Featuring: Ahote, Alastor, Amahl, Aurelio, Bellona, Coral, Gaiava, Jacqua (NPCed by Soft-Feather), Kekipi, Maat, Marco, Nan, Soft-Feather, Thuyavan and Vikesha
Date: September 17, 2004
IC Date: July 13, 3930
Summary: After chaos as arisen in the countryside and in the cities of Irha-Esh and Parnassus, some of the invading pirates set their sights on the bounty to be found on the marketplace on the bridge.
Central Bridge - Bazaar - Pons Pactum
Sounds and smells from the Mahpe River mingle with the overwhelming cacophony of sensations that originate in the central bazaar upon Pons Pactum. From the scent of baked bread warring with sausages from neighboring vendors, to the vibrant colors of the silks and fabrics offered by competing merchants, or even the musicians and performers seeking to earn a few coins, the bazaar is a bustling hive of activity at all but the earliest hours of the day.Stretching over the river's estuary between the gleaming marble of Parnassus to the south and the ornate towers of Irha-Esh to the north, Pons Pactum is an engineering marvel crafted of golden yellow river stone. The central point is firmly anchored atop the western shore of Insula Garum, the largest island within the inlet. Low and solid rails twist along either side in a Shaped pattern of twined knots, protective of the unwary venturing close too the edge, but also contributing to the bridge's beauty. A wide road runs down the center, remaining clear for passing traffic, even in the busiest parts of the bazaar.
There are no buildings at this point along the bridge, but there are numerous tents and stalls set up for the merchants, vendors, and tradesmen who sell their wares. Along the eastern edge, a wide stairway descends along the side of the bridge to the island below.
Announcement: From the Sylvan fields southeast of the city of Parnassus tendrils of smoke begin to rise. At first it appears to be nothing more than a campfire, or perhaps a farmer burning off some refuge, but the tendrils of smoke grow thicker and darker, filling the sky over the fields with heavy clouds of black soot. A few farmers rushing into the southern gate of Parnassus with their carts laden with personal goods cry breathlessly about a fire spreading through the crops and there is worry as well that the fire is heading towards the forests.
Announcement: It is almost as if the Varati fields do not wish to be outdone by the Empyrean ones, for plumes of smoke begin rises in the fields west of Irha-Esh. They too start small, as if campfires were being set, but soon the skies over the Varati city darken with smoke as the summer crops begin to burn.
Announcement: The fires in the Varati fields begin to flicker and fade at once, as if suddenly deprived of their fuel. But even as one fire ends, a massive *BOOM* comes from Irha-Esh as the area before the Temple explodes into stone, dirt, and fire. The entire City shakes with the force.
Maat begins to reply to Coral, but even before she can get out more than a sound or two, the explosion before the Temple occurs. Simply, she states, "I do not know." Her voice sounds worried and she walks briskly over toward the edge of the Bazaar to see if she can spy an unimpeded view of the Temple.
Announcement: A second *BOOM* follows the first, but it seems close to the first as the Obsidian statue of Khalid Atar that stood at the Southern Gate of Irha-Esh topples. The way from the Varati City to the Bridge is now blocked by solid stone and many buildings have erupted into flames from the splashed oil in His hands.
"The fields!" One of the Sylvans cries out to Soft-Feather, "They burn, forest-brother!" The woman is obviously very upset and rightly so. "The forest could be..." And it's at that moment that the explosion rocks the city. Shouts of fear sing out across the Bridge.
Soft-Feather does his best to calm the Sylvan woman, directing her to a safe area to store her cart and wait out whatever is going on. Heading back towards Jacqua, a fellow Troll who is now standing on the side of the Bridge near Maat and Coral, the Sylvan growls, "What in the Grandmother's name is going on?" And then all hell breaks loose at the Varati end of the Bridge.
Even beneath the waters the tremors can be felt, or perhaps this particular Atlantean was above-ground at the time, for her dark hair and pale skin are more damp than the dripping wet of one just emerged from the water. Gaiava pauses on the stairwell, trying to see what she can. Which, thanks to the crowd and tents is not much... until, of course, the statue falls. The Atlantean's mouth falls open in a gasp and she hurries towards the closest familiar faces in the crowd. A webbed hand rests on Coral and she emphasizes her quiet words, hard to make out amongst the other noise, with a mental touch. "Perhaps we should get off the bridge, Annan Coral. But where else can we see what is going on?" The Lawkeeper also pays a grim nod of acknowledgement towards the Sylvan and the Varati, even as her green eyes flicker over to the fallen statue and the burning buildings.
Coral moves to see through the people fleeing now from the blockage at the end of the bridge her arm now held by the large Atlantean man standing beside her. More protectively than anything else, "Is there a way for those who are in the square to escape?" She asks Maat, "Can they get away from the fires to the docks? Or to another safe part of the city?" Looking to the Sylvan who approaches her lips turn into a full frown, "Chookma, we do not know... There seem to be fires..."
Maat says nothing for the moment, her figure still as stone. Everywhere that oil has fallen, flames lick up toward the sky. In the general chaos of the smoke and the ensuing mayhem, especially from the screams of people who are covered in burning oil, it might go unnoticed that one stone building on the northern end of the bridge remains unscathed.
"Are there boats? Did you see along the shore if there were fishing men going out to the waters?" Coral turns to ask the other Atlantean, "They could perhaps aid the Sylvans in the fields to flee the fires." Looking back to the moving crowds, she nods to her at the mention of the danger, which also seems to get approval from Palaemon Lamar next to her, "You are right, but maybe from the river?" Looking between the three she waits to see what they might know that she does not.
Jacqua and Soft-Feather stare at the fallen statue, the first voicing question as to whether or not it could be moved. The Sylvan shakes his head, "Too heavy...and besides, if we tried, it might spread the fire here. Best we can do right now is crowd control...get everyone to the center, perhaps?" The Atlantean Troll nods and moves off while Soft-Feather turns look out at the city. Maybe he should go up for a better look?
Announcement: Above Parnassus Praetorians and gryphons stream across the sky, carrying buckets and barrels of water for without fire mages of their own, they have only one way to extinguish the flames on their own fields. Many of the Praetorians return to the Eyrie covered in soot, filling the Parnassus skies with a host of artificial darklings.
A small group of about five emerge from the smoke and dust that was the road to Irha-Esh and make their way into the center of the Bridge. One wears a rather broad, feathered cap and seems to be grinning ear to ear...even though he -looks- to be rather Varati in features. Others should be joining shortly. "I think I'll get me a new hat here...find stuff about this City..." Hazel eyes glance to the pale, Atlantean-ish man by his side. "Bet they even have all the raw fish you could want, Vik...and lobster." Of course, rather than paying, he and his pirates are perfectly willing to start taking by showing their knives and swords.
Maat states, her voice stern, "I know no more than you, Annan Coral, but Irha-Esh burns. The fields burn. If this were a war, I would say that we were under attack by the enemy." She is still staring off toward the Temple and the fallen statue of Khalid Atar.
Announcement: In Irha-Esh, Atarvani are swarming about, bringing the wounded out of harm's way to be healed or tended to and trying to control the fires in their own City and on the northern part of the Bridge. Agni-Haidar have brought out the wyverns and have them at the statue, working to move it so that there may be at least some passage.
