Date: July 16, 1998
Place: Seaside and Border, Western Docks, West Seaside, Beach - Haven
Cast: Argivus, Blackpatch, Dante, Giraldine, Harmonia, Little-Two, Mehmet, Oria, Pelagria, Pulbious, Proudwing, Riva, Winter-Oak
Scene: The docks are set ablaze and the Atlantean Ambassador, Pelagria, is murdered.

Two disreputable looking men appear, one pushing a cart. They are strangers to the city. They make their way south toward the road which, for obvious reasons, has been called Seaside.

Pulbious says, "Where d' we leave the boat?"

Blackpatch says, "Arr!"

They go west along Seaside until they reach Border. Sails and ship masts greet their vision as they travel west to the main docks.

[Western Docks - Haven]

Pulbious mutters, "Cheese it, the Hound!"

Blackpatch follows close behind, or occasionally to the side. He's got, clenched in one hand, a half-full bottle of another sort of pungent stuff, which he swigs now and again. "Shut yer clap!" he hisses to Pulbious, looking almost immediately suspicious.

Pulbious pushes on whatever errand calls him. The docks stretch further west... to the western edge of the docks along Seaside.

[West Seaside - Haven]

Pelagria is walking quietly from the beach area and heading towards the east, her expression seeming almost distant as if deep in thought.

Blackpatch travels in from the main docks to the east. Riva follows from the main docks to the east.

Pelagria is walking slowly towards the east, seeming to be deep in thought.

Pulbious pushes his barrow out towards the docks, picking up speed as he goes.

Riva comes quickly along, almost on the heels of the two men, not losing sight of them as her triad mates keep pace with her.

Pelagria stops suddenly as she takes a step towards the side, her gaze falling upon Riva with a curious expression before her gaze flickers over the street slowly.

Blackpatch whispers back, "...ck', we're outnumbered."

Pulbious looks around from person to person.

Pelagria folds her hands neatly in front of her as she begins walking once more, no Korallion guards in tow, just herself as she continues along her eastward journey, trying to keep her distance from the obviously busy men.

Blackpatch follows close behind Pulbious and his wheelbarrow, taking long swigs from the nearly emptied brown bottle he carries with him. Nearly everybody the drunken mongrel passes is subjected to a rather unnerving one-eyed glare.

Riva seems to be following two men down the street, one a mongrel in the uniform of the Varati navy, in poor condition. Two of her triad accompany her and one is looking intently toward the west, expectantly.

Pulbious pushes his barrow out towards the docks, picking up speed as he goes. "Well, w' don'cha do sumthing." He mutters, tossing the words over his shoulder as he brushes close to Pelagria.

Pelagria blinks slowly as Pulbious brushes closely by her, trying to step out of the man with the cart's way as she watches him curiously.

Riva approaches the two men again, in a more obvious manner. This time there is no pleasantry offered. "Stop a moment if you please." The words which would otherwise sound polite have an edge to them.

From the west, a second triad comes to bear on the area, counterpoint to the group Riva walks with. They move quickly, timing themselves to meet her as she comes closest to their direction.

Blackpatch grumbles audibly to the wheelbarrow-pusher, "Wind in yer sails thar, Pulby." The scruffy mongrel then turns, his posture not improving one whit as he faces Riva and voices loudly, his breath smelling odiferously of cheap liquor, "Whardya want, lady? Can'cha see we be on important bursness hereabouts?"

Pulbious mutters "... no lady... Hound."

Riva says, "So would seem. Would like to know where you got your uniform from. You don't have the look of one of the Varati navy."

Pelagria begins to slowly walk away from the two men as she moves closer towards Riva and the other Korallion guards, her eyes never seeming to leave the two strangers.

Oria comes to bear on Riva's position, motioning for her triad to take up defensive positions, her eyes finding the man who speaks to Riva so impolitely.

The two Atlantean sentries with Riva stand at the ready, triads not at their usual neutral manner. Foot traffic along the street seems to be diminishing... odd that... someone possibly diverting the flow might cause such a drop off.

Pulbious mutters, "Forken shoot, do sumthing Blackie."

Blackpatch takes a careful moment to squint down at his clothing, his one good eye obviously bleary with drink. "Wharrr!" he exclaims, waving his bottle as he speaks. "I dun winned it fair and shquare, I tell ya! Bones at the 'Song, an all. Are ye wantin' to be rollin' me for 'em? I got me bones right here in me pouch." Blackpatch whispers "Be gettin' to the docks, mate! I's holdin' 'em!"

Pulbious drops the handles of the barrow and spins, reaching out to grasp Pelagria before she passes out of reach. "I'll hold this un!"

Riva stands lightly on the balls of her feet and smiles... almost sharkishly as her eyes narrow. "Oh? Then from whom did you win such a treasure, for the loss of a uniform to the likes of ye, from its true owner...is little worth the price he'd pay on return to the ship....." A muffled expletive hisses out as tridents rise in unison. "Let her go," comes the quick demand.

Pelagria blinks, looking shocked and surprised as the man grabs her arm, a look of complete astonishment crossing her face.

The barrow cart, guideless, begins to roll slowly downhill, toward the docks.

