506-08-02 Call of the Wild
From Crossroads Wiki
| The Call of the Wild | |
|---|---|
| RL Date | December 26, 2008 |
| Players | Kyrie, Athar, Briana, Daeva, Isolde, Mathis, Phineas, Vaia, Ysora |
| Location | Keeper Plaza Center -- Gateway |
| Crossroads Time and Weather | |
| IC Date | August 02, 506 |
| Season | Summer |
Plaza of the Keeper Center - Village
Wealth speaks volumes at the village center. Cobblestone streets extend in all directions forming a true crossroads that is marked in the center with a large fountain. The village buildings are all two story side-by-side structures with most containing shops on the bottom half with occasional breaks between blocks for delivery alleys. All of the buildings on this street proclaim the success of the merchants that have made it to the high enough status to operate shops in the prestigious Plaza of the Keeper. Many shop windows have flower boxes that add a quaint charm for all that visit or live in the area. The area closest to the center boasts a tavern and other food establishments that often carry scents of fresh bread, sweets or other impressive meals to draw patrons to their shops. Guards are a constant presence with their main duty being the safety of the wealthy that chose to spend a day in the village.
Nighttime spreads across Crossroads City, the stars coming out in the sultry eve to glitter impartially. On the warm evening breeze, a low, rich, throbbing note of challenge rings forth, the call of a Hunter, the call of a Hunt. For those in the open, the other sound that carries in its wake is a baying of hounds, their voices slowly growing nearer, frantic with the chase of the quarry. The sounds stir the blood in unsettling ways, calling to mind primal fears and excitement.
Ysora takes another step or two closer to Vaia, near enough now to reach out to the young woman. She doesn't, but she's near enough to do so. And to those that know her? It's not out of the question that she will. "I know that feeling. But there's nothing like the feeling of picking up the oar and setting off again, feeling your muscles remember themselves and the power of your own body - your own life - steering itself. There's grace in that, and I hope you find something to revel in when you're ready to do so yourself." A sidelong look and a curl of the lips towards Isolde. "Bloody rumors - a girl has to listen. Sometimes I remember to ask right out, though. Leastaways about the more polite rumors. I mean, if I asked everyone I'd have to ask half the castle if they'd ..." She cuts herself off and clears her throat, a half rumbling laugh in the sound.
When there's no answer from Kyrie, she raises a brow at the woman. At least until that eerie and blood singing call to hunt blows. That's a pretty darn good distraction. "That's different..."
Renata enters, the courtyard, reading as she has been walking. Her eyes are rimmed in red and her hair is somewhat mussed. She looks up at the sound and watches the animals, dead and alive, pass. "What the...?" She creases her brow in confusion.
The courtyard is over run by nobles with a light peppering of citizens. Isolde, Ysora and Vaia standing near to one another with guards around and a handmaiden for good measure. Dangle among the slaughtered or the soon to be slaughtered animals being brought through and Kyrie doing as she does best staying to the background, the quiet lady of the fang hovering nearby. When...the call is heard throughout the city.
Vaia's attention is torn back to Ysora as she speaks to her. She listens, of course, quietly, attentively, leveling her gaze on the baroness with the kind of ease that seems to hover around the polite girl at almost all times. "Of course, Excellency. It's a draw that I finally acknowledged and identified. It's just a matter of finding the oars again after losing them to the river, I think." Quieting again as the baronesses speak about rumors and that kind of distraction. Turning her head at the sound of the call, Vaia's brows inch up gently. Eyes narrowing as her feet drift toward the plaza of the keeper center, rather than back toward the castle.
Isolde opens her mouth as if to challenge the words from Ysora on rumors, but there is too much to take note of at the moment. Her lips press together as she moves to study Renata and her brows furrow. Then the sound lingers upon the air and Isolde's head snaps up. The Destine guard looks a bit nervous as does her maid upon her arm. There is a brief swallowing of her breath as her eyes too fall towards the city. She mutters something under her breath that starts with "Of course.." Then she takes stock of the people around the area as she starts to step that way.
