecting pool as he offers a bow to Kyrie. "M'lady. Mind extra company?" he asks, a polite tip to her present company. A faint smile graces the face of the mage as he looks to Kyrie.
Around one table, a number of youths in the robes of university students are chatting with excitement, oblivious to the rain that rustles the ivy and gets filtered to spouts that spill from dragon-head's sculptures at the side of the patio.
Lachesis leans back against Larimar at the seat he's steered her to. Right now she's using him as a shield of sorts - hiding her studious activities as she flips pages in a text book. Don't mind her. Just trying to keep up or slightly ahead in her studies.
Dyonith is sitting alone, a emtpy cup before him. A book in his lap, just reading and researching something as he takes a note once in a while. He glances to see who is there,but doesn't bother anybody either. Just him and his book.
Head in a bandage, Tee has settled herself in the ivy bower, resting back and sipping wine as she waits for the currents to change so she can go home. She's resting mostly, relaxing in the silence that is not a toddler banging on wooden bowls.
Larimar downs both fruit and flame in a single and devastatingly efficient draught. The young scion of Montaigu seems entirely at home as he reclines in his chair. One long-fingered hand hand languidly grips blazing drink, the other is draped around Lachesis' shoulder. A sideways glance is thrown to the Academy students at the far table before it turns towards his studious sweetheart. "I don't think I know them. I've been away too long," he murmurs.
In very, very few places does the name Mezelien serve as any kind of credit, let alone platinum. This is one. Here the Lady of the Fang takes full advantage of the opportunity, quietly drinking in all the moisture in the atmosphere and the lively conviviality in the Dragon's Breath adjacent to the pool mirroring the sky. Any hope she might reside in the background ends precisely five centimeters under her chin where a devil-trove of gemstones, chosen to honour the funeral, catch the firelight in eldritch black-flame. Kyrie raises her head at Tobias' approach, and any surprise is lost completely in the unreadable depths of her large eyes. She inclines her head towards the smooth, rounded lip possibly fashioned by magic. She has yet to drink except to taste at some bright blue brew more condensation than actual liquid, watching between her brother and Lady Guybrush; and the Montaigus and Erastothenes chit.
A slash of lightning splits the sky, illuminating the falling rain where it trickles along the streets. In the glare of the storm's wrath, it is not just rain that is illuminated. It is also mist.
Mist. It cloaks the isle of its namesake, thick and heavier at night. In the city, it is found mainly as lazy tendrils that curl in their semi-sentient fashion about spires and rooftops, posts and people. Even the rain doesn't dispIt's habit to the people who live in Mists, a constant of their existence, something familiar and comforting and very known.
At least until this very moment.
With a shriek of violated physics and a booming thunderclap, the clouds above vanish into clear sky and an unseasonable chill settles across the isle. All around the area, sounds of startlement rise.
Citrine sits at her twin's other side, stroking a calico kitten held in her lap. Violet eyes watch everything as her fingertips play with her flaming drink, twisting it this way and that. The Montaigu girl lets no detail slip by her, and she is content to sit with her friends and relax. At least, until something shakes her out of her reverie. "What was that?"
"Thank you, m'lady." Tobias starts to say as he lowers towards his seat. That is until nature itself is groped and the veil ripped asunder to reveal the naked breast of the Isles, the pointed tip of the Fang standing out in the night sky as the chill washes over it. The Professor frowns, "Now.. that's not good."
His initial arrival in the Fang with a small child in tow brought a lot of wagging tongues in its wake. The most prevailant was that one of the Lord Mezelien's many trysts had ended up with a child and he, upon visiting the Fang, was called upon for fatherly duties. During trips into town, during the Funeral -- he having remained behind to handle a matter of the estate, allowing his sister to represent the Fang -- the nobleman kept largely quiet on the matter. This evening, however, the hour grows late enough that allowing the household to enjoy the charms of Grace and give him a chance to go see a few people was more than welcome. He's just barely walked within the doors of the establishment, drawing gaze of those familiar with the infamous man's attire... And mreally, if is his sister who is the weather mage, so surely such an ominous occurance is /not/ the fault of Solesian Mezelien. His brow does furrow and he's briefly distracted from seeking out a particular individual by the rise of concern within the room... nevermind the hair upon end at his own neck. Lips purse and the tall mage takes a few strides further in, swallowing that mild edge of terror that begins to rise so as to seek someone out.
Lachesis lifts her head from the studies, the hood of her robe falling back. She reaches up, absently toying with Larimar's fingers where they sit. She blinks once and then follows his gaze over towards the students. "Are you missing your days of splendour, Lar?" She peeks back over her shoulder, smiling casually. At least until that loud thunderclap. Citrine's question lures out a dry toned answer. "Our impending doom, no doubt. There's always impending doom being announced it seems."
Lachesis teasing reply would no doubt draw a game bit of banter from Larimar, but impending apocalypse rather dramatically interferes. "Bloody buggering Abyss!" the lad says with hushed startlement, a bit of that odd concoction sloshing over the rim of his drink and spilling onto his jacket as he starts in his seat. "Weatherwork?" he offers to Citrine in answer, head craning and eyes arcing upwards towards a blue sky that's never seemed quite so cold and fearsome.