Pulbious pulls Pelagria into his grip with one arm. A rusty and ragged blade comes to the scruffy man's other hand, and he brings it to almost touch the woman's throat. "Leave me be!" he yells, panicked.

Blackpatch curses loudly, "Dagnabbit, Pulbie!" His own blade, too, is fumbled into his hand as he glances cluelessly between his partner, the hostage, and the rolling cart.

Pelagria's eyes widen in astonishment as she tilts her head upwards, her gaze falling onto the man's arm holding the knife before looking towards Riva with an almost irritated expression, her lips never parting to utter a word.

Argivus travels in from the main docks to the east.

Oria motions to her triad, and they begins to approach the man, hoping his liquor induced stupor is enough to mask her actions.

Riva speaks in a calm tone. "The one you hold is one who has always treated ones such as you with respect? This is how you repay her? Holding a knife to her throat? Back away."

The tridents are lowered but shields are held upright to block any thrown knives.

A cruciform shadow swoops to the pavement in the dockside area. The avian Hound glances around quickly at the scene, his gladius already drawn. He looks to the Korallion Captain with an inquisitive look, and then quickly back at the situation.

Pulbious begins to back towards the beach, his arm still around Pelagria and the knife pressed to her throat. "Don't come near us! Get ye back, or the fish dies! Keep back!"

Two triads of Korallion sentries, led by Riva and Oria face two men who hold knives, one holding Pelagria at knifepoint as hostage.

Pelagria tries to remain calm throughout this ordeal as she keeps her hands folded neatly in front of her, her steps calm and calculated as she moves backwards as Pulbious pulls her.

Blackpatch puts his back to Pulbious', sneering at the Korallion Guards closing on them. "Arr, get yer scurvy arses back!" he threatens, knife held ready.

Pulbious' eyes roll as the Hounds gather. His voice raises to almost a shriek of panic. "Run fer it, Blackie!" Pulbious pulls the woman back as he retreats down the winding path towards the beach.

[Beach - Haven]

Pulbious pulls the woman back. "Stay away from me. All a yea. I've served m' time. I deserve me freedoms! Get back."

An airborne Hound darts over the sand, keeping a watchful eye on the mongrels. He is followed by a unit of Hounds on foot.

Riva follows with triads but, for the sake of the hostage, not closely. From the look of concentration on the Atlantean's faces, one could safely assume there is a rapid conversation in progress.

Pelagria holds her hands up as she finally speaks in a calm and soothing voice, "It is all right. Do not approach these men any closer. If you back away I am sure they will see just how reasonable you are and allow me to go about my business."

Argivus raises a graceful yet callused hand to halt his fellow Hounds at a safe distance from the ambassador and the captor.

Behind Pulbious, Blackpatch inches closer to the runaway barrow, his good eye alternating between squinting at the approaching horde of guards and his partner. "Don't ye dare let them fish mess with yer head, Pulbie!" he warns loudly.

Pelagria says in her typically soothing, soft voice, "There is no need to worry, sir. The guards will be leaving and will not approach you unless you do something illegal."

Riva says, "Careful man, careful. You don't want to have an accident. No one is messing with your minds, only ordering the men to keep distances."

Pulbious' vacant, scruffy gaze looks out over the surrounding might. "A fish in the brain or a sword in the head, makes no difference. I ain't going alone if they try anything!"

Argivus, the tension radiating from his face, glances edgily from Riva to his men and back to the ruffians.

Oria frowns, clearly displeased, but she moves back, keeping herself and her triad close to Riva, but spaced enough to strike if it's required.

Winter-Oak walks down the winding path from Haven and steps onto the beach.

"Ah seen it, Pulbie!" Blackpatch seems especially frantic, but he's almost right next to the wheelbarrow now. "Ah seen 'em pop a mate's head like a grape, arr!" His booze bottle long since dropped, he fumbles at his pouch.

Little-Two walks down the winding path from Haven and steps onto the beach.

Slow, laboring steps bring Winter-Oak closer to the tense scene below. He steps aside, letting the little girl pass his plodding progress, should that be her wish.

Argivus quickly catching sight of Little-Two barks an order in a very un-Empyrean croak, "Keep that child out of the way!"

Pulbious' eyes widen, all circled in whites now. "Avast ye!" He pokes the knife frantically, drawing a thin trickle of blood from Pelagria's throat. "I can feel um in me head! It feels like a fishy drunk coming on!"

A tense situation exists at the docks. Triads of Atlantean guards are at a distance from two desperate looking men backing away, one with a wheelbarrow, and one with a knife held at the throat of Ambassador Pelagria. Hounds are present as there seems to be a bit of impasse.

Pelagria's eyes widen with shock as the man pokes her throat with the knife, her hands clenching together as she tries to remain still.

Argivus treads air at a double arm's length above his contingent of Hounds.

Little-Two's eyes widen, and looks about quickly in the large crowd for someone she knows and can cling to. She grips Winter-Oaks' hand, drawing close to him, watching, eyes wide, jaw dropped.

Without reaching out to touch the child, a lone Hound of Sylvan-birth stalks slowly to her side to place her body between the armed desperadoes and the child, well away from the hostage.

Winter-Oak mutters, "Oh... Don't look!"