One body in the crowd should know that sound better than others: heir to the lordship where the baying howls took her own brother, the Lady of the Fang halts entirely to the wailing summons. Kyrie's head lifts slowly and the colour drains out of her fair complexion until her mien shines paler than the frosted face of Diuturnal, the black diamond eyes standing out in vivid relief. "Your excellencies," she whispers, head turning back to catch the Guardians baroness and then the Draughten, "I advise you seek shelter." Remarkably even, that tone, giving so little away of the terror or fear that should quicken with the anticipation in the pulse. "The Hunt has come." No answer to Ysora comes over gossip, replaced by something far graver in its making. "Rumours are a dangerous thing, but this is not one of them."
Athar walks across the drawbridge to arrive in the courtyard. Athar has arrived.
Far in the distance, the baying of dogs continues, but the sound does seem to be growing nearer, carried on the night air from the South.
The servants nods, bows, a cheerless choir of "m'lady" and "m'lord" can be heard, only to be interrupted by the sound. "Oh bloody oh," Dangle mutters under his breath when he turns toward the source of the sound.
Renata closes her book and crosses over to Baroness Destine. "Your excellency." She gives a perfunctory curtsey, her head and attention held in the direction of the noise. "What was that?"
Ysora draws a light sword, balanced for her own rather less than reliable physical problems. Don't mind her - just being prepared, as are her guards. Her chin lifts, and talks of rumors and seamanship fall away for the moment. "Baroness Destine, Mistress Wendt - Arene," that last said to her servant. "I think that Lady Mezelien may have the right of it, and the experience to know best." Never mind she seems prepared to join in on taking a stand. It's been a while since she got chewed on by critters after all.
With five men mustered to stand with him, Athar like most makes his way out of the castle's interior and into the courtyard, where a certain sort of contained chaos seems to be underway. His dark eyes cut through the assembled, though the sound of the horn seems to capture his gaze. And let it not be said that he doesn't come prepared - the Baron Ethos wears a familiar long sword upon his hip. Catching sight of Kyrie a moment, he turns, and approaches the Baronesses, with a determined look.
You sense: Athar betrays a knowing expression, and the certitude of company on whatever venture this night seems about to bring.
The baying sound grows louder, and now is accompanied by shouts and screams of people. The city is full of activity this warm summer night, and into the scattering of people and activity burst a multitude of hounds, quicksilver gray-black as they flood through the city. The first wave take people mostly unaware, some of the creatures racing on toward their hunting goal, some distracted by the easy quarry provided. It is only at Gateway Plaza Center and the Plaza of the Keeper Center, thus far.
Isolde turns her attention towards Kyrie for a moment. "The Hunt has come?" Those four words are sent back to the source as she turns to take stock of the others in the area. Her form giving little away, but one might note the thread of her pulse speeding up and her breath slightly increasing. A deeper breath is taken, held and then slowly released. "I am sure that we will be fine." Her eyes turn up towards her guard then and finally back towards the city when the screams reach her ears. Athar is acknowledged by the determined stride of his gait before she turns back towards the city and takes a step forwards.
Vaia's attention is glued to the city as the others seem to be of the right mind, heading back (or at least thinking about) cover. With the draw of her name spoken by Ysora, her head turns ever so slightly, a bare glance through her hair before the suggestion isn't so much disregarded, but filters into background noise. Drawing her attention back toward the city as the howling only increases. The addition of screaming filtering through the village makes her skin prickle, a visible shiver drawn up. "Oh." The flooding up from the gateway center into the keeper's plaza has her eyes drawing wide. "Oh." Her guard coming closer, likely to usher her back. She shrugs away.
