2018-05-04: In the Hall of the Nameless

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<Pose Tracker> White Knight Leo has posed.

    A throne room. This is unquestionably the lair of this maddened castle's master--and a sense of grim satisfaction settles in Leo's heart as he steps forwards, walking down the red carpet. The earlier incident with the horn-punctured painting fades from his mind like morning dew. He draws himself up, and stops a comfortable distance from the throne. When he answers, he does so without raising his voice. It carries, nevertheless, and bears with it a sense of Goddess-given authority.

    "I am not her, creature," Leo says. "I am the Goddess' own justice, come to cleanse this place of the foulness pervading it. Submit to Her, and to the cleansing flames of Her Shepherd, or be purged."

<Pose Tracker> Corwynt has posed.

If there is a reason (other than the fact that the White Knight was literally chosen as one of the four heroes of a Goddess he loves more than life itself) why Corwynt follows Leo, then this is probably it. The Beastman's pronouncement meets with an approving rumble, and the little martial artist steps out to his left, keeping a few paces away from Leo to increase his room to maneuver.

"Choose carefully, monster," he says softly, air beginning to swirl around his body. "It may be the last choice you ever make." 

<Pose Tracker> Thessaly has posed.

There is so much art here, much like the rest of the castle, but what captures Tess' attention now is the throne sitting in the middle of the room - the Spire's lonely sentinel, and just as forgotten as the masterpieces that adorn these halls. Situated somewhere behind and to the side of Garan Dantear's resplendent white-and-silver armored self, she remains like a silent shadow in these proceedings, now that some manner of entity has deigned to address them.

 She leaves that to the ranking officer present.

 It isn't diplomatic to say the least, as expected from one who zealously holds onto his sense of duty above all else. Privately, she wonders what would happen if they did claim that they were 'her'. At this point, she has a sneaking suspicion as to who this 'her' is - her reconstructed portrait sits in the parlor of Dantear Manor, fresh life breathed into her by her oils. She wonders what would happen if she used one of her illusions.

 Not that she has room to do so now when Leo bulls forward in his earnest, straightforward way.

 She takes a few steps back, letting the more physically able members of her party inch forward towards the throne. A hand lifts to press fingers into the air close to her lips, already preparing a spell. 

<Pose Tracker> Margaret has posed.

Margaret and her comrade linger back. A voice whispers to them.

Silf stares ahead, glassy and tense. Margaret, somewhat more composed, has a thought pass through her head - a potential and inappropriate answer - and rather than risk having it fly out like a parker, she bites her lower lip, hard enough.

Leo charges ahead. Margaret exhales with force.

"Speak of her, if you wish," she states aloud. "Tell us who she was."

(Silf editorializes quietly: "sometimes that's all it takes.")

<Pose Tracker> Garan Dantear has posed.

The larger frame of Garan Dantear, in his typical plate, of course ensures that his position is between the entity and Thessaly as much as possible. He knows that the witch will need a line of sight on the master of this place in order to work - whether with her senses and knowledge of things beyond mortal ken, or her ability to smite things with terrible power - which is the only reason his dark shadow, swathed in her silks and lace, is not completely behind him. But truthfully there was no question how Leo and Corwynt would respond to the entity's questions, to the whispers from the seemingly empty throne. Dark blue eyes scan around, following the paintings, the eldritch panorama of some forgotten war, and even as Thessaly lifts her hand, Garan's gauntleted own eases his borrowed sword in its sheath - the motions done in almost perfect sync.

It's almost like he doesn't expect the White Knight's pronouncement to go over very well. 

<Pose Tracker> Nameless Lord has posed.

I am not her, creature.

"Not her... not her... not her...?"

It is almost perfectly timed, the way the entire room begins to heat the second that the White Knight of Althena's Guard mentions a cleansing flame. With every uttered mantra of that confused, mumbling voice that fills the room, the temperature hikes, little by little, 'til one can feel the beginning beads of maddened perspiration on their brow. The throne begins to tremble. The war fought within that animated portrait, more intense.

And with every increase in temperature, that voice grows louder.

With every increase, it grows more unstable.

Speak of her, if you wish. Tell us who she was.

A drop of paint falls, bubblingly hot, upon Margaret's shoulder.

"A WITCH! NO! YOU ARE NOT HER!"

It comes from above.

And the assemblage of Althena's Guard have all of a second's notice before that paint gushes like a deluge from above, so many, clashing hues spooling together in thick, winding lengths to SLAM into those too close with battering force. They twine, thread, condense...

"INTRUDERS! THIS IS MY TOWER! SHE SENT YOU, DIDN'T SHE?!"

... and the creature it forms... is almost sadly, laughably small. Covered in black robes, it floats above the ground, a frail slip of a thing barely even half the size of an average man, its overlarge head covered by a wide hat that looks like a twisted mockery of a noble's head wear on its bizarrely proportioned figure. That head is utterly round and utterly pitch black -- save for two, massive blue eyes that almost dominate the entirety of its face, twitching obsessively back and forth, as if searching.

"To me! To me to me! Get them out! Find her! She's here, I know it!! Don't let her find me!"

And as the Lord of the Nameless Spire chants his madness, Malevolent magic spirals to life at his tiny palms. Beneath Garan and Corwynt, two immense puddles of bubbling liquid flame churn into being -- before BURSTING into massive, flaming palms, intent to SMASH into them with all their fiery wrath...

"FIND HER!!"

... and as if summoned by his fearful ravings, two more figures sprout from the puddling paint, one tall and gaunt, one large like a walking mountain of muscle. Searching, desperately.

Madly.

DC: Hellion Horde switches forms to Nameless Slave!
DC: Hellion Horde 2 switches forms to Nameless Servant!

GS: You do not meet the minimum Force required for that attack.
GS: You do not meet the minimum Force required for that attack.
GS: You do not meet the minimum Force required for that attack.
GS: You do not meet the minimum Force required for that attack.
GS: You do not meet the minimum Force required for that attack.
GS: Nameless Lord has attacked White Knight Leo with YOU ARE NOT HER!
GS: Nameless Lord has completed its action.
GS: Nameless Lord has attacked Margaret with YOU ARE NOT HER!
GS: Nameless Lord has completed its action.
GS: Nameless Lord has attacked Thessaly with YOU ARE NOT HER!
GS: Nameless Lord has completed its action.
GS: Nameless Lord has attacked Garan Dantear with Bloodflamme!
GS: Nameless Lord has completed its action.
GS: Nameless Lord has attacked Corwynt with Bloodflamme!
GS: Nameless Lord has completed its action.

DC: Thessaly switches forms to Dark Parolee Thessaly!
DC: Margaret switches forms to Evil Sorceress Margaret!

GS: Nameless Lord has attacked White Knight Leo with YOU ARE NOT HER!
GS: Nameless Lord has attacked Margaret with YOU ARE NOT HER!
GS: Nameless Lord has attacked Thessaly with YOU ARE NOT HER!
GS: Nameless Lord has attacked Garan Dantear with Bloodflamme!
GS: Nameless Lord has attacked Corwynt with Bloodflamme!
GS: Nameless Lord has completed its action.

