Date: September 11, 2000 (Aether: January 29, 3907)
Place: Fairway and North - Haven
Cast: Amipal, Caioma, Caleb, Jamal (Lion Rakshasa), Mehtar, Osser, Roxana, Shahar
Scene: A ploy is attempted to flush the warriors of Al'Gul out into the open, so that they can be dispatched for good. And though the plan succeeds, the cost is high.

Fairway and North - Haven:
      Imposing buildings line the four corners of this intersection, some built from wood and stone while others sport the organic curves and flowing designs of shaping magic. One of the grandest belongs to the illustrious city guard, more commonly known as "the Hounds." Their headquarters is a squat, stone structure with a tile roof and a wide archway that leads into a courtyard beyond. Flanking it on either side are marble likenesses of the legendary Cerberus -- the hound that earned them their name.
      This close to the center of town, the streets are active even into the early hours of morning. Shops and stalls outnumber private homes, many of them brightly painted with wood or stone columns along the front. Carts and the occasional chariot clatter along the paved road, moving to and from the famed Rialto to the south.

The recent snowfall clings persistently to the cobble streets, but the passing of many citizens and patrons of the city has ground and churned the once-brilliant white blanket into a dingy brown and grey. It crunches beneath the feet of those few denizens who brave the cold weather and as often as not lose their footing upon the snow before gaining a solid hold.

As people grapple with the ice and snow, their angry mutterings and lamentations can be heard and seen as a cloud of steamy breath exhaled into the bitter cold air.

It's been known that the Hounds have been accompanying the Agni-Haidar through the city for the last couple of weeks or so. Usually, there is a single patrol of three men, or occasionally two patrols. This time, there are two patrols and Caioma. The half-breed Commander walks towards the front of the procession, cloak pushed back on her shoulders. It might be noted that the woman still moves stiffly from the battle with the northern invaders.

The Varati Queen does not commonly take to the streets borne in a palanquin, preferring -- somewhat to the dismay of her guards -- to walk afoot. Perhaps it's the cold weather, or the icy ground, but today she is carried aloft by strong servants bearing the colors of clan Khalida.

Her sable-clad Agni-Haidar are eleven in number: those in an outer rank of five carry falcares at their sides, while an inner rank of the same number ring the Maharani with sturdy crossbows.

Amipal himself walks closest to the palanquin, a crossbow on one shoulder and a full quiver at his hip. The Hounds proceed in formation outside this Varati group.

The short days of winter are like a fleeting dream. Already, the long shadows of dusk creep along the snow-laden streets like the grasping fingers of death. The dirt and the muck mixed with the heaps of snow tossed like so many broken bodies by wind and man create an excellent coalition of visual distortion and darkness. The bright gleaming of avid pupils could easily be mistaken for a stray glitter of ice caught by the setting sun. Like rats in sewers, the glitter shifts and returns, uncannily tracking the progress of the palanquin.

Within the palanquin itself is little beyond silence. The events of the past months have been arduous for one and all, and the weather is biting and bitter. What reason does the proud Queen of the Varati have to push her face out where Old Man Winter may nibble her nose into redness? No, for the present, all is silent from the lofted sedan, and progress is made in a stately manner.

Walking amongst one of the two patrols that follows Caioma is Caleb. Though he does not move as stiffly, there is no doubt a weariness to him. Once in a while, he reaches up to touch a scar that draws itself from hairline to eyebrow and looks to be recently healed. Despite it all, though, he remains alert. Carrying his staff with all the authority he can muster, this Mongrel seems well prepared to do his part... whatever that may be.

The convoy makes its stately passage through the street without much incident. A few merchants pause from blowing hot air upon their fingers to mark the passage of the Varati dignitary, although who it could be is only guessed at, with few not indiscreetly suggesting that it is the Maharani.

Those Varati of strong faith stop to bow at the curtained palanquin, but most only sniff and stamp their feet. When the precession is still north of the Bastion, the serene winter scene explodes in chaos.

An alley on either side of the Maharani's palanquin abruptly disgorges an impossible number of heavily-armored and armed Al'Gul warriors. Ignoring the Hounds who have already passed, the assaulting warriors sprint towards the Maharani and the Agni-Haidar protecting her. However, the winter's cold touch impedes them. The frozen ground that has proved a icy hazard now claims Al'Gul warriors, who slip upon the ice and stumble groundward, allowing the Agni-Haidar and Hounds a chance to shake off the shock of their appearance.

Mehtar follows five of his warriors into the street, attacking the palanquin's right side. When he sees the first few tumbled groundward because of the ice, he growls disgustedly and waves one of his two huge morning-stars easily, as if a mere wand. In encouragement, he bellows, "Al'Gul!..." a cry that is swept up by other warriors. The spark of insane glee colors his gaze, and in a more excited voice, he screams, "Kill the ganika Empyrean!"

While her men hadn't been told specifics, Caioma did warn them that 'something' could happen, and to be alert. As she spins, her sword is pulled free of its sheath and she shouts to her Hounds, "To your weapons, men! Keep alert and to your defenses!" A fury lights into her gaze as she looks on the Al'Gul, searching for something specific. If she doesn't see it, though, she'll set to the nearest Al'Gul.

If the Agni-Haidar are surprised, it is only by the direction of the attack rather than by the attack itself. No words pass between them; there is only the whisper of drawn falcares, as the men in the outer rank dourly set themselves to receive the deadly charge, and the hum of discharged crossbows as the men of the inner rank let fly between their comrades.