Unwilling to tarry any longer, Kyrie slips away from the confines of the courtyard and narrows the gap separating herself from the Ethosian party. She flicks her gaze to meet the Baron's, her midnight eyes catching his and the dip of a nod rendered without words. Courtesy performed in a dip, she is caught almost unexpectedly by a guard returning at a full trot down the cobblestones -- the very one who went in carrying a simple box. Now he returns with a black stave inkier than the sky's own image, and a quiver, thrusting the two objects into the woman's grasp before she can even raise a query. She takes the quiver and then the bow, glancing towards Isolde. "May your faith avail you," she whispers, all but toneless. The harbinger of an accursed line, the young woman starts for the edge of the court in earnest, escaping no doubt the limits of the wards and guards set against the power that binds her people.
We are servants, not guards, let the guards deal with the mess. Dangle and the servants shuffle their feet faster as they move towards the castle. "Faster, faster," one servant is almost sobbing as he is carrying a pig with another servant. "Don't get yer knickers in a twist, we're almost at the castle, we'll be fine," Dangle gets the servant in line.
One of the Ethosian guards turns to assist Dangle, at least until he is called to his primary duty.
Ysora lets her cousin draw her attention, gaze determined. She lifts the sword in respectful salute to Athar. "Where do we go, cousin?" She's not going to presume he's about to try and shoo her back inside. Instead she puts on the resolute warrior face, a balance of tension and fluidity waiting for the release of battle. Her maid, though, at least follows the suggestion and joins the line Dangle is herding back to the castle.
One lone knight comes racing for the castle at a flat out sprint, giving acknowledgment to nobody in the courtyard as he flies past upon some errand.
Athar's dark eyes level on Ysora. "Your little Asha needs you more then any of us out here, cousin," he says, in a tone that dreads the inevitable refusal he expects from the Guardian. "As the Baroness Destine's children need her. Set a good example for me, won't you?" His smile is strained, and distracted at best. He glances over at Kyrie and nods.
Taking stock of the situation, Renata nods to herself. "Your excellency?" She says to Baroness Destine. "Can you fight? If not, we'll be in the way. I don't know what's coming, but they do." She indicates those with weapons out, "And it sounds bad. Let's help the others get to safety."
Isolde shakes her head towards Athar. "My children have plenty guards with them as current. They are safer than I am and they have their father." She looks at him for a moment as if daring him to move her. Then she hikes her bag closer to her. Renata is nodded at. "You should go to the castle then. I have faith that we will be all right." She gives a calm smile but she addresses Kyrie, "What is this hunt?"
Briana arrives with a jingling of metal. She moves quietly and assuredly toward Kyrie, apparently having been apprised of her location. She's armoured up but has yet to draw her weapon. She nods to Seriel standing near to Kyrie. She does a sort of half-curtsey as she approaches, and then takes up a defensive position close to Kyrie. Her tone is quiet as she speaks to her: "Lady Fang; thine orders if thou wouldst?" Her eyes go out over the area, assessing.
Ysora chuckles, low and rich. She gently edges people out of the way of sprinting knights. "Bloody ... the Empress just went out into the city a few minutes ago, Athy. And Asha needs a good example too, you know. That includes defending those less able to defend themselves. I have faith, cous. Can I be of use in this battle?" And then she spies Vaia. "You! Is the current taking you, or are you paddling miss? If the latter? Go. If not, get your ass inside!" Ahem. Pardon the less than polite tones.
Athar does not receive a direct question out of Kyrie: she simply regards him with that long, even look that fades out over the city proper. It may well be she is not even wholly there, though her fingers graze along her belt and loosen several pouches, producing what looks for all the world like a simple glass sphere with a bright drop in the middle, colouring it like a garnet suspended in tears. It ends up looped around her gloved finger. Preparations take little time than that, and a faint smile that never warms her eyes is offered for Briana. "We go." A word turned to action; the prior queries leveled at her aren't answered, not out of rudeness, but an agitated, restless energy that might start throwing sparks from the witch if she remains still any longer.
