Reclaiming the Stars. (open)

[Ahana]

It began with a rumble deep in the bowels of the earth, well beneath the city of Acumin, far outside its borders underneath the haunted trees of the Dolwood. But in truth, its beginning was more patterns back then most could remember. Back when Acumin was known more forcefully as l'che'el d'lil slyannen or Sylannen, for short.

Sylannen was the Vysstichi’s pride and joy, a city built on the surface in defiance of the curse Ioannes threw upon them; a city that rivaled the land-walkers. For patterns they lived there as their society grew, becoming more and more influential within the patterns of the province – even if only by forcing merchants to avoid the city or risk ambush. Through the passage of the foolhardy surface dwellers, the Vysstichi grew prosperous - - more so then the cities that surrounded it. A virtual bastion of strength, Sylannen was gifted to the Vysstichi through an artifact .. a very peculiar artifact .. crafted by the very highest of of Arcanic practitioners within the caverns of Herozzal. Seemingly innocuous, this artifact had one specific property, crafted for its one singular purpose, which allowed the Vysstichi to claim the top world as their own.

It absorbed light.

All light – sunlight, candle light, torch light, arcanic light.. it didn’t matter. So while the suns rose and set over the rest of Telath, they never rose over Sylannen. It sat like a giant vacuum, absorbing every shred of light that could be seen and dominating the horizon, for miles around so that people, whenever they looked up, would wonder with thoughts tinged by innate disgust - - what is that thing?

But the Aetherians couldn’t handle this blasphemy, or so the Vysstichi would tell the tale many a pattern later once they had settled, deep underground, in the caverns of Herozzal. Within the sheltered confines of the great overland city, beneath the many roofs and covered walkways that shielded the Vysstichi’s sensitive eyes, a meddling unknown hand began the sequence of events that would result in the abandonment of Sylannen.

None know the details, for the horror of the event was never recorded by the Vysstichi people, but at high-noon on the day the light born would forever after refer to as ‘The Cleansing Day’, the artifact shattered and the Vysstichi, with the suns beating down on them like their slaves before the whip, fled Sylannen without gathering a thing. And while that was so many patterns ago the trees themselves could hardly remember - - the Vysstichi did.

They remembered and they spread the story, telling generation after generation, as the underground city of Herozzal began to swell with their numbers. The Aetherians did it. Our power was too great that the fool light elves had to resort to their Gods to expel us.

The Vysstichi remembered.

Almost since that day they’ve been plotting. It was the one unifying ideal of the Matrons; the one goal that would draw favor from every House, every daughter.. even the Priestess’ threw their weight behind the combined effort for what the Aetherians had meddled in had been Haya’s will and that, dear readers, was unfathomable.

So it began with a rumble as the orcs stamped their feet, the Vysstichi cheered and the bodies, legions upon legions of undead, began to march through the tunnels of Herozzal toward the now-open arc. The obsidian portal flickered with every passage of life through it, sending tendrils of arcana to grasp any thing near its entrance and pull it through before spitting it out forcibly at its other side, a nearly identical arc, which sat in the forest outside of Acumin. Nearly two hundred undead passed through the portal, alongside a handful of demons so horrid that the Scribes have not named them, and a few choice daughters of Haya, necromancers of fine caliber, to keep the combined troop in line.

Today, Sylannen would be reborn.

Nearly five hundred feet, some clawed - - some not, poured out of the top-land side of the arc as the city of Vysstichi, long relegated to the caves beneath Acumin, came to reclaim their land. Through briar and bog they strode without care for what lay beneath their feet, living or not, for the undead were long from such petty concerns. It wasn’t long before the veil of the Dolwood parted like the curtain to a rather macabre play. The ruined walls of the small abandoned town were in view now and the Vysstichi’s slitted crimson orbs seemed to smile at the sight - - Sylannen would be theirs.

Finally.

Utterly.

Theirs.

