Hell-p them hope - Sunday
Dec 24, 2019 15:20:57 GMT
Grimes, Varis/G'Lorth/Sundilar, and 8 more like this
Post by Sunday on Dec 24, 2019 15:20:57 GMT
1st Nightal 1496 - midday
......And the ceiling of the world shattered like a brittle stained-glass window blown inwards, collapsing towards them under the pressure of the sudden void beyond.
Varis, Pieni, and Sunday half-turn from the fox-headed fiend before them to confront this new threat, weapons raised; only to see Markas dropping through the blasted roof of the tower, twin swords drawn, face twisted into a rictus mask of pure grief and unalloyed torment. Behind him, clustered around the newly created portal in the sky are Demik, Serpentine, BB, and Ghesh; and a huge unknown female giant.
Sunday looks up to see tears flowing freely down Markas' face as he falls......
......Time speeds up again, and Markas arrows between Varis and Pieni with his blades outstretched. Their points pierce through the exact centre of two petals seconds before plunging deep into the body of the Arcanaloth, pinning the dying flowers to the foul creature’s chest.
As Markas kicks the body off his blades, the fox-headed nightmare topples backwards, a vicious smile curling across its maw, eyes regarding them in triumph even as the life drains from them...
..."I've already won..."
She stands in front of the burnished copper mirror in the room provided to her by the K'ul Goran high command. She would have preferred to sleep outside or in the stable with eLk, but she was not blind to the power of appearances or the kind politic of accepting the gesture.
She regards her reflection in the beaten metal sheet - and sees a Sunday looking back at her that she's never seen before. Purposeful; calm. Almost... grown up. She half-smiles at this.
For the first time in her life, she is fully prepared for the war ahead. Only one of her forge hammers hangs within easy reach from her belt; the other is strapped across her back. She'll need a free hand for her shield today. “Take no chances.” Varis had told her, after bringing her back to life on the firey planes of Avernus. “Not again.” As well as her standard cuirass, today she wears armour covering the rest of her body - greaves, gauntlets, and gorget all carved from silver-green birch, and adorned with living flora; bright wildflowers, sweet herbs, and fieldgrasses. Roses feature prominently amongst the verdure: unlike the other blooms, however, these crimson-red decorations appear faded - almost wilted. Only her head is left bare; long, blonde hair falling past her shoulders in untamed tresses.
She kisses the dragon tooth hanging on a faded yellow ribbon around her neck and tucks it under the armour to lie against her lilac-coloured skin. After a final look in the mirror, she spins on her booted heels and strides out of her chamber. Closing the door behind her, Sunday heads down to the marshalling yard, ignoring - or not noticing - the glances and stares of those she passes.
As Sunday leaves the city gates, eLk swoops down out of the stormy sky to keep pace alongside her. A tall oakwood lance bearing a furled pennant and a shield with its blazon shrouded by cloth hang from a new-looking saddle on his back. sorry again about asking you to wear that she says to him its not i dont trust you to keep me on i just dont have enough hands to hold everything i need for today In response, eLk tosses his head and deliberately places a leg in her path, sending her sprawling to the snowy ground.
The massed ranks of the defenders of Zut Goran stand arrayed on the plains, interposing themselves between the city behind and the vast, approaching hoard of giants.
As the minutes tick by, Baine, Pieni, Traav, and Sunday make their final preparations, exchanging words of encouragement and good fortune with the K’ul Goran soldiers around them. Varis is away down the lines, giving final instructions to Red, his second-in-command and de-facto leader of the Order’s forces in the field today.
Motioning for the giant half-orc to sit on a crate of supplies, Sunday hops up behind Baine and starts to unbraid and re-braid his hair. She doesn't speak; and Baine doesn't either. There's no need. The two of them have been through enough together over the previous half-year that words don't matter. Tying off his braids with a length of vine and ivy plucked from her armour, Sunday hugs her friend for a long moment and jumps down from the crate.
Sauntering over to Traav, she pulls out the hip flask she stole from him a number of weeks ago and hands it out to him. As he moves to take it, Sunday scoffs and pockets it again. "You'll get it back on the other side of this shitshow." Traav winks at her and returns to tending to his lethal crossbow; constantly adjusting and readjusting the sighting mechanisms, and testing the tension in the firing limbs.