Dyonith glances up to the sky at the loud boom and the sudden chill. He raises his eyebrows ever so faintly and just shakes his head. He flips to the next page in his book and pulls his cloak about him tighter to help ward off the chill, going back to his studying.
At least, Tee was trying to relax. The lighting and thunder didn't both her, but that odd hush falling across the area does. Sea-green eyes open to look around the area, surprise on her features as she sees the sky. And can clearly see the ground around her feet. Her gaze immediately slips to Kyrie, and then to the man striding in her direction.
The girl carrying a tray of unique drinks spills them to the side in startlement. She gives a little scream as they shatter on the ground and a burst of fire flashes for a second.
The sudden absence of rain and thunder is an unsettlingly silent backdrop for all the sounds of startlement.
Absent-minded is rarely a descriptor applied to Kyrie unless she happens to be completely devoid of sleep. The lightning brings her face into sharply illuminated aspect, starkly pale against her dark hair as narrowing eyes rove heavenward to examine the shift in Mists' irascible weather. Silhouetted against the sky, the ivory needle of the place's namesake -- the Fang proper -- inevitably serves as terminus for her examination. Her shoulders tight as she reaches back for her hood, throwing it over her hair. Silver chains suddenly snap free of her tresses and she thrusts them into the hands of her startled guard, leaving the fine metal links hanging like dead serpents. Breath hisses softly through her teeth, ragged banners of air turned far louder in the subsequent silence pierced by startled cries than her voice will ever be. Her palm extends out towards her lord brother without question, a whisper thrown towards him. "Mei'ha liumine y telidre aru."
Almost to where Serenity has settled herself, a voice and a language only for him reaches Solesian's ears. The Lord takes a long breath and mismatched eyes drift for the brest second to focus upon his sister: acknowledgement. He removes, rather quickly, with the last few strides to the table, the cloak he wears. It's tossed onto a chair and soon followes his swordbelt. Both gone and out of the way. A hand is extended for Serenity, to pull her to him so he may speak to her and hug her as well. His voice, as he speaks, is hushed, but there's a determined expression upon the Mezelien's features.
Where the mist trails across damp streets, it is not unaffected by the odd change in attitude. In fact, it grows more alive than ever. Alive, and troubled. The ghostly trails of magic's essence dance with color, writhing and tumbling about in an agitated fashion.
Just beyond the patio's protection, a Mistian citizen near a tendril succumbs to curiosity and reaches for it. Her scream rends the night air as she jerks her bleeding hand back and falls onto her backside, staring at fog that dances reddish.
A howl splits the night air, shattering stillness with the baying hunger of a creature on the hunt.
Lachesis looks from sibling set to sibling set, the Montaigus and the Mezeliens. A frown creases her features as she finally marks her place in the book and sets it aside. It's the howl that gets her on her feet, fingers slipping automatically over her cloak to make sure her components are where they ought to be. "Citrine, Lar - are you both alright?" Her gaze moves from the mysteries still mostly unseen towards the local leadership, ready to follow their example or direction.
Serenity is already rising from her seat when Solesian reaches for her and pulls her close. She listens to whatever he said, and nods. Still close to him, she reaches up to pull the clip and pins from her hair, then removes her necklace, passing them over to Solesian. "Grace is at your estate?"
Dyonith glances up at the scream of pain and over to the person who had their hand rendered. A shake of his head as he folds the book and considers the scene for a moment. He stands up putting the book to the side and starts to walk over, "It would appear we need to avoid the mist." No emotion in his voice as he considers, "ANd perhaps seek some higher ground and inside to avoid it altogether for the moment." Eyes glancing as he starts to whisper something
Addison slips onto the patio quickly, a basket on her arm that contains a few items procured from this evenings shopping, though such light tasks are interrupted now by this oddly behaving fog. She doesn't seem to notice the others that are present and recognizable yet, she's too busy watching the woman that reaches out to touch the fog.
Citrine nods to Lachesis, rising with her and pulling her brother to his feet as well. "I'm okay, Lachesis, are you?" Her brows knit as she sees the result of the Mistian woman's curiosity, and she too pulls her cloak close.
Solesian's cloak lands in a soft gasp against the cloak; Kyrie throws something into its midst, what appears to be a solid block of metal that conceals the heavy silken folds at its heart. A scream adding to the shuddering thrill looping around the district does not halt her ministrations, for all the flat, abysmal darkness of her gaze trains upon the source as well as she can find. She withdraws back some steps further from the pool, beckoning Larimar and Lachesis in her quiet fashion: "Come. Calmly." Too hard to hear any quaver in her voice, but the daemonologist is ever as emotive as a marble statue. On her home ground, in front of her people, the heir of the Fang is even less disposed to crack. Hands gather her loose hair to her nape and rapidly folding it over to tuck beneath the collar of her bodice. "Lady Guybrush? Lord brother?"
The jewelry given to him by Serenity is soon set atop his cloak. Solesian casts a brief glance to the bandage upon the Lady Guybrush and frowns, but soon he's taking her hand and heading for Kyrie. "Well, sister, I see you brought something else down upon us." It's a wry kind of humour, but there's a worry and fear beneath it that have the nobleman on edge. "
"We need to get somewhere into the open," he says, brow furrowed. Voice lowers and shifts and soon he's speaking in that same language that Kyrie used towards him, this time directed back to her.