Expression grim, Amipal takes his own crossbow down from his shoulder, levels its curve to earth, and releases a bolt at the head of one of the nearer clansmen.

...and within the palanquin, all is still indeed, all is quiet and sufficiently subdued so that one imagines the lady within is waiting for her guards to save her, to protect her, to emerge victorious on this hellish, ice-plastered day.

Varati and more Varati? This could possibly be worse than the funny-looking Empyreans, Caleb thinks to himself. Drawing up a breath, he follows orders with little hesitation. Directing one of the patrols with quick hand-signals and a few bellowed commands, he seeks to engage the 'enemy.' With a staff quick to strike and a Mongrel quick to avoid deadly weapons... Caleb hopes his tactics will not find him dead by the hands of the skilled Varati warriors.

Osser screams in discordant ecstasy, "Al'Gul!" One of the last to leave the protection of the alley for the chaos of the main street, the young kshatri warrior manages to avoid the icy patches which are the downfall of his akraba. Metal is bared to reveal a curved and sharpened length of his falcare. The cold breath of death shimmers over the polished length, a wave of white rippling down the falcare as the blade cuts through the air toward the enemy.

Thirty-five, perhaps forty Al'Gul warriors descend upon the palanquin. The first few fall to the slick earth and are nearly trampled by their brethren behind. These find their way to the Agni-Haidar, only to be felled by the handful of black bolts fired at them. One Al'Gul is felled during his battle cry, a bolt lodged firmly in his skull as he tumbles lifelessly to the snowy ground, staining it with his blood.

But others follow and slam into the Agni-Haidar ranks. The janizars dispatch their enemy efficiently, but the sheer numbers of the attackers begins to press against their defenses and open up holes between sable-clad warriors.

Through one of these holes, Mehtar explodes, knocking aside an Agni-Haidar reloading his weapon. With a maddening grin of insane ecstasy, he hefts one of his morning-stars and unleashes it at the head of a palanquin-bearer, hoping to spill the contents of the litter by crushing one of its "legs."

The last few Al'Gul from the alley, unable to reach the Agni-Haidar, settle for the Hounds. Achmed, a massive Al'Gul warrior armed with a menacing falcare, attacks Caleb, slashing horizontally at the mongrel's skull.

As she sets forward to attack the nearest Al'Gul that doesn't put her in the way of the crossbows, Caioma spies Mehtar. The half-breed growls furiously in the back of her throat, but rather than diving forward like she wants to, she focuses on the man before her, still scrambling to get up from the ice. If she's as skilled as she thinks she is, his blood will be staining the ice soon enough.

Watching the dire progress of the fray through dark, narrowed eyes, Amipal calls a calm, "Reload. Hold point." But of course, the outer rank can scarcely hold against these numbers; while his fellows yank back the strings of their crossbows, setting in new bolts, Amipal casts his aside with a soft curse and dashes in the direction of Mehtar's assault -- far too late for the hapless palanquin bearer. But he clears his own sword from its scabbard nonetheless.

Osser hacks his way into the fray, but given the overwhelming numbers of Al'Gul versus the smaller portion of Agni-Haidar and Hounds, the young kshatri warrior finds himself without an opponent until he is close to the palanquin. Then, his boyish face looks at the one before him. He spits at Caioma's face. "Bah, a woman. Go home to your pretty clothes!"

Eyes widen as Achmed comes very close to taking Caleb's head off. Gulping and shaking off the initial shock, the Mongrel Hound motions to one of his small patrol. They are not so talented as the Commander, nor as vicious as the Varati. But they will seek to put up a good enough defense with what they have.

Working as a team, two of them seek to fell one Al'Gul at a time. Stabbing at Achmed with the butt of his staff in a frontal assault, the other Hound slashes at his legs from the side.

The loss of the bearer disrupts the chair and its lofted position; as the bearer's head explodes in a spray of red and grey, the palanquin shifts, lurching to one side. Instantly, effectively, the three remaining bearers struggle to maintain the chair's position, but the task is an arduous one... and while the sedan sways and its solitary bearer bows beneath the weight he alone bears on one side, the woman within is nearly pitched out.

Wing and pale hand are seen pushing through the curtain before one of those protecting the palanquin surges forth to take the place of the fallen bearer.

Jamal paces in from the north, a book in his hands. Perhaps he has heard the shouting and knows what he is about to walk into, or perhaps it's a bloody surprise. At any rate, the tall Akhund comes to a halt, his thick haik flowing forward around him and then back to settle at his bare ankles. The smell of gore hits him full on, and he surveys the situation with quick, staccato glances.

It would seem that this is not a good day to go out walking, as Roxana and her two guard chaperones arrive at the scene of bloodshed. The two guards, decked out as they are in Al'Gul colors, have an immediate conflict of loyalty -- should they remain with the woman with whose safety they have been charged, or should they join the fray and try to take a few Agni-Haidar for themselves?

Torn by indecision, they remain at Roxana's side since they are there already, but it is evident that it will not take much for them to join the fray, leaving the woman unprotected.

Roxana, however, has little care for the two men who are here with her, as she roots through a pouch to find out what she brought on today's walk...

The Agni-Haidar continue to efficiently dispatch the clansmen, but the sheer number of Al'Gul warriors begins to take toll. A single Janizar succumbs to the combined attack of multiple Al'Gul, opening up a significant gap in their defense.

Through this seam, two clansmen rush in. One slashes at the exposed belly of a palanquin-bearer while the other grips the palanquin's frame and pulls, hoping to topple it from the bearers' shoulders.