The flames on some of the wounded at the northern end of the Bridge dim, either because the oil has been consumed or perhaps due to intervention by the Atarvani. It is difficult to predict, given the chaos.
Reaching up with a webbed, dark blue hand, Vikesha throws back the cowl that had covered his head and shadowed his face from view. Unlike the captain, his visage is grim and stoic, though there's a keen glitter in his eye that speaks of violence intended. He walks in silence along the bridge, hand resting atop the hilt of his knife, and any reply made is likely done through nonverbal means.
Seeing the bandits come out of the crowds streaming one way and another, Coral looks to the Trolls near her and her guard as well. "I think we cannot help here, perhaps, but should go to the island and see what boats can be found to aid those in need. I could leave Palaemon Lamar here to aid the bridge guardians as we do so? Once he has seen us to the stairs?" As she speaks, the large man moves around her to stand between herself and the pirates that have begun to emerge, protecting specifically herself and the Lawkeeper next to her.
Jacqua and some of the other Trolls are busy conducting shoppers-turned-panicked-runners to safety, away from the fires and the blocked end of the Bridge.
Soft-Feather, noticing the group emerging from the Varati end of the Bridge, moves forward to see if they have been hurt...until he assesses their likely intent, of course. They don't look harmed. In fact, it's entirely possible they're looking to do the harming. He moves back, looking to Coral. "Yes, staying here would not be a good idea...flee while you can, but move slowly and do not draw attention to yourselves."
The Trolls that were guarding Nefer Maat al'Samar from violence by the merchants begin to fan out, attempting to control the chaos and prevent damage to the stalls. Nefer Maat's Trolls are equipped with the standard swords, but two also carry nets, obviously to prevent miscreant Empyreans from escaping justice. Unfortunately, nets may not be of much use today.
Above the noise, Gaiava does not bother to raise her feeble voice to try and make herself heard. Her green eyes focused on the crowd, she does glance towards Coral and nods in grim agreement before her green eyes flicker back towards the figures emerging from the smoke and wreckage.
"Yes, perhaps, I think." Coral agrees with the Sylvan Troll. Turning to Maat she offers, "Come with us to the island? I will see if I can find guards of our people who can come and help keep order around the entrance to the island and offer sanctuary to those who have no ill intentions for safety on one of our beaches." She looks to the Atlantean Troll nearby as well as she speaks, beginning to move in that direction after linking one arm with Gaiava so that they aren't separated.
Announcement: The waters of the estuary slowly begin to darken with a sickening red color, as if blood is being poured from over the side of one of the ships. Frantically those who witness the destruction point to the docked Amarada as the culprit. Atlanteans who had headed into the water for protection find their home invaded by a strange red algae, making breathing rather difficult, though not completely impossible.
Looks are shared between the Varati-looking pirate and the Atlantean-looking one before he turns to glance at the confused shoppers and such in the area. "Oh, I suppose you are right..." is offered almost regretfully before he moves towards one of the shops, grabbing handfuls of jewelry and trying on another, grander, feathered hat. "Yes, this will do very nicely." Once that is appropriated he turns to Vikesha, "We should have plundered this place long ago. I never realized how easy it would be." But they do have bigger, ahh...birds to fry in this case. This is all just the icing. The hat, however, is doffed to the three ladies, "Remember, all of this is thanks to your neighborhood Pirate, Captain Demetrius of the Amarada. Oh, did I say 'Pirate'?" He winks and then gestures for his group to follow him towards Parnassus and the docks there.
Maat replies to Coral. "No, my duty to the Bridge Guild requires my presence here." She points toward the pirates grabbing jewelry. "Stop those thieves!" she commands any Trolls which remain near her.
Holding onto Coral's arm, Gaiava nevertheless glances towards the two pirates. The Amarada. Her green eyes glance towards what she can see of the docks and despite herself, she freezes in her tracks before, remembering herself, she continues with Coral off the Bridge.
Not needing to be commanded, Soft-Feather moves off towards the pirates, no weapon drawn. And older man of 55 seasons, clad in royal blue robes adorned with a Troll badge, this Sylvan doesn't seem to be much of a deterrent to crime. Even still, he signals Jacqua and the others, a group of them converging now on the thieves, word being sent to even more Trolls farther down the Bridge. Reinforcements will come.
"Return those at once, please," Soft-Feather stands with arms folded, his gaze fierce.
The flames on the northern edge of the Bridge continue to dim. The smoke also lessens from the zone around the Guild Hall, allowing Trolls trapped inside to escape, or rather to come out and help the populace.
Announcement: In Parnassus it seems the fires are drawing too close for comfort. Smaller blazes have erupted in the noble neighborhood of Aventine Hill and cohors of Praetorians are quickly angling in that direction to save the homes that are threatened by the flames that lick at the well-tended gardens.
Only the barest flicker of his lips indicates a spark of mirth in the Najada's face. Even that is quick to fade, as Vikesha's knife slips free of its sheath. Ice-cold eyes drift away from Amahl to levelly fix upon Soft-Feather. One might get an impression that this one doesn't intend to cooperate very easily.
Oh, yes. Reinforcements will come. Probably not the reinforcements that the police-force will want to see. Turning over one shoulder, Amahl looks at the law-enforcers, quite unimpressed. "Don't you have injured to see to? Move along. Go put out some fires." Just to emphasize his point, he pulls out his own curved and jeweled knife. "You might want to check your forests too. Can't sleep in a tree too well if it's burned down, now can you?" At that he touches the tip of his knife to his hat and turns to continue down towards the Empyrean city.
Seeing the waters turn red around the island, Coral's eyes widen, "By Pasiphae..." Turning to Nefer Maat al'Samar she nods a bit, "If you believe your presence will do good here then I understand, but if it would be better to direct them and come with us you are welcome to do so..." She keeps her arm linked with the other woman's, moving still towards the opening down not far away, "I must help my people and leave you to aid yours. Blessings go with you, Imphada." The silent Atlantean man stays with the two women rather than the Trolls, though his stance is defensive and well trained.
The Sylvan Troll remains calm, arms still folded across his chest. Seven other Trolls accompany him now, though unlike Soft-Feather, their weapons are drawn. "The fires are a distraction, and a good one...but I have faith that they are being attended to. And now, so are you. I ask one last time," his jade eyes flicker with distant reflected flames, "please return those," he gestures to the stolen goods. Obviously, that's not going to happen...but he and the others are prepared for that.
Announcement: Most of the fires have been doused in Irha-Esh, but there is still massive destruction and injury from the odd explosion. Houses and tunnels have been ruined while others threaten to collapse. The entire Qajar district seems to be in disarray and in some parts have collapsed completely."
From the smoking environs of the Guild Hall, its stone now charred, 10 Trolls emerge, coughing and hacking. They have swords in their hands, but are otherwise unequipped. One of the Trolls guarding Nefer Maat tries to throw her net over Vikesha, to entangle and stop the thief. Her other four Trolls are off trying to stop other looting, but Soft-Feather has the backup of three Trolls. At least half a dozen other Trolls are moving about the crowd, trying to shuffle people away from the flames or subdue the chaos.