"Ah'm goan' fer it, Pulbie!" comes Blackpatch's crazed yell as he whips something from his pouch, a chunk of flint, and scrapes it along the entire edge of his longknife. A spray of snapping sparks fly from the ruined edge of his blade onto the wheelbarrow's contents, which rewards the mongrel's effort with an enormous FWOOSH! of flame!

Pulbious startles, and screams. He shoves the knife deeper into the woman and drops her, turning to race away.

Oria rushes forward, her triad following the man (Pulbious) quickly, her companions drawing weapons as they take the trail.

Triads roar and spring forward, regardless... Pelagria Amaris knifed. A keening sound issues from the throat of one who was from her Decemvirate. Others pull back tridents, preparing to let fly.

Pelagria's eyes widen with terror as the knife plunges deeper into her throat, her lips parting as an almost silent scream of anguish can be heard echoing through the minds of any near enough who are sensitive to telepathy. Pelagria's hands immediately go out in front of her as the Atlantean Ambassador collapses to her knees.

Little-Two reaches a fisted hand outward towards the wounded, the Hound still very much in the way. "No!"

Winter-Oak reaches forward, offering to hide the child's face. "Don't watch."

Blackpatch screams something, lost amidst the roar of the flaming contents of the wheelbarrow, who's handles he grips as he begins a wild, jouncing sprint down the dock, splashing globs of flaming goo everywhere behind him. "Wind in yer sails, Pulbie!" he cries, as he seems to be heading toward a large stack of crates and barrels near the moorings of a small grain barge.

Little-Two tries to push away from Winter-Oak and the Hound, reaching out towards Pelagria. "No! No!!"

The Hound contingent moves forward in a well-regimented run. The sole airborne Hound sweeps toward the fugitive mongrels.

"Aiiiiii!!" Pulbious' back is to the Hounds as he flees in terror towards the one he called 'Blackie'. "Run! Aiiii!!"

Pelagria looks up slowly, her gills badly ripped from the knife as the blood begins pouring from her throat, her eyes wide with panic and pain, her naturally light skin seeming to become even paler by the moment.

Argivus tugs swiftly at the air with the desperation of a drowning man in tumultuous waters.

Triads move to block the path of these scurvy drunks intent on a suicide course and doing as much damage as they can along the way. A thrust of a trident is aimed to trip while a second is aimed to pin the Blackie's foot to the dock. More triads, summoned from their dock-side patrol in the water emerge to shove some of the budding fires and fuel into the water, others slapping wet uniforms hastily stripped from their wet bodies against the blazes, loincloths girding them still.

Riva moves to kneel beside Pelagria, trying to staunch the blood with her hands, shock dilating her eyes as this blows up into such an incident.

Little-Two squirms away from them, sprinting towards Pelagria. She drops to her knees beside the Atlantean, opening her fists, quickly moving her hands towards the cut throat. "Not too late, not too late...."

Winter-Oak reaches out, futilely, "No child!" he calls. He does not try to follow her.

Pelagria reaches a trembling hand out towards Riva, the blood clinging to her skin as her eyes begin fluttering, as if threatening to lose consciousness.

Oria leads the triads to encircle the two men, the guards braving the heat and flame, the look of outrage blazing higher than the flames, weapons drawn to take the men, living or dead, that matters not at all, so long as they are taken.

As the avian Hound reaches directly over Blackpatch's head, he quickly curls his wings, tucking them tight against his body. His armored body drops quickly, slamming into the desperado pushing the flaming wheelbarrow. He then strikes blindly with his short sword.

Pulbious races out along the dock, leaping over coils of rope, crashing into startled sailors. The triads are at his heels, and only sheer panic keeps him in the lead. All the while he yells "Aiiii!!"

"Get to the..." Blackpatch's frantic scream to Pulbious is cut short as the winged Hound smacks solidly into him, sending the barrow rolling, bouncing, overturning, and splashing its flaming contents all over the stack of crates and barrels. Shock registers on the mongrel's face as blood bubbles from betwixt his lips, Argivus' blade jabbing through his back to spray intestines and other lovely organs onto the dock before him.

There's an ominous BOOM as the sparks drift down into the belly of a ship filled with dry winter wheat. A gout of flame as tall as a titan leaps from the hatch.

Little-Two lets out a startled scream at the boom, scrambling away.

That explosion could very well be followed by another, for amongst that stack of flaming cargo there not several barrels of shipwright's pitch? And three giant crates of good Sylvan grain, to boot?

Throughout the city of Haven a loud BOOM can be heard. It seems to have come from the dock area.

The triads or the best of them throw their weapons, a single spear coming close enough to make Pulbious its mark. The others move in, attempting to encircle him.

Riva bends over Pelagria and arches her neck back, her expression anguished as the life's blood seeps away despite her effort to stop it. She singles out one Atlantean and stares at him.

The frantic race of Pulbious comes to a slithering halt as a well-aimed trident strikes him in the back, sending him sprawling in his own blood.

Argivus tugs his gladius loose from the bleeding and burning mongrel, and flaps his wings in desperation to get away from the flaming mass of the docks. As he gets his body aloft, he releases a loud screech, a hawk-like shriek that can be barely heard above the roar of the fire. His wings are singed heavily and still burn, still tainted by some of the flaming goo. His ascent is cut short as he plunges downward into the surf.