A few knights slip into the courtyard headed for the drawbridge, one giving the terse orders as he goes of, "When it is secure, you will go to Jordan. Tanner, Beck, you get to the Empress." They pass by unconcerned about the people present other than to give a casual, "Stay in the castle."
The line of servants move across the drawbridge and towards the castle proper. Many of the servants look visibly relieved as they walk on the drawbridge. I mean, hopefully the beasts won't jump the moat. And if they do, well, they've got bigger problems to worry about.
"Providence help me, Ys... You're not a marine anymore, you're..." Athar shakes his head, and lets the topic go, directing a glance and a nod at one of his men, three of them move forward to take up a position near the courtyard's point of egress. "The Hunt," he answers Isolde, while the magess makes preparations deep enough to require the whole of her attention. "Is an ancient and powerful force. That cares nothing for our titles or claims, and owes itself to neither darkness nor light. I ask those of you without the skill to remain here, where you are safe as the knights suggest. The rest of you, follow with us." He does not wait any longer, but nods to Kyrie once more and heads in the direction of his men, and the chaos beyond.
Screams are fewer, shouts more, as well as the occasional sound of a sword ringing against the voices of the pack. Again, the hunting horn raises its call, sounding more to the west, and the creatures flood through the city, through alley and back street. Some of those outside are pulled down by a passing creature, while others are ignored completely. The baying creatures spread mainly to Keeper West and East, a few racing toward the castle.
Baying echoes off the nearby buildings, reverberating through blood and bone, sinew and flesh to spark something primitive.
Run!
The plaza is in chaos. Citizens are running for cover, ducking into doorways and buildings, seeking to get out of the night that has suddenly come to life.
Racing down the alleys and side streets, black forms streak across the plaza. It is impossible to count their number. On the periphery a work horse has been drug to the cobblestones, its death cries piercing the night as three wolfish shapes rip and tear at its flesh. Another man falls beneath, pushed by his companion. He will be trampled beneath booted feet. And across the plaza, near the Isle of Ale, a young woman (Daeva) is attempting to climb to safety as two more hounds lunge upwards, one clasping her slender ankle in an enormous jaw.
Ysora grins widely at Athar, spirited and free. She can smell the sea salt from the beach down in the village, feel a sunny wind on her face even in the evening air. "Always a marine. And a mother. I just have more to fight for now, Athar. More to stand for, more to love." The baroness limps at pace and then cheerfully adds, "Besides! You'll just have to fight to keep me alive, right? Or are you worried you'll be stuck at my side in the infirmary for another few months?" Once they are in the thick of chaos ensuing, the sword in her right arm swings with a surprising ... chaos of its own. Controlled chaos, though. She lets the limits of her body shape her movement. She has a quintet of guards with her and One is dispatched towards Daeva. One towards where it appears someone might be in danger of being trampled. Ys keeps the other three with her as a defensive perimeter in an attempt to facilitate people getting away. Hey, she might want to get in on the fight, but she wants to get home to her kid tonight too.
Being captured by a huge dog thing was not on the agenda of the young Tremere, and when her ankle is crushed in it's jaw, she gives a cry out in pain. She then tries to stomp with the other foot, a means of scrambling for some sort of freedom.
"Kyrie... start using that bow of yours," Athar suggests to the Mezelien, glancing over his shoulder as the two of his five guards with crossbows level the things at nearby targets. "If the hounds aren't attacking anyone... let them pass. We'll never stop them all. If you see someone hurt, being attacked... help them. Our goal here should be to save as many lives as possible." He spares a glance over his shoulder at Ysora, a dark look crossing his features. "Men, shoot down those hounds," he directs, pointing towards Daeva as he draws out his own blade.
The Isle of Ale's door opens for a moment, and a small figure shows in it, as Mathis presses against the wall, ready to duck back inside at a moment's notice as he considers, and then yells, "IF YOU'RE OUT HERE, GET YOUR ASSES TO THE ISLE OF ALE IF YOU WANT TO LIVE!" he calls out. "We're barricading it up!"
