Into The Briney Deep

[-Salamel Umeadrion]

Every change that came to the sea began with a ripple. Every tornado started with upturned leaves and a flick of the wind. Natural disasters like flooding ruined homes and sent the people scurrying to higher ground, while wind drew them below to hide from the gales howling above. Between and above the rocks they were safe from either, respectively. But hurricanes combined the most vicious elements of the sea and sky, bringing to rein the most destructive forces that nature could offer. Air speeds fringed on the edges of the storm could tear stone structures to pieces like they were nothing but cloth tapestries of towns and cities. Water drowned out all sounds, and doused the life fire in the souls of those lost to the wailing currents as they crashed and smashed everything under the unceasing back and forth force of the water's pull.

That was what appeared on the horizon of the docks of Nazca that early morning, when the sea sun rising over the water was cast away behind curtains of rolling distant clouds and an eerie quiet grey sky at home above the city streets.

Miles out at sea, the sky looked dark, and it pulled down into the ocean in streets of purple and black like the grey that hung over them was waning down and being devoured by the turbulent dark water. Waves smashed against the ancient sturdy docks of Nazca for miles, tossing barrels, buoys, and all manner of fishing boats against the supports. Larger ships groaned as they rocked atop the shifting sea. Within an hour, the storm had reached the city. A self-sustaining hurricane generated by the magic and empowered will of the Aesir's Salamel the Governor, hit the shores of Nazca. When the sun would have been rising on a beautiful morning, it was instead thundering, screaming and careening out of control. The mile-docks were gone in minutes. The front half of the city was being washed away.

And somewhere in the city proper was the Fire Bringer.

[-Faerie' Vindahla]

The man said that Faerie' could go take a flying leap off the docks, and shove that storm that he came in on right up his arse. The man spat on his face, but his spit was mostly blood now that the Fire Bringer's blazing hand had punched a hole through his belly. The man had terrible breath, and called for his daughter in the house before he died.

Well, as far as Faerie' knew, the docks were plain gone now, and he couldn't really fit a hurricane up inside his anus. Why the hell would he want to try? Fish made people angry, or something. Made men blame other people for their problems. Yeah, the boss was a jerkface sometimes, and Salamel was old and crotchety, but Faerie' knew for a fact that Nazca had been warned that bad things were coming for those who didn't repent. Souls would still be saved at this point, but there wasn't any stopping the finger of god from dropping down from heaven and stirring up the mortal world like a bowl full of trailmix.

The small fisherman's shack was burning to the ground. Faerie' couldn't do a thing about the whole "stick a storm up your butt" bit, but he could probably do something about a fisherman's daughter.

The inner streets were all lit ablaze with the Fire Bringer's first moments of arrival. Magic flame resisted the rain with a little help, and spread like a bad rash to the dingy rooftops carried along by the high wind. That meant that some people wouldn't be escaping with the ocean front demolished, and the path out of the city all lit up like a flaming festival wreath.

And ya know, even that was okay. Much as he hated it sometimes, Faerie' wasn't here as a mercy giver. He was here to do a job, and that job involved leveling the city to the ground and cleaning up the mess of bodies inevitably left over in the wreckage. Purge the earth, burn the waste, and start over. He didn't have to believe in the cycle to enforce it.

What he wasn't going to let go, though, was the children. Even in the bleakest events of the Aesirian past, Faerie' always ended up lending a helping hand to the kidlits, sneaking them out through underground channels, or outright walking them to the outskirts of the town hand in hand. The Boss had never said a thing about it. Salamel always scoffed. He knew that it was against orders, but if it was just one thing Faerie' didn't like, it was seeing the children pay the price for their parents. He'd been an orphan. He knew it'd make them strong. Maybe they'd be enemies some day, and today they'd have to survive on their own in the cold dark wastes bordering their ruined home. They'd suffer, but they'd also live. Faerie' didn't understand it. Maybe it was a twisted way to try and rectify the things he'd done. He just felt a certain way, and made things happen, and that was enough for him.

So he blasted through the shack and snatched a little girl no older tan ten. Throught he back window, he tucked her under his arm and jumped out into the alley. From the shoulders up he was boiling. Fire roared overhead. The waist down was freezing - water ran the streets, and freezing wind blew through the hollow passages like a a wind tunnel.

Eventually the nightmare would be over. But not yet.

There were things to burn. There were people to kill.

...And maybe kids to help in surviving the night.

But that wasn't really his shtick. No one was going to remember it. No one needed to. It was no bigs, ya know.

[-Faerie' Vindahla]

Crown's Pub on the dock front of Nazca was a happening place until the city went to hell. Since Faerie' showed up, pirates had been pouring out and tracking him down, trying to stick the pointy ends of their swords through his guts as a final act of revenge against him for ruining their good time. Eventually, he had to sorta follow the trail of angry men back to the pub doors, since moving in any other direction would pretty much just be turning his back on a fist full of enemies (never a good plan). And a-typical of any good roll against the bad guys, Faerie' went inside and came face to face with the most monstrous creature he'd ever seen. Save the best for last, he guessed. it made sense that he'd have to fight the most stupidly strong pirate at the very end of the line.

So, there was this guy that used to work for the Boss, like Faerie'. Big fella, probably seven feet tall and hundreds of pounds. Wore black kettle armor, and carried a huge axe. This guy made body builders look like pencil necks. Like, he could pick up wagons, bust them in half, and arm curl both sides one-handed. That guy's name was Asylum. He was dead. He was a hell of a brute.

Anyway, the guy that Faerie' was facing down now, well... He made Asylum look stubby. Dude was AT LEAST seven feet tall, with shoulders like anvils and an abdomen that the Fire Bringer was absolutely sure was just skin growing over iron cannonballs buried in his belly. He wasn't going to be surprised if the guy picked up the entire bar counter and hit him with it.

...And, well, that's what happened. Faerie' wasn't surprised. The monster man picked up the bar counter, ripped it nails and all right off the floor, took a big swing that spanned half the bar and well over the tops of the bar tables and chairs, and hit him with it.

Howling wind outside and the crackle of fire was joined with a chorus of exploding wood fiber as Faerie' burst through the wall and into the street. He didn't land until he hit a double-high stack of barrels, which really did cushion the fall when he rolled onto his back, reverse-somersaulted twice, and hit a wrought iron anchor pole.

"Oouwgh uhh," he said. The behemoth man just pounded out the front door and roared at him. Didn't even say anything. Just kinda foamed at the mouth and roared. Those veins popping out of the guy's neck... Where they thicker than Faerie's wrists?

The Fire Bringer rolled over onto his side, with the man thumping after him.

[-Faerie' Vindahla]

It took maneuvering and finagling to get the drop on the enormous man. Mostly finagling. Faerie' managed to wait out the worst of the onslaught with a quick roll, dodge, duck or weave. Every time his big friend tried to smash down on him with some heavy object (occasionally that being just his fists, too), Faerie' would swing himself bodily out of the path of destruction.

Eventually it came to a point where Faerie' had nowhere else to squirm to, and packed up against a wall, the big man managed to pin the Fire Bringer under his massive forearm. This led to some manhandling, and that eventually led to the guy lifting him up by his ankle and holding him upside down.

Well, the dude was wearing bear hide shorts, and the fit was pretty loose, so hanging out down there he caught a happy glimpse and then a whiff of the man's junk (huge and stanky), which just about made him gag. The big guy just looked at him a smiled. When he wrenched back his arm and spread his legs, Faerie' knew exactly what was going to happen. He was going to learn to fly. With the help of the biggest human being in all of Nazca and his mountainous muscles, Faerie' Vindahla of the Aesir's Five took his first non-consenting trip into the stormy skies above the city, over the rooftops, and well above the lethal drop distance over the docks below.

But... Ya know... That was gravy.

The force of the launch eventually died off, and Faerie' found himself hanging on the precipice of the throw's uplifting energy at thirty feet in the air. He looked down, but he didn't start to fall right away.

Perks to being blessed by gods included sorta-flight, instant travel, lots of money, eternal youth, power over fire, and never to be overlooked in the grand package: not dying when you should probably, definitely die.

Faerie's hands sparked up bright orange and caught fire - a steady gout, that quickly spread up the arms and over his whole body. Knees bent with the end-motion of the upward momentum, arms splayed, his body melted into flames stretched until it became like a spear.

The monster man below bellowed again, just begging him to bring on whatever the little fellow could muster.

The fiery lance rained down and punched a line of heat straight through him. On the other side the fire pooled and then faded back into Faerie'. The giant fell to his knees, died, and then faceplanted on the street. Just a scorch mark on his front and back marked the path, but inside the man's vitals were boiled solid.

Just one way to deal with a big bully. Faerie' kicked him towards the docks, and he rolled over the edge and made a big splash in the water.