Silent as he ever is, Vikesha might seem, on the surface, to have little regard for what Soft-Feather is saying. In one casual shrug, the tatters of the robes he'd been wearing are dropped to the ground, leaving arms and legs freer for movement. And just in time. Seeing that net being thrown at him from out of the corners of his eyes, the Najada nimbly hops back out of its reach. A sharp, swift glance is shot at Amahl then, eyes narrowing as he brings up his knife in an aggressive stance, quite prepared to slit a throat that comes too close to him.
The fires on the Bridge seem to be fading a bit, most likely running out of fuel and being doused by the water is helping.
Stepping back behind the other Trolls, Soft-Feather nods to Jacqua. "I will return," he says quietly. "Keep them at bay..." The other Troll nods and the four of them step forward, doing what they do best.
Soft-Feather, on the other hand, moves back even further, turning to run down the length of the Bridge. He informs other Trolls he encounters on his way of what's going on and then, pulling at his belt to open his robes, allows his form to desolidify. The garment falls away as the mass ripples and flows into the shape of a golden eagle. A sudden rush of color and solidity heralds the shape-change as complete, the flapping of great wings carrying the bird away from the engagement.
There is a flutter of wings, and Alastor descends into the clearing in the crowd. He turns his pale visage towards the merchant tents, looking to see how much damage has been done. His sour expression is clear as he surveys the chaos. "This is not good," he mutters audibly, shaking his head. He starts over towards the tents to survey the damage.
Oh, this is wearying. "Stop that..." is said to Vikesha, "We are not dying here, I can promise you that." The Sylvan troll just gets a look for a moment, up and down, before hazel eyes flick over to the Pirates who are climbing onto the Bridge from the docks. They even hold a bit of a twinkle as they give one final glance until the order, "Kill him..." is given. Even as Amahl moves to try and pull Vikesha away with him, four mongrel pirates take the Captain's place. "Oooh, a little far from yer trees, ain't ya?" one of them offers before they move to follow the Sylvan. As he changes, they tsk at each other, "Wot a coward...not even willing to soil his pretty lil' hands..." So they'll move to engage anyone else who seems to be remotely aggressive.
The captain, new hat and all, seems to be moving towards Parnassus and towards the docks. "Before they get too great...we have to do this -now-!"
Coral stumbles a little, though there isn't anything visibly in her path as she trips, holding tighter to Gaiava's arm to keep from falling down as she drops the bundle in her other arm and brings a webbed hand to her temple. Glancing over with what nearly amounts to venom in her eyes at Vikesha she stares for a brief moment before nodding to the man with her. "Let us go see what can be done to help our people down below."
Maat's attention appears to finally draw away from the fires. "I will not countenance theft on the Bridge. Put those jewels back." Covered from head to foot in cloth, she does not appear extremely...warlike, but her voice is that of command. "Trolls. You know your duty. Stop those thieves."
The Najada's eyes drift away from Amahl momentarily, fixing on Coral through the crowds of people. Seeing her stumble brings the faintest smile curling about his lips, one filled with mocking and cold mirth. But distracted once again, Vikesha goes striding after Amahl, that smile shifting back towards his usual emptiness.
Previously just trying to keep her footing and watch the Empyrean city burn, Gaiava did not notice the interchange between Vikesha and her companion until Coral stumbles. Looking at the Ephor with concern, she turns an icy sea green glare towards the Najada.
Marco's laugh is heard before the mongrel swaggers into sight, interrupting merriment to holler orders at anyone not 'moving fast enough'. Curved sword bare in his gloves hand, he ask loudly, "Can I kill someone yet?" Near glee glittering in his eyes, the second mate draws a bead on the nearest troll. "First one's mine, damn ye!"
Announcement: Some of the fires in the Empyrean and Sylvan fields seem to be dying down, but the problematic fire that concerns all of Parnassus are those that have flared up in the Forum and on Aventine Hill. Praetorians continue to fly through the skies, ignoring the soot covering them, to keep the water coming and to end this hell on aether.
The four who were chasing after the Sylvan turn to the Varati woman as she calls some more trolls to stop them. "You wanna see some jewels, girlie? I'll show 'em to ya!" One pirate reaches for his crotch while another cuffs him over the head, "There ain't time for that. Kill or get out..them's the orders." The first pirate scowls, "Well, them's the breaks, girlie..." is shrugged even as he moves in to attack, the other three not too far behind. They'll just watch for now, unless another Troll comes closer to try and attack.
Amahl calls back, "Kill whomever you want, Marco...I left them all, just for you!" white teeth are shown in a grin before he makes his way down to the docks, the feathers in his hat trailing like a streamer behind him. "Once you're done with the bloodbath, back to the ship." He glances over to make sure Vikesha is still with him as he continues.
Announcement: Even the poor mongrels don't appear to have been forgotten. The waters of the estuary rise and fall unnaturally. Heavy waves crash over the Bottoms and threaten to flood all of mongrel town as larger waves head west towards the bridge, threatening to rise up and sweep the red-stained water over the heavy stone walls.
Coral recovers from her near fall easily, looking back to Gaiava again, Palaemon Lamar not stopping to help her and risk that it's a distraction from other events as he guards the two women warily. With another glance back to Maat to see that she's firm in her desire to remain behind, Coral resumes her movement to the stairs. At the turn away from the action on the bridge, however, she sees the rising waves from below, beginning already to crest over the shores as they grow towards the higher stone where they stand, "Oh no..."
With one motion, the Lawkeeper breaks off her gaze with the Najada as she stumbles and falls to her knees, losing grip on Corals arm as both hands go for her head as she does her best to keep herself from passing out. Moments later, the fit passes, and Gaiava has to rush after the Ephor to reach the stairs. Leaning against the stairwell, the Atlantean's eyes widen in obvious horror at the sight. "Sweet Pasiphae." She breathes.
Maat is an entire treasure trove in and of herself, given the sparkles emanating from her fingers. Her golden eyes, however, are as far from gems as possible. Cold and calculating, those eyes assess the actions of the attacking pirates. However, she is a Varati and she towers over the mongrel pirates, an advantage that she will surely use. As the pirates converge upon her, her fingers flicker, almost as if she were making a magical motion, but nothing of the sort emanates from her. Instead, she uses her longer reach to slap the first pirate briskly across the face, a huge crack resounding as her palm connects with his cheek. "Insolent whelp."
Kekipi runs in from the north at a heavy and clanking pace, a little dusty but sword drawn and the usual rictus of sheer annoyance etched upon his weathered features. Clearly unimpressed with the disturbance that only the most anally retentive Troll would note, has clearly disrupted the business of the Bridge. With a gruff voice that barks out orders, Kekipi moves to seek out the first pirate he lays eyes on, "Protect the Council Members, stallholders and public at all costs!", definitely in that order, another intake of breath, "Cut the invaders down where they stand!, hell if necessary throw them over the bloody side and let the bastards drown.", assessing, watching, seeking a pirate, any pirate to cleave with his blade for the simple reason that one must set an example, "Watch each others backs, Pasiphae watches over you all!"
Alastor emerges from a smoldering tent, an unhappy look on his face. "Where is he?" he mutters, peering around the square. Just then, he catches sight of all of the "colorful" characters on the bridge. Frowning even more deeply, he takes flight, taking stock of the situation from above. His normally smooth brow creases with concentration as he searches the fray for someone.