Success is stolen from Mehtar by the diligence of the litter-carriers and he heaves a morningstar, ready to punish the next clan servant for it, when he spies the Kaimakam sprinting for him. That same morningstar turns and slashes downward at the officer's head as Mehtar hefts his spare weapon and immediately smashes it towards the Kaimakam's midsection in a quick series of strikes.

Caleb's attacker ignores the mongrel's thrust at his midsection, allowing the armor to blunt the impact of his staff. Instead, he rounds his heavy falcare and slashes again at the Hound's head. Distracted by his attack, he fails to see a Hound thrust a gladius into the back of his thigh.

Only barely flinching as the young kshatri spits in her face, Caioma growls softly in the back of her throat and lunges in with her sword swinging. While the Hounds deal in violence on a daily basis, more often than not, they seek to subdue. This time, the Hound Commander doesn't seem quite so intent on that. There is going to be more blood running red on Haven's streets this day. Osser stands in her way and Caioma will dispatch him as quickly as she can.

Ah, well, this changes things entirely. Jamal reverses the book and places it, gently, on a nearby windowsill. Then he races forward into the backs of the Al'Gul. His yhatagan slithers out of its sheath and his wrist flips over, whipping the heavy tip in a hissing arc of steel. There are many of them. There is only one of him on this side, if one does not count the mongrel and halfbreed, as Jamal is not wont to do. So he must become more.

Frost dances in the air around him. He takes on mass, body swelling within the loose heavy haik and dhoti. Gold and white flash across his chest, boiling up over head and neck and shoulders even as his head changes, face becoming broader and longer, teeth elongating, black hair bursting free of its ties to become a mane the color of ripe wheat. Jamal lets the sword bite into the back and side of the first Al'Gul warrior before he releases a savage, furious roar.

Osser's youth and inexperience show as his wasted action costs him his life. Caioma's sword, as sharp as his, slices him diagonally from thigh to shoulder, and even as he begins to fall forward to catch the slithering bowels which steam as they tumble into the cold, the Hound Commander twists her wrist, changing the direction of her swing and separates his head from his torso.

The ice takes another victim as Caleb slides back... trying again to avoid death, his breath exhaling in a large cloud before him. Without much to hold onto, the Mongrel stops only when he slams up behind the legs of another Al'Gul warrior, entangling himself as he tries to escape.

Only by some fortunate luck does he avoid the sharp weapon and allows another of the Hounds to dispatch the Varati before he is able to regain his footing. With a look of thanks, he moves quickly back toward Achmed, seeking to pound him with his staff once more. The effort brings with it a wince from pains he tries to ignore.

The Agni-Haidar nearest the palanquin fire their crossbows once more at the charging clansmen, then toss them to the snow with a wooden clatter, loosing their own falcares.

Amipal slides to a stop on the icy ground, throwing up his falcare to ward away Mehtar's blow to his head; sword and morningstar ring from one another with a metal clang. The larger clansman's second weapon strikes home, however, crunching heavily into Amipal's armored stomach. It summons no sound from the Kaimakam, although his jaw does tighten. Whipping his swifter weapon clear, he aims a shot at the taller man's shoulder.

In the ice, in the stench and steam of bloody battle in wintertime where split bodies emit an eerie vapor as their contents meet the chill of arctic air, there is only so much the bearers can do. Another falls, the footing of the remaining shifts on the slippery surface, and the wooden, gilded sedan tumbles. A crack follows, wood splintering, and the sound from within is a sharpish cry before its maker spills out onto her face.

A wide splay of white wings identifies her assuredly enough. The Maharani is downed and still, save a twitching hand upon the street.

Having dispatched Osser quickly enough, Caioma turns towards the next Al'Gul. There is a manic fury in the way she swings her sword, wading forth to dispatch the next Al'Gul if her skills allow. If the Hounds with her were better able to pay attention, they'd note a violent fury unleashed from their Commander that they have likely never seen before.

Both hands fly to a veiled face as Roxana bint Fajult Al'Gul cries out in shock. Gesturing to her two Clansmen guards, she sends them into the fray. "Help them!" she commands, and then watches as they join the Al'Gul forces, reinforcing Mehtar's warriors.

Whether it is horror or bloodlust that widens her eyes cannot be said, with the veil hiding the lower half of her face as it does -- she did not specify which 'them' her guards should aid. Have they chosen the side she would have asked them to if she had thought?

Though their numbers fall like sand in an hourglass, the Al'Gul continue to seek victory by eliminating all who stand between them and their prize, the person from the palanquin. Thus, Jamal, coming from the other side of the battle, surprises the Al'Gul with his yhatigan, managing to plunge it into the spine of one kshatri warrior.

Yet, there are still many Al'Gul and the large, bearded warrior which turns upon the shapechanging Atarvani does not seem afraid. Tippu raises his flail and prepares to defend himself against this new threat while allowing his fellows to reach the now-fallen Maharani.

Achmed howls with pain as the gladius is thrust into the back of his thigh. He whirls, further tearing the wound open, and cleaves the skull of the Hound that delivered the blow. The Hound falls, taking Achmed's falcare with him, lodged as it is in the fallen's skull. With his back to Caleb, Achmed does not see the blow that sends him staggering forward, almost to the ground.

The Al'Gul attacking the palanquin ready their weapons to strike down the fallen Maharani. They cry excitedly, success so near, "The Maharani is fallen... kill her!"