Sunday turns to Pieni, not really knowing what to say for once, their paths rarely having crossed during their time in Daring. "Thanks for the meal last night," Sunday says eventually, as the aarakocra lays out the components for his spells, checking and rechecking his ingredients. "I've never had vegetable so many different ways." Pieni bobs his head and offers her his taloned hand. They shake, and Sunday goes back to her place in the line as Varis climbs onto Tuevel and prepares to address his troops.
Baine nudges Sunday and motions with his head. "Looks like Bossman is gonna do his thing. Let's go back him up. He looks lonely out there."
As they move over to stand behind Varis, Traav and Pieni join them. Walking side-by-side this close to Baine, Sunday can sense the faintest trembling coming from her friend that she suspects has nothing to do with the biting cold. As they walk, she hooks her arm through his and smiles up at him, letting her confidence and calmness - her love - wash over him. Biting his lip, Baine finally smiles back and nods a brief thanks.
As she approaches, eLk drops to one knee to allow Sunday to climb up on his back, but she shakes her head dont want to upstage him motioning towards the determined-looking Grandmaster of the Crimson Fist not on his big day eLk snorts a laugh and shakes some of the snow from his mossy wings.
Sunday fondly pats her companion's neck as she looks at the faces of the troops watching Varis expectantly. One of them, a young tiefling, is busy heaving up the remnants of his breakfast; Red, standing nearby, mutters something under her breath in response and the surrounding ranks chuckle a little, some of the tension easing. Curiously, seemingly struck by something, Sunday looks again at the young tiefling, something in his face remindin-
“My friends. We ride this day to war." Varis has begun speaking from his seat atop Tuevel. "Who among us will return, what trials we may face, none but the gods can know. Much is uncertain in this time of strife, but one thing is sure - we must not fail.
The people of K’ul Goran stand upon the brink of annihilation. Assailed from all sides by fiends and giants, misguided elves and the monstrous shunned. The light of hope begins to fade from this land. Will we stand by and watch it be swallowed by the darkness?
I say no."
Sunday's hands twitch reflexively and eLk stamps his front hooves emphatically, both in agreement with the Godslayer's rousing words and in dreadful anticipation of the struggle to come.
"I look around me this day and I see strong arms, quick minds and valiant hearts. We are few, and our enemy is mighty, but we stand here united in defiance of tyranny.
Come, my friends. ‘Tis not too late to build a better world. For though much is taken, much abides, and though are not now that strength which in old days moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are; one equal temper of heroic hearts, made weak by time and fate, but strong of will. To strive, to stand, to fight and not to yield.
Each now to your charges. It is grim work we do this day, but it must be done. Good fortune all, and may the Maimed God guide our hands.” Varis finishes, accepting the equally grim-faced nods of his troops.
good speech eLk says good man
mmm Sunday replies, unsuccessfully scanning the crowd of faces for the vomiting tiefling from earlier he certainly knows his business
Her concentration is broken as Varis jumps down off Tuevel, landing in front of her and Baine. Sandwiched between the two giant mounts, the three of them look at each other, afforded a moment's respite from the glances and expectations of those around them. As Varis is talking intently about being each other's strength and shield, eLk says oh just do it you might be dead soon... again
As Varis finishes speaking, Sunday darts forward and kisses him soundly on the lips - in friendship, in something else - and slaps him hard across the cheek before dropping back to land deftly on her feet. An instant of shock/anger/bemusement flashes across the half-elf's face as Sunday winks at him, saying "Two reasons there for you to stay alive, pretty boy."
Ignoring his spluttered response or Baine's silent, open-mouthed confusion, Sunday jumps up onto eLk's back, settles her shield on her arm and trots back to her place in the line.