Some on the patio have a good view of the girl who is having the bad encounter with the mist. Some do not. It all depends where one is sitting, really. Those who have a good look get to see the girl try to scramble backward as the mist lurches toward her, coalescing into a more solid form. For those who don't...
The group of university students find unity in numbers, as a clump heading for the fence at the side of the patio and heading out to stare up at the sky, about the streets. What goes unseen in parts of the patio area gets narrated by the girl in the group who gives a scream. "Is the mist EATING HER?"
So many things going on at once. From spilling trays of flammable liquid to guttural utterances in foreign tongues to the howl of the prostrate woman near the reddening mist, but Larimar watches it all with alternating horror and fascination. The silvery-haired lad nods a brisk affirmative to Lachesis' query about his wellbeing, even as he nudges her to stand with him and silently implores Citrine to do the self-same. He tries to keep both girls behind him as he cranes his head to try and better observe this oddest of phenomena. That is, until Kyrie is calling them. Then he makes move to follow, extending his hands to the ladies beside him to try and guide them back away from the encroaching scarlet haze. "Breath and Cave," he whispers, and the words never seemed so much the curse.
Serenity is pulled along with Solesian. However, just as she passes his cloak, she realizes what he's doing. She stops and pulls away, going to the cloak and scooping up the necklace. "Not this one. It belonged to my mother." She tucks it into a pocket and moves, then, to follow Sole and Kyrie and the others. "I don't remember reading anything about the Mists ever doing this."
Lachesis withdraws towards Kyrie, willing to accept her guidance easily enough. On her way there, the blonde looks sharply towards the university students. "What exactly are you seeing - information is useful. Fear is ... less so." She feels her own nerves jangling after all, and it certainly helps trigger her survival instinct. But she keeps her voice cool and clear, pitching it to carry to the girl. The book? It does get tucked away into her bag. And as she moves, she reaches out for Citrine's hand.
Dyonith frowns a moment, glancing to the sparks from a candle as he considers. Then turns and starts walking back, "Chaos, magic itself is shifting on the fundamental level at the moment. Something has... done something to disrupt this." His voice a bit strained at that, yet his words are sure, "I don't suggest doing magic, results may vary." Yes he really just said that as he glances to Kyrie, "Lead the way, and I suggest avoiding the mist."
Addison is jostled among the students that hurry to try and see what's happening, though she seems to be trying to back away from the edge of the patio, away from the students that look and certainly away from that hugry mist.
A brief, curt nod passes from brother to sister and Solesian steps away from the others a moment... vaguely towards where the university students and others outside, near the mist are. He casts a brief, pained look to Serenity, but waves her on. Taking a long breath, he focuses, and thens peaks, trying to prioject his voice. Much like an orator might. Not that he's usually a loudspoken man, but, well, voice of authority here. "Ladies and gentlement! Please go indoors as quickly as possible and remain away from the mist! The Lord and Lazy Mezelien are here and we will handle the matter, but please! Return to your homes!" He hangs back a bit then, seeming prepared to take the flank even as Kyrie goes to the fore.
Nimble fingertips reach beneath the folds of her cloak to the belt spanning Kyrie's waist, plucking out three wooden vials attached by a thin cord she wraps about her wrist. Her smooth expression professes no overt fear, though she appeared exactly the same in the midst of a revel, so take from that what you will. Solesian's voice booms through the open space, infinitely more effective than hers should ever be; dare the students loiter about, they suffer her intense, composed look to reinforce his authority via her own. Hushed, nigh incandescent in the dark, she gently murmurs to the pair of Montaigus and Lachesis, "It is safest indoors from the Breath. Avoid testing the instability wantonly." Straightening, then, the vials secreted under the curve of her palm, she addresses the other lord. "The source of the disruption?"
An oddness...Solesian's words carry on night air, and they start with a piercing ringing, but only a few moments later they return to normal unenhanced volume. A chair near him winks out of existance with a >pop< at the same time.
Citrine laces her fingers through Lachesis's and is drawn towards Lady Mezelien; she nods at the Lady's words and stands still, violet eyes watchful. She lays her free hand on her brother's arm, keeping him close.
Out in the streets, the group of university students are stumbling back from the girl as well, at least most. One shouts something about having to help and rushes toward the screaming woman. He reaches through the silveron mist for her arm to try to pull her up, and for his trouble he starts aflame.
The rest of the group loses cohesion, though one starts shouting something about "RUN! GET INDOORS!" and a number of them run directly toward where Solesian yells, seeking some anchor or port in this storm.
Another of the shattering, unearthly howls freezes the night.
Larimar plays equal part voyeur and protective shepherd to the two blond Mistian girls beside him. But when the man who tries to rescue the girl from the consuming Mists /combusts/, the lanky mageling's hands clutch onto his sister and sweetheart's arms with equal force. "Come," is all the young man says, but there's a saga's worth of urgency behind those hushed words. He tries to steal them away from the open air patio and back into the relative safety of the tavern.
Lachesis lets herself be pulled, but as they join the crush trying to get indoors, she looks to the twins. Yes, she's willing to listen to advice from the Mezeliens it seems. "If we want somewhere more secure, or if it's too crowded to get everyone in there... I know a place. We'd have to make a run for it, but it should be safe once we get there." Indoors does seem quite tempting now with Dyonith's pronouncements.