Pelagria wraps her trembling fingers around one of Riva's hands as she stares into the woman's face.

Little-Two sits a bit further off, curled up in a trembling ball.

KAFOOM! A half-dozen barrels of shipwright's pitch combust and explode, the shaped wooden slats making an almost perfect container for the bomb, spraying splinters of wood and burning pitch everywhere. The docks are quickly becoming a deadly place to be.

Proudwing banks in over the beach, coming down in small dives but pulling up and away again when the pitch explodes once more. Rising once more to a safe height, he flies in a circular staying pattern around this area of the beach.

Half of the triad members move to surround the fallen man, weapons still at the ready should Pulbious decide he wishes to move, though their attention is focused on the burning beyond.

The contingent of Hounds quickly disperse to remove as many bystanders from the area as possible.

Oria moves quickly, pushing herself to the edge of the dock, face tightening with the heat as she prepares to dive into the water, ripping off her uniform.

Winter-Oak turns, abruptly, making what speed he can in leaving, pushing so hard that low grunting can be heard with every painful step.

Little-Two, frozen with fear, remains where she sits at the end of the dock, hugging herself.

Pelagria's eyes slowly close as the Ambassador and Heir-Apparent to the Amaris Decemvirate lies in a rapidly growing puddle of her own blood, her fingers, once wrapped around Riva's hand begin to slowly slip from the Korallion Captain's as her set of good gills slow their desperate attempt and providing oxygen for her body.

Dante glides in, a swift, vast night-shadow, and touches down with a light thud on the sand. He leaks a constant stream of muffled cursing.

Harmonia lands, the tips of her wings causing her to land lightly upon the sand. She takes a few steps back, trying to stand back and out of the way.

Winter wheat--the words are synonymous with prosperity in Haven. But the dry dust is far more volatile than most would suspect. The ship where the explosion occurs shatters, sending flaming flotsam raining down on the docks all around where it had been anchored.

Riva leans over Pelagria, trying to protect her from the flying shrapnel. A high pitched shriek, like the shrill tones of a whale ends in a gurgle as some of the flying wood finds a target in one of the triad members. Another howls as burning pitch turns him into a torch as it splatters over him. As for Riva, she could not move if she wished... something has pierced her fin and pinned her down.

With a flailing whirlwind of plumage, Argivus surfaces from the water amid a scattering of burning ship splinters. With a desperate grimace, he begins to swim toward the shoreline.

Oria dives into the water, gathering the guard around her, moving them out to gather whatever they can to put out the flames. Her eyes find Argivus, and she begins swimming towards him, ignoring the droplets and burns of fire that begin marking her skin.

Another explosion is easily heard throughout Haven--one of those explosions indicative of a burning grain barge. Smoke is filling the sky, and it looks as if the docks are aflame.

Little-Two slowly starts to crawl towards the beach, expression vacant.

Argivus disentangles himself from a pitchy, sludge-splinter mix and dogpaddles onward.

Blackpatch sprawls on the dock, both he and his scattered innards aflame and smelling none too pleasant. Not that the mangled mongrel notices, of course.

Dante swears violently and moves toward the blaze, trying to make out what in Tyche's name is going on.

Pulbious lies stunned for a time. Then suddenly he tries to pull himself away from the surrounding guards. "I won't go back! I done my time, I ain't going back!"

Far off in the distance, coloring the skyline (what is left of it, really) is a massive barge. It seems to pause a distance away from the docks, far enough that it doesn't enter into any danger, but close enough to at least see things ablaze.

Harmonia looks around, brushing her hair back behind her ears. She gets bumped about for a moment as others rush forward to help.

Pelagria's body finally gives in to its struggles as she lies limply on the docks, all life seeming to slip from her as she rests in a pool of her own blood, her once glorious garments now soaked thoroughly with crimson.

Proudwing continues to circle the beach with a path that keeps him well clear of the ship. The explosion still buffets him, but it is not beyond his ability to control. He observes for now, knowing full well there is no could he could serve by landing on the beach.

The triad members move to cage the man with their weapons, one attempting to reach for the spear still in his body and force it deeper.

Small fires burn in mast and on decks throughout the old Haven docks. One ship is fully engulfed, and the dock near it is rapidly catching fire.

Oria moves quickly, her body allowing her to move more quickly, and she reaches out to help Argivus, to lead him back to shore.

Indeed, it would be silly for the Memphis, the mighty barge so far off in the distance, to even come close to the fire, lest she catch ablaze as well. So her Captain, being very smart, drops anchor.

Chaos reigns here, blazing ships and crates, stench of burnt flesh and blood, people running and trying to put the fires out, ships weighing anchor and trying to move out of range of the flames and danger. Riva crouches protectively over a woman lying in a pool of blood, a long splinter of wood pinning her leg down for the time being... through a fin.

Argivus quickly accepts the aid of Atlantean, his face washed with relief.

"Aiiii!!" Pulbious lets out a death throttle as the spear in his body breaks some vital link twixt being alive and being a lump of dead meat.

Little-Two sits on the beach, hugging herself, rocking back and forth a bit, eyes not focusing on the carnage before her.