[Lichen]

Acumin had long since beaten back the vysstichi, but in the dark elves wake came other foes. These enemies were far more deadly than mere mortals could ever be, their killing rampages unchecked by mortal needs and wants. As such, these inanimate and lifeless things decimated the town, taking it from splendor to ruin in a progressive series of steps. First came the pox - the nearly unstoppable disease ran rampant through the town of Acumin as though it were death's playground. The plague spread throughout the houses of Acumin, infecting and killing till the once booming population of several thousand fell to several hundred. The sickness ran through the town unchecked by the boundaries of walls and doors, and soon the streets were filled with the dead and rotting corpses of those who'd fallen to the disease. The healers and thaumaturgists were baffled - some people were saved, while others were not, and the salvation seemed to have no connection to race, sex, age or any other determinable factor. The disease was impartial and not particular in its mortality - for every rare one that was saved, another four were killed. It was impossible to understand, impossible to accept. Those still living fled to the churches of Acumin, begged for salvation that never came, for the gift of life that was rarely bestowed.

With such a strange pattern of salvation and mortality came suspicions of conspiracies and favoritism. Soon those who were fortunate enough to escape from the pox with their lives were cast out by the sickly and those whose own family had died. What should have been considered a miracle suddenly became a curse, as those who lived were thrown out of the city or attacked for their lucky break. Were it not for the slim chance that they might save another, the healers themselves would have been cast from the town. As it was, those who would be so jealous and foolhardy as to kick out their healers had their hands stayed by the tempting idea that those self same healers might bestow their magic on them. But one man did not see things that way. As his wife and children were stolen from him by the cursed illness, he in turn cursed the healers and doctors who could save others but not those most important to him. As his last child died, Hene Malster's paranoia and anguish overwhelmed him. On the 12 of Kalendryas, in the middle of the night, he lit fire to the hospital of Acumin, and the next evil ravaged the town.

Flames licked the medical facility and spread, not contained by rain or water but fed by the fuel of Acumin. The city was burned quickly - the flames leaped from building to building till all but the inn were reduced to ashes and misplaced bricks and boards. But buildings were not the only thing burned in the Great Fire of Acumin. No, the fire took its share of flesh as well. Those who had the ill luck to fall ill to the disease were consumed not by pox but by fire, dying because another's child could not be saved. The air was filled with the scent of burning flesh 13 brightenings before the holiday of Cleansing, when Carmelya first saved them from evil. But Carmelya could not save them from the cleansing flames that swept through the city, leaving it barren in its path.

Those few hundred that survived both calamities hid in the tavern, drowning their sorrows in the bottoms of their watered-down mugs of ale. The thane had been lost to the grips of the pox and the heat of the fire, and the vice-thane could barely stand the scent of dead flesh in his nostrils and the still lingering screams in his ears. Seventeen wounded still lived, their burnt bodies comforted in a common room upstairs, tended to by four healers that could do very little but ease the pain. There was one small hope, however, for on the 25th of Kalendryas, the New Day, the Day of Cleansing that symbolized when the vysstichi had been swept away from the lands by their patron goddess Carmelya... the hope that came to them on their holiday was nothing other than the presence of 550 men, come to aid them from Diana. The group was camped directly outside of Acumin, and it was this group that would serve as the buffer between the burned remains of Acumin and the incoming tide of Herozzal. Sitting in the tavern, laughing and drinking, the citizens of Acumin were completely unaware of what was happening until the chilled hands of the walking dead were at their very throats...

[Iseril Kitrye'veresi]

The half-elf was alone, it was a rare occurrence but he would not yet need to reunite with his companion and had been left with the better part of a fraction of a month with which to explore the wilderness and more then that, to go home for an all to short visit. Winter had just reached the land and few things were as well received by the hedgemage then a layer of snow in Natura.

The issue however had in part been armies on the march which had diverted the half breed’s path from the capital city where he had hoped to look into the political situation. There was a position there which he had more or less dropped at a moments notice and retreated out of the province to see to a wedding. Things were odd in Silrosia and sadly they had never come to be and Vortex, well that had been one experience which not in the end poor was reeking of his own fleeting sanity. That and the scent of blood, so much blood and so few tears in which to balance. Perhaps the young man enjoyed a justified killing and perhaps Jalat was just guiding him on to the army of undead perversions and those who might think themselves elven.