Serenity is pushed off toward Kyrie, but pauses. Only long enough to ensure that Solesian is indeed coming after her, and not charging out into that mess! Once she's sure he's coming right after her, she does indeed go inside with the others, one hand lifting to her throbbing head.
Pop. Well, interesting. Solesian seems... rather interestingly unphased by the chair's disappearance. Then again, that could very well be because of the collection of people currently rushing towards him. The nobleman inhales at length and moves to the table that Serenity abandoned to take up the scabbard for his sword. He holds that in his left hand, keeping an eye upon the approaching mist. "If you're going in, do it swiftly!" He says, voice rising to near a roar. No magic behind it this time: just a sheer urgency and intent. He stands there, waiting and on edge, until everyone that seems to be heading for the restaurant interior does so... /then/ he'll follow.
"We stay away from the Fang," whispers Kyrie to her brother, perhaps inaudible to them all. The glowing white spire bisects her vision, sharply visible to them. Two fingers are set against her lips and all those childhood games played throughout the empire serve another stead her: her shrill whistle keens high and demanding to draw the attention of the bleeding woman and burning youth towards her. She sweeps up one of the abandoned cloaks thrown down on a chair, damp from the rain, and hurls it as strongly as her supple silhouette will muster towards the pair of them. Her intent is obvious; use it to stifle the flames or get back to where others can beat them off. Let it not be said the lady loses her head in the midst of chaos /yet/.
Dyonith is still standing outside. Pointing students along their way and not heading in yet, he hasn't lost his cool yet. If anybody ever notices he keeps pretty calm in such situations. He glances to the lady of the fang and her brother, "Having trouble with magic shifting as well? Anything powerful attemtped now may go very wrong." He reaches out and grabs a student and points him a different direction, "That way, now."
The feathering fog seems angry or scared itself, twisting into masses and taking shapes that break apart. As he lingers to the last, Solesian gets the stellar view of the odd change as the mist that was 'devouring' the girl on the street becomes a giant, luminous hound that savages her stomach. The beast lifts its red-stained muzzle to howl, the proximity of the baying painful to the ears, and then it explodes back into the mist it was made from. It trickles along the ground, away from the burning corpse of the good-hearted university student and the trailed intestines of the woman who got too close. All along the streets, similar screams are going up, but the rush for indoors is swift. It is a fortunate thing that it was raining earlier, and that this is distant enough from the docks to not hear what's going on there. The patio empties back into the resteraunt fast.
Entering the establishment, most of the once-reveling guests are now quiet and edgy. The place is fortunately large enough to contain them. An older man, the owner, is striding from a door to the kitchens and asking tersely, "What is -happening- here? Is someone playing a joke?"
Addison is rushed into the building with the University students, still craning her neck to look back over her shoulder. There's no panic about her, but a fierce curiousity at war with some measure of self-preservation.
"Maybe as a fallback," Larimar suggests quietly to Lachesis as they back into the tavern. "Should things go badly here." As if they could get worse. But, inevitably they do -- the boy can't help regard the phantom hound that savaged the poor Mistians with fascination even as the grisly sight hastens the retreat. He's no mask of cool collection; there's fear and horror plainly registered on his fair features. But he does remain practical, scanning the inside of the tavern hall once they make their way in. Refuge? Death trap? Both? "There's a disturbance outside," he answers the owner in clear and unwavering tones. "We all need to stay here, and stay calm."
Lachesis finally gets a glimpse of some of what's happening out there in the last second before pushing inside the tavern. Her eyes go wide. "Sweet Breath .. " She turns, trying to see one of the master mages. "Is there anything that can be done to try and help them? To ... to put him out, to save them?" Once they're in the doors, she leans on her beau again. It's far less relaxed now than earlier in the evening, though.
Serenity moves inside, not far from the door. Its no secret that Tee is still not in top operating condition. She settles herself into a chair near the door, where Solesian can find her once he gets inside. She's definitely scared, but there isn't much she can do right now but wait to see, and scheme about how she will get to Grace.
Citrine notices Addison, catching her by the arm as she goes by. "Addison, what are you doing here? Are you okay?" Concern is in those violet eyes as they're turned to her friend. "Come, stand with us," and she draws her towards her brother and Lachesis, into the tavern.
One of the last into the building, by choice or by dint of bad luck, will be Kyrie. Naught to be done for either two victims of the Breath wreaking havoc over her city, she counts discretion as the surer part of valour. Though she could curse, she saves her breath, her castigation leveled through the cold facade turned upon the street. Moving towards the tavern's interior, the Dragon's Breath's owner receives a direct look and a near imperceptible shake of her head. In any hubbub, she's not going to be heard unless they pay her mind.
Addison is startled as she feels the hand on her arm, head whipping around to look at the person grabbing hold of her. Relief washes her face as she spies a familiar and friendly face, "Citrine! Oh.. I was just shopping.. getting some thing when all of this started." She looks down at her other arm and realizes then that the basket she was holding has somehow gotten lost in the crowd, but if that's the worst thing she loses tonight she won't complain.
Dyonith makes his way inside the Dragons breath right after Kyrie. He himself having held back to make sure people made it in, and he clearly is walking with a limp on his right leg from some injury that is covered up by his clothing. He winces a moment as he sighs. Then motions to the doors, "Close them." He offers and makes his way over towards the bar, "Something light." NOt wanting to get drunk just yet, "I suspect this is island wide." He offers to Kyrie.