Flesh and clothes burn and melt away from Blackpatch's flaming corpse, for those who might glimpse those blackened bones amidst the inferno.

Dante charges over toward the Korallion captain, dropping to his knees and closing both fists over the wood splinter. Wild eyes try and make contact, arms bracing to yank the whole thing out.

Oria swims expertly, of course she couldn't do much else, considering, but she carries the man's weight well, swimming him up along the shore to ground, before she releases him, her eyes searching out her triad, face a mask of concentration as they begins to gather empty crates, barrels, whatever they can to scoop water from the tides and onto the burning docks.

Dock workers race to the shoreline, some reaching out to take Oria's burden from her. One yells out, "A hero!"

The Sylvan Hound quickly rushes down to where the small girl sits on the beach, and attempts to tug her to safety.

More crates of grain explode in balls of fire, shooting flaming splinters of wood in ballistic arcs onto nearby boats, people, and dock. The fire spreads.

Harmonia starts as another explosion lets loose. Her eyes go wide and she takes a few more steps back.

There is certainly something of a commotion on the ship far out at sea, but it cannot be seen from shore.

Little-Two allows herself to be tugged back, but shows no response to his touch.

The Sylvan Hound leads Little-Two to a safe distance from the inferno. His comrades begin cordoning the area off to keep out unwelcome bystanders. Several rush into buildings near the docks ordering people away.

The dark Empyrean cannot wait. Dante pulls the wood out of the captain's fin with a sharp jerk, nods shortly, and straightens to scan the sea. One more heavy breath and he's airborne to try and get a better view of the disaster.

Little-Two sits there, head tilted to the side, expression vacant, hugging herself, rocking back and forth.

Harmonia takes a deep breath, moving over to the young Sylvan and kneeling down. "Excuse me, are you all right?"

Argivus' wings are covered with pitch and wet soot. His face is blackened.

Pelagria remains there, laying lifeless in her own pool of blood.

And the Whip is at the helm of her own ship, watching the craziness on shore, but doing nothing to move towards it.

Oria slips back into the water, completely unable to move on land, and goes to help the men throwing water on the fires, ignoring the call of hero, from whomever and to whomever it was spoken.

Seeing that Little-Two has someone to watch over her, the Sylvan Hound rejoins his fellows in moving civilians from the area.

In an advantageous position already for this, Proudwing makes sure not to block Dante's climb up into the air. His observations continue. For once he not only has a job to do, he can do it.

The Hounds at the beach path begin to turn back one startled townsman after another, then pairs, and then dozens. All along the upper ridge one might, should one look, see spectators watching the battle of the blazing docks.

BOOM! Another explosion adds to the flame, as several barrels of Khalid Atar's favorite brandy combust and spray their flaming contents across the docks.

Little-Two doesn't answer Harmonia. She sits, just rocking.

Riva glances up to the one pulling at the splinter and nods as she speaks. "Thank you." She moves where she can help direct what is happening but remains protectively near Pelagria's body, lying in a pool of blood. Blood coats the guard captain's hands also. Flames lick along the boards as the brandy runs along to spread more to the maelstrom.

Argivus attempts to stretch his wings to join the several Empyreal Hounds above. His face knots with a quick reflex of pain. Seeing their uselessness, he wipes his brow with a forearm and joins the forces trying to move the citizens away from the hellish scene.

Harmonia kneels down, her wings lightly touching the sand. She looks at the Sylvan again, her light blue eyes trying to find some spark in hers. "Are you hurt anywhere?"

Little-Two's eyes are dull and vacant. Still, no answer.

Harmonia blinks, unsure at what to do at the moment. She only reaches out a hand and places it lightly on the Sylvan's shoulder, squeezing gently and unsure whether she is being silly for doing so.

Little-Two tilts her head a bit, resting it on Harmonia's hand.

The Memphis is at a far enough distance that only an outline of the ship and her sails can be seen. She has her anchor dropped at a safe distance and no movement towards shore seems to be coming.

Mehmet trots into the area, a troop of heavily armored, armed Agni-Haidar marching in quickstep behind him.

The winged ones circling above have an excellent view of the fire on the docks. It was the grain barges near shore that blew first. But far down at the seaward end of the dock are small fishing boats. On one, a small family struggles to break their ship free from the flaming wreckage which landed on their ship. The children huddle at the prow of the little boat, crying for their parents, who are caught aft, behind a wall of rubble and flame.

Parts of the docks are a veritable field of fire now. Those ships lucky enough to escape the spreading blaze are fortunate not to be counted among the blackened fingers of burning masts.

Mehmet barks out a quick staccato of commands, his troop breaking out into a trot, following after him. His level eyes scan for whomever may be in charge, as the group of Varati armed might moves towards the scene from Hell.

It seems as if every Hound in Haven has now gathered in the area. They have managed to line each of the accessible streets and are attempting to halt any unwarranted access to the area.

Mehmet and his troop of Agni-Haidar moves towards the line of Hounds, as if meaning to move past.

Riva speaks in a tone pitched to carry, "My men could use some help trying to put the fires out."

Argivus orders the Hounds to allow Mehmet and his troops immediate access to the area.