Or so the shadowmage would have thought at a distance as the living darkness touched so many of them. The sleek and toned female forms mounted, clearly in dominate roles over those who would have been of the smaller gender. Thousand's of fingers might have traced out the most private of detail for the now blind necromancer but then Iseril held himself back for in concern of wrenching. The darklings were on the move and it had been far too long since feeling flesh give way under his will or blood flow freely. With a slight smile he realized the one final truth; this could be fun.

Demons, zombies and Hayan's; oh my!

For the moment the dark one, the child born of the light and pulled to the other side only watched from a distance. He would hunt in time, when their numbers were more broken but for the moment it was better to only to prepare. So as the small army advanced the hedgemage might remain hidden in their wake. While he didn't know where they were going Iseril felt himself the better hunter having studied the art of the kill under who he had and explored the vysstichi mind. As rotten as it was.

[Charles Smith]

As the undead and their masters came out of the night, the camp was still being set up. Captain Relais of the Prelatine Army was issuing work assignments, having sent most of the healers into town to care for the wounded. So the army's attack was a complete surprise to him. It was all he could do, therefore, to sound the horns and try to goad his badly out-of-place Prelatine forces and Paladins to some semblance of defensive positions in the time he had left. He feared that it wouldn't be enough. The Archprelatess had sent a relief force and a light guard, not an army.

[Lydia Cain]

Lydia had long ago tried to enter the city of Acumin, and was rejected. Now she had returned, her surface elf half hidden from everyone. Her skin was as dark as a pure bloods, and her hair was dyed white. As she neared the city, she rose over the crest of a hill and looked out, to see the ruins of the city that had shunned her. There had been a fire, she did not know what of, but most of what she could see was ashes.

However another thing caught her eye, and that was a small encampment of soldiers outside the city. She noted them, and even as she stuided them, she saw the thing that snatched her attention clear to it. She saw undead, and Vysstichi marching, with demons in their midst and they were going for the ruined city. Lydia was pleased, she to knew the history of the city, and she could only imagine what was happening. Though she did not know that it was the goal to reclaim the city, she hoped that it was. As she watched, she saw the army attack the other army that was still setting up it's camp.

She heard the horns blow, and she was thrilled with the propect of it all. Donning her hooded bloak, she pulled the hood over her head, she then set her weapons in place, and moved down through the night, to where the horns were sounding, to add to the carnage and see that the city was retaken. Oh how her heart sang, as she moved as stealthy as she could waiting for her first target.

[Ahana]

Ignorant of the two strangers, each joining different sides of the upcoming battle, the necromantic Vyssichi grinned with anticipation of the upcoming carnage and roared their commands to the army of undead.

'..Slaughter the Dianites!'

The attack had been well planned, but none had expected this well. It was expected that the village would see support from additional soldiers, workers to aid its recover, but the fact that they marched under the banner of the church brought glee to the Vysstichi's crimson eyes. Any chance to splatter the blasphemous bastards was a gift from the Aeternians. The fact they were woefully unprepared was proof, to the Vysstichi hunters, that Haya blessed their acts this day.

Like the pox across Acumin, the army of resurrection fell upon the soldiers without mercy. It wasn't the prettiest attack, nor the most coordinated, but tooth and nail didn't require strategic planning. The undead fought like beasts, with fists that struck like iron war hammers and no desire other then that of the command that echoed in their heads.

'...kill...'

Lydia had her choice of targets, two half-set up tents and a scurrying group of soldiers, but she needed to be careful; the army hadn't yet noticed her, nor had the soldiers, but neither was guaranteed to assume she was on their side. Her life could quickly be in peril if either spotted her before she had begun a substantial attack. The half-Vysstichi was still a good distance from the church's encampment and it was mostly open ground laid out before her - - if she charged and attacked, the soldiers would see her coming long before she got to them. But in a few moments, the undead army's assault would give her all the cover she needed to wage war against the surface world's warriors.

OOC: Charles, pardon the assumption of your soldiers for Lydia. If you'd like to make corrections, feel free.