But their efforts are intercepted by the Janizars who abandoned their hand crossbows for falcares and engage the clansmen.

Mehtar grins almost insanely, his nostrils flaring as he savors the scene of the Kaimakam's acrid blood. He growls, "Your ganika Queen will die, kitten. I will see you slaughtered beside her!" He tries to deflect Amipal's blow with a single-handed morning star, but does so only halfheartedly, preferring instead to press his attack.

He sends another crushing blow at Amipal, this time at his shoulder while Amipal's only blade bites into the armor of his shoulder and draws blood. As he attacks Amipal, Mehtar spares a glance for the fallen Maharani.

Lion Rakshasa's claws dig into the icy ground, giving him purchase. The Akhund rips the sword out of the body of his first opponent. His left hand lashes out towards Tippu's face, deadly needles curving from the tips of his thickened, furred fingers -- and in quick succession his sword follows, a blurring one-two blow of claw and steel. Lips skin back from wicked carnassals as he spins his mass about behind the two strikes. This creature does not fight like a priest. He fights like one of the black-clad warriors who protect Khalid's winged Queen.

Amipal circles with grim determination, a faint smile gracing bloodied lips as he positions himself between Mehtar and the fallen Queen. "You are foolish," he murmurs, calmly. "And you will die a fool's death."

His eyes flick to the descending weapon, and for a moment it seems he will move the falcare to block this blow -- surely the only sane choice. But the Agni-Haidar are different men. There is only a wince and the faintest of staggers as the morningstar batters its unopposed way through armor towards flesh; at this moment, Amipal's falcare jumps as he delivers the strong blow he has been planning throughout -- down at Mehtar's off wrist, aiming to sever the hand entirely.

Surprise and then rage take Caleb over as he strikes Achmed down. Then he brings the staff down again and again, smashing at the back of Achmed's head and neck. If only he had a blade, things would be easier. Varati curses flow from his lips as he seeks the death of this Al'Gul, swearing that he will kill more.

Wading her way into the combat with a furious determination, Caioma takes another Al'Gul by surprise and ends his life in a quick slash. Before she can do more, though, she's face to face with a warrior that's a bit more skilled and is going to give her more of a run for her money. Still, she growls with a deep anger and seeks to dispatch him as well. It's as if she was trying to wade through the men to get to a certain point in the midst of the battle.

Tippu raises his arm to block the incoming paw from the rakshasa with the smooth surface of his gauntlet. Chain mail extends from the gauntlet up the arm, providing additional protection. Keeping an eye on the sword, the Al'Gul warrior makes his own attack with his flail, attempting to bash in Lion Rakshasa's head.

The two Al'Gul who arrived on the scene with Roxana are busily making their way towards Mehtar, Amipal, and the Maharani. For too long, they have had to endure the presence of the Kaimakam and the Queen, and they are certain that the woman they were sent to Haven to protect feels as they do -- after all, does she not have to spend day after day with both?

Roxana's eyes are still wide, her hands clasped to her veil as she backs into a wall.

The once-organized battle has degenerated into a chaotic melee, with Al'Gul warriors mixing randomly with the sable-clad sentinel warriors of the Agni-Haidar. No longer are there lines and defenses -- simply men and women striving for survival.

More Al'Gul filter towards the palanquin and the fallen Maharani, but their numbers are starting to thin, too. More difficult is it now to move easily, without stumbling over the writhing figure of a slain combatant lost to the throes of death, or already dead.

Mehtar's eyes widen as he takes a closer look at the Maharani. It distracts him for a moment, and Amipal's blade severs the monstrous clansmen's hand at the wrist. Both hand and weapon clatter to the frozen ground.

Mehtar howls in pain, his lips writhing in unmasked fury, not so much at the loss of his limb, but at what his inspection of the Maharani reveals. "It is not the Maharani. Khalid's ganika is not here. Were are tricked!" He unleashes a terrible flurry of blows at Amipal, pounding him relentlessly with strikes born of rage.

Lion Rakshasa's paw glances off of the gauntlet and small sparks jump up from the blow. He spins towards Tippu's flail-hand, getting to the outside of it, whipping the sword back to guide the flail safely past his head. His right leg remains between Tippu's legs, and as the Akhund moves, he seeks to trip up the other, even as the left hand comes back around, arcing down with vicious speed to grab at his opponent's shoulder and push him down and across the tripping leg.

The sword, following the flail's curve down, does not continue all the way; instead, Jamal shoves it back upwards towards Tippu's throat. As their bodies come close together, the Rakshasa lets out a full-throated, ringing roar. Such roars are meant to carry for miles. The distance to Tippu's head is a matter of inches.

Though he gives her pause, the older warrior she faces makes a fatal mistake and lunges forward too soon. As he tries to impale Caioma, he slips on the ice and presents an opening for her to plunge her own blade into him.

Kicking him off her blade, Caioma turns towards the howl and rushes forward. For those that might be able to pay attention in the chaos around them, she is trying to get to Mehtar.

The other patrol of Hounds is trying to hold its own. The trio stick together as Caleb's group does, but one of their number is injured and struggling to stay afoot against the larger, likely more-skilled Al'Gul.

No, it is not the Maharani. For while she is a thin figure, her true shape disguised within the layers of clothing necessitated by the weather and the need for a disguise, she is not the diminutive Queen of the Varati. Too tall, by far. And when she turns over, feebly, a spatter of blood left behind on the pavement, the identity of the woman with the manufactured wings and the overly pale skin is all too apparent: the recently-returned Lioness of Khalida, Shahar. And her smile, albeit sickly, is triumphant. She could die happily now... and very well may.