Announcement: The wave heading toward the bridge grows and crashes roughly against it, sending a good deal of the salty water over the side, washing across the stone and likely knocking down a few of the less-secure tents. It seems to be the only large wave sent to attack, but the waters of the estuary are still extremely choppy.
Announcement: As the fires in Irha-Esh have been put out, some Atarvani try to actually get over to the other side of the city to help with their fires. A few risk being boosted by the wyverns and a handful manage to climb over the fallen statue to dash across the bridge over towards Parnassus.
Having left initially to find Kekipi, which he was successful at doing, Soft-Feather (as a golden eagle) then too off on another mission. It has been some time since he left but now, it would seem, he returns. Amidst all the flapping from Empyreans flying back and forth overhead, the sounds of approach are easily missed though.
Accompanied by four other eagles, the V-shaped formation flies down towards the Bridge but overshoots it, instead heading for the island in the wake of the crashing wave. Fist-sized rocks, light enough to be carried, are clasped by talons and the birds rise into the skies once again. Targeting the pirates below, rocks are released and the eagles return to the island to repeat the process.
As the first of Maat's attackers is dealt a slap... the inherently bullying nature of them falter... there is a moment of hesitation. "Curse ye cowards, I'll have the heart fer breakfast of the man who leaves with his sword clean!" Marco shouts with a lunatic's zeal, cutting the air twice as he sprints dead at the most impressive of the armed men present: Kekipi. "Bleed 'em ye bastards! Bloody Marc Carivelle was here, an' I mean this bridge to be red when I leave!"
Whether the threat, or sheer greed, who can say, bust those salty brigands besetting Maat renew their push, one of them diving at the Varati matron to bear her to the bridge.
Announcement: The dark clouds of smoke over the fields and near the forest have dissipated. Apparently, some of the fires have been able to be put out.
A thin streak of red appears on the cheek of the pirate who was Maat-slapped. It would seem that one of her gems has cut the flesh. Like the coward he is, the pirate falls to the ground. Instinctively, he clutches his throat and horrible choking sounds emanate from his vicinity while his face turns a delightful shade of puce.
Maat's clothing prevents her from easily evading her attackers, so she goes over backwards at the onslaught. In a pile of billowing cloth, Maat and the diving brigand hit the yellow stone. Thus, whatever happens between the Varati woman and the pirate is utterly hidden from view. Yet, it would seem that her treasure is deadly, for the pirate is suddenly trying to scurry away on his knees, also holding his throat.
As the wave simply washes reddish water onto the bridge, Coral lets out a breath of relief as the bridge isn't swamped by the water from the largest of the waves. And as it continues to stand she nods to Gaiava with relief, and catching sight of the men swarming Maat. "No!" But, as the Varati seems to be able to handle herself with her own form of weaponry, she leans down to help Gaiava rise to her feet again from the stone of the cobbles.
It may be an old blade but its a well tended one and as Kekipi braces himself against that wave that washes reddish water over the cobbles, before turning to see his attacker come running towards him hell bent for leather. The elder Troll readies that shortsword and gives Marco a rather foul look, his brow creased and lips pinched into a snarl that only serves to reveal his rather sharp teeth. His other hand outstretched, fist clenched, no doubt those boots ready to kick, the Trolls do not fight clean, which no doubt puts them on an even keel with the Pirates. Kicking, biting, gouging, the works. As for Marco, well Kekipi merely takes a second to spit upon the cobbles, "So, you going to be the first to find out what its like to be gutted by a fish eh?", the old Troll shouts as he starts running right at Marco, ready to clash blades.
Gaiava had just barely managed to struggle to her feet, clinging to the railing leading down to the Insula. But the salty red wave knocked the Lawkeeper to her knees again. She nods her thanks to Coral as she stands again with the Ephor's help. "We should go." She whispers, clutching onto Coral's arm as the two Atlanteans make their way carefully down the stairs and away from the fray on the Bridge.
Not long behind Marco's command, a single strong voice can be heard above the clatter, a long drawn out chord signaling the beginning of a traditional pillaging shanty.
"Oh! We're a band of vicious pirates,
A sailin' on the seas!
And when ye hear our joyful singin',
Be sure to turn and flee!"
Pushing people carelessly out of her way, the Shanty Mistress herself struts along the bridge, dagger in one hand and decapitated Atlantean head in the other. The woman, smeared with blood, stops only to survey the chaos around her, grin on her face crazed. "Oy, this is life!" She tells the head.
Screams from those besetting the elder Varati are answered by those of the thieves still standing, "Damn it, beat her o'er the head already! Don' touch her, she's poisoned! Hit her! Hit her!" Oh yes, so much for the romantic mystique of piracy.
As the red wave washed over the bridge Marco mutters to himself, "Not *quite I meant 'bout leavin' the thing red, but it's a start... Heh," At Kekipi's taunt, the second mate laughs loudly and spits back... at Kekipi, rather than the ground before him. "Yer lucky, fish! Ye get to be me seventh kill o' th' day!" His attacks upon the Troll are fast, furious, and skilled enough to be dangerous... A high slash at his head, a low cut at his thigh, a hard thrust at his stomach... Eyes wild with bloodlust. He echoes "Be sure to turn an' flee, dead man!"
One of the eagles, the largest of the five in fact, breaks off from the formation and dives at the onrushing Marco, talons spread wide and ready to strike. The bird brings up the flank as Kekipi rushes forward now, though waits until their blades clash before striking. Coming within range now, those ever-so-sharp talons scratch at and attempt to gouge the man's neck and face, as best as possible from behind anyway. After the attempt is made, the eagle rises into the air once again, preparing for another pass.
The other four eagles are commanded now to make similar attacks on their own chosen Pirate targets.
The remaining two pirates besetting Maat are obviously the stupidest and clumsiest ones on the Bridge, because instead of launching in and gutting the woman, they drop their knives with a squeal. Fists raised, they move in to pummel the woman who is rising from the wet stones, taking comfort in any authoritative direction. Unfortunately, it would seem that the stones are slick, because they both appear to fall forward, as if slipping. Their heads hit the Bridges in unison, putting forth a resounding crack.
"Looks like I took to the skies just in time," Alastor mutters audibly as he looks down at the red-encrusted ocean-soaked bridge. He swoops out of the way of the eagles, then circles a few times, watching the fray. He then departs southward, perhaps to seek out the Praetorian Guard, if there are any remaining in the city.
Announcement: It seems the waves are not content with the single attack on the bridge for the estuary being to churn again. Smaller waves crash against the bridge's supports, heralding the arrival of a wild and towering wave that crashes over the bridge, threatening to further swamp it and knock down more shops and stalls. It does not, thankfully or unfortunately, bring down the sturdy stone structure as it washes goods and some citizens off the bridge and into the water.
The high slash, the low cut and the hard thrust are parried with the clatter of Kekipi's aging blade, a grimace spreading across his features as he certainly takes great pain to give Marco no quarter, though his leather breeches do prove that first blood goes to Marco as the tip of his blade catches his thigh in the skilled arc. Slowly edging back to give himself enough room as his own actions prove skilled, hard and fast. Certainly no green-neck when it comes to combat, an able opponent perhaps as the elder Troll does little else to open himself to the Pirate, his blade grating against Marco's as he uses his strength to try and push off the fellow's attack and seek to push forward with two hard hitting blows designed to cleave from shoulder to spleen and from groin to neck, "I'd nail your balls to the Guild Hall doors, shame there ain't enough to provide even an audible knock....now surrender your blade and vessel."