Back to culling. Eh. Who was gonna be next?

[-Dory]

((Freya's a character. And because she drops music pretty much everywhere she goes...))

Dragonflight was something else she consistently under estimated. Left was right, right was up; and with the backing of an alchemist beneath his wings, Fesseln made record speeds. The tiny figure upon his back had little choice but cling dearly to his neck as he corkscrewed through the sky, eyes stubbornly closed against the flames fast approaching in the distance. It had only taken the first few seconds of the ride to convince her that a rather rude re-introduction with the blurry continent below was imminent, but they made spectacular time.

The Shrike's nose pierced through the wall of stormclouds hovering over the city, and Freya, slowly, released her grip to look around her with a shuddering breath. Rain pelted against her face and slickened the dragon's scales with moisture; but though she slid perilously over his back as he suddenly arced up without warning, her legs instinctively caught in the soft, sinewy joints of his own, and held fast.

She swung like a rag-doll as he fought the turbulant winds for altitude; but as he broke the crest of clouds, his upper body jerked downward, and momentum pulled her safely back in place upon his back with a not-entirely voluntary gasp of surprise. As quickly as she could have blinked; the overpowering survival instinct which had carried her so far faded, and cool consciousness descended over her again.

Already submersed in the quieter reaches of the handiwork of her prey; observation became a simple matter. She couldn't have ignored the scent of ozone heavy in the air if she'd wanted to. She pulled it in to resurrected lungs with every shallow breath, and it was heavy in her dampened hair-- clammy on skin which had, little more than moments previously-- been warm with sunlight.

And she hated it.

He's not here. Alexandra's voice whispered gently through her mind, pushing back the urge to kill as the vampire's legs tightened over Fesseln's torso.

"Not yet." She spoke her answer out loud, and lifted her hands to pull long hair in to a pony tail-- a much simpler and more effective task prior to the ride of lifetimes, but something she managed nonetheless. "But that's why we are."

You don't think you can lure him in...

That got a grin out of her; but the Sprite wouldn't see it, and the vampire would have to hope the sentiment traveled their connection accurately enough to make her point.

Freya-- Evidently it didn't. The dragon's voice pulled through her mind again, quieting the discomfort of her surroundings, and rather effectively removing all amusement from her host. The prey will not flee to the hunter. The condemned will not race to meet the executioner. You really -are- the only one that does that.

There were times when Freya wished she could simply glare at the voices in her head. At the moment, this was an impossibility-- Alexandra seemed rather set on staying firmly lodged in only the darkest corners of her mind; and she couldn't very well glare at herself. Well... not with any efficiency, in any case. The sprite could very well have been right; but this was also the primary reason that Freya actually got things done. Sane people stayed on the outskirts, where it was assured that they would be safe. Freya... well, it had been rumored that Freya had a death wish.

"Since when have you known me to strategize?" It was the closest thing to assurance that the dragon inside of her was going to get. "You know me, I just kinda badass my way through things. And besides... Xanthe wants Salamel's trial in Enteregon. She also wants time. It doesn't matter whether or not he's here-- his trail is; and I can make a pretty big boom."

At just that moment, and entirely without warning, Fesseln decided that down was the new way to go. She nearly went flying off of his back again, but tightened her grip just in time to throw an arm over her eyes before the atmosphere's moisture could slice through them again. As they spiraled in to the city, the vampire gave a low snarl and pushed the arm further-- pulling Purebane from her sheath, and forcing her weight against the wind to see what the dragon had seen--

A figure, quite some ways below them, but mid combustion-- and then he was gone entirely, and fire was all that remained.

She didn't get a whole lot further than that. Fesseln shrieked before he gave the jerk that knocked her off of him entirely, and flung her after what looked to be a lance of nothing but heat.

Freefalling. Goddamnit, why was she always--

But a cat always landed on her feet. The sound of a splash was accompanied by the crack and thud of heeled gauntlets digging in to the road behind Faerie; and instinct plunged Purebane in to the rock before her. She processed the situation as she stepped to stand beside the blade-- the world around her, this city which had become her cage-- was burning-- and swallowed in tempest.

"This place has been the closest thing to home for years." The heat of the inferno was familiar on the golden cast of her skin, and she could've sworn she felt the jagged shadows sweeping across her face as she eyed the fire bringer with a narrow gaze. She wondered who he thought he was-- Just what he thought he was doing by setting her world ablaze; but in the end it wasn't her concern. They might have shared the hobby of playing with fire, but he was not her prey-- Her objective, here, was merely to draw the circle for another; and she wasn't exactly filled with remorse for the ruins.

Her right hand touched Purebane's hilt as laughter resonated from the weapon's blade, and the blast tore over the grounds of the city. "Welcome to the circle!" She shouted over the noise, and shifted her weight on to one leg as she pressed her hands against her hips. "Do unto others and all that good stuff!"

((Shrike's shriek; Tracking (Like detect); One diffusion wave annnd Jackrabbit somewhere in there. Yeah. Fesseln's still around; there's a Sprite dragon inside of Freya; and City Defender is also active.))

[-Roush]

Having the bring the two of them along on the trip had slowed him down, but not by very much. His control of air had increased again lately, and the issue of speed was beginning to take a back seat to how much his body could take. Of course that was the other reason he wore the layer of enchanted rock over his skin; the identity concealment had turned out to be just a helpful side effect.

As they approached, he spiraled around Fesslen and drew just the tips of his fingers across Freya's back, sharing in her immunity to fire. She probably wouldn't notice either... From what he gathered she was a bit unpredictable. As her aura covered him he felt a familiar warmth run over his skin... It was similar to Torlem's 'blessing'.

The water that blasted Freya and the dragon was moved aside by the bubble around Roush, visible only when he was actually making contact with the moisture. This was another issue in flight. Were he much higher, this moisture would be freezing onto him, making things difficult after a while. And cold, to boot.

He saw Freya jump (or fall, possibly) from her dragon, and banked hard to hit the other side of the target. She was a vampire, yes? That meant she had little to no need for air... the perfect ally in this situation.

Roush hit the ground in a blast of air that spread in every direction, at first throwing debris around the city like a violent hurricane, spinning from the point of impact outward. The initial blast was so violent that the nearby husks of building were uprooted from their foundations and sent tumbling down the streets of the once-great port. After a few turbulent seconds, the wind was replaced by an unnatural stillness as the air thinned out and the fires for a great distance around them quickly extinguished, deprived of its fuel.

Magic-sourced fire could burn for a moment without oxygen, but unless it was being constantly fed it would die out quickly. That was the advantage alchemist had over mages; they could outlast. Faerie' was both, but if Roush could remove his natural source (as he just had), it would force his opponent to generate more and more flames for very little effect every time he wanted to do something.

He stood quickly and drew his sword, which instantly shattered and began spiraling around him in near-invisible shards that were made even more difficult to see by the explosion of dust that erupted around the assassin.

"Faerie' of the Five!"

His voice was disguised, again. A manipulation of Freya's, the crackling of flames, and the recent screams of the dead and dying that was fading into white noise. His voice or not, the effect was the same.

Right now he was sin solid form. Goodie. The dust cloud erupted forward, no sign of Roush. The mini-tornado, driven purely by earth alchemy, seemed to consist of just dust. It was only a shroud, however. The mineral and glass razors inside would tear through the body of anyone in it's path, as was the intention. They would slice and grind up anything and everything that got in their way, the cursed blade tearing through nearly any magical or physical barrier.

It was a bit ironic, really. Faerie' had been the one that had recruited Roush into the Aesir in the first place. They had sparred... Faerie' sort of let him have the day, but the power gap had been obvious.

Roush hoped this time would be different.


OOC:
No Escape used. The shards in the dust storm are a Critical Blade with Guard Crusher and Weapon Empowerment: Energy Shroud effects active on it. They condense into razor-sized blades (inch long, half inch thick) to actually attack the enemy. Cutting the skin, punching straight through the chest cavity, ect.

[-Faerie' Vindahla]

Faerie': The Fire Bringer (The Offspring - Staring at the Sun)

(OOC: We're going to give Faerie' one more amazing power, and prevent him from incurring a cooldown on the rank 5 Alchemy elemental shift. Cheers.)

Ya knew that things were getting serious when women started falling from the sky like meteors and kicking up dust. Shoot. If only he'd been here under better circumstances. But Faerie's leisure time and work time hardly ever mixed, and since she was brandishing a weapon, he figured that she came here to put a right quick end to all the icky things he was doing to the city.

"...closest thing to home for yada, yada, yada..." Yeah. She was mad at him. Like a lady mad at a guy for sneaking a slice of pie, or leaving the toilet seat up, she wasn't just going to let it go so they could both go on with their day. She was going to make a big piss about the city being on fire, and the dead people in the street, and everything else she could possibly blame him for, and he was going to have to listen to it, no matter how much he reasoned with her, and damn - it was all just going to be... Just awful.