The small, moving clearing of calm and tranquillity that Doreli has magically created with her music in the endless blizzard around them is shattered when two Hill Giants lumber in, disorientated and lost. The gigantic creatures are powerless to stop the party swarming over them, dispatching them in mere seconds: Traav, reacting first, dropping to one knee and sending a bolt through the open mouth of one of them; Baine rushing up, any earlier fear channelled into protective fury, to drive his flaming maul deep into the same creature's chest, pulverising its heart; Varis moving with clinical efficiency, turning aside the second creature's desperate attacks with his shield and plunging his longsword repeatedly into its body; Pieni applying the finishing blow to the second giant with a deadly, opportune strike of his dagger.
Ruthless, grimly efficient, they push on, doing their best to ignore the sounds of battle and death surrounding them. They've been traveling for two hours now, tasked with punching through to the enemies' command tower and cutting the head off the snake. As much as they wish to, they cannot divert from their mission in order to find their friends and allies caught up in the enveloping, all-consuming maelstrom of steel and snow.
Sunday pushes down a wave of ferocious helplessness as she feels another life snuffed out nearby; another life she has failed to save.
Reaching the plateau where the command tower had last been seen, the party takes a moment to gather and plan. Uncertain as to how long the defending forces can survive a full-on assault, they resolve to strike hard and fast through the front door, clearing the place room by room if they have to. Traav sneaks forward, checking the invitingly open door for traps and hazards. He shakes his head, all clear, and the group charges forward as Pieni muffles their approach with a spell.
As they close the distance to the opening, Sunday slams her fist into the starburst symbol on her shield and a halo of golden-green light ripples around her form. Varis throws her a momentary, approving glance and erects a shield of faith of his own around himself.
The first room is empty, apart from some gigantic furniture and some odds and ends. They move towards the vast, curving stairway leading up to the higher levels of the tower, far higher on the inside that it has any right to be when compared to the size from outside.
Bursting into the chamber at the top of the tower, they are confronted by three monstrous giants, one with three heads, and four identical hyena-like creatures. "Arcanaloths!" Sunday shouts, recognising the creature from home. In instantaneous response, eLk flies ahead of everyone, and Sunday drives her lance through the chest of one of the beasts..... only for it to fade into insubstance as the fiend laughs maliciously and vanishes from view.
As she casts this way and that sensing for the beast, eLk catches a flicker of movement from the giant-sized desk. there! he transmits to her.
Around and behind her, her friends have spilled into the room and are systematically dismantling the giants. Baine and Tuevel at the forefront, driving them back with hoof and hammer; Traav tucked into cover and unerringly sinking bolt after bolt into the foes. Pieni hovers in the centre of the room and conjures a spirit-unicorn, bathing his allies in healing energy.
On the desk, Sunday blinks and Varis is beside her, his black wings outstretched, ice-rimmed sword unsheathed.
“Where is it?!” he bellows.
As if in mocking answer, a thin beam of green energy, reeking of rot and decay, appears out of nowhere and streaks towards Sunday. The dragon tooth around her neck flares in warning and eLk barrel rolls to the side at the last second, carrying the tiefling out of harm’s way. Varis springs towards the source of the spell and launches his attacks.
Behind them, Baine, Tuevel, and Traav have obliterated the last of the giants; one of Traav’s bolts embedded in one of the three-headed giant’s eyes - and driven deeper into its brain by Baine’s powerful blows - enough to finish off the creature.
As they turn to watch Sunday and Varis battling with the invisible Arcanaloth, Pieni swoops down to dust the area with magic light, hoping to reveal the hidden fiend’s position. Divining the druid’s intent, the unseen fiend snarls and unleashes a wave of pure death that rolls out towards Pieni. Unable to react in time, the rest watch as the necrotic shrouds envelopes the aarakocran… only for Pieni to screech in defiance, kept aloft by a combination of the magic feast he himself had prepared for them the night before and Varis’ rousing words lingering with protective effect from earlier in the day.
As Pieni’s magic settles around the form of Arcanaloth, finally bringing the fox-headed creature in view, the ceiling of the world suddenly shatters like a brittle stained-glass window blown inwards, collapsing towards them under the pressure of the void beyond.
Varis, Pieni, and Sunday half-turn from the fiend before them to confront this new threat, weapons raised; only to see Markas dropping through the blasted roof of the tower, twin swords drawn, face twisted into a rictus mask of pure grief and unalloyed torment. Sunday looks up to see tears flowing freely down Markas' face as he falls......