[Avanthar Dra'Aran]

The sounds of war resounded throughout Acumin as great host of undead marched against the relief force sent by Diana. As screams, roars, and the clash of steel could be heard, such a turn of events would not be ignored by the vigilant. Within the black tower Dar Havark lurked Lord Avanthar Dra’Aran’s personal forces, a small force, but a powerful one. Yet the half-cyraxian was no longer in Acumin, and fewer still would know that he no longer resided upon this mortal plane. He had been taken to Aeternia, and at this point in time the Dracolord was trapped within an essence gem whilst in the presence of the god of death, Jalat.

As those of the light blew their horn, alerting others of the attack, a young girl of around 12 leaned over the wall, her eyes of red widening as she watched with odd fascination at the carnage. Striking even at a young age, she bore the unmistakable features of her parents as the young necromancer grinned. Never in her life had she seen such carnage before, and something within her soul cried out to join. She would… she would indeed… but Father would surely be upset.

Standing next to her was Erlok, a champion axe man and captain of Avanthar’s defenses. The hulk said nothing as he too watched, the others of Dar Havark moving up from the depths to watch the battle. Others, such as Rishk, Sylphis and the Dark Ones were there, even the odd dwarf whom never uttered a single word was there, watching the bloody spectacle with his beady black eyes.

‘It seems they have finally chosen to attack…’

A rich, feminine voice of power could be heard from behind as an elven lady made her way up to the walls. Wearing long robes of black which accented her near perfect features, her eye blues were narrowed as she made her way to the young girl, placing one soft hand upon her daughter’s shoulders. The others bowed their heads low, for now they were in the presence of Kyoko, Mistress of Avanthar and Ruler of Terra.

Looking up, little Azumi was wide eyed, excitement clearly evident as he hands grasped onto the bastard sword which hung at her belt. It was odd for her to wield such a large blade, but she wished to follow in her father’s footsteps. Being a quick learner, she knew she was very different ever since she had heard the powerful voice of Jorel within her mind.

‘Mother… are we to join?’

The blue eyed draconess narrowed her eyes, her beauty unmatched as he gold hair glistened under the moonlight. Her eyes shimmered in thought before she looked at her daughter, a sudden sense of dread exuding from her beautiful frame as she smiled, revealing perfect teeth. Kyoko’s eyes were almost aglow as she shifted into Clara, her attention drawn away from the main battle, but to Acumin itself. Though they had sought to control Acumin from their previous efforts, now was a favorable time for some frustrations to be vented. But first the defense needed to be shattered.

‘Join me… brothers… let us rain death and destruction upon them all… let none escape alive… let them burn alive as they smell their own flesh cook under our arcane onslaught… let death reign down upon them all! ’ snarled Kyoko to the twelve dark robed figures whom positioned themselves behind her in a line, each and everyone beginning their Clara whilst Erlok and Grovan, the two Half-Cyraxians stood at Kyoko’s side as protectors.

Mustering their powers, whilst the main force was distracted against the undead, those of Dar Havark worked their dark arts in unison. No doubt the effect would have been stronger if their Lord was there, but for the present it was sufficient to complete the task that their Mistress had set forth. Weaving forth their spell together as they each sought to summon the essence of death and decay, their combined effort to form the spell Acid Rain upon those fighting against the undead. Sending their essence upwards to the skies, Kyoko used their combined might to send it across a further distance, her face calm as cold winds swept against those upon the tower…

OOC: GSTS Permission to use Kyoko and Azumi~

Note: Only those of the party know of Avanthar's death... *looks at Lydia *

[Lydia Cain]

Lydia noted the two tents, and decided that she had found her target. However, she used the darkness, and tried the best to blend in with it. She would wait for the wave of Undead to charge, then she would charge with them, and she would find the nearest surface dweller and hit them with her wristbows, then move to the next using her bows, then once her six bows were done, she would drop them and move to their swords.

She felt a chill, and she thought that maybe there was another force out there somewhere. She had only felt it at a few other times, like when she had been in the Presence of Abcrul, or in the presence of Avanthar. She had heard rumblings that her leader of the brotherhood had been displaced.

IN her mind, Lydia let go of her emotions and she became the hunter again, her instincts taking over her nature. She would hold her position then she would attack when the undead did.