He shrugged at her, knowing full damn well that he couldn't appease her. Best to just let her go, dodge the worst of it, and make a b-line to burning a hole through her when the opportunity came up. A forward tumble became a handspring and finished with a round off backflip over the cascade of violent energy that brushed out in a wave from the sword banshee in the screeching tempest.

Downing her was nothing personal. Like, she was pretty, and she had balls to stand up to a guy on fire in the middle of a hurricane. Probably a real catch. Eh. Whatever. It just came with the job.

When he heard the scream of wind and the jingle of metal, crystal... Chimes, whatever, and felt the first few icky stinky dashes of something really nasty against his skin, he figured it was better to NOT die. Faerie' burst into a long legged finicky waft of flame, pointed a long amorphous appendage her way, and licked his fiery lips. Then he took off towards the woman full tilt.

One fireball flicked off at the end of a swing of his "arms", and then the other. Start things slow. Start things cool. He had all day to finish up in Nazca. May as well have a little fun with it, yeah?

[-Dory]

((Lovely. Been a while since I've used this one: Bat Country-- Avenged Sevenfold.))

Except Freya was no Lady; not when it came right down to it. She watched him jump the single diffusion wave as though it were the most intimidating thing in his presence with a lifted brow, and just the beginnings of a smirk. Roush's attack went straight through him; but his attention was on the fairer of his adversaries-- Calling her the shot, was he? Oh, that was funny.

The problem with a god complex, was that the people who had them tended to get cocky. Omnipotence was one hell of a drug, after all; and after a point, there would be nothing left to conquer. Nothing left to want, nothing left to stand in the way, nothing left to fear...

But that was why there was an Underside; and why the forsaken were on the front-lines. One did not simply deal with a denizen of the night. They were the wild, and the untamable-- Fate's Kryptonite in flesh and blood with Freya at the helm. She ducked the first fireball mainly for shits and giggles as her hands fell away from her hips and balled in to fists at her sides; but the energy was already skating over her when the second one came. She took the blast to center mass with her chin down, smirk widening in to a vicious grin as the flame washed harmlessly over her with Alexandra's calm; and took two long strides forward as her head lifted.

"Gonna have to give me something a little more solid than that, Faerie'." She taunted even as a different sort of energy flooded over both of her fists and legs, and she locked her gleaming eyes on the firy head-like thing on this charging Firebringer. Like swatting at flies-- her left fist lashed out for what she presumed was his his nose, but it was only a bluff. The momentum in the strike brought her body lower, centering her balance and giving her better leverage when she sprung from her toes and in to the spinning heel kick that followed; though never once did her eyes wander.

The trick was to get them on the ground. Provided that she was successful; the strike would drive the man downward, and gravity would do the rest. Hooking one's knee behind the neck of someone who was most assuredly trying to kill you may not have been wise; but she had her reasons. Immobilization wasn't going to be fun on his end, either; and besides, if the dude thought he had it in him to give her a ride, who was she to deny him the try?

((Edmund's blade gives me immunity to flame; but she's using Dragon soul instead. She's also attempted to use Engage, and her attacks are covered with Aura Cleave.))

[-Faerie' Vindahla]

The first punch was a feign for both of them, then. His right blasted straight-armed over her shoulder as the kick was just coming around to greet him. It ended up pretty much perfectly, though. Her leg between them and stretched up over his shoulder, his arm wide along the outside, the other, left "arm" grappling hers. A right dumb mess, and somehow she ended up tangled behind him, sitting perched on his shoulder like a big angry parrot.

In all of this, and even though she didn't have that silly little weapon (lots of magic weapons in the world, so he kinda expected silly things when people started naming their hatchets and daggers, and shit), he still felt himself getting fainter. Whatever spell she cast on herself just before impact significantly weakened his hold on the flame, and himself in it. That meant that, for just a few seconds, he had to swap out and get a grip on his physical form.

Her awkward thigh-imposed headlock DID knock him down and drag him out. The tingle of her anti-fire spell wore him out. Like taking his breath away. He felt the energy flow back in quickly - in a matter of half seconds - but it was a jarring experience, right?

So down they went, and Faerie' was about to kiss the dirt and bust out all of his pretty teeth, but then he decided that that was also a bad idea, sorta bad like dying, and just as they touched down his body whiffed up into a nice hot flame again and disappeared.

...But not before planting a tiny peck of a torch's kiss on her cheek.

In the rain, he had to keep a steady flow of magic pouring in to keep himself sparked enough when he wasn't in his physical form. But the water also made the fire and the heat spread thing and spread fast. He rode the current for a dozen paces and reconstituted.

When the woman touched him, she felt cold, and not just 'cause he was hot. Not-human cold, was more like it. Still smelled like a woman. But zombies were ugly, and she was not rotty smelling.

"Keep talking to me like that and you'll definitely get something solid," playfully. He threw his hands up in front of his face in a typical boxer stance, shuffled his feet and criss-crossed the steps. Dancer? Nah. Well... Yeah, maybe.

"Vampire?" Lucky guess.

Faerie' thumbed his nose and copped her a big 'I'm a dumb blonde guy' smile. Oh yeah, flirt mode activated! So, forward tumble into a front flip, front flip, front flip, gathering up flames from where his feet scarred the ground, rolled the whole mess including himself into one big fireball, then took a deep breath and hovered in place. A strange hum shook the air around him as he gathered just a little more energy for the next attack. The distance between them wasn't hardly a thing. Two arm's reach? Dangerously close.

[-Dory]

Freya wasn't good at much... but she was good at what she did. Being lightweight made it a simple task to spin around the Firebringer's neck once there was shoulder beneath her, rather than the pesky ground; and the knee of her second leg would dig in to the squall of his back for leverage as he went down like an ordinary Joe. She couldn't really blame him for it-- pretty much everything that breathed, hit the ground like a bag of rocks under Freya's grip.

The general plan-- or as much of one as she had bothered with-- had been to get him prone and tangible on the ground for Roush to handle; but it looked like it wasn't going to be so easy. The instant her new prey touched rock was the instant he was out from under her, and the one in which she found herself illogically submersed again-- though this time in flame. Alexandra's influence surged over her in kind, enough to stave off the threat of pain; but it was still some shit, and so both of them were caught entirely off guard when the heat seemed to find a strange focus on her cheek.

It was over quickly, but the vampire was still just sitting there on the ground as the Condemned slipped right between her fingers; one hand stuck to her cheek as she blinked at his trail with eyes that suddenly more resembled saucers. He had-- she couldn't think it, but she could feel the blister she'd failed to block, puckered under her palm.

"What--" For some reason, words were coming out of her mouth. "--The hell?!" Since when was -that- a freaking possibility? People didn't flirt with Freya-- Not for any particular reason, it just didn't happen. Not since she'd started killing everyone that tried, anyway; and that had been a while ago. The lingering sting was trivial, more formidable in it's lasting validation than any actual detriment; but disbelief was one hell of a weapon, and she couldn't quite shake it.

It happened. Alexandra's voice cut through her mind as, finally, she forced herself to spring back to her feet. A shuddering jerk tore through her, and both hands went back to her sides as the man manifested again. She fought off the other possibilities that she had completely neglected, but he was talking, and she was pretty sure she'd been right. In fact, it's still happening.

Her eyes darted toward Purebane and the figure howling with laughter within-- wasn't that just lovely, both pieces found it hilarious-- and then forward again.

"Do you refer to everyone by their condition?" She needed to reconsider her options. Pulling her soul blade would have signalled the beginnings of the end of the circle, and Roush hadn't even done anything yet; but Edmund's blade was useless in the situation at hand-- actually, she was pretty sure all of her weapons were fairly useless in the situation at hand... but she didn't have the time or the wherewithal to keep that in mind. He'd made it personal, and now he was moving again.

And she had no bloody clue what to do about it... so she kept talking. It seemed like a good idea at the time.

"I'm also demonkin, but with a twist." Too bad she wasn't one for prayer-- god damnit where was Fesseln in all of this? And why wasn't Roush doing anything? And... "My mother was an angel, after all."

And... -damn- it -all-, that was cheating!

Focus! Like a whip-crack between the ears. -Do- something!

Like what?! Fucking voice. Way to be helpful; but she could feel the dragon's roots sinking deeper inside of her, and seizing hold of the lungs which had just sort've decided not to work again for a second. The air that flooded her body was cold, and a whole lot more familiar than the strange heat that had consumed her before; but it knotted tightly in her chest, and only expanded with every try at breath. Smoke, fog, frost, or something similar to it's ilk rolled forth from her nostrils and lips as she broadened her stance and tried desperately to release the air to exhale; but Alexandra wasn't as gentle as Fesseln.