Amipal weathers Mehtar's blows with gritted teeth, the staccato sound of weapon on weapon echoing from the facades of the nearby buildings; the larger man's size and strength seem to be prevailing, however, driving Amipal to one knee before the bold woman who has been posing as the Varati Queen.

Still, the sable-clad soldier smiles softly up at his opponent. "You are a large man, Al'Gul," he murmurs. "How long can you bleed? I will be interested to see." Breathing heavily, overmatched by his opponent's fury, he merely waits.

The harsh sound of the roar rushes past Tippu's head, and while it does not cause his head to explode like an overripe melon, the kshatri warrior's world shatters. The awesome moment of the sound vibrates his head, making his helmet rattle, but leaves behind only silence.

In this emptiness, Tippu ducks the sword, using the pressure of Jamal's push to carry him further away from the sharpened blade. His flail finishes its arc, then, with his backwards momentum, returns toward the rear of Jamal's head.

Lion Rakshasa gets the guard of his weapon up just in time to rob the swinging arcs of the flail's tips from separating brain from skull. As one of the weights hits his head, however, it certainly feels like grey matter is coming out of one of his leonine ears, even though it is not. The other weights thump into the thick, furred neck -- they will leave bruises, but for now, the warrior-priest is unhindered.

The blade of his sword slices down across the neck and shoulder of his opponent; Jamal drives his fisted left hand into Tippu's kidneys, likely not much more than a stunning blow if even that, before spinning away to shake the stars from his eyes. He is behind Tippu -- the two men are satellites spinning around a common center, at the outsides of their orbits. But he is spinning in again, hands together on the hilt of the sword to deliver a flurry of furious, savage, strong blows. It is an Agni-Haidar form: "Dancing down the Waterfall." With any luck, the Akhund will be rewarded with a cascade of Tippu's blood.

Mehtar seethes with fury and cries, "Fall back... disperse!" before stumbling away from the Kaimakam himself. He tucks his wounded arm against his body, but that does little to staunch the blood that spurts upon the sullied snow of the street. His stumbling grows aimless, and he plows into the Hound Commander, Caioma.

Blinking, he struggles with recognition. Slowly, Mehtar hefts a morningstar and chuckles tiredly, madly, "I know you..." then sends that morningstar in a crushing blow aimed at Caioma's head, his lips still locked in a knowing grin.

Everywhere, Al'Gul try to disengage from the battle. Some manage to find the safety of the alleys, others are hunted down and slaughtered by Hounds and Agni-Haidar alike when they try to flee. Their retreat is impeded by the wounded and dead warriors lying throughout the scene.

Roxana's two Al'Gul clansmen are well and truly in the thick of the fighting. One of them is streaming blood from the shoulder, and the other from the leg, but they both fight on in an attempt to rescue some of their honor for having joined the battle late. Then, an Agni-Haidar blade pierces one through the eye; the other turns to flee, to be cut down as he takes his first step.

Roxana can only look on from her place against a wall, her hands pressed to her veil and her eyes wide, staring.

Barreling right into the man she was trying to reach, Caioma's eyes widen and she dances back a step. The fury in her eyes is almost unthinking as she glares at Mehtar. The moment lasts barely a second before she dodges out of the way of the blow aimed at her head. Voice a growl, she hisses, "You're going to die this day, dog." And she lunges forward, intent on slicing him limb to loin.

More sparks fly from Tippu's chainmail as Jamal's yhatigan skims from neck to shoulder. A thin line of red appears below the chin, but mortal damage has not been done. A grunt, felt, but not heard by the victim results from the Atarvani's piledriver in the kidneys.

As Mehtar's shout rings through the air, Tippu desperately defends himself from the dance of Jamal's blade. Once, twice, three times, he blocks, but in attempting to seek an egress from the battle as per Mehtar's command, his luck and skill ends.

The yhatigan strikes his shoulder, starting a shower of sparks. Tippu ducks and avoids having his head removed like the luckless Osser, but Jamal's blade returns on its curving path to bite deep into his chain, breaking links and digging into the shoulder bone, where it lodges solidly.

What is left of Caleb's patrol seeks to stop as many as they can from retreating. Cowards... all of them, he screams with a Varati accent. He uses his staff now like a club, gripping it in two hands so as to smash at throats and legs. Those he actually fells to the ground are dispatched by sword and trident alike. However, even with the Al'Gul fleeing, he tries to remain watchful of those that would rather remain.

The danger is not passed, though now her identity is realized, Shahar is in substantially less peril than before. She pushes forward upon bony hands, but they skitter, and she collapses again. The reason for her remaining within her rooms has not, apparently, been feigned, and the pallor from whatever sickness has sapped her strength, hollowed her form, and drained color from her countenance had helped her seem pale as Thalia. "Capture those you may," she croaks encouragingly, "that the wyverns may be fed and all may see the results of such treachery."

Amipal settles heavily to a seat by Shahar's side, his shoulders canted at an odd angle. Dark eyes briefly survey the woman's form as he fumbles to free a knife from his bandolier, turns it in his palm to grasp the tip. It is when he is searching for a target that his gaze falls upon Roxana, backed up against the wall; it widens noticeably as the real danger of her situation clicks into place.

Coughing through blood, Amipal manages a ragged, "'Ware the woman, there. She is not to be harmed. Take after the others."