......Time speeds up again, and Markas arrows between Varis and Pieni with his blades outstretched. Their points pierce through the exact centre of two petals seconds before plunging deep into the body of the Arcanaloth, pinning the dying flowers to the foul creature’s chest.
As Markas kicks the body of fiend off his blades, the fox-headed nightmare topples backwards, a vicious smile curling across its maw, eyes regarding them in triumph even as the life drains from them...
..."I've already won..." it hisses at them, as its form breaks into ash and is dispersed on the wind blowing in through the crater in the ceiling.
A moment's pause... and then confusion; questions; shouts... and then the tower starts to rumble. Everyone turns to flee. Sunday and a couple of the others grab what papers and documents they can from tables and desks to be read later. They burst out of the tower and tumble across the snow as the construction collapses behind them. The huge giant that appeared with Markas and the others lifts a huge horn to her lips and blows. The sound reverberates across the battlefield. The snow starts to clear and the mists to part. Baine and Varis tear towards the bodies, living and dead, that litter the battlefield below, anxious to rejoin the Order.
Sunday sees none of this.
Tossing Traav his flask, pale-red tracks still marring her cheeks, she grabs Markas and drags him onto the back of eLk. They ascend into the bitterly cold air in silence. Markas - sitting behind Sunday, arms wrapped around her waist, face pressed to the back of her armour - is still crying. At the apex of eLk's flight, they hover for a moment, held in a moment of perfect numbness, perfect silence, perfect peace. Seconds… Hours... Who knows.
Eventually, Sunday hears a small voice from behind her. "I'm ready. Let's go back down."
And, at that moment, as they turn to rejoin their friends, the ground, hundreds of feet below, catches alight and the world begins to burn...
......And the ceiling of the world shattered like a brittle stained-glass window blown inwards, collapsing towards them under the pressure of the sudden void beyond.
Varis, Pieni, and Sunday half-turn from the fox-headed fiend before them to confront this new threat, weapons raised; only to see Markas dropping through the blasted roof of the tower, twin swords drawn, face twisted into a rictus mask of pure grief and unalloyed torment. Behind him, clustered around the newly created portal in the sky are Demik, Serpentine, BB, and Ghesh; and a huge unknown female giant.
Sunday looks up to see tears flowing freely down Markas' face as he falls......
--- Time seems to slow, turning to amber around them as the gazes of tiefling and half-elf lock on to each other... and as two crimson-red tears well up in Sunday’s golden-green eyes and begin trickle down her cheeks, leaving sanguine tracks behind them. As her blood-tears fall, hundreds of rose petals start to cascade down around Markas as he descends towards the conflict below. The petals fill the air, wilting and dying even as they appear, floating down to coat the floor of the chamber in a floral, funereal carpet. Sunday closes her eyes, scarlet still streaming down her face ---
As Markas kicks the body off his blades, the fox-headed nightmare topples backwards, a vicious smile curling across its maw, eyes regarding them in triumph even as the life drains from them...
..."I've already won..."
***
1st Nightal 1496 - dawnShe stands in front of the burnished copper mirror in the room provided to her by the K'ul Goran high command. She would have preferred to sleep outside or in the stable with eLk, but she was not blind to the power of appearances or the kind politic of accepting the gesture.
She regards her reflection in the beaten metal sheet - and sees a Sunday looking back at her that she's never seen before. Purposeful; calm. Almost... grown up. She half-smiles at this.
For the first time in her life, she is fully prepared for the war ahead. Only one of her forge hammers hangs within easy reach from her belt; the other is strapped across her back. She'll need a free hand for her shield today. “Take no chances.” Varis had told her, after bringing her back to life on the firey planes of Avernus. “Not again.” As well as her standard cuirass, today she wears armour covering the rest of her body - greaves, gauntlets, and gorget all carved from silver-green birch, and adorned with living flora; bright wildflowers, sweet herbs, and fieldgrasses. Roses feature prominently amongst the verdure: unlike the other blooms, however, these crimson-red decorations appear faded - almost wilted. Only her head is left bare; long, blonde hair falling past her shoulders in untamed tresses.
