Battle Hymn of the Republic

Everything hurt. A sensation that created a bizarre dissonance with the rejuvenating energy coursing through Mealla’s body. As her battered spirit returned to her broken but mending body she had too many questions to ask bouncing through her mind. Then the instructor who had brought her back looked about to feint. Lurching forward to try and catch her as she collapsed, Mealla knelt beside Brenya thinking she might comfort or support the woman; only to find the other woman’s own life had left her. The Chief Keeper wracked her mind trying to think of healing spells that the Sixth Circle made look so easy, but none came to her. So now she found herself alone in the ruins of a pyrrhic victory. No, not alone. She still had…

A jolt of fresh terror ran down to Mealla’s core. After all, when a druid dies…

Reaching back, Mealla’s hand trembled as she feared what she would find, but it had been so quiet, there was no way that…

There, nestled in the palm of Mealla’s trembling hand, was the still form of Artio. The little dormouse who had been napping in her hood before everything had collapsed; her oldest friend and most valued advisor. Her familiar had perished. Tears welled in her eyes as she could no longer feel the bond between them. Whatever had stripped away part of her spirit had also torn away all of his. She truly was alone now. More alone than she had been in almost three decades. Holding Artio close to her chest, Mealla allowed herself to weep a few heaving sobs that left her head sore and her chest tight. Then with a light kiss to the head of her dear departed friend, she laid Artio gently on Brenya’s chest.

“K-keep an eye on him for me, please,” Mealla managed. Standing up, the Chief drew her tattered cloak around herself to protect some dignity from the rest of the damage to her attire. She had to be strong, for she was the Chief of the Fifth Circle; and if any druid should be able to act in a situation like this one, it should be her.

Scanning the grounds of what had once been a beautiful landscape, Mealla searched for other survivors, and for lingering foes. She glimpsed the man Percival seeing to one, so she would wind her way in that direction as she searched for others.

“Hello,” Mealla tried to call out to the wastes, but her voice cracked. Swallowing hard, she tried again, “Hello! Is there anyone in need?”

Gentle sounds of motion came, and Mealla turned to see Flynn’s dog Alva picking his way through the debris. The large pup’s normally enthusiastic demeanor looked much like the landscape; his tail tucked and his ears down as he tried to reach an island of comfort.

There are places and times when pain becomes a final - only - reason to continue. Miyuki's healing spell cut through Riley like a blade through her spine. Her mind blanked. There was nothing. Without the pain not a single of their senses made sense.

Muscles unable to support her she was on her knees. Knees unresponsive and their arms suddenly rest against ash scoured dirt. A body pants again-again-again-again-there's no sense to it; they shouldn't have been able to pant through her burning throat. Trying to find their voice is like trying to find the sun looking down at the palm of your hand. Dyrnwyn is in their hand, propping them up against the wasteland. Their hand is empty and her body gives up- a discarded marionette collapsing in the dust.

Things are missing that make her thoughts impossible to catch. Colours that make the world and herself make sense refuse to shine. The stage is empty and without curtains to call a pool of shadows crawl up and from both clearings stage magician, Dyrnwyn and all, disappear.

--

Lord Alexis Valsted appeared behind Percival with a pop of displaced air. The elementalist was wearing a simple white button-up, two buttons loose with the sleeves rolled neatly above his forearms, and perfectly pressed black dress pants. Arrived with the man was an Occultus escort in a brilliant scarlet cloak and black operative uniform and mask that left neither hide nor hair uncovered. A gentle zephyr bloomed around the two and wrapped Tanuki and the alchemist holding her safely away from the violence of the pair's sudden teleportation.

Alexis should have been able to have comfortingly rested his hand atop Percy's shoulder, but instead a broken blade tip that shouldn't have been there hovered in the air between his hand and what it had attempted to lay claim to.

Alexis smiled as he met Lyra's eyes. The large woman had appeared just as swiftly as he had only on the opposite side of Percival. Two thin lines of blood dripped from her hand where she held the twisted tip of the warlock's nearly destroyed weapon. She shouldn't have been able to know he was arriving and from how her eyes refused to focus and her jaw worked in soundless frustration she shouldn't have been able to move to stop him either.

But, a geas makes marvelous origami out of reality. How the woman maintained it for years despite her affliction he'd study some day.

His escort moved with purpose, circling around him and Percival as she shrugged her cloak aside revealing the sabre sheathed beneath. Her own blade was drawn without a sound and with zero hesitation came to rest cutting into an unmoving Lyra's cheek. "Percival." Elizabeth Caxton's voice called out from beneath the Occultus mask. "Do you know your friend has killed quite the handful of your father's old colleagues?"

Lord Valsted's laughter perfectly punctuated the end of the woman's question. Then, his eyes full of lightning, the old man turned his attention on the child cradled in Percy's arms with a wink. "Dear one," his voice warmly stated. "You've had quite the day haven't you?"

The suddenness of the translation caused Percival to draw in Tanuki a little tighter. All he could manage was checking to see if it was an immediate threat, and as Lyra came looming over him, the tautness in his joints loosened. There was a process in his mind that turned over repeatedly, but nothing was happening. He was still numb, save for a small desire in his heart, something he snuffed out every time his uncle came knocking.

He was too powerful, too strong; so strong, his mother still served as his Occultus auxillary. In that intense moment, Percival's eyes drifted to the mask she wore, the uniform. From a young age to almost that very moment, he had wanted his own mask. He had grown up with stories of the powerful Alexis Valsted, of how he utilized his mother, how she had grown into a titan herself under his tutelage.

Once, not too long ago, he had been given the opportunity to make an impression, thanks to Riley. That impression had been good. Uncle Valsted had liked what he had seen, and despite it being something the young Caxton had wanted all his life, he had regretted it ever since.

So, Percival Caxton stood, and ushered Tanuki behind him, and away from his mother. He met Uncle Valsted's gaze, something he could never do before, but Percy could not feel in that moment. That numbness from his sister's sacrifice silenced that arbiter within him that kept him from saying the thing he should've said to Uncle Valsted long ago.

"Piss off."

There was no invective, just words. A clear, concise message.

"This is Circle property, under the estate of Ruarc Flynn. Go get a warrant from Sir Clarke if you want to walk around."