It was the closest she understood of mercy; and lee way would have compromised the defense of her host. As a result, the air froze inside and with the woman's lungs-- painful to be sure, but the dragon would have been a liar to say that she gave any particular fuck. Freya was resilient. She'd survive.

((Mostly Freya glitching out. Dragon spirit's in there. Alexandra's dragons breath is ready but not being used, yet.))

[-Roush]

Roush popped out of the ground not to far away from where Faerie' was initially.

He had attacked Freya, as Roush figured he would. The aggro effect was in play, it seemed. The armored-to-the-teeth and swing-a-big-sword person got all the attention... Wonderful.

Roush stayed standing where he was, extending his left hand out to push even more air away from Faerie', compounding the effects of the rain (that slowly began to pick up) and Freya's draining armor and weakening attacks by ensuring the now total absence of oxygen. Faerie' could only keep this up for so long. Eventually he'd be forced back into his physical form. Eventually he'd run out of mana.

Roush's hand snapped into a fist, and clumps of loose dirt began to strike the fire from all around, erupting around Freya but never towards her. The shards of his sword began circling around them, forming a sort of sharp cage. He could break it if Freya was about to hit it, but it was close enough so that he could swing a quick blade in to slice at Faerie' any time he decided it was a good idea to re-calibrate in his physical form, which he did any time he saw flesh.

Of course when Faerie' was doing his little jump attack, it provided Roush the perfect opportunity to stick him pretty good.

"Stay still!"

A cylindrical, three foot thick stream of dirt erupted out of the ground, flowing like water from a spring. It was aimed right for Faerie's center mass. Immediately after it would hit (something, physical or magical), two more of the same would come from behind him, forming a Y with Freya at the base and Faerie' where the three lines meet. These pillars weren't excessively solid. Hard enough to crush if he stayed physical, but loose enough to break apart into the fire, in which case the earthen streams would keep flowing to smother the fire of Faerie's being.


OOC:
No Escape used yet again.

[-Faerie' Vindahla]

Well, he started hitting patches where the fire couldn't go, and every once in a while, the orb had to shift a little in order to keep the gout from dying out. It felt like trying to breath, but having your face full of smoke and buried in a pillow. Just wasn't happening. But ya know, rolling over brought the wind back (literally). He was being forced side to side physically, But he wasn't actually smothering from the air moving away. It just made his attacks more sporadic. And it gave him an idea.

He didn't develop his hunch until he heard a shout, and then got clobbered by wads of dirt.

Roush? The hell? Dirt piles and air bending sure sounded like the little bugger, but since he dropped his rock off with the lycans and dropped his corite shards, the Boss hadn't had even a bead on him. It was kinda assumed he died when Salamel wasted the guy's tribes in the woods that one night. Roush used to do things like this. Hell of a killer, but just too precise sometimes. Made him short sighted when he was fighting.

If Roush was here, things were going to be a little tougher than he thought. Already weary about touching the vampire again (her touch was draining), and being bounced around to air pockets wherever the fire took him, he figured he was a soloist dueling it up against two bad ass tigers, and they both seemed to know his weaknesses.

But there was something he could do. These guys had weaknesses too, right? And he didn't actually have to fight them. Faerie' just had to outlast them.

The fire orb bobbed and hummed on the fringes of the empty air pocket, and glimmered like it might be winking at the vampire.

"Only when I don't know their names. Like old man, or retard, or chubby, ya know. And since you're a little regal mix of everything naughty and nice..."

The fireball somersaulted in the air, while Faerie' thought up an appropriate nickname for her. Angel, demon, vampire - all of those things liked respect. What sort of woman had power and respect? Beauty? Ha! He had it.

"How about I call you Queeny?" The fireball exploded out in a jagged long line of electricity that shot out straight for her and then punched a hole into a storehouse. The sizzling bolt held its shape for a full two seconds before fading away. And around that bolt of lighting came fiery explosions, popping off of it like corn off a cob, and Faerie' bursting around deep inside it. He ended inside the building at the tail end of the lightning trail, once again a solid man. A skillful escape, admittedly. They could come looking for him if they wanted a good fight. Queeny, and whoever else it was that was acting as her helping hand.

[-Dory]

((The phantom of the opera --Remixed by Vanessa Mae))
((After-post edit so an 'inanimate' object can have a temper tantrum? Certainly not from me... ... ... ))

There it was.

A jet of stone burst from the ground in front of her, molten rock swarming over the living flame before her as her lungs reached their formidable full capacity. She held the breath and the freezing rage as earthen pillars rose up before her; accepted the frosted calm the Sprite had offered, and watched the first ring of the circle draw to a close.

Nothing has changed. Her voice was faint, distant; but clear, and Freya swept one leg back to lean her weight on to her front knee. Show a little faith, and proceed to the objective.

She tilted her head at him as she waited in eerie stillness for him to make a move, expression bleak though her eyes were narrow with silent calculation. Present company wouldn't have recognized the stance, or the warning inside; but even Nedrah fell quiet and tried to shrink in to the hidden tip of her confines.

In the clouds far over head; Fesseln corkscrewed in to the third circle he'd taken around the group, and bent his flight lower for a better view as the Condemned paused to think... about what to nickname the enigma in front of him. Hm.

A strange silence descended upon her with the calm. Faerie' started talking again, and a small smirk touched the very corner of her lips as the words went through one ear, and straight out of the other. Everything naughty and nice was she-- oh but he had no idea.

Thinks he's getting the same hit twice. Alexandra filled the gap over the river of racing thoughts. Disappoint him.

Ah, but under estimation was among her handier of assets, wasn't it? This was the circle; and she'd become a part of it. Only one thing mattered, and that was what happened inside-- formation, protocol, action. Being able to turn ones humanity off and on was a handy skill to have; and the foundations of the first ring of the circle. It was dangerous, but for a vampire it was a necessity-- the difference between an experienced hunter, and a flashy one.

And the marks on her skin were screaming to remind her: She was a vessel, and the circle was sacred grounds.

If there is no Karma...

"I will be her blade." For it was her art.

Of course she was the part he broke through. He'd all but told her she would be. That was why she was also the part that was rigged; and now she knew.

She braced herself for the electricity; eyes narrowing further as she watched it come, but it was an unnecessary gesture. Little more than a pinch, and the marks began to squirm and glow as the lightning collided without much effect-- except to force out the held breath. It would be a plume of freezing energy to meet the following explosions and flames head on. The ice would buy her the instants it took Him to reach her, before she straightened abruptly, and launched in to a backflip.

She let the circle open and spun in to the air; wings bursting from her back as she tipped the updraft.

Fesseln swept under her slowed descent, and one of the many horns lining his skull acted as the handhold from which she swung on to the dragon's back. The moment she was clear of his jaw was the moment it opened, and energy bubbled and swelled within-- seething as the dragoon took the opportunity to collect herself-- before the homing rays exploded after Faerie's trail.

"Tear. It. Down!" That it was both Freya and Alexandra to scream was pure coincidence; but that the lengthening shadows cast by Faerie's inferno were beginning to congeal, was not. "There's no hiding from the circle!"

And she waited for the fireworks to go off before she cast the spell to conjure a ring of three dark lances to pierce in to it's epicenter.

___________________________________

Meanwhile, and pretty much irrelevantly...

The traces of a figure inside of the blade that carved a circle spun and twisted within a cage of boiling violet smoke. Though what was left of her was divided from her counterparts; it seemed as though at least one shared emotion transferred-- and it was rage. Purebane's amorphous black core flung itself against whatever limitations it could find, but though the soul within managed to shake the blade, she promptly dispersed back in to color with every damnable collision.

It wasn't her time. Nedrah was well aware of the fact, and the laws of the circle-- only the first ring had been broken. The second belonged to Alexandra-- but, -god-, rules were such a fucking bore; and she wanted out no-ow! Freya and Alexandra had it easy-- the Sprite stayed inside of her fleshy confines by choice; and Freya got to walk around whenever she wanted to; but only very rarely did one of the condemned survive in to the third ring of the circle.

And then every time it happened, their prey got stolen away. Fucking falcon. Fucking helpers. Fucking scaley things with wings-- She couldn't remember the last time she'd felt blood on her hands-- and god -damnit- she wanted -out-!

"Hey!" The blade yelled as the outline withdrew in to it's center. "HEEYY!!" And condensed before she threw herself forward. One small shoulder almost managed to pierce through, but she wound up splattered across the invisible wall instead. The weapon wouldn't budge-- goddamnit-- not until Freya decided; and, thus liquified, she dripped in to the sword's tip.

And immediately recollected to start yelling again. "I WANNA PLAYYY!!" More of a whine, really; and Freya could barely even hear her, but hell, it gave her something to do. "C'moooooon!!" She swam laps up and down the sword, trying her damnedest to joggle it loose, but it was to no avail. "Hurry it uppp!!"