Roxana is going nowhere, still frozen in shock against the wall. Her guards are gone, and the forces of the Clan of her fathers are running. She cannot run, in skirts and slippers on ice, and her presence of mind has deserted her for the moment. Her eyes wide, she is the very image of the rabbit before the wyvern's maw.

Mehtar recoils slowly as his blow fails to find the Hound Commander. He does not bother to block her stroke, but the steel edge of her blade scrapes uselessly against his scaled armor. He chuckles tiredly, wavering as if balance were difficult. "My little prize. It was such a luxury..." his tongue fail him for a moment, and then he continues, "...to have you."

He grits his teeth rabidly and heaves another strike at the smaller Hound. Mehtar growls with renewed strength, "do you think about me at night?"

Some of the Al'Gul choose to remain and die. One such individual, Habid, steps over the body of a slaughtered Hound, and without a weapon, grabs Caleb from behind with one fist and sends a monstrous blow towards the mongrel's head.

Tippu's flesh closes solidly around the weapon as the edge embeds itself into bone. The weapon is trapped. Jamal does not seek to pull it out. Instead, he pushes on it, trying to slice through his opponent's shoulder as he would address a roast. A rumbling, inhuman voice comes out of the Akhund's half-animal throat. "...infidel..."

Like a saw, Jamal rips the sword back, bringing all of his mass to drive the blade, the man down. The fine edge chips, leaving bits of steel in Tippu's bones.

Sparks scream up from the contest between chain and blade.

What Caioma thinks is something she keeps silent and to herself. With her first strike deflected by his armor, she dodges back on the slick ice to avoid his second blow. It connects with her shoulder, causing her to cry out in pain, but her sword arm remains uninjured. Knowing she's got to find the weakness in his armor, the half-breed Hound brings in her sword high, leaving herself open but aiming for Mehtar's neck.

Tippu howls, knowing that he is screaming, yet unable to hear his own voice. The pain of Jamal's actions prevent him from breaking away. His screams, hopeless and without guidance, rend the soul in their awfulness.

His luck had to run out sometime. Caleb gasps and he tries to hang on to his staff as he is grabbed from behind. It does him no good, however, as the fist connects with his head.

Swimming in a sea of black and yellow, the Mongrel Hound struggles to stay afoot. Ice. So much for that. With his struggling, he only succeeds in losing his balance, legs slipping back toward Habid as he falls forward toward the icy street below.

As Caleb falls, the last of his patrol seek to down the Al'Gul, coming on either side with spear and sword aimed toward the head in order to avoid hitting the Sentire.

When he pulls the sword back, the Rakshasa is hit by a thick gout of blood. There is a lot of it in Tippu's body, and now at least a fifth of it is on Jamal in a fanning splash that reddens his mane and the white fur of his chest. More blood mats the hair as Jamal finally yanks the sword free. The edge is nicked now all up and down its length.

With another rumble, he pushes the mortally-wounded warrior away from him; gore sloughs off of the blade as he takes two quick steps back and, reversing the sword in his hand, whips it forward into the belly of an Al'Gul who seeks to flee past him.

The man folds over the edge as Jamal digs his claws into the ground and rips the weapon forward with all of his strength.

Mehtar's maddening grin fails at times, when fatigue and concentration overcome him, but then quickly reappears -- a rictus of insanity. "My little pet..." He swings the massive weapon at her midsection, just as Caioma's blade slashes down at his neck, "...I know you miss..."

The taunt is cut short as her sword cleaves the flesh of the monstrous clansmen's neck, biting deeply. Eyes go wide, and a strangled yell is torn from Mehtar's throat, and involuntarily he steps back. Blood splatters from the wound, spouting in ever-decreasing fountains of crimson. Desperately, he tries to staunch the flow with the hand that is not there, not realizing the error. He falls to a knee, no longer strong enough to stand.

Amipal blows out a weary breath, wiping blood from his lower lip with the back of his hand. His breathing appears to be slowing now that he has been on the ground for some while, and with the other Agni-Haidar avoiding the young woman clad in Al'Gul colors, his attention can wander elsewhere.

His arm snaps forward, and his knife glitters through air to plunge into the base of a fleeing clansman's neck, dropping the man to twitch on the icy ground. And this, it seems, is really all he has strength for. Softly, Amipal murmurs, "Honored Shakir. How fare you?"

The two Hounds that still remain standing, albeit wounded, pounce on Habid. They jab their blades tiredly at the vulnerable spots in the warriors' armor.

The clansmen fights back, but without a weapon, he is doomed to a slow death. Wounds build, and slowly, he too is driven to his knees by a barrage of blows.

Shahar, forgotten in the struggle and the efforts to escape, closes her eyes and rests as best she can, ignoring the violence. Not that it sickens her, no... she would cheer any bloodshed from the part of those wretched Al'Gul warriors. She simply needs to gather her strength. And when she succeeds, she spits out to Mehtar, the man responsible by and large for her husband's disappearance and assumed death, "You shall die a thousand deaths in my hands, son of a whoring pigfarmer... no... do not let him die. Better that our healers repair him so that we may ensure his death speaks strongly to others who would stand against the Amir-al."

But such bold words sap strength again, and as she sinks back, she glances at Amipal and rests a hand upon his wrist. Forbidden contact for her people, but Shahar has never conformed much in certain ways. "Worry for yourself, Imphadi... I am ... well."