Maat is less able to fend off the oncoming wave than idiotic, or so it would appear, pirates. She is pushed by the water across the stones, crashing against a stall. Three other pirates, apparently sensing success in killing the woman now that she has been thumped by the river, move in end her life.
"We're a band of tuneful rovers," Nan begins her song again, voice eerily hollow, but talented nonetheless. Skillfully, she sidesteps to avoid a falling rock from above, grin widening all the more on her face. Then, after smearing more of the Atlantean's blood on her face, she tosses it aside, all while continuing her jaunty song. "We can sing at every clef! We can even hit the high notes...Just too bad we're all tone deaf!" The last bit always did make her chuckle a bit and so she does here...That is, until the second wave hits and knocks her clear over the side of the bridge.
As for the other Trolls, well just as bloody vicious as the Pirates. One Troll is clearly seen with his thumb thrust into a pirate's eye, a rather nasty look in the Troll's eyes at least as opposed to the singular pirate's, singular eye. Course even with that uplifting sight there is still the unlucky Troll tossed over the side by the pirates, a forlorn scream and a splash soon following. No doubt an equally heartening sight to those merchants whose stalls have ended up at flotsam. Bites, kicks, gouges, stomping on the family jewels, biting of the ... leading to high pitched mewls. The 'Law' is delivered with a bloody sledgehammer, course civil disobedience is near enough matched given the Mercenary Garrison is spread across the bridge dealing with injured, putting out fires and clearing fallen masonry at the northern end. Busy little bees.
With a madman's courage, Marco continues pressing the Troll.. though the raking dive of... what the hell is an eagle doing here?? Recoiling back, a shallow cut atop the pirate's scalp letting a trickle of his own blood prove the passage of the bird, Marco falls back a pair of hurried step, only barely managing to keep his arms attached in the wake of Kekipi's counterattack.. one of the vicious downward cuts does manage to trace a shallow red rent in the mongrel's tanned arm...
Alastor disappears from view, wanting no part of the bloody fray.
Chaos. Utter and complete chaos. Somewhere at the northern edge, just a hair's breadth away from harm, is a rather frantic figure. Two, actually -- both red-clad, one physically restraining the other. Varati. Neither speaks -- maybe this has been going on for a while -- but the wrestling match continues. Thuyavan, spray-drenched and rather small-looking, panicked, seems to be losing to the larger, equally soaked priest. Why they fight, who's to say?
The golden eagle again heads for the sky, intent on making another pass on Marco, when the wave unfortunately hits, crashing into the bird and drenching his feathers at it carries him into one of the sturdier tents. The water dying down now, and the tent a pile of fabric and poles, a brown ferret scurries out of the mess, racing across the stonework towards the still-battling pair of Kekipi and Marco. He's got an idea...
The other eagles continue their assault, though one has fallen to the blade of the pirate it was attacking. Even still, two of their targets are now on the run, wildly swinging their swords above their heads in hopes of warding off attacks.
'I'm going to have to thank that bird.', muses the Troll silently as he feels his blade dig into the Pirate's arm, definitely some resistance that never feels quite right all things considered. The Troll sensing an advantage, he certainly isn't slow. Oh no. He pushes forward knowing that this could just as easily go the other way given the blasted heat that has certainly brought a sweat to the Fish's glistening brow, his blade swung firmly upwards in an arc as he brings his blade about from that downward slice to try and catch Marco's midriff or face, he isn't too worried as he seeks to drive another blow home and deeply so, even if he has to arrest several pieces of this Pirate, he will, "I'll take you in bit by bit if need be.", the harsh words spat through his clenched teeth as he kicks out with a heavy foot at Marco's knee, "Surrender now, your vessel is mine...we'll need at least one pirate to execute as an example, might as well be you.", his words leaping from his lips roughly with all the exertion.
Whatever tussling occurs between Maat and the salty brigands is obscured from view due to the collapse of the stall when the pirates leap upon her. Unfortunately, it would seem that the mongrels were bested by the woman for, she appears from the wreckage and they do not rise.
Marco shakes his head, tarred locks throwing red drops of water. Resigning himself, at least briefly, to a full defensive, his motions match the Troll's for speed and strength... two swordsmen who know what they're doing can be an impressive sight, as more than one spark rises from the fury of their slashes and parries.. A grin once again twists Marco's face at the threat, "Obviously ye don' know who I am!" Trying to press Kekipi's blade aside, and surprise the fellow with a kick... aimed squarely at the Troll's ... toll booth. His free hand jerking free a curved dagger from his belt. Despite his bravado... the brigand is deciding that he is ... a bit outnumbered presently...
The remaining pirates, or at least those not engaged fighting Trolls, give Nefer Maat al'Samar a wide berth. They turn their attention toward grabbing anything left from the onslaught of the waves, at least until Maat gets close to them. The Varati woman is thundering, "Stop thieves!" Unfortunately, she doesn't have any Trolls to back her up. Yet, the pirates are running from her voice, though with plenty of booty in their hands.
The dueling swordsmen catch the attention of the larger Varati priest for just long enough for the smaller one to -- stop struggling as well. Sea-damp cloth clings to Thuyavan's frame, not hiding his trembling a single bit. His jaw and fists are clenched, and his battle seems to have turned internal. Neither small nor large Atarvani make any move forward, into the zone of immediate danger. Yet.
And those booty-laden pirates are now directly in the way of the ferret's target, Marco. Deciding that Kekipi can handle himself, the little critter becomes a flowing mass of golden liquid. It ripples and expands quickly, hardening into a very large bear as the pirates almost run into it. A primal roar issues forth from the creature as it rises to rest on its hind legs, standing almost nine feet tall. Shaggy paws strike out, claws quite dangerous, aiming for the pirates' faces.
They cry out in pain and drop their booty, falling to the ground in agony. One of them reaches for his dagger, now that his arms are free of treasure. Now, if he could just see well enough to stab...
Kekipi's blade is pushed aside by Marco's, though Kekipi certainly pushes back, but the grating of metal and the sparks that rise simply have the Troll's blade slipping against Marco's. Thankfully this act does spare him a certain amount of crippling pain given his moves with the blade to the side, leaving Marco's kick to the Toll Booth, not quite as effective as it could have been in crippling the elder Troll and leaving him writhing on the floor in agony. But instead the kick is softened by a firm and grazing connection with Kekipi's left thigh and a graze of the old Toll Booth, the resulting kick sending Kekipi back three staggered paces as enough pain certainly registers to warn him not to get too complacent with his opponent. His blade held before him, ready as that dagger is drawn, "I don't need to know your name to hang you, jus' need you to hold still.", his eyes darkening as he bends over slightly to spit some bile out onto the red washed cobbles at the same time one of those filthy pirates leaps to Marco's aid whether its wanted or not. The blow slicing against the Atlantean Troll's side, cutting through the leather armour and no doubt into his padded side as the Atlantean turns into the blow, pain evident as his own blade slices into the 'helping' pirate's right shoulder in a downward motion, cracking bone and rupturing tissue. Blood, pirate and Troll mingling. At this moment off to the side, the arrival of about twenty Atlantean Guards, Honour Guard and Guardians arrive from below, sent no doubt by the Ephor and they are swift in assisting the Trolls and others with this menace.