Old scores may wait to be settled between the Lady of the Fang and the hounds running rampant through the city. She plucks up an arrow from her quiver and plucks it free, turning over the dark shaft and setting it to the outside of the bow caught in her hand. "Mistress Helygen, I trust your judgment. Do as you would." Accompanied by Briana, Kyrie never strays more than a few footsteps from the Draughten woman and somehow keeps in Athar's shadow, the living embodiment of that darkness. She drops short at his suggestion, measuring the distance and Daeva's efforts to get free, stopping short and sighting down the long black missile, its sharp point drawing an invisible furrow along the hound's glistening hide as it snaps at the girl. Ignoring the call from the tavern, the string tense in her fingers, only when the hound accosting the girl moves does she fire, aiming for a vital spot.
Now, Briana does draw her blade, murmuring a few quiet words as she does so: "Providence guide mine hand this day," she breathes as the blade rests lightly in both her hands. She stands with the hilt held up and to her right, her posture turned slightly. The bolts fly from the crossbows towards the animals attacking Daeva, and Briana holds her ground though the tension is coiled in her limbs and plain to note. "Twould obscure their aim for me to rescue her," she notes in a calm tone. "My place is thy side.." There's a line on her brow though, as she assesses the situation; she's apparently uncomfortable being this exposed - vulnerable.
Most citizens are fleeing the pack of animals, some are engaging them. Some will never engage anything again. The hunting horn gives its sonorous, stirring cry from near to Keeper North as the Hounds make the circuit of the city. Their numbers are hard to measure, the creatures hard to see in the dark with their coats. It is almost as if fangs come from the dark itself. A chill like autumn follows the creatures, the scent of woodsmoke and dried leaves. It is wild and terrifying and awe-inspiring, all at once. Those who have a chance to watch the pack moving through will note that some citizens flee while attacked, but on rare occasion, one or two seem to walk right into the jaws of death, willing, embracing.
Sneaking away from the castle courtyard, Vaia seems to be slinking away from whatever manner of creature that's invaded the courtyard. No weapon to speak of, but her guard does follow nearby as she takes very quick inventory of the main plaza, not stopping in her tracks, but continuing onward wherever she seems to be going.
Although the girl's blow strikes true on the beast's muzzle, the hound does not release Daeva's ankle. She is a small thing, fragile and human, pink and warm. Blood spills from the wound, filling its mouth. Tossing its head, it jerks her down from the side of the building. The other is there, dancing through the shadows to catch hold of the girl's skinny arm. The two begin an intricate waltz around each other, pulling and pirouetting with the girl between them. The scent of blood draws the attention of a third, this one charcoal in color. It joins the fun, snapping at the girl.
It's a long way across the plaza and there are dozens of citizens running interference. Many have taken Mathis' command to heart and are making their way as quickly as possible towards the Isle of Ale. A woman and her child push through the doorway, vanishing safely inside. For those archers outside, keeping the hounds in the line of fire is no easy task for those who are not an expert marksman.
The first arrow from Kyrie's bow miraculously manages to cross the length of the plaza striking home, though it is difficult to tell what exactly has been struck. Athar's guard however is not so careful a shot, the bolt strikes a man who is running across the line of fire. He falls to the cobblestones. The second shot strikes true, and while it is difficult to tell where it lands, the yelp of a beast suggests that it found one of the creatures.
Ysora's Guard 1 manages not to get shot by arrows in his approach to Daeva. When he draws near, he's going to try and do some cutting and join in that dance - at least if the arrows stop. But he'd like to try and get the girl away from the beasts, even if it may be too late. It doesn't mean he isn't doing so without quite a few choice curse words. The Baroness herself moves in the center of her remaining guards, edging towards the Isle of Ale and trying to get a few more people pushed along inside after the pregnant woman until they are boarded up, or about to be. If a hound happens to get in the way, the triangle of pointy sharp objects will happily try to slash a little.