What Solesian sees brings about a look of repulsion, but the man stands his ground. He turns jts slightly, making sure everyone gets into the tavern. Once the last are in, only then does the Lord Mezelien follow, closing the door and leaning solidly upon it after he does so. Mismatched eyes seek out both Serenity and his sister. Eyebrows rise once he catches -- if he does -- his sister's attention, a hand reaching absently towards Serenity: a measure of comfort. To the Lady Guybrush, he speaks gently:" "Do not fear for Grace," he says, seemingly assuming what it is she worries of. What does she always worry of? "She is in perhaps the safest place upon the Isle."
What is it about the threshhold of buildings that seems to be protection? It is certainly not something to question right now. The streets clear with swiftness, but for a few victims left behind. This is Mists, after all, and people are used to the oddity.
The owner gives a look look at Larimar, his first instinct to say something cold and cutting restrained after the young lord gets a second glance. "What kind of trouble?" he asks tersely, and his attention slips to Kyrie swiftly, well aware who his Lady is. "What do you need?"
One of the university students begins crying softly, a hand pressed against her mouth, and gets comforted by a second. The wide windows along the resteraunt's front give a view of another street where a swirl of glowing mist seems to wrestle with being a canine or being a cloud. A long smear of blood marks the road. It's then that the globes of light that frame the street begin to change. Some explode in bursts of fire or water, while a few just wink out. One begins to melt and seems to turn into silver as it drips down the pole. The streets become darker.
Dyonith eyes turn to the guard addressing him, eyes narrow on the guard as he considers a moment. Yet he doesn't respond to the guard. He looks to the lady herself as he offers in a quiet tone, "Lady of the fang, please be mindful of who your guards feel they need to correct. I wish you the best of luck in getting this figured out, it is clear I am not wanted." Grabbing his drink, paying for it and standing up as he winces and walks back to his book.
Larimar provides no answer to Lachesis' queries about what could be done to save the victims of the rabid mist, save perhaps a tightened hold against her lean. Citrine's spotting of Addison causes the Montaigu boy to do a double-take. "Addison!" he calls out as she's dragged over to their little circle. Blue eyes give her a quick once over to see whether his friend is alright, but that satisfied he's turning to regard the Mezeliens and Lord Zeloral. "Why do you think it's island wide?" the lad ventures to the latter.
Lachesis reaches for Citrine and Larimar's hands and looks back over her shouldler towards Addison. A silent greeting before she jerks her head towards the window and plows past people to get a view. Never mind it puts her closer to the danger. She's fascinated. Let other people do the talking. She's looking at everything, at the darkening night suddenly missing lights. Forgive a little understatement: "This can't be good."
Addison does something similar as Larimar when she spies him, and Lachesis both, gaze skimming over them both and Citrine as well, to make sure they're unharmed before she ventures closer. She tries to edge in closer to the window that Lachesis is at, "No, this can't be." She glances back at Citrine and then Larimar, and now that the relief of seeing her friends has begun to fade, there is a odd discomfort settling in that has little to do with what she sees outside, if one were to judge by how often she looks around at those in the tavern.
Serenity lifts her head to look at Solesian when he speaks. "Are you sure? I want to get to her. I want to be sure. You are sure they can keep her safe? Even in this? Can we teleport to her, if we find a teleportation mage?" One hand still pressed to the side of her head and the bandages. "My head is killing me."
"Tee, I used a small illusion to amplify my voice and a chair disappeared." Solesian studies her at length, exhaling in a sigh. "Teleportation could kill us. Or others. Or do who knows what... I come from a line of strong mages. Our household is well-protected and trained." He gives a strained, weak smile. "She will be safe. If wee went for her now, we would risk death... and that would leave her even worse off." He shifts slightly, glancing through the door to the street. "It's getting worse out there." A glance is cast to Kyrie and he moves from the door towards her, to speak in low, almost otherworldly tones to his ister.
Dyonith turns his direction to head over to Larimar and his group, a thoughtful frown on his face as he considers, His voice low so only those near him can hear, purposeful it seems. So only Larimar, Citrine and Addison will be hearing him, "Any metamage knows how the mists feels magically. What I sensed was not normal, something has altered the underlying nature of the mists itself. It was as if the magic itself was unraveling and reforming and twisting. My own magic went out of control, as has many others. Something of this effect cannot be localized, nobody has that power and I have never heard or read anything of this effect."
"/What/ can't be?" Larimar presses in reply to Addison's plea. The lad's intent look is likewise directed into the decidedly unhelpful night, trying to discern anything of interest or note in the now quiet streets outside. "I still haven't the foggiest notion of what's going on." A sideways glance is cast towards the conversing Mezelien siblings, before Dyonith is suddenly walking over to offer his own whispered explanation. Surprise lifts the Montaigu's eyebrows and parts his lips before he follows up, "So if no one has the power to do something like this /locally/, what could possibly produce it across the whole of the island?"
Kyrie skims her fingers against her brow as she returns to the task of observing the view through the window in brief glimpses afforded through the manic chaos of the rest. No smile is returned to Solesian, no false platitudes of optimism that would sound worse than screaming the sky was going to fall. At least the doommongering would settle better with her. She flashes a look towards Dyonith and inclines her head to the side, then catches up her cloak as she slips towards Larimar and company with a clear purpose. "Mistress Brandivere?" she asks when in earshot. "Is there any hope of alerting His Majesty?"