She kisses the dragon tooth hanging on a faded yellow ribbon around her neck and tucks it under the armour to lie against her lilac-coloured skin. After a final look in the mirror, she spins on her booted heels and strides out of her chamber. Closing the door behind her, Sunday heads down to the marshalling yard, ignoring - or not noticing - the glances and stares of those she passes.
***
1st Nightal 1496 - early morningAs Sunday leaves the city gates, eLk swoops down out of the stormy sky to keep pace alongside her. A tall oakwood lance bearing a furled pennant and a shield with its blazon shrouded by cloth hang from a new-looking saddle on his back. sorry again about asking you to wear that she says to him its not i dont trust you to keep me on i just dont have enough hands to hold everything i need for today In response, eLk tosses his head and deliberately places a leg in her path, sending her sprawling to the snowy ground.
The massed ranks of the defenders of Zut Goran stand arrayed on the plains, interposing themselves between the city behind and the vast, approaching hoard of giants.
As the minutes tick by, Baine, Pieni, Traav, and Sunday make their final preparations, exchanging words of encouragement and good fortune with the K’ul Goran soldiers around them. Varis is away down the lines, giving final instructions to Red, his second-in-command and de-facto leader of the Order’s forces in the field today.
Motioning for the giant half-orc to sit on a crate of supplies, Sunday hops up behind Baine and starts to unbraid and re-braid his hair. She doesn't speak; and Baine doesn't either. There's no need. The two of them have been through enough together over the previous half-year that words don't matter. Tying off his braids with a length of vine and ivy plucked from her armour, Sunday hugs her friend for a long moment and jumps down from the crate.
Sauntering over to Traav, she pulls out the hip flask she stole from him a number of weeks ago and hands it out to him. As he moves to take it, Sunday scoffs and pockets it again. "You'll get it back on the other side of this shitshow." Traav winks at her and returns to tending to his lethal crossbow; constantly adjusting and readjusting the sighting mechanisms, and testing the tension in the firing limbs.
Sunday turns to Pieni, not really knowing what to say for once, their paths rarely having crossed during their time in Daring. "Thanks for the meal last night," Sunday says eventually, as the aarakocra lays out the components for his spells, checking and rechecking his ingredients. "I've never had vegetable so many different ways." Pieni bobs his head and offers her his taloned hand. They shake, and Sunday goes back to her place in the line as Varis climbs onto Tuevel and prepares to address his troops.
Baine nudges Sunday and motions with his head. "Looks like Bossman is gonna do his thing. Let's go back him up. He looks lonely out there."
As they move over to stand behind Varis, Traav and Pieni join them. Walking side-by-side this close to Baine, Sunday can sense the faintest trembling coming from her friend that she suspects has nothing to do with the biting cold. As they walk, she hooks her arm through his and smiles up at him, letting her confidence and calmness - her love - wash over him. Biting his lip, Baine finally smiles back and nods a brief thanks.
As she approaches, eLk drops to one knee to allow Sunday to climb up on his back, but she shakes her head dont want to upstage him motioning towards the determined-looking Grandmaster of the Crimson Fist not on his big day eLk snorts a laugh and shakes some of the snow from his mossy wings.
Sunday fondly pats her companion's neck as she looks at the faces of the troops watching Varis expectantly. One of them, a young tiefling, is busy heaving up the remnants of his breakfast; Red, standing nearby, mutters something under her breath in response and the surrounding ranks chuckle a little, some of the tension easing. Curiously, seemingly struck by something, Sunday looks again at the young tiefling, something in his face remindin-
“My friends. We ride this day to war." Varis has begun speaking from his seat atop Tuevel. "Who among us will return, what trials we may face, none but the gods can know. Much is uncertain in this time of strife, but one thing is sure - we must not fail.
The people of K’ul Goran stand upon the brink of annihilation. Assailed from all sides by fiends and giants, misguided elves and the monstrous shunned. The light of hope begins to fade from this land. Will we stand by and watch it be swallowed by the darkness?
I say no."