<Pose Tracker> Nameless Lord has posed.

    The Nameless Slave and the Nameless Servant begin to search frantically...

GS: Corwynt takes a solid hit from Nameless Lord's Bloodflamme for 158 hit points!
GS: CRITICAL! Thessaly takes a solid hit from Nameless Lord's YOU ARE NOT HER for 147 hit points!
GS: Cripple, Jam, and Mute! Statuses applied to Thessaly!
GS: Hyper! Statuses applied to Nameless Lord!
GS: Margaret takes a glancing hit from Nameless Lord's YOU ARE NOT HER for 69 hit points!
GS: White Knight Leo guards a hit from Nameless Lord's YOU ARE NOT HER for 85 hit points!
GS: Garan Dantear guards a hit from Nameless Lord's Bloodflamme for 96 hit points!

<Pose Tracker> Thessaly has posed.

The Nameless Lord could be a mindreader for all she knows; it would explain how she could draw such tremendous ire by indulging her curiosity within her imagination.

 Paint spools everywhere and as the Malevolent entity calls for his own forces to attack them and search for the woman in question, Thessaly pivots to face the grotesquely proportioned former noble, but before she can launch her spell at him, he is able to cut her down with pools of liquid fire and heat. The black of her clothes is able to absorb the color, but the burning and the pain.

 She lets out a cry as she topples backwards, smoke rising from her pallid, dark-clad form. The intensity of it eats away at the fine fabric of her clothes, chewing through her sleeves and her skirt. It thankfully stops before she becomes indecent, but pale skin in the places where it is visible has grown red and angry with worrisome burns. Her constitution and her endurance has never been the best.

 "Ugh..." she pants, attempting to get herself to at least a kneeling position. Despite what she has endured, however, she has managed to hold onto her spell; the build-up of darklight and purple lightning hovers near her, ready to be unleashed.

 She points a finger and it lances towards the Nameless Lord in an accelerated burst, in an effort to slam right into his center mass. She is not unaware of the others that are starting to crowd the chamber, or the two distinctive figures that have just risen from the fallen paint - she is certain they are going to be a problem.

 But one thing at a time. 

GS: Thessaly has attacked Nameless Lord with Rallentando!
GS: Thessaly has completed her action.
GS: Nameless Lord takes a solid hit from Thessaly's Rallentando for 124 hit points!

<Pose Tracker> Margaret has posed.

Margaret, not for the first time, wonders why she does the bare shoulder look. Her face contorts with pain and fury at the touch of the simmering hot.

"It's not wrong," Silf says, before comes T H E F L O O D, reeking with pigment and turpentine. The two magoi look upwards and Margaret's grip on her naginata tightens a little as it pours, rainbow like and lush in its intermingled torrent. The heat boils off of it.

And... with a tremendous CRACK the pigment tide is loosed, sweeping over where the Neo-Vane contingent stands. When it flows away, there is nothing there.

Because they moved. On either side of a painting of a father in agony, clutching a swaddled child whose clothes are specked with blood, are two elves. Both have secured themselves by stabbing weapons into the stones; Margaret's naginata and twinned katar on Silf's part. The two of them glance at each other again, wordlessly.

Silf goes off to do something else. Margaret, having only one point, twists herself round, bracing carefully before she draws out her weapon and calling out, "Stay clear of them!" Her left arm sweeps outwards. Towards her familiar comrades there is a sense of gathering force as Margaret's gloved hand is tightened - "Thunder Road!"

The same CRACK again. This time on Corwynt and Leo. Perhaps she has faith in Garan's armor and Thessaly's sorcerous power. Having done this, Margaret flips back to land on the ground, moving with fluid grace towards the front of this hellacious battle.

GS: Margaret has attacked Margaret with Thunder Road!
GS: Margaret has attacked White Knight Leo with Thunder Road!
GS: Margaret has attacked Corwynt with Thunder Road!
GS: Margaret has completed her action.
GS: Corwynt takes a solid hit from Margaret's Thunder Road for 0 hit points!
GS: Quick! Statuses applied to Corwynt!
GS: Margaret takes a solid hit from Margaret's Thunder Road for 0 hit points!
GS: Quick! Statuses applied to Margaret!
GS: White Knight Leo takes a solid hit from Margaret's Thunder Road for 0 hit points!
GS: Quick! Statuses applied to White Knight Leo!

<Pose Tracker> White Knight Leo has posed.

    "Do not mock me, creature," Leo says, as the Nameless Lord throws his own words back at him, parrot-like. The air grows hot, and sweat beads at the White Knight's brow, but he remains undeterred. He's not sure where in this room the creature is hiding, if such facts even matter in this place. Then, a bit of paint drips down from above, onto Margaret. "Above!" Leo shouts, and he is answered a moment later by the Nameless Lord's furious scream. "SCATTER!"

    Leo moves like a landslide, surging out from beneath the paintfall with a purposeful, leaping stride. Some of it gets on him anyway, flecking his uniform with spots of color even as it burns into his skin. Thessaly's scream gets his attention, and he twists on a heel, stomping his other foot into the tile. Jagged chunks of rock shoot up from the floor, corralling the paint away from the other Guard members. Then it starts to congeal, and gives everyone a new problem.

    'Thunder Road!' cries Margaret, and Leo feels the familiar scent of electrical speed infusing him. "You could have been cleansed, creature!" the White Knight roars, "But if you desire an end so completely--DEMON FANG!" Leo's blade traces out a single, perfect strike. Chi boils off its edge, jumping to the floor like an electrical spark crossing a gap between wires. It races at the Nameless Lord, a burst of tremendous power.

GS: White Knight Leo has attacked Nameless Lord with Demon Fang!
GS: White Knight Leo has completed his action.

<Pose Tracker> Corwynt has posed.

The creature refuses, as Corwynt knew it would; illuminated by the light of justice, the weak and cruel alike would quail and fight rather than face the truth of their own existence. "Damned, then," the little man says, his voice the scraping of a whetstone along the executioner's blade. "So be it, monster - whomever she was, rest assured, she will not long mourn your passing."

The creature fights, as Corwynt knew it would; the manner of its doing, however, still manages to surprise him. Fell energy arcs and swirls, a limb forged of hellfire and hellspite alike crashes down upon the little man, burning away the right arm and upper third of his gi. Snarling, Corwynt rolls along the stone, swiping a hand across his body, green light shining as he scrapes a knife's edge of air across the flaming, carving it away from him. His garment, still smoldering, falls a second later, revealing an upper torso marred by a reddish weal of flame. And also by a latticework of scars, number and size each telling the tale of a life of suffering... or a single defining moment of anguish.

Or, for those who know the man, both.

Corwynt inhales sharply, green-white energy flowing into his body, the Blessing of Althena a gathering storm of righteous fury. Bellowing a wordless cry, Corwynt throws his right arm forward and fires of bolt of crackling wind toward the Nameless Lord, following it up with a second moments later. Arcs of lightning crawl up Corwynt's body, licking along his limbs... but he holds still for now, watching the monster carefully. 