((Dragon's Spirit-- Fesseln. Dragon's breath-- Alexandra. Dragoon jump from Freya; Homing rays from Fesseln; annnd shadow weapons/dark lance from Freya ...I'm guessing this is why you can only have two dragon's if you're a dragoon. lol))

[-Roush]

So he was retreating for a moment? Faerie' usually dropped suns. They were engaging him successfully, it seemed.

Roush rocketed from behind Freya, tapping her again before taking off straight up into the air, stopping only to whisper "It's about to get cold" in her ear. He pushed himself as quickly as he could, trying to keep some of the warm air around him on his ascent. After all, he was currently immune to heat, not ice, which soon broke through his barrier and started forming on the earthen material that made up his armor.

The supercooled moisture was starting to freeze his armor solid... He'd have to stop here. He started his free fall, reaching both hands up and grabbing as much air as he could (which was quite a bit). He bursted back through the clouds, followed by an ominous spiral of ice and air (the air freezing the moisture in the storm).

"Coming for you, Firebringer."

Roush hit the ground like a comet, sending earth everywhere. In truth, he needed to get away from what was about to hit, and he hoped his warning allowed Freya the same opportunity.

He landed on the opposite side of the building that Faerie' was in, relative to Freya's position and attacks. The ice storm would hit the building first, the downdraft easily destroying it.

As the cold, violent air spread, what was left of the entire section of the city was annihilated. Made weak by Roush initial air blast, the buildings became tumbleweeds. Nearly-flash frozen tumbleweeds. Roush kept pulling on the air from beneath the earth, knowing that if he'd surface right now he'd be in trouble. For nearly 30 seconds he kept the powerful downdraft going, spinning the sides of the storm back in. When he let go, the temperature rose a bit, but not significantly. It would still be cold. Below freezing, even. In a half hour or so the temperature would probably get back to normal, compared to the surroundings, but for now most of the moisture would have already attached to whatever it would, be it rubble, the earth itself, or the thin layer of ice that extended dozens of feet out of the harbor.

Step two was locating Faerie'. That was easy with Roush's air alchemy. And now to entomb him.

The earth 30' around him in every direction would suddenly sink, hard. The earth around the circle would burst upwards, meeting at a central point about 20 feet in the air over him. All the empty space would be closed in quickly, as Roush would push as much earth as he could into as tight a space as he could, then grinding it sideways to crush the man to dust, or stifle his fires.

Vicious? Maybe. They had been friends. And then the genocide happened. There was no love lost on Faeire' in this moment. None at all.

But then something happened... Roush's mind seemed to snap. He had overextended, and he knew it instantly. His mind still had locks on it, and he was walking a very thin line.

No matter how strong the will of a man, if it is stretched too thin it will become fragile. All the air, all the earth... it was too much. He could feel himself slipping, and he opened small holes to suck in as much air as he could before sinking low. He hoped he had enough as his consciousness seemed to black out. It was like when he had lost his vision, but it was more like losing one's whole self. The darkness engulfed his mind as the earth folded around him, holding him in a burrow that would protect him from whatever happened on the surface. Hopefully.

[-Faerie' Vindahla]

Boy, if only he could have heard Roush yelling right now. That would have been something. He hadn't heard a damn thing, not a damn thing. Best buds with a guy for weeks, guys craps out on his job and joins the enemy, and the Boss marks his tribe for annihilation. Yeah, there was a bit of bad blood between them, but nothing that two men couldn't settle over a few tankards of cheap ale and a good old fashion sparring march to work out the frustration.

But that was it - all that power and not a drop to drink made the assassin a dull boy. Beer, liquor, and wine were the spices of life, and poor Roush hadn't had any before the big show. Come to think of it, neither had Faerie'. He was blind stinking sober, and what he wouldn't give for a swig of Salamel's magic grog right about now. Not that any of that mattered, not even a little, cause Faerie' hadn't a damn work amidst the crashing of mortar and timber, the roar of the flames, the hurricane howling, and the damned ice smashing everywhere.

And a damn dragon screaming, holy hell! He knew the call, because the Boss had one of them. Indigenous to the islands around Gravija. Mean buggers. Toxic with magic. And they made a hell of a loud noise. Saving his ears was necessary, so just as soon as the screech picked up, the Fire Bringer got ready to shift back into his natural element.

Too late, though, when the wall collapsed under the wind and rain and flame. Hunched as he was over a smoldering stone chunck of displaced foundation, he was in the perfect position for what happened next. A sprig of lumber from the ceiling support boards cut a clean line from the roof down, and it jabbed into the man's back. Not just in, actually - clean through! Pierced right through him with the burning end poking out his front. Missed his spine, but it was in fact a freaking pointed two-by-four.

Then the laser beams. Fired off like fireworks from somewhere outside, they sure as hell found their mark in that damn building. Rocked him like a hurricane right off his feat, and damn near blew his arms and legs completely off at the moment of impact. He couldn't quite differentiate between left, right, up, down, forwards, backwards, red, blue, banana, or himself at the moment, so it goes without saying that the explosion was tremendous, and came from all sides around him all at once.

Spelled death, right? Eh, only if the first reflex hadn't been to burst into flames and drown out the pain by completed eliminating physical pain receptors. The shock was the worst part of it, and twice now today he had his breath taken straight out of him. Once when the chick touched him, and again, now, when bad things happened and he skipped out on death some more. He'd been skipping death for a long time, thank the gods. More time to party.

More time to run.

The visage of Faerie' opened its fiery mouth and sucked in a tremendous gout of air, building itself back up on the same plank that would have moments ago flat out killed him. As long as he had flame, he could win this. Even sitting in the bottom of a crater made by dragon breath, he could god damn win. He could do anything. But it was time to run again. He needed time. Just a little to recompose himself. Just a little to stage a counter attack. Faerie' was all flash. He knew he could take one of these people on (pretty sure that there was two of them now), but tactical advantage wasn't his thing. He wasn't here to think. His job was just to "burn it all down". Technically he could run away now. Nazca was fucked. But something made him stay. Fate's design tapped at the front of his skull with its boney finger, said he belonged here, and that he was about to have the ride of his life.

Fat chance, but he was ready to let it play out a little longer.

Faerie' soaked through a wooden wall and jumped to a nearby house, leaving scorch marks through them as he went. Distance. Three blocks down, four blocks up, and he could still feel the reverberations wavering at his ignited form from the dragon's screech and the devastating icy impact that was knocking down every structure from the docks to the nobles' row. Ya know, there would be delicious dresses and soft fancy polished woods for him to eat there. Regain a little strength. A little warmth.

Nothing better than watching good fighters get pissed off because they have to wait.

[-Dory]

((errrrrrr... ... ... ... ... ... blegh. Music))

Here comes number two. Alexandra's voice didn't make fighting any easier. The dragon was too reasonable; too calm for Freya's tastes, and her very presence made matters simpler than the vampire was used to. For most, the fact might have been a blessing. Matters were easier to handle in black and white-- do or don't, but Freya wasn't a fan.

See, there was an issue with the concept of a bi-polar reality, and it was a very simple issue: There was no such thing. Yeah, there was left and right... but what about up and down? Diagonal? There were three hundred and sixty degrees in a circle. To leave just one out of consideration was nothing short of criminal.

Now! Alexandra screamed inside of her mind as the world-- so very far away-- came down with sleet upon the city. Do it now-- He'll flee the ring!

So, where there seemed to be an ultimatum, there was actually obtuse interference, and lies. Three hundred and sixty was a pretty big number-- to cut it down so far took effort. It took time, and fate, and in the circle, 'fate' was the making of it's inhabitants. Seven lessons in five parts and three trials-- the technique was foolproof.

If he makes it to the third...

And that was why Freya claimed dominion over Nectara, the first ring; and the circle as a whole. Nedrah showed no fear because she'd never learned to feel it. Alexandra showed no fear because nothing could touch her; but Freya didn't scare because she'd already taken every fucked up thing the world could dish out... and survived, in some shape or form.

-Stop- him! Keep it caged!

In that moment, Faerie' was as much a part of the circle as Freya; though he didn't know it. She hadn't known it either, in her initial descent. Barely more than a child... the first ring had killed her, but it had been in her dying moments that she had seized hold of her second life, and begun to master the circle that wrote her fate. She very well could have, but she had no right to deny the Condemned his chance to do the same; no matter how the Sprite railed. He was out of sight, but not out of mind; surviving somehow, she was oddly sure.

-Damn- it, Freya! She was so cold, she didn't even want to move. Giving Fesseln the reins on her position had been a fortunate decision-- as he'd carried her well out of the more lethal bits of the downdraft. Frost lined her skin nonetheless, worsening that cold which still ached in her lungs; and Alexandra was still screaming... You -don't- -have- a -choice-!