Mehmet's head bows, and then, "I will use fire to take out fire," as his troop moves past the line of Hounds, still maintaining a disciplined march.

Dante fires off over the water, just barely safe from the height of the flames, and drops onto the fishing boat. Partially protected by cuirass and greaves, he ducks through some wreckage to the wreckage and begins to dig at it with his short-sword.

On the fishing boat a frantic mother turns to Dante. "The shipbuilder's boom landed on us! We can't leave the dock! My babies will die!"

Oria lifts her head, corralling a few errant guards and beginning towards the mother's voice, allowing Dante to direct, but wanting to be close should there be need.

Dante swears venomously, freezing momentarily, and picks said babies up. Wrapping them in his chlamys, rapidly sweat-dampening from the heat, he shields them with his wings and leaps through the flames to drop them at their mother's feet. Beating pinions hard to wipe out any flame, he brandishes his blade again and begins to hack at any debris which isn't engulfed.

A singed, pitch-covered Empyrean in the wet uniform of a Hound utters a quiet, "We appreciate your help, imphadi." He then trots over to help beat out a flame-coated cart near the wharf.

Mehmet's ringing voice, almost lyrical, as his Agni-Haidar move around him protectively. "I will take out the fire... move away."

Blackpatch's blackened bones are all but lost in the raging flames.

Sparks fly through the air, some landing on the pitch covered wings of an Empyrean. There's a fragrance... smells like... Victory?

Mehmet thrusts his hands out to his side, turning into a rigid clench, sleeves of his robes falling away. A soft hymn seems to come from him, praising the glories of Fire, and his Living God, the Amir-al. Slowly, his hands raise, palms coming higher and higher.

Oria moves to assist Dante, her face frowning with pain as she pushes the ship away, trying to dislodge it, push it away from the docks, her skin darkening as it begins to burn from the heat, the water only making it worse.

Harmonia looks at Little-Two, taking a deep breath as some movement comes from her. She looks about, wondering what everyone else is doing. With a final glance, she turns back, placing her other hand on the girls head. "You all right?"

Little-Two shakes her head slowly, expression still distant.

Harmonia nods her head, taking her word for it as she has absolutely no idea what to do if the Sylvan had said yes. She takes another deep breath and looks about, her wings twitching slightly in the heat.

Little-Two sits quietly, hugging herself.

Harmonia looks about, then says in a quiet voice. "Well that makes one of us."

Little-Two looks at Harmonia fully for the first time.

Harmonia turns her eyes back to the Sylvan fully, expecting the girl to still be comatose. She looks a little startled as she notices the deep green eyes staring at her. She smiles a little, her smile warm and inviting. "Hello."

Little-Two doesn't smile back. She looks for a moment at the destruction, then back at Harmonia. "I want to leave now."

"Fish Lady, help!" A little boy's high voice cuts through the chaos for a moment, and a small bundle lands in the water near Oria.

Oria swims for the bundle, picking it up in her arms, not much looking at what it is, her eyes searching for the child's voice.

Dante barks down to Oria, none too gently. "Back! You'll bloody burn!" Sheathing the blade once more, he braces his hands on the best grips he can find and throws his weight into tearing the crippling wreckage apart. Fire licks at his feathers, but his wings beat hard enough to aid his push and delay the fire a little before it burns him, too.

Pelagria's dead body remains lying there in her pool of blood, her once-vibrant coral colored hair now clinging to the planks of wood which make her death bed, their color the deepest crimson of blood. The Ambassador's lifeless eyes remain only partially closed, her expression seeming so full of pain as her ripped gills expose the deep knife wound to her throat, the blood no longer trickling as there is no more to vacate, as there is no heart pumping to expose of the rest. Her soft, pale skin seeming almost transparent, and the once-white cloth of her sari now a startling blood red, only hints of its original color peeking through the carnage, the large flame-shaped diamond and coral pin seeming the only identifying marks of who this once graceful and gentle Atlantean woman once was.

Pulbious' scrawny hide burns merrily on into the night.

Mehmet's head bows slowly, as his hands begin to flicker with eldritch fires, fingers still clenched, as his voice continues singing his hymn softly. The Agni-Haidar move away from him slightly, still maintaining a vigilant watch.

Suddenly, those hands, glowing with eldritch fires come up across Mehmet's face, in a snapping clap. A huge explosion of fire roars into the air, the thunderclap seeming to have come from the Gods themselves, the roar of a raging inferno in the air burning into the corneas of whomever is watching.

There a sonic boom of sorts as the explosion snuffs out as quickly as it came, all the air rushing to the vacant spot--most of the fire is now gone, extinguished by the vacuum that was created by the huge conflagration. The residue of the inferno--much like gazing into the pits of Hell--stays with viewers' eyes....

Proudwing swings further away to begin circling in a different location as Mehmet's fire does its job. He's no intention of being burned by this solution to the problem or being pulled in by the wind it causes.

Mehmet crumples, the strong arms of a pair of his Agni-Haidar bodyguard catching him before he hits the ground in an undignified manner. His eyes, they seem to glow with the eldritch fires that rage through him, as he gazes upon the carnage.

The sound of terrified wailing comes from the bundle in Oria's arms. It squirms, and howls louder.