Sunday's hands twitch reflexively and eLk stamps his front hooves emphatically, both in agreement with the Godslayer's rousing words and in dreadful anticipation of the struggle to come.
"I look around me this day and I see strong arms, quick minds and valiant hearts. We are few, and our enemy is mighty, but we stand here united in defiance of tyranny.
Come, my friends. ‘Tis not too late to build a better world. For though much is taken, much abides, and though are not now that strength which in old days moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are; one equal temper of heroic hearts, made weak by time and fate, but strong of will. To strive, to stand, to fight and not to yield.
Each now to your charges. It is grim work we do this day, but it must be done. Good fortune all, and may the Maimed God guide our hands.” Varis finishes, accepting the equally grim-faced nods of his troops.
good speech eLk says good man
mmm Sunday replies, unsuccessfully scanning the crowd of faces for the vomiting tiefling from earlier he certainly knows his business
Her concentration is broken as Varis jumps down off Tuevel, landing in front of her and Baine. Sandwiched between the two giant mounts, the three of them look at each other, afforded a moment's respite from the glances and expectations of those around them. As Varis is talking intently about being each other's strength and shield, eLk says oh just do it you might be dead soon... again
As Varis finishes speaking, Sunday darts forward and kisses him soundly on the lips - in friendship, in something else - and slaps him hard across the cheek before dropping back to land deftly on her feet. An instant of shock/anger/bemusement flashes across the half-elf's face as Sunday winks at him, saying "Two reasons there for you to stay alive, pretty boy."
Ignoring his spluttered response or Baine's silent, open-mouthed confusion, Sunday jumps up onto eLk's back, settles her shield on her arm and trots back to her place in the line.
***
1st Nightal 1496 - mid-morningThe small, moving clearing of calm and tranquillity that Doreli has magically created with her music in the endless blizzard around them is shattered when two Hill Giants lumber in, disorientated and lost. The gigantic creatures are powerless to stop the party swarming over them, dispatching them in mere seconds: Traav, reacting first, dropping to one knee and sending a bolt through the open mouth of one of them; Baine rushing up, any earlier fear channelled into protective fury, to drive his flaming maul deep into the same creature's chest, pulverising its heart; Varis moving with clinical efficiency, turning aside the second creature's desperate attacks with his shield and plunging his longsword repeatedly into its body; Pieni applying the finishing blow to the second giant with a deadly, opportune strike of his dagger.
Ruthless, grimly efficient, they push on, doing their best to ignore the sounds of battle and death surrounding them. They've been traveling for two hours now, tasked with punching through to the enemies' command tower and cutting the head off the snake. As much as they wish to, they cannot divert from their mission in order to find their friends and allies caught up in the enveloping, all-consuming maelstrom of steel and snow.
Sunday pushes down a wave of ferocious helplessness as she feels another life snuffed out nearby; another life she has failed to save.
***
1st Nightal 1496 - approaching middayReaching the plateau where the command tower had last been seen, the party takes a moment to gather and plan. Uncertain as to how long the defending forces can survive a full-on assault, they resolve to strike hard and fast through the front door, clearing the place room by room if they have to. Traav sneaks forward, checking the invitingly open door for traps and hazards. He shakes his head, all clear, and the group charges forward as Pieni muffles their approach with a spell.
As they close the distance to the opening, Sunday slams her fist into the starburst symbol on her shield and a halo of golden-green light ripples around her form. Varis throws her a momentary, approving glance and erects a shield of faith of his own around himself.
The first room is empty, apart from some gigantic furniture and some odds and ends. They move towards the vast, curving stairway leading up to the higher levels of the tower, far higher on the inside that it has any right to be when compared to the size from outside.
Bursting into the chamber at the top of the tower, they are confronted by three monstrous giants, one with three heads, and four identical hyena-like creatures. "Arcanaloths!" Sunday shouts, recognising the creature from home. In instantaneous response, eLk flies ahead of everyone, and Sunday drives her lance through the chest of one of the beasts..... only for it to fade into insubstance as the fiend laughs maliciously and vanishes from view.
As she casts this way and that sensing for the beast, eLk catches a flicker of movement from the giant-sized desk. there! he transmits to her.