GS: Corwynt has attacked Nameless Lord with Wind Shot!
GS: Corwynt has completed his action.
GS: Please react using the attack number in +queue.
GS: Nameless Lord takes a solid hit from White Knight Leo's Demon Fang for 125 hit points!
GS: Nameless Lord takes a solid hit from Corwynt's Wind Shot for 84 hit points!

<Pose Tracker> Garan Dantear has posed.

As always, the Imperial Knight stands.

"Thessaly--!" Garan tries to warn the black-clad witch, perhaps even tries to interpose himself with the Malevolent harm coming her way, but he has his own problems to deal with, too. The bubbling, liquid flame churns, and the knight tries to get out of the way... But the 'flame' becomes a searing palm, a mighty hand trying to crush him, the force of the downward blow and the burning heat behind it smashing against the barricade of his shield, forcing his posture down but ultimately unable to bear Dantear to the floor while he draws his sword with his other hand.

Staying close to Thessaly, for now, the knight takes up a defensive posture while calling on the Blessing, pure white light radiating, coruscating briefly around Garan before it appears over Thessaly, a cascade of light over the witch to battle against the Nameless Lord's power.

"We need you at full strength, Tess," he tells her, quietly. "I want you to teach this thing to fear you more than it does 'her'." 

GS: Garan Dantear has attacked Thessaly with Shielding Light!
GS: Garan Dantear has completed his action.
GS: Garan Dantear heals Thessaly! She gains 100 temporary hit points!

<Pose Tracker> Nameless Lord has posed.

"She took it from me! Took everything! For what?!"

The Nameless Lord rises from its floating position, robes flowing and whipping about it as if it is the center of a terrible storm. Paint splashes and splatters across the circular stone chamber, settling into bubbling pools of ink and color. A storm of madness, it seems, with little care or perhaps even awareness of anything going on around it.

It's an idea that holds some merit, perhaps, as that jolt of purple lightning SEARS its way towards the diminutive Hellion. Magical lightning CRACKLES its way harshly across the floating creature's tiny torso, and the Lord does not even attempt to defend himself -- spasming violently, he starts to literally bend backwards at an angle that should rightly break the spine of anything normal, a shrill shriek of annoyance riding from what feels like the entirety of the tower as he thrashes. The paint beneath them slops, shifts. The panorama decorating the walls seems to gain depth.

"I did nothing! I fought for my House! For what was mine by right! Your judgment is a farce! You have no legitimacy! I WON'T ACCEPT IT!"

The voice seems to be both answering them, and speaking to something else, faraway -- like living simultaneously in his memories and in the present, all at once. Disoriented, the Hellion lurches forward -- and as electrical arches fill the room with the familiar sensation of Althena's bolstering magic --

"HER! IT'S HER!"

-- the massive form that is the Nameless Slave, all deep dark red musculature and blazing, wide red eyes, rears upon Margaret, drawing one hand back to SMASH a titanic fist nearly as large as the elf is tall into her without restraint or remorse. And behind it? The tall, gaunt form of the Nameless Servant weaves its magics, long, spidery digits splaying as Malevolence spools into a bright, searing sigil -- a sigil that bleeds Malevolent energy in jolts intent to sear into Margaret's flesh.

"No... not her... where is... what village? Preposterous... I can do what I will... I'm sorry! I'm SORRY! PLEASE!"

But if you desire an end so completely--DEMON FANG!

In tandem, a blade of chi and a wind-laced bolt of magic SLAM into that small frame. He is so slight, such a slip of a creature, that he seems to simply go -flying- like a ragdoll. The Demon Fang slices through robes that seem to splatter like thrashed paint only to instantly reform, the wind -carving- through his headdress and widening those already too-wide eyes within the force of the blow as it CRACKS the Lord into that painting...

... and he sinks within it.

<<I AM ALREADY ENDED>>

And suddenly, the panorama EXPANDS within a delirious crackle of Malevolence magic, literally -engulfing- the room and everything within it.

And Althena's Guardsmen find themselves in another world.

DRAGGED into the painted landscape of a shifting battlefield in Rolance's Meadows of Triumph, tilted towers waver and shift with little ripples of paint as soldiers and nobles rush past them, panicked. In the background, ever out-of-sight, ever a terrible, horrifying silhouette, eyes gleaming as she carves through hordes of fleeing soldiers.

And with every blow of her sword, maddened memories sweep through this painted world, filling and attempting to poison the senses. Memories of a grand battle, banners looking vaguely like Rolance's beset by ones wholly different. Memories of a village burning as soldiers ran through their citizens on the dirt streets. Memories of a tiny lord, shackled and humiliated, large eyes strangled with fury.

Each pulse a pulse of Malevolence that rolls through this world like a shockwave, seeking to poison the soul.

"The Shepherd."

And suddenly, amidst all the madness of the battlefield, the Nameless Lord reappears, intent to GRIP Leo with his tiny, tiny hands. Those massive blue eyes start deep into the knight's, unblinking, twitching furiously.

"You say Shepherd. You know her. YOU KNOW HER! She is no Shepherd. Fraud! Charlatan! WHERE IS SHE?"

GS: Nameless Lord has activated a Force Action!
GS: You have activated the Force Action Extend!
GS: Nameless Lord has attacked Thessaly with Neurasthenia!
GS: Nameless Lord has attacked White Knight Leo with Neurasthenia!
GS: Nameless Lord has attacked Corwynt with Neurasthenia!
GS: Nameless Lord has attacked Garan Dantear with Neurasthenia!
GS: Nameless Lord has attacked Margaret with Neurasthenia!
GS: Hellion Horde has attacked Margaret with The Slave's Brand!
GS: Hellion Horde 2 has attacked Margaret with The Servant's Mark!

<Pose Tracker> Nameless Lord has posed.

    The Nameless Slave and the Nameless Servant begin to search frantically...

<DICE ROLLER> Nameless Lord rolled 1d8 <5> + 0 = 5
<DICE ROLLER> Nameless Lord rolled 1d8 <8> + 0 = 8 

GS: Corwynt takes a glancing hit from Nameless Lord's Neurasthenia for 103 hit points!
GS: ! Statuses applied to Corwynt!
GS: Nameless Lord has completed its action.
GS: Thessaly takes a solid hit from Nameless Lord's Neurasthenia for 199 hit points!
GS: ! Statuses applied to Thessaly!
GS: CRITICAL! Garan Dantear critically Guards a hit from Nameless Lord's Neurasthenia for 41 hit points!
GS: Cripple, Jam, and Mute! Statuses applied to Garan Dantear!
GS: Hyper! Statuses applied to Nameless Lord!
GS: White Knight Leo has activated a Force Action!
GS: White Knight Leo critically Guards a hit from Nameless Lord's Neurasthenia for 40 hit points!
GS: Corwynt has activated a Force Action!
GS: White Knight Leo used the Force Action Protect! He takes Nameless Lord's attack on Margaret on himself!
GS: White Knight Leo has activated a Force Action!
GS: CRITICAL! White Knight Leo takes a solid hit from Nameless Lord's Neurasthenia for 208 hit points!
GS: Cripple, Jam, and Mute! Statuses applied to White Knight Leo!
GS: Hyper! Statuses applied to Nameless Lord!