"Aint much t' me benefit to hold still then, is it?" Marco quips back. As the craven cavalry arrives, the second mate decides enough is enough, "Scamper, lads!" He shouts, the que known to all the scoundrels, and they flee, as one with the command. As the mongrel in charge turns, he again catches sight of Maat, chasing after his shipmates... a cruel sneer as he shouts, "Catch, bitch!" and wastes his dagger.. a shame, he liked that one... will have to get another later. The cruel sharp blade is hurled at the elder Varati woman, center mass... though the bastard doesn't wait around to see if it lands before bolting.
The dagger clips the moving Maat, plowing into her clothing. A large gash in the cloth is left in its wake. The force and the motion of the dagger pins the Varati woman to one of the few remaining stalls, the blade driving into the wood. A red stain sluggishly appears from within the cloth, suggesting some sort of physical damage to Maat.
At their master's command, the two pirates mauled by the bear scurry away. Roaring triumphantly before taking off at a decent trundle, the bear makes his way towards Maat. A few moments of shifting and the creature becomes a Sylvan. Soft-Feather takes the dagger and pulls it out of the wood, kneeling to gently ask the woman if she is alright. He spies the blood, of course, but it may not be serious...
With the pirate's blade held slightly too firm via the leather armour and the Atlantean's padded flesh within it and Kekipi's blade thrust further into the Pirate's torn shoulder, more splintering and cracking of bone ensues. It's most unpleasant to see the Head Troll and the filthy pirate engaged in such a brutal act, but war is war. With both hands, Kekipi grasps the bloodied pommel and thrusts the blade deeper, needless to say the Troll Blue that Kekipi wears is now mostly Troll purple given the Pirate and Atlantean red that stains it. A fashionable mix were it not quite so painful. Though as the dying pirate slips from before Kekipi to slump onto the wet and reddened cobbles, Kekipi pretty much does the same albeit in a reserved manner as he reaches out to grasp a hold of the remains of a nearby stall to steady himself and clutch at his side, "Kill them all, spare no quarter to any that remain!", though his voice isn't quite as brisk as before, "All healers, tend to the wounded and get them to the safety of the Guild Hall...swiftly dammit.", as Trolls and Atlantean guards alike deal with the aftermath and retreating pirates.
Maat's injuries are difficult to fully assess, given the quantity of wet cloth on her body. The wound could be deep and simply be soaked up with the multiple layers of cloth or it could be shallow. Maat will need tending in the Guild Hall for certain. "Help me up," she orders Soft-Feather.
The main source of immanent danger gone, that would be Thuyavan's cue to start moving in. Rubble, blood, bits of unmentionable battle-detritus and even worse things make the sea-slick bridge treacherous, but that's no deterrence to the priest. He has to catch himself from slipping once or twice, and the edge of the red kaftan becomes that much more red for being so close to the ground, but that doesn't matter either. What /does/ matter is the nauseating efflux of *pain* from all directions. The younger Varati hustles to keep up with the older, hand carefully near the yataghan at his waist. The only trouble is -- who first? The man who seems to be in charge? Too touchy a situation, maybe. The Varati woman pinned by a dagger? That'll do. Thuyavan, trailed by the Akhund, approaches the Qadi. A little out of breath, "Imphada..." Ignoring the Sylvan.
Soft-Feather does as he is told, helping Maat up carefully, mindful of the damage done and not wanting to make it worse. Due to all of the shifting in a relatively short period of time, he's a bit tired but he's got enough left in him for this. As Thuyavan approaches, he merely acts as a study leaning post/source of support, remaining quiet unless spoken to.
Bellona hazards an approach to the bazaar, once the battle seems to have withdrawn.
Alastor flies back down into the remnants of the fray, having watched from above. His expression is helpless, and he picks his way through the debris, looking for the entryway to the Pons Colour.
Maat reaches up to grab her side, though she can obviously feel the pain, so there isn't anything other than a grunt produced as she is aided to stand by Soft-Feather. "The Guild hall," she commands. "Where is a healer when you need one?" Obviously, her injury hasn't taken the battle off her axe.
"Imphada," Thuyavan offers, a little louder, "I am a healer." He stands off to the side a little -- maybe she really does want to go to that guild hall.
Soft-Feather nods slowly, "As you command." Truth be told, he has no idea who the woman is...just that she's hurt. As Thuyavan offers his services as a healer, though, the Sylvan hesitates, "Would you prefer to be healed inside, out of the chaos miss? Or take care of it here?" He offers her an encouraging smile; it's going to be alright.
Kekipi looks through the dead and wounded, Trolls, Pirates, Atlantean Guards, stallholders and more. The pirates are of course completely ignored. Even more often than not simply trod on with all his weight as Kekipi makes his slow way, bloodied hand against his reddened side to the first Troll on the ground, the bloodied fellow pulled over to prevent him from drowning in the slight and red water that covers the cobbles. The order goes out from Kekipi and those other senior Trolls to those who are still walking to start carting their own and others back to the Guild Hall, carts and wagons if any remain are made into ambulances and laden with the wounded. The Bridge abuzz with activity as others take up posts to protect against another attack alongside their Atlantean counterparts who will certainly be looked on with a certain warmth when this is all over and done with.
Bellona keeps her wings tucked in tight and moves carefully, trying her utmost to avoid staining her fine ivory chimere as she joins those trickling in to help in the aftermath. Soon, she follows the flow of people towards the Guild hall.
After the chaos, after the all-out fight, after the chase and rebounding attacks, there is still plenty left. Like most others, and like all the Trolls, Ahote had joined the fight - and the chase - and has taken her share of those that raided. And likewise, she has taken her share of hits. And despite the fact that the wolf would rather continue the chase and finish the job properly, she has duties that must be attended to. Still more than content to remain in wolf form, she makes her way back to the central area, looking a bit more ragged than usual. Stepping delicately and easily around the dead bodies, most given only a small glance, she follows her nose towards Kekipi, shifting fluidly. Silent, as she most often is, she doesn't wait to be told what to do, but instead begins to help load the wounded on the few intact carts remaining.
He's not quite pretty today. He stumbles through the chaos, a limp clutching at one leg and tugging down what is usually such a light and graceful stride. It's because there's a gash across his leg, cut through his pants and dug in to the flesh that resides beneath, a stain of red not so intentionally artificial seeping outward and down. His wings are a mess. They'll clearly have to be redone, feathers missing in several places and others also hued with the colors of dried and still dripping blood. Even his hair, normally so well kept is tousled and tossed, his brow bruised and apparently bludgeoned with the bulb of a swollen mass sticking proudly out above his left eye. One thing though at least is consistent in Aurelio... he's still smirking. Wide from almost one ear to the other the expression slants across his face as he chuckles, barking laughter through the wince of pain that accompanies each step, dragging a reddened cutlass across the ground behind him. "Aye! They paid for every bit o' it they did! In one fashion or another!" The declaration sends him in to a bit of a fit of coughs, perhaps he's got a broken rib or too as well, but he hardly seems to mind.