"Like hell, I don't."

A jet of flame burst forth from the wall of the building, and in to another-- through and through and through with a trail of blackened scorches in his wake.

He's getting away!

She didn't have to give the word. With a flourish of wings, Fesseln bowed to sweep low over the ground again; and Purebane jumped loose from the earth to reunite with her wielder's hand before they were off like a shot in hot pursuit.

[-Faerie' Vindahla]

Holy shit, he hadn't been in this heavy of a shit storm in a long ass time. This city just wasn't letting up, and these people... Heroes scrambling out of the woodwork to douse him and his fire and just wreck a good old time all to hell and back. Shoddy work on his part. Like, really. Couldn't touch her, couldn't keep a spark going for anything, and damn well couldn't give away his location. There was just too much happening and too many things going on at once. When was the last time he had a good fight? Ages ago, years... In the tree at Domus. Garnitia and Maritia came along and almost wasted him. Thank the Boss for a speedy dispatching of Caithann, who managed to pull Faerie's blond ass out of the soup and chase the demons away.

No Caithann this time, and laser beams and ice shit storms flying around willy nilly, he was definitely starting to feel his own age. Three thousand years, nothing but partying, nothing but playing, and a good couple of decades off of work left him feeling like he was fighting after an all night binge bender. Like, it was as simple as nothing doing, ya know. Caught up in a whirlpool bathtub drain, sucking on his face, waiting for the next breath of air, for SOME strange reason face down in his own urine.

Faerie' couldn't catch a break.

He re-solidified and used the fire to fill what used to be a gaping hole in his belly. healed straight up, but hell if they weren't going to be hot on his trail. Faerie' put his scrawny looking little hand on the back of a wooden chair and lifted it over his head. His mouth stretched to inhuman sizes to accommodate the well polish furniture piece, and the maw contained fire down to the bowels of his being. Halfway between an elemental and a human body, he hovered there and devoured the tasty snack, then shrank back down to normal. The hole in his belly got smaller then sealed together, and fresh, fit, trim abs budded out, healthy and happy again.

His head was aching from the cold and the adrenaline running through him like lightning and thunder. Faerie' swung around the room, looking for more fuel and trying to decide what was next.

Fire. More fire. Always the answer. Always the go-to strategy. Had everyone really evolved so much farther in their war tactics in just forty years that fire wasn't a feasible strategy anymore? Faerie's brow slanted and he turned his attention to the roof. A noble family's house had good insulation in the roof. Lots of wood ships up there between the attic and the roof, ya?

He needed something big, so he lit a little fire up int he attic space, then slipped up like a ghost through the ceiling where he started to build and build and build the energy he'd need to the next big flashy attack.

Lots of smoke.

Lots of heat. Even the wet shingled roof outside began to smoke and char.

[-Dory]

((Sorry this took so long. Got about half of it written, and then some shit happened... and then some more shit happened... and... yeah. Moral of the story: The world's a lot nicer to me than I am. lol))

Deeper in to the city, where the buildings were closer, and the trail harder to follow. Fesseln swept over the wreckage to a point, but the tracks went cold-- somewhere inside of buildings too tightly packed to mark.

See? Alexandra hissed in her ear, pushing seething violet energy to coat tribal black marks with the glow of her own influence. He's played the circle-- see! He fled!

"Rip him, tear him; beat him to a bloody pulp!" Nedrah howled no more quietly from within the depths of the blade.

Fesseln pulled up and away from the rooftops to spiral in to the air up above, and the vampire reflexively leaned forward to catch his neck. The Sprite was talking nonsense... something else she would just have to accept as a natural factor. That the Condemned had fled the ring without so much as an attack-- interesting, to say the least; but she could feel the change beginning to manifest.

We hide to recover. Calm descended again as the dragon slipped seamlessly back under the skin of her host. You would be wise to do the same.

It was as convenient a thought as it was practical. The ceremony of the circle didn't necessarily call for Freya's presence just yet-- but rather for Nedrah's; and she was already screaming. A suitable avatar of a most disposable nature... very well; but first she had to find him.

"There's a match under the curtain, Freya..." She gritted her teeth against the wind, golden eyes narrowing as they moved toward the blade clasped so tightly in her hand. Her predecessor's form had become more defined, and the face grinning back at her was almost a complete reflection of her own-- though younger, drawn, and spattered with blood. "Just... let me snuff it out. Just this once. C'moon... it'll be fun."

"Shut up." She ground, and looked forward again as Fesseln mounted his ascent, and twisted to cast his gaze below. Through the wind, and pelting rain, they watched the rooftops as Nedrah raved on.

"C'moooon!! But this one's sanctioned, yeah?! Yeah! I'm allowed!"

"There." Freya lifted an arm to point as smoke caught her gaze, and hefted Purebane over her shoulder. "Keep steady..." She murmured as her upper body rose, and her knees tightened over the Shrike's torso. Taking careful aim, she paused to steady her position as the shingles blackened before she loosed the sword with a final cry of, "Now!"


-------------------

Nedrah apparently hadn't quite kept up.

See, one minute she was up in the air, and Freya had a deathgrip on Purebane's handle, and the bitch was considering putting her back in her sheath-- Putting her back in the sheath! But she'd told her; yeah she did, and now all of a sudden, her itty bitty teenie weenie little observation box was sailing through the freaking air.

She wasn't pleased. She wasn't pleased at all.

But she managed to pull the smushed remains of something that resembled a form out of a hilt which sorta resembled a glass flame all on her own, and flooded back in to the blade again. She crashed through the rooftop with a burst of embers, shattering already weakened wood under the pressure, and the cage of a weapon hit new ground.

This one was made of wood-- rather flimsy, but it did a better job of holding the tethers as they snapped; and waves of force pulsed out over the floor around her. A flurry of splinters tore planks from the floor, filling the confined space of an attic with a cacophony of noise and dust-- Better. Almost felt like home...

But it was just the beginning, and it wasn't enough. Energy-- power-- life-- Nedrah didn't care what it was called, but in the midsts of the chaos, it began to flood her-- to flood her out; and the blade seemed to crack.

"Wait--!" But it was no use. An ocean of chaos fell eerily silent, and she was escaping through the jagged crack in the blade whether she still wanted to, or not. A plume of fog condensed, ectoplasm shifted to take a humanoid form; and there she stood, trembling with sword and shield in hand, amongst the wreckage.

[-Faerie' Vindahla]

Wood chips used for insulation in rich homes made great kindling. S'why fire was so damn good at wrecking towns, because even if the walls were made of stone, the tops and everything inside just weren't, and fire sparked and spread from housetop to housetop. The torrential rains made things rough, but Salamel just had to send the stupid hurricane along to make sure no fleets ever left the Nazcan shores again. Eh, for now he was out of the rain. Bringing the inside of this attic to a good hot temperature would give him the fuel he needed for one hell of a counter attack.

'Course, the roof had to cave, and a huge thud just had to go and take him off his feet and pull the rug out from under his happy third story blaze.

"Shit-"

Backwards somersault led into a handspring, because Faerie' was just that cool, and it put him upright again.

"Holy fire and angel farts. Are you guys always this uppity?" Like, seriously. Throwing things and breaking stuff. This ghostly looking thing must have been Queenie's accomplice. A dragon, a vampire, and a ghost. Definately a strange combination, but kinda just because of the dragon. They'd fit into the Festival of the Dead without the dragon. Oh! They could paint him up to look like a pile of bones.

So he had to deal with ghosts now. Ghosts that threw rocks and made ice fall out of the clouds, according to what he saw happen on the docks.

Faerie' licked his thumb and straighten his eyebrows, then gave the ghosty a little smile and a shrug.

"Lazy century turns into crazy century. But what can ya do, ya know?" Then he closed his eyes cocked a toothy smirk, and exploded in a high velocity updraft of flame, dragging the rest of the fire still glowing in the attic up with him. Straight up into the sky, then spiraling around himself in long arcs, drawing pretty swirly things... Sorta. Never was an artist, but you know how it goes. Best he can.

He became fleshy again, and but kept riding the force for another hundred feet, collected up all the fire in his arms like hug-fulls of blankets, breathed into them and imbedded hot magics, then spun around mid-air and launched the the flame down at the house in a tremendous volley of meteoric fireballs.

Ghosts could suck it, for all he cared.

[-Dory]

((Fair warning is Fair: Nedrah's... a little nuts.))

"Woah..." Coming to life was always a disorienting process; different every damned time. Freya got creative with her methods of projection, and-- well, yeah, no, Nedrah pretty much just got the brunt of it and everything else. Never a damned command, of course-- heaven fucking forbid the woman actually gave her something to -do--- oh wait, but then something would happen-- and she was gonna get pissed off when it wasn't just the right thing.