Dyonith shakes his head slowly at that, "I can try again, see what the continued shifting is before my magic loses control again. I have some components on me to enhance, but I am reluctant to try that just yet. As for what." HIs eyes glance to Larimar, "If you can tell me who can change the underlying essence of the mists and I will gladly tell you. This is beyond me. could be some magical effect gone out of control, could be a shift in a ley line somewhere under the island. I just know this is very unlikely a contained issue. Our magic is having issues, which means its whoever is tied to the mist. I suspect those not on Mists right now are having a bad day to."
Addison's frowns slightly as she listens to the quiet words of Dyonith, nodding slowly. "Interesting.." muttered softly in return as she looks back out the window again, hand lifting for a moment to cover both mouth and nose. Perhaps close to being ill at the implications of what she's seen and heard tonight, or not. She turns as her name is called and considers, brows furrowing, "I'm not sure. If.. if we can get high enough, and had a bird I could send a message. I'm afraid to even attempt anything magical right now.." She glances up at Dyonith then, "If things are as you say, it might be best if we do not use magic right now." All of this said behind the shield of her hand.
Those watching the windows at the front of the building will see, a figure strides down the streets heedless of mist or danger. Inhumanly tall and broad shouldered, he wears a cloak of tattered black fabric trimmed with leaves and branches. Antlers rise from his head, or from a helm upon it, and one of his feet clothed in a tall boot, the other a thick cloven hoof nearly the size of a man's head. A whip is coiled at a thick belt about his waist, and a longbow taller than a man is slung over a shoulder. He walks down the street and kneels at the smear of blood. One of the girls from the university asks, shakily, "Is that... a demon?"
"Oh bugger /me/," Larimar breathes as he spies the stalking demon, knuckles white on the window frame "Lord Zeloral," he says with a bit more civility than that prior outburst contained, "I may have an answer for your yet." But it's Kyrie that the Montaigu looks to after he manages to pull his ashen face from the glass pane. It's her town, her area of expertise -- and as far as the silver haired illusionist is concerned, her party.
Though he wasn't looking at the window, all it takes is the girl's question and Solesian's head snaps around. Did someone say demon? Demon expert, extraordinaire here... and soon the man is at the window. Solesian's eyes widen as he takes in the view and very shortly thereafter, there's a rather long string of intense swears coming forth from him. Very, very... bad swears.
Dyonith just offers a nod to Larimar at that, "It would appear you may." His voice contained, but he two turns towards Kyrie as this really is more her area then his. Everything that creature doesn't sit well with him, "Should we show him in and offer him a drink or?" Always one to try to add some light humor to a bad situation to.
"Yes, Master Montaigu?" Kyrie's contained tone is growing more bleached out into the silken neutrality of a low whisper by the moment. She nods to Addison's commentary regarding her question, a ceaseless vigil held over all those within the tavern by this point. The only point of mobility about her is to set her hand upon her brother's arm and give him a warning shake of her head. Apparently swearing does not fall into the Mezelien Guidebook of Publicly Dealing with Demons.
Serenity rises, after a moment, to move toward the Mezelien siblings. One hand rests on Solesian's back. "I'm sorry. I know your people will take care of Grace. I just..I'm scared. I'm sorry." However, then the man is off like a shot to the window. She backs off, letting them do their demon thing, and just watching.
Solesian glances over as his sister nears, his expression very dark. Morbid, even. He tilts his head in near, speaking to her softly in that private language they share.
Larimar takes a similar tack to Serenity, content to let the Mezeliens do that thing they do. With their whispers indecipherable, the young Mistian must be content to watch the towering figure through the window with fear and fascination. "He may be taking one of his own right now, for all we know," he murmurs in reply to Dyonith, even if he never pulls himself away from the grim view to address Dyonith directly.
The figure draws a black-gloved hand through the blood on the ground and paints it across features mostly concealed by a half-helm and a fall of dark hair. As it rises, it lifts a hunting horn to lips lost in a beard, and a clarion, sharp call splits the air. It is almost merry in its cant. The sound of howls answer it, and the creautre begins to move on.
The young woman standing next to Solesian leans in towards her brother slightly, her hand pressing one of the wooden vials into his hand as its thin ribbon clasp breaks free. As she grants him that, Kyrie thumbs a slender shape caught against her side for the little that it may do. "Hope, brother. They fell one by one once, they will do so again."
Addison's eyes are glued to the window right now, hand still pressed over both her nose and mouth, jostled a bit here and there as others press in around the window to try and get a look outside. She gives an unseen grimace and truly begins to look uncomfortable, overwhelmed as she begins to dig in a pouch with the hand that isn't seemingly attached to her face.
The creature walks by one of the lights, waving at it. The sphere dances in color and becomes a white hawk clutching the top of the pole. It gives a fierce cry and launches into the air of the city that is growing dark. Another of the mist-hounds bays after the being with the horn as he walks out of sight down a street.
A guard comes over to Dyonith and hands the young lord his bow, quiver and sword. He just nods to his man as he puts them on considering the figure outside, "It would seem we will have to go out there to fight it, or we wait." A glance to Kyrie seeing how she responds before glancing back out the window, "Yet I would like to know what we are facing." A hint of a frown on his face.