<Pose Tracker> Thessaly has posed.

The Blessing pulses brilliantly, reflecting off Garan's white plate. The eldritch bond that ties her to her warden blossoms with ribbons of healing magic and one by one, the angry red welts on her skin start to fade away as the burns recede in severity; some vanish altogether. With renewed strength, however temporary, Thessaly rises to her feet, taking up her usual position behind and to the side of Garan. The shield holds and the sword remains untarnished, though he would need a new set very soon.

 His expressed hopes has that hidden face softening, obscured as it is by the veil that miraculously remains intact. "I'll do what I can, my lord," she tells him quietly.

 But what harm could they do against what appears to be a vengeful spirit, without the purification abilities of a Shepherd?

 She finds herself dragged into a painting, her heart lurching into her throat as the world spins around her in a hurricane of color. Forced into another world meant to glorify the past - as art is wont to do - she manages to find her feet again. The clash of battle overlay into memories of other bouts, and in the distance, looming over them, is that frightening silhouette...

 I AM ALREADY ENDED

 She ought to have more sympathy, but she doesn't - more than anyone in this room, she is familiar with the nature and character of most of Rolance's nobles, and while there are good and decent people among them, ambition is as ever a sleeping viper in every garden. Deep violet eyes fall on the man in chains, eyes brimming with tears of fury.

 "Every individual is the hero or the victim of his own story," she murmurs.

 Perhaps the lord of the Spire intends to punish her for her skepticism of his plight. Powerful, painful magic drives her off her feet and down on her knees again, sinking low in the remains of her clothing. Everything hurts and eyes are rendered all the more brilliant with tears of pain - that last blow had almost been enough to render her unconscious as to how powerful it was, liable to shatter her frail body.

 She ought to retreat, she thinks. She can't be a liability to Garan and everyone else.

 She attempts to find the source inside this strange world wrought into being by magic and artistic expression. Drawing a bead on where she thinks she is, she unleashes another sorcerous bolt in that direction, in an effort to hurt in turn - to attempt to crack the illusion and set them free. 

GS: Thessaly has attacked Nameless Lord with Rallentando!
GS: Thessaly has completed her action.
GS: Margaret takes a solid hit from Hellion Horde's The Slave's Brand for 30 hit points!
GS: Margaret guards a hit from Hellion Horde 2's The Servant's Mark for 43 hit points!
GS: Margaret loses a Combo from Interrupt!

<Pose Tracker> Corwynt has posed.

Darkness surges as the Nameless Lord passes into the painting, then surges out toward Althena's Guardsmen, Corwynt included. The little man holds his breath, letting the Blessing within his body sustain him, unwilling to let any of it escape into the Malevolent storm without. Ebon shadows cling to the little man's body, but he stands resolute, awaiting the proper moment.

It comes, as the Nameless Lord reaches forward to grasp the White Knight of Althena in its delicate little hands. Corwynt Marikson is no Chosen of the Goddess, no Dragonmaster, no Shepherd, no Seraphim. The cleaning gifts of the Goddess Althena are not his to wield; he has no hope of squelching the flames of Malevolence. But his commander is in trouble, and it is his responsibility to act. Corwynt exhales, a surge of wind brushing the hadows away from his body, Margaret's lightning crackling to life. He flickers and is

        g o n e

Corwynt flashes back into being behind the Nameless Lord, in front of Leo, wind and lightning trailing a sparkline back to where he leapt from. The little man's right foot streaks around toward the Nameless Lord's head, and Corwynt unleashes another shattering battlecry, green-white power swelling behind his leg, propelling it forward, as he tries to accelerate into a spiraling kick aimed to split the monster's skull in two. 

GS: Corwynt has attacked Nameless Lord with Hurricane Kick!
GS: Corwynt has completed his action.
GS: Nameless Lord takes a solid hit from Thessaly's Rallentando for 134 hit points!
GS: Please react using the attack number in +queue.
GS: CRITICAL! Nameless Lord takes a solid hit from Corwynt's Hurricane Kick for 80 hit points!
GS: Cripple and Mute! Statuses applied to Nameless Lord!
GS: Hyper and Quick! Statuses applied to Corwynt!

<Pose Tracker> White Knight Leo has posed.

    The Nameless Lord looks like a joke. There is something comical in the way it goes flying off--or rather, something that would be comical, were they not in a maddened hellscape. One of the thing's servants shrieks, and Leo sees both of them converging on Margaret out of the corner of his eye. "Margaret!" Leo shouts. Reality starts to unravel around them. Or has it already unraveled? Either way, all Leo can really do is put himself between the besieged Black Pearl and the thing besieging her. Memories tear through his consciousness, and they are not his. The theme of the scenes is all too familiar, but the content is not. Leo holds out for as long as he can, but he's bearing the brunt of the assault so Margaret can focus on her own attackers. Malevolence boils up around him, looking for any sign of weakness or doubt so it can sink its claws in.

    Leo does not scream. He bites his cheek until it bleeds, but he does not scream.

    "Not her," Leo says. Blood dribbles onto his lips. Reality focuses, and he realizes he's looking into that thing's face. It's gripping him with both hands. "Not that Shepherd!" Leo strikes as Corwynt does, his blade sweeping across the tiny figure's torso.

GS: White Knight Leo has attacked Nameless Lord with Flash Blade!
GS: White Knight Leo has entered a Reflect stance!
GS: White Knight Leo has completed his action.
GS: Please react using the attack number in +queue.
GS: Nameless Lord takes a solid hit from White Knight Leo's Flash Blade for 108 hit points!

<Pose Tracker> Garan Dantear has posed.

Reality seems malleable in this place, soft like clay: The reality of the paintings, and the reality of the world they know, mix together, clays of different colours blurring together until it becomes difficult to tell where one ends and the other begins. Even before they reached the paintings everything seemed wrong, everything about the Spire violated their very understanding of how existence fundamentally worked... And now, they've been drawn into, what, the madness of the entity beind it?

Reality, as the Nameless Lord sees it?

The entity's power is nearly enough to bring Thessaly low, and Garan is torn between trying to protect the witch more directly and leaping into the fray to try and defeat this thing. Tess is still attacking, of course, because she'd never stop fighting as long as she drew breath. She never had, since long before Garan Dantear ever knew her, so.

So.

"This is no true Rolance," the red-haired knight says of the world of oils and malevolence that surrounds them. He rushes forward, with surprising speed for someone in all that plate, dropping low to skid on the painted suggestion of a torn-up battlefield, to get himself to one side of the Lord. "This Rolance is a lie. Whoever you are, I don't have any interest in your DELUSIONS!" His sword sings, gleams, shines, as the Imperial Knight lashes out to keep the Nameless Lord pressed between Corwynt's kicks, Leo's blade and his own borrowed steel. 

GS: Garan Dantear has attacked Nameless Lord with Vanguard Destroyer!
GS: Garan Dantear has entered a Reflect stance!
GS: Garan Dantear has completed his action.
GS: Please react using the attack number in +queue.
GS: Nameless Lord takes a solid hit from Garan Dantear's Vanguard Destroyer for 153 hit points!