[Iseril Kitrye'veresi]

There weren't many souls guiding the attack on the city. A half dozen vysstichi women perhaps but it was the issue of power which was the issue at hand for the half-elven hedgemage. He would need to try someway to turn the tides back though from the city and relief efforts. If they weren't there the half-elf might have preferred to try and only hunt them all in smaller groupings but then there was little he could do given the situation.

With a slight and painful sigh to himself the hedgemage began his casual process of casting with the hope of turning the undead and demonic hoard back upon their masters. Most of the weapons in his service were self crafted tools and so ones which were known in an intimate way. Each one was a part of who he was and in the end each an extension of the hunter. He was a hedgemage and had perhaps passed the normal extent of power that would be common for one among their ranks. Time itself had expanded his arcane endurance to that which was normally beyond his brothers, just as suffering his own death in a manner; a death in communion with another gave the Prodigal mage a deeper command of the shroud of night and darkness.

The fist spell the now 'blind' hedgemage needed was one to allow him to bend the tides of time. A far cry from that which a archmage could manage but the reflex activated charge should be enough in a moment to give him the time, the chance he needed to break another's will. Kalendryas Blessing would have anchored the young man to multiple temporal points and lie in waiting before he moved on certain of the initial effort. The second spell was likewise his own child and one born of the dark and of use only with in the shadows as the deaths of night allowed for range and control so that the shadows might envelope the mageling, embracing him slingshotting their child forward to the side of the closest of the darkling women. One of those daughters of Haya who attacked in the night his night but as darkness might consume so it might have also encase armoring before exposing the gifted son for the moment. He like any mage in Clara could have tracked the expenditure of another mage as a rule and so target one of his own sister’s in the dark arts.

One who would serve.

In that moment the male, the half light born who studied and mastered the concepts and art prohibited his gender should have felt the weight of time buckle and with it the mages will. Beguile was the moments last effort, on his intended target and a spell which ideally would have altered the very desires of the sad soul subject to Iseril’s attention. There was one thing that the walking dead, that the demon’s and beasts in her service had to do and that was kill. Not the human’s, light-born or other fair folk though but the perversions and the captures of the infernal. It was a chance to in those very few seconds to help turn the tide as infighting could begin and it was a process which the half breed taking cover from sight behind his new puppet intended to take full advantage of with the next closest mage with the same dominating enchantment if Ioannes and Jalat were willing.

[Snibly]

Long since the days of old has any fae wielded so much power as he. Most fae practice the simple art of druidism and mysticism. But unlike most of his fae kindred Snibly was different. From the day he was born he craved power and every day he planned and planned tell finally he obtained it. From his first force bolt he new that he wielded a power stronger than he ever could have imagined.

Snibly was resting in his tomb in the bowls of Dark Harvak, when he sensed something was a miss. As if his mother Haya was calling to him directly, he arose from his crypt in most haste and fluttered to the top of the keep. As he surveyed his surroundings, he imaged that his undead heart had skipped a beat. Around him was the carnage and chaos that formed his undead soul. Only the mother of lust herself could give him such a marvelous gift. As he looked onto the scene, he quickly focused his mind to slip into a state of Clara. He would not miss out on such a grand opportunity to join the formal mass of chaos and blood.

Many years have passed and one thing has never changed. Snibly’s uncanny ability to cause a lot of pain and suffering would never be out match. There was no guise for his hatred. He flaunted his evilness like a black badge of courage. As he saw the soldiers start to rally in hopes that they might actually put up a fight, he carefully and cautiously pulled the energy from each molecule nearby. He could easily have done this quicker but he had something special planned. He stole the energy from anything around and forced it unto himself. As it flowed through him, he shaped it into a tight ball emanating above his hand so that he could cast Force Blast. But he was not done just yet, using his training from his initiate years in the academy, his favorite practice was to make his force bolts bigger and more damaging. Many times was he hurt practicing his skills, but over the years he honed this skill into an art form. He swirled his hand around the now formed force blast and with each pass he slowly added more and more energy. Using his Channeling was tedious work but he kept with it just until he felt that his Force Blast could contain no more energy.