Oria holds the baby protectively, shielding it against her already badly-burned skin. her eyes still look for the child who called to her. She'll not leave without both of them.

Dante lifts a good section of the charred mast and heaves it over the side into the water, unsure whether or not it's ablaze and uncaring as well.

Riva reassigns her men to replace the dead and wounded, making intact groupings of three though fewer of them. The Atlanteans work silent among the chaos in effective teams. One female spins on her heel as a board, weakened by fire gives way beneath her and dumps her and a formerly-blazing crate into the rank water below. Filthy water coated in pitch and debris and splinters, littered with crates and kegs shoved in to try to restrain fires. Down the Atlantean guard plunges and does not come up. Her thoughts become a void.

Argivus guides a drunken sailor that somehow got missed during the dock clearing to safety on the other side of the Hound cordon.

The drunk pats Argivus' hands, "Thank ye, I'll not forget this."

Quite a sight through whatever devices the Captain is watching the shoreline through. The Memphis is still in waters covered in ashes.

Over the side of the ship comes the sounds of a scramble then a slip splash near Oria. A dog paddles near the fishing boat.

Oria moves over to pull the furred creature into her arms as well, her eyes sparkling with tears as she feels the taking of the void, her eyes wide and lost as she moves automatically, swimming both towards the shore.

Dante strains to clear enough rubble that the little family can make its way through, looking up and over his shoulder to view the afterglow of holocaust and any other tasks. His movements seem automatic, totally instinctual.

As if alone in a tranquil bay, a corked bottle--wine?--bobbles along on its serendipitous way. Debris-laden waters lap-slap against the shore and whatever pilings remain of the dock.

Mehmet's eyes snap up, as he shoves off the helping arms of his Agni-Haidar. The Imphadi can hold himself up, as he recollects his dignity. His softly lyrical voice comes, a bit hoarsely, as he snaps orders to his troops to help out.

Oria looks with relief as one of her triad meets her on the shore, taking bundle and boy both and carrying them to safety. Oria turns and dives back under the water, her thoughts, if you could hear, them screaming in fear at the loss of her last triad member.

Mehmet's gaze seems to blaze with his inner eldritch fires, almost unrestrained with the elemental fury. His hand, that he clenched so hard, blood drips from it to the ground, raises. Snap, snap, snap, snap goes his fingers. With each snap, a small explosion comes over the remaining fires, extenuating them.

Oria comes out of the water a long time after, carrying the guard's body, her face stricken as she swims her to shore.

Dante swears one last time, having cleared the path and seen the last of the fire, and launches his body raggedly into the air again. The stink of singed feathers explains his trouble steering, but he scans for further work to be done.

Argivus notices his rescuer's exit from the littered surf and orders two Hounds, an Atlantean and a Sylvan, to assist.

Mehmet sways a bit on his feet as his fingers continue snapping. Each snap has a resounding sonic boom, from explosions and vacuum. But, still, he maintains his footing. He would not dishonor himself and fall to the ground. Before his ability fades out, his eyes track upwards. All the fliers in the air suddenly feel a helping thermal updraft, the air heating under them.

What had been a raging fire a few minutes ago is now a smoldering, wrecked dock. A few ships are still afire below decks, but all flames within easy sight are surrendering to Mehmet's power.

Oria collapses next to the body of her triad member, her skin raw with burns and effort, her eyes almost glazed as she tries to rouse the woman, her thoughts subsiding into a low, wordless sound of loss.

Triads slowly start to gather themselves and assess the damage. Some pile barricades round some of the more dangerous, weakened spots. Two move to gather discarded and ruined uniforms, pausing only long enough to gather the rank and house pins before discarding the ruined material into rubbish.

Riva goes over toward the two who started this whole mess, looking at the dead and charred bodies. She is not so unemotional as she seems. She spits on the murderer's body before turning away. Her limping pace carries her toward the edge of the dock as she searches the location of particular remaining ships. One male from her group heads over to help Oria.

There is a glint of something metal in the remains of the man who stabbed Pelagria.

Riva makes sure all is doing as well as could be expected and nods to Oria and the Hound helping her. Her circular route brings her back to the glint she spotted when she spit on the body. A heel of a trident goes out so she can push the body enough to look closer.

There's a glint of metal in the remains of Pulbious. It comes loose easily from the body when Riva checks. It's not much, just a slim knife, fouled by soot and burned flesh.

Harmonia nods, "Aye, perhaps that is a good idea. Come, let us leave." She tries to help Little-Two stand, her wings flapping slightly to help.

Little-Two is weak, she tugs a bit on Harmonia to get to her feet.

Harmonia pulls as hard as she can, her wings flapping a few more times to help.

Again, Mehmet sways on his feet as his gaze slowly fades, his eldritch fires exhausted. Concerned, the Agni-Haidar reach out to support their Imphadi--only to be rebuffed by light slaps to their arms.

Argivus strides quickly toward Oria, his step indicating he has forgotten his pains for the moment, "We need a healer over here." While his words are echoed by many at various places around the dock, he seems to believe his the most urgent command. All this even though he hasn't checked either Oria or her deceased triad member for wounds.

Little-Two stands shakily, firmly holding Harmonia's hand. She slowly turns at the request of a healer.

Dante skims low over the charred hulls, eyes keen for any movement.