<Pose Tracker> Margaret has posed.

Margaret, daughter of an orchard keeper long, so long ago, exhales at the creature's words. But, she tells herself as her grip tightens, it's -

wait -

"Oh for," Margaret begins, before that fist is coming straight towards her. She flinches back - the internvention of the White Knight, heroic and bold, spares her SOME of it, the blow at least, but not the crackling burns of the malevolent energy.

Something in what the creature says makes Margaret's heart twist. That hurt - and then the world twists and they are shown this darkling face. Memories fill Margaret's mind and only her familiarity with illusionary arts keeps her from losing her footing, or her shit, entirely. Her soul braces, curls up.

Reeling even so, she is, for once, silent. Perhaps blessedly so! Exhaling with great force she steps forwards, leaning forwards and aiming a long polemaster's thrust of the tip of her naginata into the gaps between Corwynt and Garan and Leo, moving with force so fast that it sounds like a sharp crack.

(Where'd Silf go? It is a mystery.)

GS: Margaret has attacked Nameless Lord with Shellcracker!
GS: Margaret has completed her action.
GS: Please react using the attack number in +queue.
GS: CRITICAL! Nameless Lord takes a solid hit from Margaret's Shellcracker for 91 hit points!
GS: Cripple, Jam, Mute, and Poison! Statuses applied to Nameless Lord!

<Pose Tracker> Nameless Lord has posed.

"Where," whispers the Nameless Lord; without a mouth, his tremulous voice seems to come in the reverberations that thrum through that painted world. A tone that wavers precariously between fear and wrath. The sound of obsession. "Where is she? She'll ruin me again." His fingers sink further in his grasp of Leo, the feeling like something cold and slick slipping into the pores of one's body. "Don't let her take me. I'll cut out your TONGUE for mentioning HER!"

And they tighten more, eyes widening into hideously bright points of blue light --

Before two assaults strike the Nameless Lord in tandem; the terrified shriek that looses from him is both maddened and sad -- like the horror of someone unused to pain and hard labor being subjected to it for the first time, clinging obsessively to a pampered existence that has not been their privilege for centuries. The blade -carves- through the Hellion's torso even as that foot RAMS into its skull, splitting his head open into an inky fissure of black and violets and sending him flipping backwards head over heels until he -crashes- into a nearby hillside.

Slowly, head split asunder, the Nameless Lord rises. "Shepherd... lying... there couldn't be any other... only her... no! She's dead! I remember! They said it, but I know it false! Where is she?!" The Lord's thoughts seem to drift chaotically, confusion riding within his split gaze. His minions surge through the painted army, at times shoving them aside and others seeming to merge -into- passing knights before bursting out the other end. The Servant searches, confusion evident in its murky, painted expression, as if the madness that afflicts its master has spread like a disease. It pauses, head tilting, form seeming to wobble precariously...

... before its painted comrade SURGES out of the ground from behind Corwynt; the Slave's roar is hideous and pained, like someone being forced towards a violence they do not want to commit, before that manacled palm comes crashing down as if to smash the man into the earth.

"Dragonia's pet! Her leash is cut but I know she's here somewhere! I can taste it! Show me--"

Another bolt of pure, magical might CRACKS across the Nameless Lord with enough force to unsettle him in mid-air, sending the tiny figure spinning about as his entire form seems to warble as if briefly losing cohesion. In tandem, the entire panorama world they find themselves lost within seems to ripple and -melt- here and there, like paint scrubbed from a canvas, revealing little segments of the 'real' world beneath as the Lord claws at the air.

But before he can right himself, the form of the Knight of Rolance -surges- into his field of vision, the vision of the elven Guardswoman piercing into his flank seconds later. Pincered, the Hellion releases a horrified squawk -- and it is the last sound he can manage to make before sword and naginata CLEAVE and PIERCE the creature's diminutive form in tandem. So shortly after Leo and Corwynt's assault, it completely unsettles him, cleaving both arms off his brutalized body in a spray of paint-like Malevolence before he goes spiraling away to CRASH into a leaning tower built upon a nearby hillside.

The painted landscape ripples like a lake disturbed. Shouts of 'Dragonia's Witch is here! Run! Go! Save us, Althena!!' can be heard from terrified, unseen voices as soldiers rush past the others. And for a moment, beyond the sound of battle, there is silence.

Silence, until the Nameless Lord literally GROWS out of the very hillside he was smashed into, the ridiculous proportions of his tiny body supersized into a giant of verdant greens and scorched, smudgy earth. Grassy eyelids shudder open like a child waking up for the first time. They widen, to reveal those swirling blue, irises and wide, black pupils, looking like the depths of a maelstrom of insanity as two poorly-proportioned hands reach outward. Fingers splay. Malevolent sorcery swirls.

And suddenly, those terrified, fleeing soldiers decorating this painted world find themselves abruptly -yanked- through the skies like puppets on strings. They mash together, knit inward as they let out helpless sounds of protest -- merging by the command of their Lord into a massive blade of painted, terrified knights.

A massive blade brought to bear upon Corwynt, Leo and Margaret with one scream-filled sweep that cleaves the entire meadow, the brunt of its stroke aimed for the elf as if the mere sight of her was a blemish to be smote off of this bizarre, wrong earth.

"Rolance...? What is Rolance--?"

The grassy fingers of the Lord's opposing hand twitch. And from them springs sorcery; a wall of flame gushes into being in front of the hill-forged Hellion even as the painted world deterioriates here and there, creating a roving cataclysm that rolls through more of those fleeing soldiers, like they were little more than tinder for their Lord to increase the intensity of his flames as they BURN towards Thessaly. More magic sings --

--and something like a Noble's crest for a House that cannot be identified by appearance alone crackles into a searing sigil in front of Garan Dantear. And then another beneath him. Another above him. And another, and another, until he is boxed in by that nameless crest, creating a cage... a cage soon filled with Malevolent lightning seeking to pin him into place with soul-wracking pain.

"You," whispers the voice, shuddering frantically all around them, "you bear the colors of Dragonia. You betray your Lord! You are one of her men, aren't you?! Her simpering fanatics! AREN'T YOU!? YOU KEEP LOEGRES FROM ME! YOU PAINT IT WITH HIS HEATHEN COLORS! GIVE ME MY LAND BACK!"

GS: Nameless Lord has activated a Force Action!
GS: You have activated the Force Action Lock On!
GS: Nameless Lord has attacked Thessaly with Calamity Flare!
GS: Nameless Lord has attacked White Knight Leo with Desolate Tableau!
GS: Nameless Lord enters a Counter stance!
GS: Nameless Lord has attacked Garan Dantear with Crest of the Nameless House!
GS: Nameless Lord takes 9 damage from Poison!
GS: Nameless Lord has completed its action.
GS: Nameless Lord has attacked Corwynt with Desolate Tableau!
GS: Nameless Lord has attacked Margaret with Forgotten Glory!
GS: Hellion Horde has attacked Corwynt with The Slave's Brand!

<Pose Tracker> Nameless Lord has posed.

    The Nameless Slave and the Nameless Servant begin to search frantically...