And when she got her in more trouble then she wanted, which was stupid, because if she was looking for trouble to begin with, why bother yelling at her for finding too much of it? Too much of a good thing for her precious little sensibilities? BAH, fleshbags didn't make sense. What in the hell was the point in a sense of mortality when you didn't get the real deal?

"Hey, woah." Wherever she was, it was hot. She blinked at the guy she had apparently jostled loose-- Faerie', they'd called him, right? Yeah, well, whoever he was, he was the guy that survived long enough to buy her a walk around the park; and he was calling them uppity.

Okay, well, she was pretty sure that that was the point where she was supposed to go all hellbitch and start up the slicin n dicin; but that was what she was -supposed- to do. Freya actually was... fairly uppity, but the soul she normally kept all cramped up in a fucking sword, was a very different story. She wasn't exactly a habitual 'supposed to do' kinda person to begin with; and now that she thought about it, she actually was kinda pissed off about it. Just who in the hell did she...

"Hey-- Hey woah!" Words? Fuck words. Wait, Dude was saying words... ... ... but he was also smirking. Bad sign, bad sign, very bad sign-- one of two things happened every time she saw that kind of smirk, and god damnit--

"Woah, man!" As the fire plumed and the attic fell, suddenly, cold.

Worse sign. Son of a--

"WaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" Was the articulate conclusion to her response as she scrambled after him-- a couple hops confirmed that she was not, in fact, able to fly up as quickly as she had plummeted down before she doubled back for Purebane. A body slam knocked it loose and both of them to the floor, not that she really cared, and she dropped her own sword to pick up the mammoth one and drag it toward the closest wall.

"Asshole." Mumbling the whole way. She wasn't nearly as strong as Freya, and the sword weighed about as much as she did. "Bitch..." It really was horribly unfair. Just what was she supposed to be doing? "fuckin..." Plus the sword kept biting in to the wood, and that was a pain in the ass, too; "DOUCHE." as her back hit the wall.

And a volley of flame came down upon the building. She screamed-- a long wailing howl of laughter that served a purpose closely enough, and threw her arms over her eyes to shield them from the blast-- and then removed them to watch, morbidly, the reason she had been sent in Freya's stead.

The holes poked in her bigger box were flaming-- the heat was incredible, and supports were burning-- yup yup, time to go.

Gripping Purebane's hilt, she spun away from the wall and hoisted it-- with significant effort-- over her shoulder to drive it in to the wall where once she had stood. Task completed quickly, she ran for the nearest hole, and dove. Surely the sword she had forsaken for the sake of the stupid cause was somewhere in the burning, embery wreckage.... provided that the aforementioned wreckage didn't come down directly on her head.

Again.

Shit.

[-Faerie' Vindahla]

He rode the updrafts from his own attacks, and time and time again he slung back his arms and slingshotted more and more fire down onto the building, even after it started to crumble under the weight of its own cinders. Shock the enemy into defeat? May as well give it a damn good try. He certainly didn't want to be iced again. The choice of an aerial battle field was another intentional choice - well, 'least he thought it was. Sometimes Faerie' made up reasons for his awesome choices, but after the choice had already been made. If the made up reason for him being in the air made sense, it may as well have been true, right?

Hanging out in buildings hurt. Wood punching holes in ya felt like crap. Dragons shot lasers into buildings, and everything just turned into a jumbled up mess. Oh, and there was Queenie walking around down there with her magic touch that just sorta seemed to dissipate Faerie's own enchantments. Since he hadn't seen her fly by herself, it was okay to assume she wasn't going to be chasing after him way up here. And ghosts... Ghosts were scary, and lobbing fireballs at them from far away was just the optimal choice. Always.

A forward somersault in mid-air leg to a kick that lit up at the heel like a match, and sent another meteor down in a blazing path towards the wreckage. Then the Fire Bringer took a second to wipe the sweat from his forehead and ran his fingers through his hair.

Just kinda... Waiting for a response. Something. 'Cause it wasn't going to be that easy, right? Almost never was.

Air rushed around him with the escaping heat, and he let his body take on a half-ethereal state so he could hover there a bit longer. The chains on his belt and gloves, the zipper on his jacket, all jingled like crazy little bells. He took a few long breaths and infused himself with more magic. He scanned the charred shell of a house, saw red and orange and yellow and smoke, and... That was it. Adrenalin made everything move in slow motion, and it didn't help that he jacked himself up on the magic. Senses were heightened. Muscles tense, and all he really wanted was a reaction. Standing still now, even for a second, was just killing him.

[-Dory]

You must intervene. Patience had never been a particular strong point in Freya; and though the Sprite who took shelter in her body did offer some valuable reserves, Alexandra was really no different. The spirit seethed, urging her host to move with the closest thing to the sense that she could synthesize; but reaction was minimal at best. He's fled the ring-- again. This is getting dangerous. Do your job-- Contain!

Up amongst the whipping winds and rain, words were mostly ignored. She could see the flames, she just didn't particularly care-- Nedrah had her own wiles, and that was a lesson she had only learned a few hundred times; considering that most of the damage went inward. The apocalypse was coming down on her head... ... ... ... Okay; well there were still three more rounds to go, and Alexandra had been panicking the whole way. She saw no reason to sway from her course, now.

Man, given the nature of the host; Nectara actually really sucked at losing. A light sigh escaped her lips as she leaned forward, resting a hand upon Fesseln's neck as she craned her own for a better view. For a moment, vermillion eyes turned back to meet her golden ones, but she simply shook her head very slightly.

"Not yet." She spoke softly, though she'd have had to admit that her role was getting boring fast, if the damnable dragon asked. He didn't, and both pairs of eyes returned thoughtfully to the Firebringer at hand. Nedrah couldn't touch him, not while he was in the air... but the-- what was he supposed to be, a demi-god?-- was showing a tendency for loopholes that was beginning to aggravate beyond the depths Alexandra claimed. "Let her play, she'll be quieter for it later."

And let him wait, 'cause frankly, he was starting to tick her off.

She didn't care about the damage done to Nazca-- Her little opponent was just the cherry on top of a shithole sundae, really. She didn't care what happened to Nedrah-- the little bitch was... kind've a bitch. She didn't even really care if she lost; but this blatant disrespect to the Circle...

Okay, yeah, fine.

"Scatter." She called the ring closed, and tightened her grip for movement as her eyes fell shut. The spiraling dive the dragon had called only a moment too soon took the inner one by surprise, and a ribbon of violet light burst from her to trail, glimmering, in their wake.

-----

"WAHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!" And there it was-- or there it had been, before more fireballs began to rain down on her happy little parade. Nedrah jerked away from the sword she had just freaking found, cradling her burnt fingers to her chest as one of them took it out with the floor beneath it; recoil stopped suddenly by an ember-storm of collapsing attic-floor... and what floor she still had, was feeling flimsy.

"Shit-- shit-- shit--" She was sweating. That was weird, and her lungs felt tight-- smoke? Huh. Freya had found herself in a similar situation; for a pretty damned similar reason, but she doubted the knowledge was going to help her here. -Freya- had simply evacuated the jail and made one hell of a scene. She was pretty sure the population of Roft was still suffering the effects, but she wasn't Freya, and she couldn't just bust out a few walls and flip the bird.

Course, that was the fun part. She spun back to face the vast majority of the house, which was suddenly more of a gaping, flaming hole than anything else, and wiped the sweat from her bangs. Her eyes turned upward-- toward the weapon suspended in the shell of a building-- and then toward what was left of the attic floor.

"Fucking rat maze..." She grumbled as a support beam crashed down to her left, and took the second support with it. She skidded, heels slamming against the wood as she lost her balance entirely, and went down.

Pain flooded her with vengeful heat as her legs slipped between the supports. She screamed again when the bones inside them snapped with the landing. Surface burns, scrapes and bruises weren't shit.

The walls were caving. She flung her shield over her head in a vain attempt to shield herself from the wreckage as sobbing howls of laughter gurgled from her throat. Casting aside the gathered smouldering debris, she turned her narrow eyes upward.

Well she sure hoped Freya had a plan for this. She wasn't against using a shield as a weapon, or anything; but all those fancy twirls just weren't gonna work for a minute.

-----

It only took instants-- the rider didn't even try to keep up-- for the Shrike's nose to pierce back through the clouds. The blaze of heat upon her face was her cue to raise her head again, though it was at her own peril; and it looked as though it was draconic habit to be directly on top of something at all times. In this case, it was Faerie'-- though that was changing, and fast.

Alexandra was first to break off, as the gliding spiral brought them to circle around him, and continued to streak downward. The glimmering blob of energy hovered there in the air, for a moment; before it condensed in to the form of a very small, very young sprite dragon before his eyes. It giggled, snout wrinkling as mirth filled adorable doe eyes-- and spewed a bunch of ice.