Unlike a normal force blast he new this one was made with love if he could still love. Snibly took site of any groups of Dianite soldiers that looked densely packed. He wanted maximum carnage with this creation. After he finds a suitable target he hefts the now rather large ball of destruction over his head. And with all the strength and will that he can muster, he releases this violently horrible ball of death upon the unsuspecting group. He yells out as the energy rips from his undead hands:

“Let the pain and suffering that I hold dear take you away in a wave of carnage!”


ooc: if there 2 far away ill fly a little closer if i must.

[Charles Smith]

OOC: I couldn't find this thread again, sorry. :/
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Captain Relais grit his teeth determinedly as the attackers swept in. With what time he had left, he tried to set his forces. The Paladins first, their heavily armored bodies, shields, lances and swords to take the brunt of the first strike. Some of the holy knights had mounted up, others were, of necessity, taking up infantry positions. Paladins in general prefered horseback, but they were trained to fight under whatever circumstances they found themselves, including on foot.

Next were the Prelatines, the soldiers of the Faith. Trained and disciplined, bearing pikes, swords, axes, and a few bows, the Prelatines would form the outer flanks, guarding the Paladins to either side and slashing into the undead where possible. On a flash of inspiration, the pitifully few archers wrapped their arrows in hastily soaked pitch and awaited the word to ignite their arrows in the campfires and shoot. Until then, they were to stay in the center, surrounded by the other soldiers, and not waste their precious arrows. They loosened their swords for the time when their few quivers ran dry.

Finally came the workers, the bulk of the caravan. These were not trained soldiers, but Relais counted himself fortunate to have them. Her Holiness had anticipated a need for strength in the rebuilding of Acumin, and had assigned Giants, Orcs, Dorin, and some of the stronger wildkatta, like Lionoids and Tigrons, to bear the brunt of the heavy labor. Already the workers were arming themselves with whatever was handy, weapons where possible, worktools, and even (for the Giants) large slabs of the wood and stone meant for the city where weapons weren't available. Relais could see the fear in the eyes of these men and women, but still, he had no choice. He couldn't spare the workers just because they were not warriors. He directed some of them to the front, the rest to guard the rear, and a group of six wildkatta to take to horse and ride as far and as fast as they could towards help. Diana by preference, Primus Gaudeo or any other inhabitated city they could reach if not, and spread the word of what was happening. Relais did not expect to be alive long enough to report himself.

Smiling grimly, Relais ordered the caravan wagons overturned, to provide a buffer between his troops and the attackers. Building materials were strewn about haphzardly, to prevent sudden charges and choke the enemy's zone of combat. He ordered his infantry forces, archers, and rearguard behind the impromptu barricade, set the cavalry and their defenders as best he could, appointed the Orc Grimlash as his second, and made ready to hold as long as he could...

[Skorri]

Horns blarred and echoed into the deep dreamless sleep of Skorri. The world tore into focus as the trailing remants of the previous sounding still hung in the air. Drifts of smoke and ash filled the sensitive nose of the half elf as he took to his feet and stared down the hill to whatever action was taking place.


"Jorel be raised...." The armies of the undead had amerged and a caravan of Dianite or Primus soliders were being mobilized though seemingly scattered, their ranks broken and misformed. A single man could be seen barking orders at soldiers, an Orc at his side, preparing for the wave of undead souls intent on breaking the defense.

Taking flight down the hill, Skorri broke into a dead sprint downhill, gracing the ground with only the tips of his toes as he made for the humble defense of the city, aiming for the nearest soldier, hoping they would recognize him as a living creature. Wether or not they would recognize him or not, as he neared he let out a yell for the man organizing the now noticable, army of soldiers mixed with workers. "I can help!"

[Lichen]

OOC: Ahana has been dismissed, so I am now GM of Acumin and Herozzal and will be taking this thread.