<DICE ROLLER> Nameless Lord rolled 1d8 <5> + 0 = 5
<DICE ROLLER> Nameless Lord rolled 1d8 <1> + 0 = 1 

GS: Corwynt takes a solid hit from Nameless Lord's Desolate Tableau for 121 hit points!
GS: Mighty! Statuses applied to Nameless Lord!
GS: Corwynt takes an additional 15 damage from Reaper!
GS: Corwynt has activated a Force Action!
GS: Corwynt takes a glancing hit from Hellion Horde's The Slave's Brand for 21 hit points!
GS: Corwynt takes an additional 15 damage from Reaper!
GS: CRITICAL! White Knight Leo guards a hit from Nameless Lord's Desolate Tableau for 71 hit points!
GS: Cripple, Jam, and Mute! Statuses applied to White Knight Leo!
GS: Hyper and Mighty! Statuses applied to Nameless Lord!
GS: White Knight Leo takes an additional 15 damage from Reaper!
GS: Garan Dantear guards a hit from Nameless Lord's Crest of the Nameless House for 88 hit points!

DC: MISS! Margaret completely evades Forgotten Glory from Nameless Lord!

GS: CRITICAL! Thessaly takes a solid hit from Nameless Lord's Calamity Flare for 125 hit points!
GS: Cripple, Jam, and Mute! Statuses applied to Thessaly!
GS: Hyper! Statuses applied to Nameless Lord!
GS: Thessaly takes an additional 15 damage from Reaper!

<Pose Tracker> Thessaly has posed.

"This is not yet Rolance, my lord," the sorceress tells Garan with a quiet certainty. "I recognize the names. I believe this is during the unification period, before Rolance ever was Rolance. We are looking at a few of the struggles that shaped the nation in which we were born. Whoever he is, he must've held one of the territories that had been swallowed up by the first Emperor's conquest-- "

 The flames come for her and they hit; she doesn't know what about this place manages to circumvent her protections, but maybe the answer as to why is looking at her right at the face, with those swirling strains of Malevolence wafting around the battlefield. After all....could one really fight against oneself?

 But to accept that would mean...

 Her heart jackhammers in her chest when the Lord traps Garan in something ominous and dangerous, and when the flames finally hit her, Thessaly screams as she burns - whatever Garan had done to her before is undone almost immediately when she's engulfed in a pyre of the Hellion's making, out of pain and the desperate need to get Garan out of his cage, her back arching while she kneels and her head tilting back, eyes wide and wild staring up at the ceiling as if in prayer and supplication. Ashes flakes off her pale skin in bits, swept away from her by an unnatural wind, and the high pitched sound that escapes her changes in pitch and tone the higher it climbs. It echoes strangely, and not fully human - her cries are punctuated by the haunted, rage-filled shrieks of something that sounds large, predatory and avian.

 As the pyre dies away, she sags into where she kneels, pale skin streaked with soot and most of her gown gone, strips and tatters of it keeping her modest, but it is otherwise ruined. The veil is gone as well and melted metal from the pins that hold her hair in place drips from long, disheveled tresses that spool in inky whorls over her shoulders and down on the ground.

 Her head is lowered and bowed, however, her face obscured by shadows save for the burning, amethystine glare of one visible eye.

 She whispers - the language too old to be comprehensible. Reaching inside of herself, she grasps at the very crucible of her pain with both hands, and weaves interlocking strains of sorcery upon it. It is equal parts light and shadow, coruscating underneath where she kneels.

GS: Thessaly has activated a Force Action!
GS: Thessaly has attacked Nameless Lord with Fortissimo!
GS: Thessaly has completed her action.
GS: Nameless Lord takes a solid hit from Thessaly's Fortissimo for 216 hit points!

<Pose Tracker> Corwynt has posed.

The Slave's scream is a detonation of cacaphony; Corwynt staggers under the sonic assault, certain he can feel his teeth shaking within his jaw from the force of it. His body shivers and convulses, but he holds his ground, even as blood begins to weep from his ears. It is all he can do to stand, he thinks, and just when it seems he can bear no more, the Nameless Lord's blade rises. It quivers.

It falls.

Pain is a tangled skein weaving the tapestry of life. Threads of it cross over and upon each other on a daily basis, a thousand tiny tendrils snaking into all who live, lingering for a time, then passing on, leaving scars. Physical, spiritual, mental. And yet, only a few words can be used to describe it. Hurt. Suffering. Agony. Torment. A handful of words, no matter the depth or breadth of pain that can be felt in a moment's passing. It can only be described in comparison.

And so, to say Corwynt is in pain following the sword stroke is woefully insufficient. And yet, the agony of life has been his constant companion.

"Stand," Corwynt says, his voice shaking as his reserves bleed away, tumbling into the grey haze that threatens to envelop him. And yet, he cannot fall. Not just yet. Was Blessed Althena no less pained by the tragedy of the Blue Star? And yet she found strength to guide her people into her sheltering bosom. "Stand tall," he says, green-white light crackling along his forearms as he pours all of his energies, even the flickering lightning Margaret gifted him, into the palm of his right hand. "The day is dark... but who are we, if not the ones who will bring the light?" he asks, stepping forward, blood weeping down his chest. "Who are we, if not the sword in the hand of our Goddess? Why do we stand?" he barks, raising a shaking hand, aiming it in the direction of the Nameless Lord. "You champions of the faithful! ANSWER ME!" he screams, putting everything he has into a final, screaming blast.

"WHY DO WE STAND?" 

GS: Corwynt has attacked Nameless Lord with Quid Statis?!
GS: Corwynt has completed his action.
GS: Sneak! The true nature of Corwynt's attack becomes clear!
GS: Nameless Lord takes a solid hit from Corwynt's Althena Wills It! for 186 hit points!

<Pose Tracker> Margaret has posed.

The Servant and the Slave move with murderous intent. The creature, the Hellion, cry out. Margaret's mind whirls with throbbing focus. The resolute urgency of now! This is not a feeling you ever wish for, she thinks, but now that it's here, be damned if it doesn't have its advantages. Her heart throbs; her ears fold back as she bares her teeth after her strike.

Disarmed, the creature flies. Margaret braces herself, breathing quickly in the silence. She doesn't intend to lower her guard until she's passed seven breaths. Around breath #4 she is at least somewhat vindicated, although it is cold comfort.

Corwynt, Leo, Garan, Thessaly, any of them might be surprised at the sudden look of surprise at Margaret's face for unclear reasons. It is immediately suppressed. Maybe it was gas?

The soldiers draw together and form into a weapon of the will of the nobility - more literally than usual - and as the screaming, wailing blade comes up, Margaret breathes out. The sword twists towards her and Margaret leans back at a contorted angle, bracing herself on her naginata. And...

To all the world it looks like she just sort of hopped over the impossibly enormous blade, like she was sliding her backside over the bonnet of a wagon. But from a different perspective it was wholly possible. Illusion upon illusion, or perhaps a diversion from where Margaret really was all along. She does seem to position herself oddly as she lands on the other side of the blade.