The THUNK of one of the arrows elicits a cry from Daeva, but that pales to the scream she releases as she gets pulled off of the building and the beasts start to rip her apart. The pop of bone comes from her arm first, a new bone for the hound to bury later if they save their souvenirs. There's flailing of the free leg and arm as if there is some sort of hope for escape, but then again, she was always an optimist.
As Mathis pushes and shoves people through the doorway, the young man tries to hold out for the last second the young man looks towards the small island of defenders, and a frown crosses his features. "She's lost, and you're next if you don't get in here!" he yells out, a last warning tone to his voice as he just turns away from Daeva towards those he can save right now, noticing Vaia and her guard. "Vaia! Get in here!"
As the Ethosian guards do their best to usher people towards the sanctuary of Mathis and the tavern, Athar's lips move in a quiet prayer for the young Tremere girl and all the others falling in the chaos about them. "Ysora. You and your men should help barricade the tavern," he calls over in her direction, "Get the people in there and keep them safe!"
Vaia stares as she watches the increased chaos here as compared to the mild dose of craziness happening in the protected courtyard, downright paling for a moment as she watches the fatalistic struggling of Daeva as the others range their attacks on the beasts. Drawn back by the call of Mathis from the other voices screaming this way and that, her eyes wide and almost...awed in a manner of sorts. C'mon, she's from this blasted place. Once you've seen demons over run it, dogs aren't too bad. Right? Right? Erm. Either way, blinking at the boy, she stares...and stares. Eyes narrowing quickly afterward as her steps begin to change direction. Always moving, trying to stay watchful as her guard sticks close, sword sheathed after he saw what happened to Isolde and Renata, but hand lingering resting on it. The pair move toward the tavern, if a little reluctance.
Most citizens are fleeing the pack of animals, some are engaging them. Some will never engage anything again, caught beneath the stampeding boots of fellow citizens, misfired arrows, and the claws of the hounds.
Above the fray, the hunting horn gives its sonorous, stirring cry from near to Keeper North as the hounds make the circuit of the city. Their numbers are hard to measure, the creatures hard to see in the dark with their coats. It is almost as if fangs come from the dark itself. A chill like autumn follows the creatures, the scent of woodsmoke and dried leaves. It is wild and terrifying and awe-inspiring, all at once. Those who have a chance to watch the pack moving through will note that some citizens flee while attacked, but on rare occasion, one or two seem to walk right into the jaws of death, willing, embracing.
Although the triad of hounds are engaged with tearing the girl apart, one spies the approach of Ysora's guard. It turns from its prey, a low thunder-storm growl vibrating through its body. Luminescent eyes flash on the man, warning him away from their kill. When he strikes, it dodges deftly away. However, instead of attacking, it demonstrates some uncanny form of intelligence, blocking the man from aiding the girl while its brothers sink their muzzles into her flesh.
As soon as Ysora is through, Mathis grabs Vaia's arm as she gets close enough, yanking the two of them backwards and into the Tavern itself, as he does so, yelling angrily as he does so.
The Ethosian guards do their best to usher people in the direction of the tavern, the two with crossbows keeping them leveled and not afraid to use them in defense of their comrades. Athar takes a quick assessment of the situation, his dark eyes traveling off a moment in the direction of the horn. "To the source of it, Mezelien?" he shouts, above the fray.
Ysora is no willing victim. Even with one leg limping, she turns in the center of her guards. The sword is ever ready, high or low, as the men engage their arms to help people along. Guard 2 is still trying to help those in danger of being trampled, Guard 1 is ... well, being quite befuddled by the dog simply blocking him instead of attacking him. When the cause is clearly lost, he will withdraw to help his peer. And Ys will poke her head up over the shoulder of her guard to look at Athar. "Frag ... aw hell." She nods towards the courtyard. "With me," she says. And she and the three guards move back in that direction.