The tiny town of Acumin did not have much in the way of defenses. Thirteen darkenings earlier, th entire town had been razed to the ground. A mere hundred still remained alive, most of them either inside the tavern itself or huddled against the cold in tents around the building. They were not expecting an attack - so many horrors had already been inflicted upon them that it didn't seem possible that death would once more creep up to their door and break it down. They had forgotten the day of Cleansing, the day that the dark elves had been cast out... the day that they sought to reclaim what had once been there's. They were ignorant, mulling in their own pain and mental anguish, and were caught completely unawares when the first of the undead snuck through the burnt remains of their town and began to slaughter them. Their screams of surprise and then of painful death echoed throughout the town and the surrounding forest... the battle for Acumin had begun in earnest.

Kyoko's snarls mingled with the faint and distant screams of the dying and injured in the cruel night, and she casually ordered the death and destruction of those who were fortunate enough to evade the vysstichi and their undead hordes. The magi she'd summoned quickly combined their power and conjured up a dark cloud that blocked out the light of the half-full moon. It swelled with power, fueled by the death and destruction before it. Kyoko, however, had made one small tactical error. Though the spell was powerful, the combined forces of her mages could only do so much, and she forgot some of the limitations of the spell itself in her cold and calculating anger. Acid Rain was only meant to be cast in close to medium proximity. For a single mage, that meant a few feet. For this number of powerful mages... well, it meant a little less than 1000 feet. But Dar Havark was not within a 1000 feet of the target. It was within a few miles, or quite a few thousand feet. The spell fell on the forest before the tower, searing its way through the leaves and foliage, devouring its way to the ground. The shrieks of animals filled the ears as their fur and flesh was burnt and seared by the deadly acid rain. Kyoko had missed, but on the plus side... she hadn't hit any of her own people with her horrid miscalculation.

In the heart of the battle, Lydia closed in on her prey. She stalked them much like a cat, waiting for the opportune moment to leap out and eviscerate those who rested inside. They did not rest for long, however - it was soon quite apparent they were under attack and their captain yelled directions for the group to mobilize and try to attack back. Lydia watched as her prize catch of the darkening raced out of the tents and rushed to the aid of the rest of the camp. There wasn't time for the woman to attack, not without serious risk to herself, and so she waited, waiting for an opening. The troops arranged themselves, attempting to save themselves from nearly certain doom, and as they moved Lydia realized that this group consisted not only of workers, priests and helpers, but also of paladins, albeit very few of them. They were dressed in thick armor, armor that only a very precise shot at the joint could penetrate.

The workers, however, were dressed merely in robes. Their soft flesh would be easy to sink her bolts into... it nearly called to her, so easy of targets were they. They armed themselves with whatever they could, but there wasn't much that they could use to their advantage. Surely nothing to protect them from the bolts of Lydia's crossbows. As they mobilized, three particularly easy-looking targets took up guard before her, standing near a wagon that formed the circle around the camp, looking scared and unprepared for death and battle. It was not scared to meet them, however... two undead creatures -katta if the rotted fur was any indication- launched towards them and engaged them in battle. Lydia could strike now, if she liked, and let the katta move on to their next targets... but that could alert the creatures to her presence and reveal her hidden in the bushes. It was a risk - she didn't know if they were trained not to attack Vysstichi-looking folks or if they merely were controlled by necromancers that forbid them from attacking their controllers... it was hard to say, at least without concrete evidence of their intentions.

It appeared Kyoko was not the only one making small tactical errors tonight. Iseril, in his arrogance, attacked the forces of the undead, hoping that his power, great though it was, could stand against the undead forces and their keepers. He was wrong. The fact that Iseril's spell flung him next to the mage was, although intended, not neccessarily a good thing. Allowing the vysstichi to use their very good night vision to identify him, and making a huge thump in the bushes as the spell dropped him next to them were slight miscalculations. Stunned slightly from the spell, Iseril wasn't able to react quickly enough. And sadly, his spell had failed to bring him to what he was looking for. This vysstichi woman, her crimson eyes angry with the interlopers presence, would not bow to him... not now, and not ever. Neither would the two equally ticked off vysstichi magi behind her.