Solesian closes his hand about the vial pressed into it. He gives a curt nod to his sister. Reaching his other hand out, he places it upon her shoulder a moment before drawing a long breath and turning towards the door. The nobleman takes a long breath and opens said door, passing just barely through it. Leaving his body to block the entrance. "Noble Huntmaster!" he calls out, trying to naturally project his voice. The Mezelien shifts to lower, somewhat, to one knee. Not so far down that he's prone, but enough that it's respectful. "Please honor a humble soul with knowledge of your intent!" Show respect to the greater being. You might live longer.
Larimar does hazard a brief look away from the window to regard Addison and her covered face. "Are you alright, Addison?" he whispers with quiet concern, even as his eyes are locked on the departing demon. "Those bodies are -- well, I certainly can't smell anything." He might well rifle through his own components at this point, but few of his charms would be of any use if that beast decided to break its way through the front doors of the tavern. Eyes widen considerably as the hawk takes shape out of sublime light, though narrow considerably once more as Solesian makes his call. The lad looks entirely surprised by the Lord Mezelien's direct address, but he at least has the presence of mind to turn his attention back to the 'Huntmaster' and watch the response.
Serenity stays back at the counter and out of the way. She watches Solesian, silently, with open fear on her face and in her eyes. But she's not about to interrupt them.
From where the tall, inhuman figure was almost vanished down the street, it barely draws a pause at the call from Solesian. The leaf and branch covered cloak is caught in a breeze while the helmed head turns slightly. His voice is gravelly and harsh, the words thick as if he speaks rarely. "The Hunt rises. It is called. Stay away, tame creature." The horn is replaced at his belt as he moves on into the dark.
Kyrie's silence is damning, the absence of her words a void that surrounds the Lady of the Fang as loudly as any terrified shriek from the back of the tavern. The approaching demon receives a look offered through sooty lashes, unable at all to blunt the impact of her regard that serves as the culmination for a pure bloodline whose origins stretch back to time out of mind, when two sundered islands shared a single unbroken backbone and his ilk command the fortunes of doomed men. What more can she do but wait?
Addison begins to push back from the window, from the crowd of people that gather around it. Free of the crowd she begins to look around the tavern, searching, going to doors that don't lead to the outside to see where they lead. She does stop at the call from Solesian, waiting to hear the reply, but then she resumes her search.
A deep breath is taken and Solesian rises, spreading his arms politely. When he lifts his gaze, it's one full of fear... but also determination. "I do not seek to interrupt your hunt, but you hunt upon the lands of my ancestors and those I am sworn to protect have been killed and others lie in fear." His hand tightens about the vial bestwoed upon him by fair sibling. As if for comfort. "I seek to understand the reason for your hunt. I am a man of curiousity and of education... Is there any aid I can provide?"
After finding a door that seems to satisfy whatever requirements she's searching under, Addison gives one final look back at the room before she disappears through it.
Dyonith doesn't seem all that effected by Kyrie's silence, in fact he appears to have fully expected it. Watching Solesian for a moment then glances to Larimar, "It would appear the situation is well handled, though I am not sure we can be certain this is a product of his doing for the mists, or a byproduct of what has been done to the mists." A thoughtfulness to his voice as he considers this.
There is no answer from the figure of power and mystery this time. The shadows and night wrap around it.
An idea seems to strike and as the figure fades deeper into the shadows, Solesian takes a step forward. "May I join the Hunt?" he calls, a sense of curiousity rising upon his features.
Serenity blinks at that, breaking her silence, finally. "No!" Now she's been good and stayed out of the way, but she's not going to just let him go off in this mess with that...thing!
There is no sign of the figure that walked down the road, but the answer lingers on the air with a guttural laugh. "Tame creature, think well on words spoken."
It is times like these that all sisters need to be equipped with saps. Very hard, unpleasant leather weapons that can be applied in a rapid strike to the back of the head where impudent fools of a brother will suddenly go into a swoon at the majesty of the damned and give obeisance by faceplanting the tavern floorboards. Kyrie can only wish. Instead, she takes a look about her surroundings, noting who may happen to be present and those who have faded out of sight. Her silence persists for all that she slips quietly away from Solesian. No, she's not up for the Hunt to be their latest candidate.
A brief glance to Serenity and then back. A sense of wonder is upon his features; fascination and amazement. He glances through the shadows, perhaps seeking out the figure. "For the night. Or a short time, at the least... Huntmaster, this is a rare experience. I... seek new experiences and knowledges, so as to better myself, my people, and my klands." He takes a long breath: "Even a night spent with you could quench a thirst of knwoledge for decades to come."
Dyonith isn't over there by Solesian, else he would be giving the man one hell of a whack on the back of the head, lord, mezelian, kyrie's brother or not. Yet his look on his face only shows a hint of that thought as he considers, a frown forming a bit more, shaking his head slowly. "This isn't going to end well." MOstly to himself as he sighs and then considers a moment
Serenity blinks, swallowing hard. Look of curiousity and wonder or not, this is ridiculous! Her steps carry her to the door near where Solesian is. "What are you /doing/? Get back in here! You wouldn't even let me snort a drug to find a killer, and you're trying to go on a HUNT out in this? What are you doing?"