Nodding to Athar, the Lady of the Fang moves towards him rather quickly. In the madness and the chaos, another miracle shot is unlikely to bear much fruit. Kyrie releases the bright gem that was upon her finger into her palm, her fingertips closing around the fragile bead. Bow thrust over her back, she exhales in a soft breath that those nearest her might hear as more than a sigh: a sustained hum that varies only when she inhales. Above her, the air is briefly visible in a tremulous ripple that stirs up her dark hair despite the thin chains spun through it. The sea-mirror darkness of her eyes turned upon the Baron Ethos bear an unpleasant quality; the motes crawl across her pupils, embers flickering to life and dying in a mayfly's pace.
Without a word, Briana moves with Seriel to flank Kyrie and guard her from possible attack. She maintains the same defensive posture she's been using, her breathing now carefully regulated as they posit an advance through to the source of the attack.
Like any clarion call of the horn, so too does that call of help draw the attention of the Baron Ethos. "We're too close to ignore," Athar tells Kyrie, and motions towards his guardsmen whom escort the last few people in reasonable proximity before the tavern is barricaded, and head towards the castle once more.
From the entrance to the tavern, Phineas slips out with the crossbow held in one hand. He hugs the wall of it, easily blending into the blackness so that human eyes might miss him. Dog eyes? Likely not. He takes a quick measure of the area, muttering, "Fucking Athar."
Phoebe is following in Phineas' footsteps, her hand to her side holding several pieces of purple coral as she follows in the shadows. Her frosted regard? irritated. A glance at her brother and it's almost as if she's mimicking his mutter - except directed towards /him/.
"What's your orders, Phineas?" Mathis asks, sword and dagger drawn. The young man is already judging the distance from the door to Athar, wondering if he can run the distance to Athar and the others fast enough.
The five guards dressed in the Golden Dragon of Ethos hold the line before Athar and Kyrie, the latter of whom seems to be in the midst of casting a spell. Athar remains with his blade held aloft, steady and assured, ready to fend off anything Houndlike that should come his way. Though the call for help from the castle still draws at his attention.
Corsair slips out behind Phineas, saber drawn and the blades at her left bracer extended. She doesn't seem inclined to add her own curses to the litany, instead taking a moment to examine the situation.
Briana stands near to Kyrie, her blade held ready, assuming a defensive posture. She's watching the dogs, not man-like shadows emerging from a tavern.
Although it seems like hours since the haunting melody of the horn first played across the city, it has only been a quarter of an hour. Most of the panicked citizens have found shelter by now, though the cobblestones of the plaza are littered with bodies. The three hounds that began the incident near the alleyway of the tavern have moved farther into the open. Perhaps it is not their massive size, their dull charcoal coats, or their luminescent eyes that are as troubling as the body they pull between them. For the moment, these three seem oblivious of the living humans around them, the hot meal of Daeva taking their full attention.
Across the plaza, the Lady of the Fang has just completed weaving her spell, casting the tendrils of eldritch power out from her slender body. . .
The magic builds as it leaves her, like a tidal wave cresting on the ocean, pulling in from the ambient energy around her. For a split second the air grows still, before suddenly everything erupts in dazzling color and light. From the core of this dark and shadow Lady, a thousand gossamer butterflies explode. The wave of their brilliance breaking over the plaza.
Although it may not be what the Lady intended, it does startle the hounds from their meal. They bite at the butterflies, snapping their jaws, growling. As they spin, the bolt from Athar's guard sticking out of the flank of one becomes visible in the kaleidoscope of color.
Like calls to like, as the old idiom goes. What answers the scion of an accursed house with blood slipping between her fingers? For those who have only heard Kyrie's speaking voice, shredded down to a complete whisper, it may not be obvious at all what transpires -- much less how or why. Ascending from a hum, the chord of dulcet song is almost seamlessly interwoven with the gasping breaths of air scouring across the plaza turned, and giving birth to the shattering brilliance. In another hour she might laugh; in this case, the witch drops back a step into Athar's shadow, saying nary a word as the fading canto offers that fluttering image of madness.