Iseril had unwittingly flung himself close to three very powerful, very angry female vysstichi mages. The one in the forefront muttered a few words, her face twisted into a snarl, and suddenly Iseril was in pain. Fire lanced through his body, seeped along his nerves until his entire body felt as though it was being seared. He felt his body respond to the pain, spasming and thrashing in the bushes violently and uncontrollably, caught within the throes of the most powerful Psionic Shock spell he'd ever had the misfortune to be on the receiving end of. The vysstichi woman watched him coldly, a smirk on her face as his limbs thrashed about wildly. Finally, however, even her strength had to fade- Iseril knew it, a second before it happened, that her strength was going to give out. That would be the time to launch his retaliation against the vysstichi Mystic and her equally evil companions, if he could do it quickly enough.

Snibly found the situation to be much to his liking. The dark fae found that such chaos and pain was the perfect setting for his pleasure and entertainment. Swooping over the troops, the undead fae was pleased to see that the soldiers had been forced into a tightly packed group. It wasn't all consisting of armored and trained foes - many of them were workers or even healers. But no matter - Snibly wanted pain, he didn't care who had to suffer for such entertainment. The sorcerous fae cast his spell and let it fly within the crowd. The spell was meant for only one target, but such was his luck that he managed to hit three people with the potent working of magic. He was pleased to see that the spell knocked three people over , who in turn knocked over several others. While the spell itself didn't kill anyone, he did break a workers nose and the central target fell to the ground with such force that his head was cracked open upon the ground.

Gleefully the faery shouted out at them, his wicked voice seeming rather high pitched and nearly childlike amongst the din. It caught attention though- a paladin reacted quickly to the nearly demonic image in the sky, shooting before even thinking as to what it was he was doing. A crossbow bolt nearly the length of the fairy himself ripped through the faery's right wing, tearing it apart as it moved. Snibly found himself plummeting to the ground from a height of thirty or so feet... a drop that would surely kill the fae if he did not manage to save himself.

Captain Relais was a while man. He was not, however, a tremendously lucky one. The defenses were holding against the onslaught of undead of various varieties, but it would not hold forever. His paladins fought with a ferocity that would make any captain proud, and their efforts were not unrewarded. There would be many dead tonight... but not all. However, his troops could only attack those that attempted to attack them. Many undead, their necromancers dictating other choices of actions, passed up the encampment and raced towards the burnt remains of Acumin, their original and still foremost target. Captain Relais could do nothing for those who would die in town tonight, however... all he could do was hope his defenses lasted through the fight, and pray.

These were not the only folk to fight on the side of good tonight, however. Alongside the forces of the captain and the arrogant but well-meaning Iseril was another force. Skorri was the form of that help... a lone elf amongst the legions of undead. He was attacked before the Captain could even hear his cries of assistance. The trees parted to reveal a lumbering beast of indeterminate race but immense bulk, so rotted that it seemed to merely be a mass of decaying flesh. Seeing him, the two beady eyes unevenly placed in the head focused, and the rotting creature let out a roar that shook the trees about them. It must have been closet to 15 feet tall, and the club it carried was nearly the size of the elf himself. It was this club that launched itself through the air, swinging neatly towards somewhere in the vicinity of Skorri's upper chest. Considering it was nearly the width of an actual tree, it would probably be a bad idea to parry. Perhaps ducking would be advisable? Well, if Skorri was particularly fond of his torso and head, that was. Contact with the arching trunk would certainly cause him to lose most of his body above his waist... an unpleasant fate to be sure.

[Lydia Cain]

OOC: Dismissed?

IC: Lydia saw many a target, and while she would willingly engage a paladian one on one, even she was not arrogant enough to take one on with companions around them. So she looked to the works, and healers of the group. The unprotected ones, seeing the undead attack three of them, she fired both of her wristbows at the workers, to try and allow the undead to move on. She however was not stupid, and as soon as she fired, she snapped her hands up with her hand bows, these ones having the silver tipped bolts. She would not fire on the undead unless they attacked.

Moving on to her next targets, if the undead did not attack of course Lydia would find more unarmored targets, or those with armor not thick enough to stop her bolts. Which were custom made to pierce most armors. As she attacked Lydia felt the blood pumping, she felt her calling. She also felt dark powers being flung about, and she wondered just who was here on this night of death.

She wondered if Abcrul was behind these undead creatures, if this was the undead army she had seen being made at his keep. Regardless, Lydia attacked.