Around and behind her, her friends have spilled into the room and are systematically dismantling the giants. Baine and Tuevel at the forefront, driving them back with hoof and hammer; Traav tucked into cover and unerringly sinking bolt after bolt into the foes. Pieni hovers in the centre of the room and conjures a spirit-unicorn, bathing his allies in healing energy.
On the desk, Sunday blinks and Varis is beside her, his black wings outstretched, ice-rimmed sword unsheathed.
“Where is it?!” he bellows.
As if in mocking answer, a thin beam of green energy, reeking of rot and decay, appears out of nowhere and streaks towards Sunday. The dragon tooth around her neck flares in warning and eLk barrel rolls to the side at the last second, carrying the tiefling out of harm’s way. Varis springs towards the source of the spell and launches his attacks.
Behind them, Baine, Tuevel, and Traav have obliterated the last of the giants; one of Traav’s bolts embedded in one of the three-headed giant’s eyes - and driven deeper into its brain by Baine’s powerful blows - enough to finish off the creature.
As they turn to watch Sunday and Varis battling with the invisible Arcanaloth, Pieni swoops down to dust the area with magic light, hoping to reveal the hidden fiend’s position. Divining the druid’s intent, the unseen fiend snarls and unleashes a wave of pure death that rolls out towards Pieni. Unable to react in time, the rest watch as the necrotic shrouds envelopes the aarakocran… only for Pieni to screech in defiance, kept aloft by a combination of the magic feast he himself had prepared for them the night before and Varis’ rousing words lingering with protective effect from earlier in the day.
As Pieni’s magic settles around the form of Arcanaloth, finally bringing the fox-headed creature in view, the ceiling of the world suddenly shatters like a brittle stained-glass window blown inwards, collapsing towards them under the pressure of the void beyond.
Varis, Pieni, and Sunday half-turn from the fiend before them to confront this new threat, weapons raised; only to see Markas dropping through the blasted roof of the tower, twin swords drawn, face twisted into a rictus mask of pure grief and unalloyed torment. Sunday looks up to see tears flowing freely down Markas' face as he falls......
--- Time seems to slow, turning to amber around them as the gazes of tiefling and half-elf lock on to each other... and as two crimson-red tears well up in Sunday’s golden-green eyes and begin trickle down her cheeks, leaving sanguine tracks behind them. As her blood-tears fall, hundreds of rose petals start to cascade down around Markas as he descends towards the conflict below. The petals fill the air, wilting and dying even as they appear, floating down to coat the floor of the chamber in a floral, funereal carpet. Sunday closes her eyes, scarlet still streaming down her face ---
As Markas kicks the body of fiend off his blades, the fox-headed nightmare topples backwards, a vicious smile curling across its maw, eyes regarding them in triumph even as the life drains from them...
..."I've already won..." it hisses at them, as its form breaks into ash and is dispersed on the wind blowing in through the crater in the ceiling.
A moment's pause... and then confusion; questions; shouts... and then the tower starts to rumble. Everyone turns to flee. Sunday and a couple of the others grab what papers and documents they can from tables and desks to be read later. They burst out of the tower and tumble across the snow as the construction collapses behind them. The huge giant that appeared with Markas and the others lifts a huge horn to her lips and blows. The sound reverberates across the battlefield. The snow starts to clear and the mists to part. Baine and Varis tear towards the bodies, living and dead, that litter the battlefield below, anxious to rejoin the Order.
Sunday sees none of this.
Tossing Traav his flask, pale-red tracks still marring her cheeks, she grabs Markas and drags him onto the back of eLk. They ascend into the bitterly cold air in silence. Markas - sitting behind Sunday, arms wrapped around her waist, face pressed to the back of her armour - is still crying. At the apex of eLk's flight, they hover for a moment, held in a moment of perfect numbness, perfect silence, perfect peace. Seconds… Hours... Who knows.
Eventually, Sunday hears a small voice from behind her. "I'm ready. Let's go back down."
And, at that moment, as they turn to rejoin their friends, the ground, hundreds of feet below, catches alight and the world begins to burn...