What a great display to die to! It's almost like fireworks of butterflies escort Daeva's soul to whatever eternity it may hold. At this point, her trip from this world is the only way the girl will see it. Her features pale further and soon she's several piles of kibbles and plenty of bits for the hounds to enjoy as they may.
Phineas lifts a hand to shelter his features from the light of the butterflies while he takes quick stock of things. "Mostly gone. I guess they'll be fine." His attention turns toward the hounds, affixing upon them with a focused concentration. "Well now," he says, this a low voice in the night air, soothing and pitched familiarly. "One of those boys done got stuck. That's got ta hurt." He glances between those with him and back to Mathis. "All right. Let's start moving among the bodies, seeing if anyone down is alive. Start with the quarter of the square farthest from the dogs there. Any movement from them, bolts first. Folks over there have guards, they'll be all right."
Phoebe glances at Phineas for a moment. There's less antagonism for the moment and her features adopt something more quiet - focused. Her frosted blue-greys sweep over towards Athar and Kyrie before she prepares to follow his stead. Her voice murmured quiet, "Don't suppose you've got a spare.." Her lips quirked ever so slightly, she keeps a keen eye on the hounds for now.
"Got it, Phineas." Spoken quickly, the young man starts to move, going along and the first body he comes across, he lowers down, as Mathis places the blade of his dagger just under the nose to see if the cool steel fogs up. If it does, he'll gesture for a pickup, if not, he'll move on.
"Phineas!" Athar calls across the space of the square between where he and the others stand, and Phineas makes his way with the assistance of Phoebe and Mathis. "Do you have any idea what in the Abyss is going on here?" he asks, his men moving after a gesture from the Baron to begin assisting in checking for survivors.
The baying of hounds has not fallen away, but indeed the screams and shouts of citizens are almost completely gone, the streets cleared of all but the dead and dying, whether human or canine. The pack seem to be moving mainly to the north of the city, and the areas left behind are falling to a heavy quiet when the violence has passed.
The three hounds, the only ones left in the plaza leave their meal, turn from the pile of ruined flesh that was once the Tremere daughter. Snapping and growling at the butterflies that whirl and dance in the evening air, two hounds gives chase. The third, the one that was struck with the bolt, pauses briefly as if something has caught its attention. Turning its brilliant gaze towards the Isle of Ale, its ears prick forward. Slowly, its lip begins to curl, a low growl shivering through flesh and fur. It takes a slow step in the direction of the tavern survivors.
Corsair heads for her own quarter of the square, her jaw oddly set, shoulders tense, as she checks for survivors. Her expression is carefully neutral, controlled, as she tries to see only vital signs and not the lives behind them, crouching to check for a pulse or breath only to move on again or look to the hounds. It's on one such glance that she catches that growling, baring her teeth in return.
"This the Wild Hunt. They turn magic awry around them." Stating the obvious in a ragged whisper, Kyrie gives Athar an answer as much as she can supply, letting pieces of glass fall to the ground from outside her gloved hand. "They are moving somewhere, and whether that is their Lord or on a circuit, I do not know. But should we not be taking shelter within as we had to in Polaris, then we must follow them now." The urgency in her tone makes up for the very low audibility as she abandons the last hound to those who may care for it, gesturing quickly for Briana as she starts after the sound of the dying to the north.
Without comment, Briana steps after Kyrie, heading north with her, the metal armour clinking just a little as she goes. Her expression is composed and serious as she marches; she does not put up her weapon and she remains close by Kyrie's side, moving in front of her on occasion. She does, however, avert her eyes from the worst of the mutilated bodies lying around.
And leading them, Athar Soranus and his men hurry off with Briana and Kyrie in his wake.