Maat says, rather grumpily, "Heal me here. I would much rather not walk around bleeding into my clothing." She sits back down onto the wet, algae-ridden stones. "We are definitely going to have to hold a special fund-raiser and sell some slaves."
Soft-Feather isn't exactly fond of the idea of slavery but keeps his mouth shut. His jaw taught, he merely nods to the woman as he helps her back down. Quite naked, due to all the shifting, he feels a little embarrassed in this mixed crowd. Thankfully Jacqua comes striding over with the soiled blue robes in hand, giving them over to the Shifter. Soft-Feather thanks him, dons his Troll uniform (specially tailored), and kneels once more. "Do you require any other aid?" Sensing that she is now someone of importance, he looks to the healer. "Will she be alright?"
Alastor shakes his head at the carnage, and then all of a sudden he finds the man he was looking for. "Boss! Boss, the shop.... I'm afraid it might have been flooded. They were everywhere, and I'm useless in a fight, so I had to fly off until they were gone." His eyes are frantic, saying, effectively, "Please don't fire me, boss, I'm a coward. A tailor, not a fighter."
Kekipi catches sight of Ahote as he moves to assist, even if one arm remains pressed about his waist to apply a certain pressure to his gashed side. Well alright hinder and he realizes it as he steps aside to oversee and list somewhat dangerously to the side, "Good work Troll...", his gruff and forced words slip through his sharp teeth to assail Ahote, "...took some doing but we got them on the run, we'll have to thank the Ephorate of course...damn fine timing of theirs.", his words forced from his lips like reluctant lemmings from a cliff, "...they got you too, make sure you see a healer as soon as possible...and oversee the arrest of any wounded pirates if you would, bind them tight...there are three patrols at your disposal.", course his eyes do flicker towards Aurelio, the mass of colour, even if somewhat disheveled, cannot be missed.
If the brusqueness of Qadi disturbs the healer, he makes no sign of it. Rather, Thuyavan simply asks, "Your hand, Imphada." Healer or no, he's not about to go groping a woman's body.
Maat makes a twitching motion with her fingers before she hands her hand to Thuyavan. The sound of something metallic moving within the folds of cloth on her arm can be heard.
"Alastor, me boy!" Aurelio raises both arms in a celebratory welcome and greeting, another round of laughter and another fit of coughing sounding from within his chest and throat. He even waves his cutlass in the air a bit, circling it through the sky with a rotating wrist. "Aye lad, do shut up, can't ye see I do be bleeding here?" The grin doesn't vanish though, that smirk that stays long and wide as surely as the gash that rests struck across his left thigh. "They may not o' brought any coin, but they did pay for every bit o' fabric they took!" he boasts again, limping forward to clasp the younger man's shoulder with his free hand, giving it a firm squeeze while his eyes look past, surveying the damage to both structure and populace and noting and nodding toward Kekipi. "Aye no, I won't be firing you. Though we will be having our work cut out for us here to make up for the likes o' what was lost."
Thuyavan, curling his fingers gently around the woman's hand, focuses on his task. Another ship of seadogs would have to wash up on shore to disturb him right now. The Akhund stands guard over the vulnerable Nabi, eyes sharp over the congratulatory, wounded and confused crowd.
Soft-Feather gets the impression that he's no longer needed, given the lack of response and the healer has things under control. He rises then, moving off towards Kekipi. He bows his head deeply, "You are wounded. There is a healer over there, helping her," he gestures towards Maat. "Perhaps he will help you when she is done?"
Strangely enough, despite the carnage, Ahote seems to be a bit lighter than usual. After laying another down, she smirks in Kekipi's direction, "I'll see a healer soon enough. Got plenty of other things t'do before then, though. An' I assure you, any sea scum left will be taken care of. Crowded cells t'night, eh?" She too is drawn towards the spectacle Aurelio makes, rolling her eyes in a near-enough good natured way. She moves off to the next, treating the wounded man softly and helping him limp towards another cart.
Alastor nods, relieved. "I'll go in and start sorting through the material. I'll bring out anything that I think is a total lost cause. Thanks for understanding, boss. I guess I'd better get trained up on the sword or something. Certainly wasn't expecting anything like this..." blah blah blah. Alastor isn't usually like this. He must be pretty shook up. He trundles off, muttering to himself, resigned to his menial sorting and cleaning tasks.
Maat is injured and is obviously grumpy about the entire process. She doesn't even bother to thank Soft-Feather when he leaves. She waits for Thuyavan to finish, unmoving, though from the sag of her body, it would seem that the physical exertions of the afternoon have drained her immeasurably. "Thank you," she says to the Atarvani when he moves his hand away from hers.
Kekipi nods at Ahote's words, "Too true, more than enough to make an example of...keep up the good work, you are in charge of the Bridge currently Troll Ahote, if there is time and enough men, see if you can't send a small contingent to help put out the fires over to the south, the north is at present blocked to us.", though with Soft-Feather's arrival the gruff Troll merely waves his free hand in a no nonsense manner, "...oh there are Trolls worse off than me, it is best they are treated first...I am mostly made up of fat and opinions, the wound cut deep but cut little.", he offers with a firm nod, "Aid Troll Ahote, see that all is done for our fallen brothers, she will guide you right as she has done many another over the years Troll Soft-Feather."
Thuyavan nods in acknowledgement, murmuring, "It is my honor to serve." Then, the woman's hand relinquished, he steps back and looks for the next patient. From the lack of exhaustion on the older Atarvani's features, it would seem that either Maat's wound was not as bad as it might have been or he controls a goodly amount of power within himself. Still wary of touching any non-Varati uninvited, he drifts hither and thither, tending the minor bruises and cuts of shopkeepers and the like for now.
Soft-Feather merely nods, the shifting Magus submitting himself over to the authority of Ahote. He may be more powerful magically, which explains the slight awkwardness of taking her commands, but time and maturity have taught him it is never shameful to submit to one who is more knowledgeable. "How may I assist?" He makes eye contact, trying to get a feel for the woman.
"Aye, lad... that wasn't a dismissal...!" It's called after Alastor's retreating form, the rainbowed Empyrean's brows knitting together in a moment of confusion and consternation. But it passes and he decides to simply let the youth go if that's what he wants to do. In the mean time it's that staggered stride that begins taking him toward this apparent assemblage of Trolls, his head dipping down to measure his pace, to watch his step as he maneuvers past and around others perhaps less mobile than he. "Bloody work this does be." A general statement, but as he nears them and his head lifts any trace of the smile that normally adorns his face has vanished. It's been replaced by a hard and grim line, small and taut, eyes narrowed and carrying more a glint of steel than the shimmering and lively dance they might normally possess. "Might there be anything ye will need an extra hand with, me sir Troll?" It's addressed directly toward Kekipi, though others too, Ahote and Soft-Feather, regarded with glances of acknowledgement and remembrance.
Indeed; the former Graisha isn't as in control of her magic as many others are, but like those in her position, is comfortable enough with the fact. The shift of power doesn't seem to affect Ahote much, though one might just notice the slightest of authoritive stances taking over her. Meeting Soft Feather's gaze without a problem, she glances about a moment, taking in the number of visible wounded, which continues to dwindle as more are carted off. "Let's finish here first. All the wounded that can't make it on their own, help to the carts." She glances towards Aurelio once again, though as it is Kekipi he addresses, she says nothing in regard to him.