Tippu is almost dead, and there is no surcease from the pain that he feels, yet, he will not die in vain. There is a last strike in the man. The flail is too heavy to lift, but the glittering viper of a dagger's blade is not. Such a weapon Tippu extracts from his belt, and with his last ounce of strength, he thrusts the dagger at Jamal's turned back.

The Al'Gul leader's last blow connects hard with Caioma's midsection, likely breaking the same ribs that the caduceans just healed from the battle several days previous. Falling to her knees, she stops and stares at Mehtar as his blood leaks out onto the ice and snow, watching him die.

Taking an honor guard to Hell with you, are you, Al'Gul? The knife goes in cleanly. Tippu can feel the tip scrape against a rib, just a little jump in the course of the blade before it plunges over and into the bottom of his lung. Tippu cannot hear it, but the lion's roar of surprise is weakened, and his savage fangs are abruptly flecked with bright red. It has been a long time since Jamal has been stabbed in the back... not since childhood.

But the blow he has levied into the belly of his attacker's clansmate does not lessen. It cuts, shearing by brute force through armor and then easily into the buttery softness of belly and intestines.

Jamal steps forward and spins in the opposite direction, ripping the pommel of the knife out of Tippu's hand, the battered sword coming down at an angle to strike at him who has bit the Rakshasa.

Mehtar finally topples forward onto the snow-covered streets. Blood fountains from his severed hand and rent throat, melting the snow beneath him. With eyes still wide, he tries to gasp some last insult, but an unintelligible gurgling is all that can be heard. He shifts once, and then falls still.

The Seraskier of Clan Al'Gul dies with his eyes open, watching the remnants of his Clan spill their lifeblood unto the candala ground of Haven.

Those Al'Gul able to retreat have done so, and left behind then the ruin of their Clan. Everywhere, steam rises from torn and shredded warriors and escapes into the cold winter air.

Caleb struggles to get out from beneath the weight of the Al'Gul named Habid, but is only pushed back down as the warrior falls to his knees. Pressed to the icy ground, he loses most of the strength he had built up. He is not so large as the Varati, nor as stubborn when it comes to head wounds. Why is it he is always struck in the head? But he is stubborn nonetheless.

As the Al'Gul fights, Caleb seeks purchase with his fingers, clawing at the ice that is both hindrance and help. As he finds a way, he slides away between the other two Hounds, where he finally collapses against the mangled corpse of some fallen warrior.

Tippu's last action was to buy himself a truly horrible existence in his next life. He collapses on the ground as the knife is ripped from his grasp and Jamal's blade is unimpeded as it descends into his bloody flesh.

Amipal settles back against the ruins of the palanquin, casting a sidelong glance Shahar's way before surveying the gory field. Waving a weakened hand, he calls, from the ground, "Form up, men. They're done."

As Mehtar breathes his last, Roxana slides down the wall to her knees, gone limp with shock, hands still pressed to her mouth, eyes still wide open. She wants to turn her head from the slaughter, and yet she cannot. She must watch as her Clan are shamed and dishonored once more, leaving her behind to face the Agni-Haidar alone.

Only as the light leaves Mehtar's eyes does Caioma take a deep breath and blink to look up around her. Where are her Hounds? As the fury leaves, a touch of guilt crosses her face as she realizes how she abandoned her men for her own anger.

Struggling up to her feet, she wipes her sword on the snow near Mehtar's head. Once her feet are beneath her, Caioma makes her way towards the Indigo uniforms she sees among the blood.

Lion Rakshasa hacks down into Tippu's body. It turns out that it's just for effect. The blade splashes out and he spins, surveying the scene while his breath rasps out between his fangs in ragged, bloody wheezes. He sees Roxana. Amipal's call was 'ware the woman there,' but Jamal was too busy at the time to see which woman. But Roxana... now she is an infidel.

The Rakshasa stalks towards her, gory blade dripping, a growl building up in his one good lung.

"Send..." Shahar swallows; she did little other than decorate the pavement with her inelegantly sprawled figure, but she is worn nonetheless, "Send back for reinforcements. There could be more. And summon the healers at once. Those who can be saved must be saved." Here is a woman accustomed to command.

Amipal is struggling to his feet, using his falcare rather like a cane, when he catches sight of the bestial figure closing slowly on Roxana's position. The soldier's brow furrows in obvious frustration, and he coughs another harsh -- and rather louder -- "Leave the woman alone, creature. She is of the faithful." That said, he dips his chin in a tired nod to the Shakir.

Having seen the Agni-Haidar in action, Roxana knows that she could not stand against one for even a minute, even if she used everything she knew. And she is too far gone in shock and horror at what nearly happened to react defensively. All she can do is kneel in the blood, clasp her hands to her forehead, and start praying to the Mother of the Dawn. Which she does.

In a voice shaking with fear and yet resolute -- she has done everything in her power to aid her Goddess' Son and his faithful -- she is sure a better life awaits than that of a woman who spent the first twenty years of life reviled by her Clan and denied by her father.

The Akhund's clawed hand reaches out for Roxana's hair, to grab her and pull her up so that he might drive the sword through her throat. But Amipal's call stays the fearsome grasp. The bloody, furred monstrosity halts, looming, casting a shadow as black as despair.

It looks back at the Kaimakam.

And then, like night bowing to day, Jamal backs off. The claws of his feet rasp on the ground as he moves back towards the middle of the street, catching up a handful of his haik to wipe off his bloody yhatagan.

After Shahar's orders are delivered and acknowledged by Amipal, one of the least injured Agni-Haidar heads off toward Atesh-Gah in order to acquire the healers and additional forces that will be required to clean up the carnage in the streets.