Lower, and once engulfed in the smoke; Fesseln's path slowed, and Freya leaned over his shoulder to scope for movement. She could hear her laughter-- must have had enough, but where...

A plume of burning dust caught her eye, and her head turned abruptly. "Nedrah!" Incapacitated -and- pinned-- damnit. That was going to make round six interesting; but the girl -did-, at least, have the sense to turn her gaze toward the sound of her name.

And they switched. Fesseln careened away from the building as the vampire cast off the obstructions like twigs, felt the fury tense in the muscles of her own legs as she rose, and shot in to the air like a rocket.

[-Faerie' Vindahla]

What. The. Hell.

Like, what the hell, man? Nothing. Nata. Not a damn thing. Kay, Queenie on her dragon, swooping down into action. That was two of em, and he knew damn well that there was three. Did he really just obliterate the little ghosty chick just like that? Again, it had been a few decades since he'd had a good scrap on his hands. Maybe Faerie' just forgot how damned awesome he was, and there really was nothing to worry about after all.

Bullshit.

He knew better than that. There were beasts out there in the human population, pretending to be mild mannered farmers, scribes, god damned city guards - you name it, they were there. Shit, not three months back, some black-robed freak busted into the castle at Ascantha and kicked the ever living piss out of Caspian and Ariel. Gods in their mortal forms on Redemption were physically weaker than in their heaven. Faerie' knew this. But to have someone just waltz right the fuck in and tell his all powerful god what was what like that... It took balls, and a hell of a lot of power. So no, he knew good and well that there were super powers hiding in the world, just waiting to show themselves. Queenie, for instance, she could undo Faerie's magic just by touching him. The hell was that that gave her that sort of strength? He didn't know, but it definitely had him on edge.

Pff... Least Queenie didn't seem to be able to fly very well. Riding a dragon made that obvious. Sorta. He hoped.

He heard giggling. Just a short little laugh, and behind him. He turned around with his ethereal arms splaying fire out to his sides when he moved, and in the nick of time to see a little dragon nose wrinkle up like it was going to sneeze. Brain went:

Kinda cute...

...Shit.

The icy blast took the wind right out of his sails. He gasped, and then fell when the fire that had been holding him up turned to smoke and disappeared. And he fell more, below the level of the roof. Before he hit the ground, fire flared up around him, and he hit the street as an ethereal, and then morphed back into a man.

Faerie' laid there for a few seconds, cause being forced out of your own element hurt about as much as being forced out of your own skin.

Pretty much a lot.

[-Dory]

((I am (all of me)-- Crush 40))

"Flawless." Hovering still in the air, Alexandra's etheral form traced a violet ring around the space the Firebringer had once occupied; "The condemned has fallen."

Had she not been sailing upward to meet him in the precise moment that he dropped from the sky, Freya might have had something witty (or just smart-ass, really) to say. Unfortunately, as it was, speaking didn't so much require air for a vampire; but it did require the sensation of it, and her wings didn't come bursting from her back until she had reached the altitude her mark had (at one point) required. The look she sent the dragon as they came even might have been enough to kill a lesser being, and the sentiment behind it came all too near to the phrase, "Flawless, my ass."

"Classification six-dash-two-- odd." And for a moment, the Sprite seemed to consider. "This one marks the first."

Yeah, well, he also marked the first Demi-God-thing, now didn't he? Most of the victims of his 'kind' had merely been under the impression of Godhood, with no concrete divine backing. Six-one seemed to be the magic number with the 'angels' she had known, but the Abyss certainly wasn't the Goddess she claimed to be. Six-two just meant that this one had a little bit of extra flair. Considering that there was another of his kind who had not, so gallantly, stayed to entertain the circle; the practice run was good to have, but she doubted that their similarities ran so deeply as Alexandra seemed to think.

They almost never did. Just because something seemed natural, it didn't mean that it was; and it didn't mean that it was going to come to pass. Freefalling, for example, proved more challenging with her widespread wings fully displayed; and so she curled them around her body like a chrysalis-- a familiar maneuver-- to make the plunge.

Up, down, up, down, up, down, down, and down-- divinity was a pain in her ass, extraordinaire.

Purebane acted as a perch for half an instant, before the jar of her collision jerked it loose from the wood which had held it in place, and the two of them dropped amongst the wreckage of a building. A moment later, as her wings opened and she lifted the blade from the smouldering debris, a trail of violet draconic light flooded her body with life again; but the throbbing heartbeat which once had grounded her in breakneck speeds, was slow.

Fesseln circled low around the building, Nedrah whimpering safely upon his back; and she fought the need to swallow dryly against their watchful, serpentine gazes. The funny thing about The Circle, was that no one ever left it without learning-- something. Alexandra loved to take the credit for it, but Freya'd never quite figured it out; and she certainly wasn't exempt.

She wondered at the lesson here; kicking aside the piles of wreckage in her path as she moved, calmly, toward the half-broken Fire bringer floored before her. It seemed like such a shame to level the tip of her blade over his throat in this desolate pocket of waste that they had created. The vast majority of the world as she had seen was filled with the indignant screams of countless bodies-- wastes of flesh and bone that came too near too often and fell apart at the seams before the Circle had even the time to begin. The condemned most certainly wasn't able to best her-- but he wasn't filth. He didn't deserve to sleep in it for the rest of his eternity; just as she hadn't-- and as Xanthe hadn't.

Her eyes seemed to churn, fury and strange compassion flaring together and drawing the blade of malice to still.

"You have a choice." Her voice couldn't have held the emotion boiling inside, and so it fell monotonous-- dull tones to drown the quiet shaking of her form; and she was sure that she was making a horrible, horrible mistake. She was humanizing the enemy-- but she couldn't hope to deny who she was, and the writing of the Circle was not her task alone-- never had been, never could be; or it simply wouldn't work. It had been this compassion to draw her in to the night and to her death not once but twice before; and that she was the one who held the blade now, made little-- or all the difference in the world. There was no more use in denying it, than there was in denying her thirst for blood; and if she didn't give him the option... well, then she was no better than the devils who had tried to take her own away.

"You have been defeated." The simple fact that she able to speak the words was all the validation she needed, for a moment, and she stopped shaking despite the terror; for there it was, and her heartbeat was quickening again. Vengeance, she had called herself; but wasn't it closer to Redemption? The Judge, she had said; but the choice had never belonged to her, and the truth of it drove her half-crazy. She knew literally nothing of Faerie', but The Circle-- the Night itself-- was obscurity. She was above wavering before it.

"You will leave your existence as you know it, behind. It has failed you, and this I cannot change. You will die. You can go peacefully in to an eternity of sleep, where trouble cannot find you... or you can try again, and come with me as my Fledgeling."

The sting of conscience bit true and deep with the words-- neither option was a particularly appealing one, and she lacked the charm to make it seem like anything more than it was. Die, or join her in hell-- despite it's necessity, what in the hell kind of a choice was that?

"Think carefully. I'll wait." And the damnable compassion showed; but he'd had as much of a hand in writing the fate as she.

[-Faerie' Vindahla]

She was going to wait, huh?

Kay.
Faerie' contemplated just laying there and staring at her until maybe she went away, or her feet got tired, or something. Make faces at her, until she asked exactly what he was doing?

Damn it, losing felt weird. Nowhere to run, even. Nothing left to burn, inside him or outside.

Faerie' wasn't exactly injured, or anything. He had the magical equivalent of a dozen broken bones and a brain aneurism. If he had the strength left, he would have just torched her again. Seriously, he already tried, but when he tried summoning up the fire, he just got a headache and felt sick to his stomach. No more lobbing fireballs. Salamel's hurricane pretty much made this the stupidest place to fight ever. Through the constant wind and the rain, he burned up so much energy just sustaining himself. Coming back from a ceiling collapse, dragons lasers, and crap like that. Just what the hell was he thinking all that time? Yeah, pretty dumb idea, and he knew it now.

All flash and no bang. Not enough to even cover his own damn self.

In the end, he wasn't one to sit still. Even if he stared at her, he'd get bored before she did.

So sideways in a puddle, he just coughed up a few words for her. A good answer. Worth a high five. Caithann wasn't around for that anymore. S'alright. Things happen, the world gets a little faster, and everyone learns lessons they should have hundreds of years ago.

He shivered and groaned, trying to roll over so he could watch whatever she was going to do. Watch it coming.

"Sorry Queenie..."

Pitiful, but stubborn like a dog. Father, master, leader - the Aesir was all kinda the same thing thrown together for Faerie'. Simple as that. You didn't turn on family. More forgettable people had done that before and made a fool of themselves doing it, but not him.

Heavy heart, heavy legs and arms... Shit, and with a genuinely happy little smile:

"I already have a Boss, ya know."

And he enjoyed admitting it.