Announcement: Finally, after what seems like an eternity, the smoke billowing above Parnassus is fading as the fires are tended to. The bridge is swamped with water and ruined shops and rumor is carried from the outskirts of town that the fields, full with summer's bountiful crop, are in almost total ruin. The Varati continue to work on their own ruined city and the injured and dead throughout the region are being seen to by healers and family.
Kekipi nods to the approaching and colourful Empyrean, "There are many an Atlantean, shoplifter and Troll that needs assistance...if you would aid them in getting to the Guild Hall that would be for the best, see Troll Ahote who is currently the senior Troll...plus seek out some assistance for yourself, you look like you could use it.", his webbed hand still doing little to plug that gash in his side as he steps back to leave to the trolls to their tasks, another nod offered to Aurelio as he takes his leave to settle his bleeding self down beside one of the burnt and broken stalls off to the side, beside him an old friend and very dead comrade-in-arms. His deep wound leaving him a little well...useless in the wake but he has faith in those other Trolls who continue to work.
Soft-Feather nods simply, moving off to do as he's been told. A cry of pain catches his attention from farther down the Bridge. Following it, the Sylvan finds himself standing at the food of a broken cart, its heavy mass having fallen down on the mongrel that was hiding beneath it. Attempting to lift it up and over, he grunts in frustration. "Too heavy...hold on," he reassures the woman pinned underneath. Taking a deep breath, he allows his magic to flow into his legs and arms, starting the shift from man to bear. Suddenly capping it in-between shapes, with his body now stronger, taller, broader, and furrier, Soft-Feather lifts the cart up with ease, setting the broken mass off to the side. His form shrinks back to its normal shape and he helps the woman to the nearest cart bound for the Guild Hall.
Soft-Feather can't help but think of the similarities...he once met a man who helped lift a cart off of Sharpclaw, but that was ages and ages ago. He wonders who Geridan is doing...
Alastor emerges from the debris carrying an armful of reddened cloth. "Boss, I think I can salvage these. We can just dye the rest of it red, like the stains, and then...." And he sees that Aurelio is talking to Kekipi. "Oh, sorry to interrupt," he says, hanging his head a little bit. "Is there something more important I should be doing?" he asks sheepishly, feeling foolish now for agonizing over fabric.
"Aye." is his response to the troll, watching and seeing the man off in time to have Alastor run back up to him. It's that same grim face he turns to meet the younger man, a face perhaps never seen before by the youth, but it's there still. So it is that his head simply shakes from side to side, a slow gesture, measured by more than just lost fabrics. "Aye, I did already lock down most o' what could be saved before I did come out here. Made sure the money was secure an' my masterworks tended to... The rest does be replaceable but... that doesn't concern the likes o' us at the moment, me boy. For now, there does be something more important ye should be doing... lending a strong back to those that don't be having one right now. There do be folks that need helping in to those carts." and he nods towards the ones indicated by the now resting Head Troll. "An' Ahote, who he tries to wave down and summon over, "I do be sure will have tasks for the both o' us, hmm?" And yes it is a question voiced in her direction.
Maat rises, after her healing and makes a survey of the area. Stridently, her voice calls out, mobilizing various merchants who are still adrift in the aftermath. "Good work, Trolls. Toss any splinters off the Bridge. Save as many stalls as possible. Let's save the good merchants some money. Trolls, get some of the people in the cells out to start sweeping this algae off the Bridge. I know we have them. I calculated their fines. Who knows what sort of disease it can give us."
Time passes and various Varati are healed by the Nabi Thuyavan. The stronger men then join in the effort of hauling the wounded onto carts while the women head for family and safety. The healer himself seems to have reached the limit of his power, and he leans heavily on the stoic Akhund. "It's time to leave." The younger man speaks firmly, and the older doesn't argue. The two priests head back north.
Soft-Feather fleetingly wonders about his own family, whether or not the fire spread to the Moho forests or not. Maybe LightHope was hurt in the man fires that spread rampant through the city? Such fears, while worrisome, are quickly put aside. He has a job to do.
She takes stock of the situation again, emerald eyes roving over those still here, including Thuyavan and Maat, though she's quick to leave the Council member alone; if Maat needs her, no doubt the Varati will make it known. Her attention is stolen by Aurelio once again, who earns himself a quick appraisal in Moon Curser's typical fashion; a slight narrowing of the eyes in scrutiny and an expression that could certainly be seen as arrogant, though those that know Ahote well enough know it is far from that. "Jus' help where you can. Plenty left to do...if you care t'help your fellow bridge members, I'm sure many could stand t'see some help with picking up what's left of their wares. Though, if that isn't to your tastes," she smirks, "There are still wounded t'be helped an' dead to be stacked until we're ordered to do something with them or their own come for them." Speaking of orders...She huffs as Maat calls for the Trolls to perform what Ahote considers janitorial services but doesn't argue, instead barking out, "Y'heard her, Trolls. Start cleanin'. Soft Feather," she calls out to the shifter to gain his attention. "There's some troublemakers in the frontal cells - take a few others and bring them out."
Soft-Feather was in the process of carrying a young Sylvan boy to a medical cart when Ahote called out new orders. Nodding to another Troll and handing the boy off to him, the shifter changes direction and heads for Troll headquarters. "I obey," he nods to Ahote as he passes by, soon slipping into the building.
Maat walks over to Ahote. She says, as she continues to survey the damages, "Anyone who wants to safely store goods can do so in the Guild Hall or we can try to locate a warehouse. However, we'll be charging a premium for the service. Not a lot of goods left, so I don't think storage space is going to be a problem."
Alastor looks down at the cloth hanging limply in his arms, and then surveys the carnage around him. Should have been pretty clear from the start, but Alastor is in shock right now. He scurries off to put the cloth away, calling over his shoulder, "Right, I'll get right on it." A moment passes, and he returns, sans cloth, and heads to the nearest cart. Alastor isn't the strongest Empyrean alive, but he's got enough strength to lift a few bodies in an emergency.
With orders given out then and people moving to follow through on them, so does Aurelio. He nods to Ahote and Maat as well and then follows after Alastor for now, helping to perhaps keep an eye on the boy and calm him down a bit, give him a familiar presence amidst the chaos and carnage around him. Wouldn't do to have one of his workers going crazy, would it? So he begins helping load people in to the cart too. That smile still hasn't returned to his features and it doesn't look like it's going to for quite some time today. "Aye, don't worry lad. Just try an' be calm about it. The world does have its ugly parts, but luckily, they do be in short supply when compared to the beauty it can offer, hmm?"
"As you say, Imphada," Ahote half bows, using the term of respect. She doesn't need to acknowledge Soft Feather, though an affirmative glance in his direction should be enough. She's growing a bit impatient with everything, but that's nothing unusual; she'd rather be out chasing down the crooks than here. She stands a moment longer, waiting to see if Maat has anything further for her.
Alastor smiles at his mentor, as best as he can while grunting under the weight of a bloody Varati corpse. He's sharing the burden with another, less pristine and anonymous companion, but even so, Varati are just... large. "That reminds me. I owe a visit to a woman I met at Celerity's wedding." *whump* The corpse gets dumped into the cart unceremoniously.