Oria looks up at Argivus gratefully, indicating her triad member, shaking her head, "I'm all right... Ylissa needs help. I can't wake her."

Harmonia uses her other hand to steady Little-Two. "Are you all right to walk?"

Little-Two pauses, not responding, looking over the wounded. "They need a healer."

Argivus squats by Ylissa, stretching his charred wings a bit for balance. He bends low over the body of the Atlantean, watching for signs of breath and damage. He then looks up and barks again, "Where's that healer?!"

Mehmet's head bows slowly, his hands disappearing into his sleeves as he approaches Argivus slowly, with his Agni-Haidar giving him concerned looks.

Most of the ships at the dock have pushed off. The panic of the boat people is put to good use, hard at work in the middle of the night, saving their livelihoods and lives.

Ylissa breathes, but shallowly, gills covered with soot and ash, Oria close at her side, looking stricken, pained, unable to help her.

Quietly, clinically, Mehmet's voice offers, "I can cauterize the wounds."

Harmonia speaks in her quietest voice, her eyes looking about at the carnage. "Aye, I only wish I could help."

Little-Two steps towards Argivus, dropping Harmonia's hand. "I could heal."

Argivus glances nervously at the High Priest and quickly back at Oria. At Little-Two's words, an expression of relief passes for a moment and then back at Oria. "The child?"

Harmonia nods her head, looking a little startled as her hand is roughly pushed away. "O..of course." She steps back, looking about again.

Mehmet gives a slow shrug, indentations made in his robes. "It is the Varati way. Healing by fire and pain." A slow nod of assent from his Agni-Haidar.

"I can heal..." Little-Two says again in a hushed tone, stepping closer.

Oria looks up at both man and child, then nods softly, "Please help Ylissa if you can... she won't... she's close to losing lifebreath."

Argivus stands, again using his singed wings for balance, and places his hand behind the child's back, "Please...."

Proudwing dips lower over the beach, his observations of the area continuing.

Oria moves back, allowing man or child to assist her triadmate, not allowing either to help her until she knows Ylissa is well.

Little-Two makes little fists, kneeling, opening her hands again. They are clearly shaking. She places one on Ylissa's chest, warmth spreading from her hand into the body.

Oria watches carefully, her eyes never wavering, not noticing the extent of her burns.

Ylissa begins to breath more evenly, her skin gaining better color, visibly improving.

Little-Two dips her head, eyes closed, thinking, concentrating on everything going back the way it should be, no pain, not pain, it will work this time, it has to, she's still alive this time.

Mehmet's gaze watches the events that unfold, his eyes cool and weary.

Oria sighs, looking about to speak, then shakes her head, looking up to Mehmet.

Harmonia tilts her head lightly, watching Little-Two work her magic.

Little-Two opens her eyes, picking her head up, looking to see how she's done.

Ylissa opens her eyes, coughing a bit, her gills opening and closing smoothly as she sits up, looking towards Oria.

Mehmet's salt and pepper eyebrows raise at Oria, as he returns her gaze evenly, his hands hidden by his sleeves.

Little-Two sits back, pale, exhausted, on the verge of tears.

Argivus releases a sigh of relief and then stares in amazement at the child for a moment. Whether his astonishment is from watching the healing or from realizing that he just heard her speak is not known.

Dante continues to circle overhead, now a ghosting night-phantom surveying the destruction's aftermath.

Riva taps the knife around with the heel of the trident, enough to get a good close look, noting the blade and handle for any markings. Her glance also moves to the remains of the other and the cart, eyes also seeking the pouch from which the flint was taken. Seems she has been round the docks too much, learning that scowl now imprinted on her features and the spitting from some of the landsiders directing the offloading of cargo. Has it down to the tilt of eyebrow and slight pinch of the nostrils.

Ylissa nods to Oria, and turns to the child, her voice soft, grateful, far from Oria's polite careful speech, "My thanks, young mistress."

Little-Two breaks down, sobbing, burying her face in her hands.

Oria sits quietly, settling herself back onto her side as she watches Ylissa, the woman in question reaching out to comfort the child.

Harmonia looks about at those around her to see if they are going to do something to comfort the child.

Argivus places a gentle hand behind the small girl's head and looks about for the Empyrean he'd seen her with earlier. He then notices that it is his arm that is encased in a caestus, quickly replacing it. His awkwardness with children is quite evident.

Little-Two responds to no one, curled up in a ball, weeping.

Triads move efficiently. One grouping respectfully covers Pelagria's body and gathers an appropriately shaped crate lid to carry her on.

Another slow nod from Mehmet, as he gazes around, lyrical voice coming softly,

"... Fire ...
... the giver, the taker ...
... of life ...
... Fire ...
... our inner fire ...
... that burns since birth ...
... consumes us all ...
... ashes to ashes ..."

Mehmet's serene gaze moves around the carnage, seeming undisturbed.

The dawn fog begins to roll in. Such activity for so late an hour is almost unheard of. Aboard boats the families or crew work to tend wounds, or find anchor, search for lingering fires, sweeping away the ashes. The shore line's high ridge is filled with people watching, people the Hounds kept away. This seems a busy dawn in the town of Haven.

FIN  

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