Taking stock of what remains of her men, Caioma's expression grows dark and pained as she finds two of her Hounds lying amongst the Al'Gul that fell. Taking a deep breath, she moves over towards another hint of indigo among the white and red. Finding Caleb and his patrol, she asks quietly, "Is he alive?"

Saved from certain death by Amipal's care and less than an inch, Roxana faints, landing in the bloody ice and meltwater. The cold brings her round, sopping wet, her clothes dripping water, blood and other less pleasant substances. The cold, however, seems to have brought her to her senses -- the pouch she carries contains herbs and preparations for treating the wounded. She stands, visibly shaking, and makes her way towards Amipal.

The remaining Hounds, wounded and wary like the rest, look up at the Commander with a little more than respect. They give weak nods of their heads. As two of them roll Caleb over, a moan escapes him. A bruise already forms on his temple and blood soaks through his uniform. He coughs, then winces... eyes opening to see the Caioma.

"I... seems I am not so good of a Hound, hm?" Caleb gives a weak smile that is cut short by another cough.

Blade clean, Jamal slips it back into its scabbard. This takes a little maneuvering, as Tippu's bones deformed the edge quite a bit. The Rakshasa pauses, glancing over his shoulder; he can't see the hilt of the dagger, but he can feel it moving in his flesh. It feels... gritty under the fire. Every breath is like breathing hot water. Only it's blood in the punctured lung.

He wipes off his wet hands on the haik and steps up to the window. The book, you see. Jamal retrieves it, cradling it carefully in his massive, clawed fingers.

Descending into a crouch beside Caleb that causes a distinct wince, Caioma gives the battered mongrel a hint of a smile. "As always, you are better than you give yourself credit for." Despite the smile, though, the half-breed looks over Caleb, determining the extent of his wounds as best she can. With all said and done, five of the seven Hounds are still among the breathing.

"Commander." This from the Varati woman who had posed as Thalia, and who now lies in the bloody snow against the cushion of feathers that her manufactured wings provide. Eyes closed, she says only, "From my clan, from my people, you and the Hounds have our thanks."

Then Shahar adds to the remaining Lions of Khalid, "And you, brave Agni-Haidar... there are no thanks enough. Be sure to capture the hand of that traitor that it may be placed upon the walls for all to see... along with his head."

The Agni-Haidar are far more wounded than he. But it would be dangerous to become man again with a knife in his back. So rather than wait, the lion-headed Akhund merely dips his head in acknowledgment to the Kaimakam. And then, with fluid grace despite the grievous wound, he paces his way west towards Atesh-Gah.

Amipal straightens with an audible groan, returning his falcare very slowly to its scabbard. Starless eyes take in the grim reckoning -- five Agni-Haidar dead, three felled but moaning. Three standing, including himself.

He casts a glance towards Caioma, one towards Roxana -- perhaps to make certain that she is still among the living -- before turning his attention to Shahar. "As you wish, honored Shakir," he murmurs.

From the direction of Atesh-Gah, Atarvani healers and warriors of Clan Khalida arrive under the guidance of a slightly wounded Agni-Haidar. One healer and one warrior detach themselves from the group to move to Shahar's assistance. The others begin to look over the three wounded Agni-Haidar and start moving the bodies of the five dead Agni-Haidar.

Caleb shakes his head, bringing a blink of his eyes. He tries to stand, only to fall back with a wince. More blood pools into the thick fabric of his uniform. "You should see a healer, Commander." He places a hand over the wound, again trying to at least get to his feet. As the blood oozes through fingers, he grows pale and gets to a knee with the help of another Hound.

Roxana aids the Healers as best she may. She's not much use, still shocked and shaking, but her herbs come in handy more than once. To stare death so close in the face, and see Ashur Masad wearing the mask of a lion, is not a pleasant experience by any means -- but it would seem her service is still required by the Gods. She is not dead, and though she is covered in blood, it is none of it hers.

Shaking her head, Caioma rises with Caleb, suppressing another wince, "Not before you, Sentire." Turning towards Shahar, she gives a nod and a half bow. Eyes flick to Amipal, and she gives a deeply respectful nod. As her dark eyes survey the rest of the scene, they note the half-cat-man with a hint of surprise, but then she moves about to get a healer for her men.

A dreadful loss for the Varati: so many fallen Agni-Haidar, so much noble blood spilled. Was the cost worth it? Perhaps, perhaps not: the Al'Gul leader is gone, his best warriors slaughtered, and the Maharani is safe.

Those remaining are patched up by the skills of the healers, by the whispered prayers and mystical ways of the Atarvani who have come to attend the fallen of the Lions of Khalid, and they collect themselves to return to the Atesh-Gah to lick their wounds and display the fruits of their labors.

As for the Shakir herself... her conveyance will be in the arms of one of the reinforcements just arrived, for the palanquin is a write-off. No matter. The intent of this charade was to lure out those who oppose the Maharani and the Khalida, and it succeeded. In the staunch, disciplined eyes of the People of the Neverending Flame, this is what shall matter. This is what shall be recalled.

And the treachery of the man whose broken body lay strewn within a puddle of his own blood? Ah, Mehtar shall not be forgotten either, not anytime soon, if Shahar has a say in such. A warning will be written in the Warlord's own blood, with his bloodied hand, for all to see. Tomorrow.

Today, it is time for the weary warriors of Khalid Atar to go home. And so they do.

FIN  

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