"So be it." The words have a fatality to them as they wrap around the Mezelien. That question from his beloved is so pertinent. What are you doing, Solesian? This is something he may ask himself later, but presently, that strange shifting that happened to the light, it overtakes the mage who braved the ancient being. Light pours across him, bright colors and odd shapes, and in its swell what was a man becomes something different.
Luminous white fur, the sort that reflects the radiance of the stars and heavens so keenly. A crown of proud and deadly points atop a head set on a graceful neck. Eyes blacker than the abyss, hooves the same. Is it the same being? Where Solesian was, reality has stretched and shifted. In the wak of the disturbance, there is no man, only a white stag of breathtaking beauty and grace.
The moment discovers the Lady of the Fang riveted to the spot for a brief moment as the shape of her elder brother, one of the pair, vanishes to be replaced by a cloven-hoofed icon of an accursed hart in the Arden Vale. Kyrie ought to be screaming, perhaps; turning her rage into the restless darkness that surely bestirs the daemonologist's heart within her breast if she has one at all. Instead, her hand is stayed briefly atop the cold, black steel of a chilled furnace where it will never warm greatly to the heat of her flesh. She no longer addresses Solesian-who-was, but the Master of the Hunt.
"He is mine."
A change so deep and so throrough it is perhaps at first overwhelming. The different sights and sounds. The feeling of the earth beneath hooves. There's a toss of antlered head and Solesian-turned-stagg dances upon those dark hooves a moment. But tht smell. The /smell/. The stones of that courtyard ring out as prancing steps back are taken. Predators present. Movement must be made elsewhere; not here. Not surrounded by this scent of blood. For a beast that size, movement upon feet is light and the stag dances... seemingly about to flee and something barely holding it in place.
In an instant, her Solesian is gone. Tee manages a gasp before tears immediately spill from her eyes. At first, she is unable to speak, hand covering her mouth as the tears fall. Finally, she just falls back from the door, walking backward, eyes on the stag before her. She can't find words. She couldn't speak, even if she could. Slowly, she sinks down onto the floor, sobbing into her hands.
Dyonith is busy himself. A opportunity he can't let pass it seems to him, reaching into his pouch he pulls out a component, a small vial of sand, or glass its hard to tell. With a quick pop he starts to chant and with a flash of the sand into the air he focuses his sense and closes his eyes considering. Yet for a few moments all seems well then a wince, falling to his knees. Then he is gone, just in a flash he disappears, leaving well half his stuff behind and some of his clothing. Appearing on a table not to far away he falls and lands with a thud. At least he kept his dignity but is going to need his shirt and shoes back.
A pair of howls rip across the cool air that seems to have brought a touch of autumn to the isle. Whether the Huntmaster is present or listening anymore is in question, for there is no response from that figure.
The stag shivers, coat rippling. At odd with itself, antlered head extends forward and he chuffs in Serenity's direction. Something, perhaps, almost departed there. But then the primal urges and needs take over. The beast within balks once more at the scent of blood and predators. Rearing back, it turns swiftly and hooves suddenly clatter to the ground as it takes off: flee! Fly! Away from the terrifying scents.
The glorious stag bounds off into the night, his swiftness bearing him from sight in the twinkling of an eye. The darkness is still, but for the occasional call of a hound in the distance.
Serenity can't even watch Solesian go. She sits on her knees in the floor, face in her hands, and cries. She's not loud about it. Just silent sobbing into her hands.
One must stand sentry, adhering to the lessons that insist she cut out her heart and freeze away all illogical sensations that do not persist to the moment. A long moment spent internalized and all that was vulnerable is cast aside, the iron-clad shift bringing about a woman forged by such hardships. It's an ugly experience for one so relatively young. Kyrie walks towards Serenity, her hushed footsteps caught in the sussurus of the black tide around her leather-shod boots, muting and smudging their cadence. She says nothing when she offers her hand to raise the younger Lady of Shadrach's Folly to her feet, but the touch upon Serenity's shoulder is hopefully sufficient to rouse her. "Chamberlain Dragon Lake." The choice of title, deliberate, falls like autumn leaves and ashes, rendered almost colourless, pitched not to travel. "Our people need us tonight. He made his choice, and now we must make ours." If the support is taken, she offers that strength willingly. If not, then she turns away and moves on to see what the citizens of Mists seek on a dark, accursed night where mothers hug their babes tight and even the wizened masters on high rue the day's passing. Sunrise is a long, long way away.
Dyonith grunts as he stands up on the table and walks deliberately over to his boots and shirt. Considering expression on his face as he gets his boots back on and checks his injured leg. Then he stands back up glancing around eyes landing over on Kyrie as he considers. Yet he doesn't say anything, her younger brother has become the hunted for the night. "Cover the windows and pull the shades.' The less people see outside the easier it will be to calm anxieties. He glances to the others as he considers, "As a suggestion Lady of the Fang." Her lands of course, and willing to offer some of his quickly fading strength if needed.
It takes a moment, but Tee does manage to at least get off the floor with the help of her friend. She, however, is completely useless. The mention of him 'choosing' just seems to make her cry all the harder. She finds an out of the way corner to curl into and at least have some privacy while she cries, holding her head.
It will be a long night in many ways, indeed. Around two or three in the morning, light will shine from the Fang of Imperius, a circle of torchlight from the broad and open-sided chamber just near the apex, a place where the council itself gathers. It is one small defiance of the spread of black about the isle.