But however accomplished, it is done. Margaret's eyes flick into the scenery once more, even as the flame erupts and the painting erodes. She sweeps one hand out in a wholly unnecessary way as her eyes rest upon the positioned and green-limned form of Silf, oh so terribly far away.

Move your view in a different way. Margaret's hand is a bridge with long gaps between the planks. Silf, impossibly, runs along them.

Seen from another angle - say, Thessaly's - nothing much seems to happen. Margaret remains still, violet licking gently at her calves as she says, "Creature! You're very impressive - I admire your art - I've even learned, I think, a trick or two. But you err in one key respect. That man you torment, this ser!"

Margaret's posture rises up, arrogant, insolent, and eye catching. Silf is (from a certain point of view) running down her middle finger and flips to the index finger, bearing down with green poison light upon the edges of her blade. There is a distant sound of thunder.

Margaret tilts her naginata to point in a general direction. "He is not my soldier."

As Silf leaps with the barreling crashing force of a runaway train if a runaway train had two steel blades honed to shaving-sharpness, Margaret concludes,

GS: Margaret has attacked Nameless Lord with She is.!
GS: Margaret has completed her action.
GS: Sneak! The true nature of Margaret's attack becomes clear!
GS: Nameless Lord takes a solid hit from Margaret's Seven Sisters for 169 hit points!

<Pose Tracker> White Knight Leo has posed.

    "Silence," Leo says, but the Lord keeps babbling. The big Beastman's ears flatten against his head, as though trying to physically silence the Hellion's maddened words. As though they could seep into Leo's brain and poison his thoughts if he tried to find sense in them. "Silence!" And then, he is freed. Leo allows himself to sag, thick, black-violet smoke pouring off his body. He's endured the personal attention of a powerful Hellion for longer than any sane man should. His blade feels heavier in his hand. He trails off, listening to Thessaly's explanation. "Whatever war you speak of has long since ended," Leo says. Each word takes effort. "Now, creature--"

    splck

    Leo doesn't see where the Lord landed. "Everyone who can still stand, on your feet!" he cries, and then the ground surges upwards. Leo gapes a moment at the tremendous, earthen thing the Lord has become. What he's doing to those soldiers. This is a realm of madness, and Leo feels it keenly as he sees that blade come down. He digs in a heel, willing the earth to rise to his aid in defiance of the Nameless Lord. Great stone pillars rise into the air like jagged teeth. The Lord's blade comes down.

    When the dust clears, all but ones of the pillars are gone, shattered. The one that isn't has sheltered Leo, barely. The Beastman's flesh is riddled with bits of shrapnel, bits of rock and shards of metal from the knights' weapons and armor. He can hear Thessaly--Thessaly? Is that her?--screaming, behind him.

    Your flank is open, boy, says the voice of Georg Heldalf, in Leo's memory.

    It is not Leo who has left his flank open. In his haste to strike Leo and his soldiers down, the Nameless Lord has left himself unprepared for the move afterwards. "Because," Leo whispers, answering Corwynt, "it is Her will." And then he moves. Leo surges forwards, matching Corwynt's strike with one of his own. Chi boils out of his body, surging down the length of his blade in what looks, initially, like another Demon Fang. Leo swings, and the wave leaps off his blade, gaining coherence as it flies through the air.

    "LION'S HOWL!" Leo cries, and the apparition of the roaring lion answers him a hundredfold. It races inexorably towards the Nameless Lord, to crush him between its jaws.

GS: White Knight Leo has attacked Nameless Lord with Lion's Howl!
GS: White Knight Leo has completed his action.
GS: Please react using the attack number in +queue.
GS: Nameless Lord takes a solid hit from White Knight Leo's Lion's Howl for 227 hit points!
GS: Nameless Lord enters CONDITION GREEN!!
GS: Nameless Lord has Fallen! It is no longer able to fight!

<Pose Tracker> Garan Dantear has posed.

And so, Garan Dantear is trapped.

He doesn't have time to ponder on sigils and heraldry, or really think too much about what the entity is talking about as he's getting electrocuted by Malevolent lightning, searing pain setting every nerve alight even as he pushes back against it, an act more of will and spirit than any physical resistance. It isn't until Thessaly's power comes to bear, after the terrible, dangerous moment in which the Other nearly slips its bonds, that the cage of malevolent energy surrounding the Imperial Knight breaks, releasing him.

He staggers, stumbles... But still, the knight doesn't fall. He looks for the witch, searches her out, sees her injured, burned and tattered by the Nameless Lord's attacks, sees Thessaly kneeling as she summons her power, as she strives against the entity with her own arcane strength, trying to free them all from the warped reality that yet traps them. The others fight, and fight, and fight against this monstrously powerful foe, and he...

He charges.

Shield first, Garan hunkers down behind the slab of borrowed steel, rushing in no matter how mighty the foe, how titanic it might be. The shield affords him all the protection he needs to get closer, to get close enough to start cutting, no brave words now. Garan is used to the battlefield, has stood upon it since he was barely more than a boy. This is grim work, and he approaches it like a workman, blade slashing, shield hammering, until the foe in front of him breaks. 

GS: Garan Dantear has attacked Nameless Lord with Breaking the Unbreakable!
GS: Garan Dantear has completed his action.
GS: Nameless Lord takes a solid hit from Garan Dantear's Breaking the Unbreakable for 210 hit points!
GS: Nameless Lord has Fallen! It is no longer able to fight!

<Pose Tracker> Nameless Lord has posed.

"You will bring me to her, witchspawn, you will show me her, and I will -- no! No!! D-don't tell her where I am! She'll come for me! She'll take all that I have left!"

It is a cacophony, the Nameless Lord's voice; a confused jumble of tones that is perfectly reflected in the surreal, warping artistry that surrounds them. Warbling between the presumptuous command of a man who has demanded obedience all his life and expected things to go his way, and the abject terror of someone who has had that -taken- from him. The dark chill of deep-seated fear, mixed with the horrible inferno of obsession. That electricity intensifies.

"But I took from your witch, too! If I am for exile, let her be for the mire! Dead and gone and b-- and b-- no. ... N-no. Dead--? Is she--"

Distraction. It's all it takes for that madness to begin to unwind. Uncertainty possesses the tremendous, earth-wrought, paint-soaked figure the Hellion has become as Silf DRIVES her poisoned blades into the earthen hide of the hill-forged Nameless Lord, stone and minerals shattering as violently as Garan's containment spell is; the bounds of its nameless crest crumbling into nothing to free the Rolancian knight trapped within as the very SPACE around him tears like a chunk of canvas being ripped away, partially exposing the knight to the throne room in the world beyond this painted space.

"NO!" shouts the Lord, his face half-cracked open to reveal the turbulent swirl of paint-like Malevolence within, desperately trying to swat away Silf with one of those (proportionately) tiny hands. Confusion becomes horror. Horror becomes rage. And rage becomes fixation as those too-wide eyes focus their burning blue fury upon Thessaly, swaddled in those tattered robes.

"... it's you, isn't it. The witch. The WITCH! Living sham! Dressed in a lie! Stealing what is mine! I see the truth of you! Yes! I'm sorry! I'll kill you! Please don't hurt me!" And as those conflicting sentiments shriek through the skies, the Nameless Lord's hand reaches upward, almost as if he were grasping for the very sun above them. The heat all around begins to intensify--

BREAK!

But whatever he intends, never comes to fruition. The sparks of Thessaly's rage finally begin to manifest within him. A choked, burbling sound fills the sky.

And from the poisoned cracks splintered free from Silf's stroke, fire begins to GEYSER from the Nameless Lord as his earthen form begins to burn like it was an ignited kiln. The Lord shrieks, tiny hands pawing at his massive head as it yanks backwards. "Dragonia's soldier! Witch's plaything! Not your soldier! Mine! IT HURTS! THEY STOLE FROM ME! I GAVE THEM WHAT THEY DESERVED! WHY AM I TO BE PUNISHED?! I DON'Thkrh" His words, an incomprehensible blend of past and present, cut off with a strangled sound. His head hangs backwards.

And fire explodes like pillars from his widened eyes, as the entirety of his frame begins to fissure.

"... my name... what was... my name...?"

And there he hangs, a painted natural landscape of suffering and madness, as Corwynt aims his palm, surging with Athena's might, towards that sagging figure. As Leo and Garan charge towards the frontlines.

As that dark silhouette of a woman, so far in the distance, turns to watch with those horrible, burning eyes.

<<... i just want...>>

FWOOM

A blast of raw, green-screaming wind COLLIDES with the flame-broiling chest of the Nameless Lord. And as he cooks from within, as earth hardens and grows towards a fracture point, the roar of a phantasmal lion and the hammering pound of shield and sword COLLIDE with it at the same time. Over and over and over. Wind EXPLODES. Lion SNAPS. And weapons SWING.

Break. Break.

    BREAK

And

<<my>>

    it

<<name>>

        breaks.

<<back...>>

CRACK

The very moment the earth-wrought Lord shatters, the rest of that painted canvas seems to accede to Thessaly's will. Everything shatters and melts away, paint slopping off the fabric of reality into puddles that splash beneath their feet as the Guard are brought back to that Throne Room. A distant cry can be heard, the fleeting sight of that tiny, robed figure diving deeper into the Tower's depths.

Before the entire throne room quiets.

The panorama, still intact, no longer moves with that animated life. Now, it depicts something different. Men fighting bravely bearing the crest that had so bound Garan earlier, facing off against a woman in iron-and-leather armor and long, braided brown hair -- standing strong and proud, not horrifying and demonic, with soldiers bearing banners so strikingly similar to Rolance's flag.

But otherwise, the room is empty. Quiet. The Lord, gone. For now, at least.

Leaving nothing behind.

Nothing... save for a beautiful, perfectly rounded gem that rests upon his throne as if like a precious treasure he had forgotten... wam, serene... andpulsing between each color of the spectrum like the soft beats of a living heart...

<Pose Tracker> Thessaly has posed.

And just like that, everything shatters in a kaleidoscope of color, ephemeral shards falling like confetti rain from the ceiling until they fade away entirely, well before they reach the ground. Thessaly remains kneeling where she is, fingers twitching as she grasps the dagger in her hand, her shoulders hunched. Pale skin is rendered red again, peeking from the bands of black swathed around her form, ashes smeared into soot when they wick against her complexion due to the sheen of perspiration that blankets it. Her breath rattles in her chest, red and black creep in her vision.

 She pants quietly, most of her face obscured by torrents of her midnight hair.

 She feels the pulse of a heartbeat somewhere to the side of her, and when she lifts her head, she finds that she is back in the throne room with the rest of her party. Her muscles burn with agony, too weighted down by her injuries to be able to stand. But her stare redirects on the gem sitting on the throne.

 I just want my name back.

 With some effort, fingers unwindd from the grip of her dagger, to extend towards the throne. She manages some strength, still, for while her body can be broken, her will does not, and cannot, waver. The perfect gem lifts from its present seat, to drift towards her by her beckoning until those pale, ivory tines enclose around the pristine surface.

 She will have to examine it later.

 It is cold in her grasp, and as violet eyes drift down upon it, she couldn't help but wonder just what other secrets it holds, if any.

 But it is over, and she sags further into her bones. Lashes lid heavily and all she wants to do is sleep.

 "We should...before he comes back..." she whispers, to whoever is still standing. 

<Pose Tracker> Corwynt has posed.

Corwynt, who is not so much standing as sagging like a twice-burned candle, nods his head slowly. "Indeed," he rasps between panting breaths... but through the grey haze blanketing his mind, a single thought glimmers forth.

They've done the Goddess's work this day. 

<Pose Tracker> Margaret has posed.

As fire and poison and wind and sword rip and tear and burst, as screams hang heavy in dream and memory and vision alike, as the tension breaks, as the sphere is revealed, Silf lands on one knee and sheaths her blade. Her ears twitch twice and she looks up.

Margaret gazes upon her with momentary approval. Not approval of a moment, but in that she has other things to gaze upon.

Namely the others.

"Well, don't we all look a sight," she then says. Still bracing herself against her polearm, she nonetheless uses dark arts to force jollity in her voice. "You know, I had to deal with a moment like this on the Blue Star, with some wretched cat-boy and that miserable trollop of the Ausa crime family."

Margaret sweeps her weapon round to rest over her shoulders and has to pause from a moment of muscle pain. After this she steps nearer to Corwynt and Thessaly. "Can you stand alright?" she asks them both.

("Do you think that cat guy died?" Silf asks Leo. "I hope so." The cat guy is Cyre.)

<Pose Tracker> White Knight Leo has posed.

    Leo only allows himself to show weakness once the Nameless Lord is gone, and the world has returned to some semblance of normalcy. He sags to a crouch before the throne, then to his hands and knees. As the tableau shifts around him, he looks up, half-expecting to have to fend off another ambush, but no.

    No, it's just paint this time. A painting of a normal-looking woman leading normal-looking soldiers bearing crests that look very much like the one his former mentor marched under. There's an odd sense of nostalgia in it, but like all things that have anything to do with Georg Heldalf, it's tinged with sadness. Thessaly scoops something up. Leo nods to her, then looks over at Margaret. "I'm well enough to walk," he says. "so walk we shall." He pauses a moment. "Well done, all of you. Whatever that thing is, we put the fear of the Goddess into it."

<Pose Tracker> Garan Dantear has posed.

In the calm that follows, Garan frowns at the damaged edge on the sword he's using, before returning the battered blade to its sheath on his belt; moving immediately towards Thessaly's side, with only a brief look around to survey the condition of the rest of the party - everyone seems alive, so that's good - as the witch retrieves the mysterious gem and visibly sags, as though on the verge of collapse.

The Imperial Knight, then, does what comes naturally, scooping her up as though she weighed nothing at all.

"I'll handle Thessaly," he tells Margaret, regardless of whether the darkly-clad young woman actually could stand for herself or not at this point. The consensus is that they ought to leave promptly, and Garan agrees, though he's rather less certain about whether there was any room in the Nameless Lord's madness for fear of anything but that mysterious woman who hounded him in the paintings.

No, while it seems they were victorious, Garan can't help but feel uneasy.

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