The Ravenous Wanderer - The Battle of Church Street [Log]

[Taunya]

Prisca rides in from the west.
Church Street West
[Warm, dark clouds, heavy breeze from the west, dawn] 
  Iron lamp-posts share curb space with tall, well-trimmed trees along the
two edges of Church Street, as far apart as the banks of some rivers. 
People, wagons and other traffic flow between them rather than water,
however.  Small houses dot the northern side of the road, prettily
maintained.

Recently:
(A rotting stench fills the air and passersby scream and run in terror. )

[ Exits: -north-  east  south  west ] [ Air exits: up ]
     [Broken]Simple iron lamp-posts edge the street, burning tallow candles. (northwestern corner) (off)
Sir Lans ab Durandal faces an abomination! [App: 4]
  He is here, riding a well-muscled destrier.
  He has a steel longsword boasting the Knights' crest on the pommel drawn.
An anthropomorphic creature with sagging folds of rotten skin is here. [App: 2]
  He is stark naked.
Prisca has arrived.

 >look creature
  He is stark naked.
The only trait this being holds that resembles a human being is its
anthropomorphic shape, the rest is just plainly gruesome.  The foul odor of
rotting skin and flesh permeates your senses, coming from the folds of skin
that sag to its frame, pale as if it had been stripped from a buried corpse.
Its face is a puzzle of mismatching features: two eyeballs that are
badly-placed, hinting the reddish, wet eye sockets; the hints of a bony jaw
where no skin has managed to adhere to the demon; a hole where an ear should
be. 
He is taller than Prisca by a hand and a half.

An anthropomorphic creature with sagging folds of rotten skin lurches through the cobbled streets of Lithmore, leaving a trail of rotting flesh and panicked yells. The creature is man sized, or at least man formed, formed of rotting flesh that sloughs off with each step. Its sunken red eyes are askew and eerily still, pointing in different directions but not moving. An aura of darkness spills from the humanoid, polluting the street with long and thick trails of darkness that look like ghastly ribbons of night. In the cover of darkness, the citizens of Lithmore have run screaming away, taking shelter from the figure, but the remnants of those not quick enough lie at its feet. Cap askew and white shirt ripped open by fell energy, a young child looks sightlessly off at nothing. A woman, screaming, with one leg missing, is trying to drag herself to safety. When the being passes by the fallen Lithmorrans, their skin and flesh and is slowly and inexorably dragged into the mass to replace the rotting meat that it leaves behind. As it feeds, fresh skin begins to show to replace the old hunks.

Dame Vlora von Vashaak arrives from the east, with a cautious sweep of her eyes, scanning for threats.
A male Knight Venerable with a scarred, stubbled face has arrived.
A large, midnight black warhorse in Knight barding has arrived.
A female Knight Venerable with grey streaked hair has arrived.
Dame Vlora von Vashaak slows to a halt.

[Action: Prisca is riding in, carrying a large barrel behind her on a cantankerous rabicano-bay Charalin mare. ]

[Action: Dame Vlora von Vashaak has just arrived, leading a formation of Knights bearing shields and swords. ]

Sir Lans ab Durandal is, on his side of the area, alone. The knight tensely watches the horrifying demon advance on the street, absorbing the few people that can't get away. The man grinds his teeth and points at an anthropomorphic creature with sagging folds of rotten skin with his sword, screaming: "It is me whom you'll face, fiend! Leave the flock of Dav out of this! Face me, and face the wrath of the Springs!"

Dame Vlora von Vashaak wears a blackened steel tower shield detailed with a gold chalice as a shield.

Prisca seems to have been heading for the square when she encounters the scene, and pulls a cantankerous rabicano-bay Charalin mare up short. "Arien. Keep your distance!" She shouts to others in the area.

"Swords, shields- Tight formation." Dame Vlora von Vashaak calls out to the Knights at her sides, the shields they bear lock together for protection- swords poking out of the gaps ready to stab and rend. The Vandagan is at their head, leading the formation forwards with a damascus steel bastard sword with an incise floral motive drawn beside a blackened steel tower shield detailed with a gold chalice. "Citizens, keep your distance!" She bellows out, her voice splicing the air. "Commander!" She bellows out, directing her squad about the street to clear the citizens and anyone who remains unconsumed. [Dame Vlora von Vashaak]

An anthropomorphic creature with sagging folds of rotten skin The abomination doesn't seem particularly concerned about the shouting Sir Lans ab Durandal or the page's departure. Rather, the creature of flesh and rot continues its inexorable progress forward, continuing to feed on the unfortunate Lithmorran citizens that it has managed to catch. Their muscle and bone ripe outwards as if pulled by an ethereal force, and glob onto the back of the slowly advancing creatures. Screams begin, and quickly die, quelled by the sudden embrace of the death. As it absorbs more, fresh pink skin begins to show on its body in little patches. Only once the blade is drawn and Sir Lans ab Durandal begins to invoke the Lord's name does the creature acknowledge their presence, raising its head to face in the general direction of man. Slowly, ever so slowly, an rotten arm raises, summoning a bolt of dark energy that flashes across the street and strikes him full on in the chest. [Void Attack]
  An anthropomorphic creature with sagging folds of rotten skin critically hits Sir Lans ab Durandal's body, painfully hitting a black steel lamellar cuirass patterned with pewter rivets!  It appears to be in good condition.  
Sir Lans ab Durandal has been wounded.



 >look lans
  He is here, fighting an anthropomorphic creature with sagging folds of rotten skin.
  He has a steel longsword boasting the Knights' crest on the pommel drawn.
Sir Lans ab Durandal faces an abomination!

Sir Lans ab Durandal is riding a well-muscled destrier.
Five foot eight comprise a well bred lithmorran man of gaunt features and
tanned skin.  Appearing to be in his early thirties, his most distinctive
features are his very long, wavy raven black hair that reaches to the middle
of his back, and his eyepatch.  His remaining eye is black, his lips are
rather thin, and his jawline and nose have aquiline touches of aristocratic
breed.  With a perfectly upright posture, the man exhudes a collected,
cold aura of grim disapproval.

His body, whatever little can be seen, hints at long limbers of fine stock
and well trained musculature.  His hands are long fingered and he seems to be
rather light on body hair.  
He is taller than Prisca by two hands.

Sir Lans ab Durandal is using:
<used as a light>    an oil lamp(lit)
<worn on head>       a close helm of blackened steel bearing a low central ridge
<worn around neck>   a carved dark wood chalice pendant, which hangs from a cord
<worn over shoulder> a pair of heavy, blackened steel arm cops over smooth lames
                     a sturdy leather quiver, sewn with a pair of crossed-swords
                     a sturdy leather backpack emblazoned with the Knights Sigil
<worn on arms>       a set of rerebraces constructed from matte, blackened steel
<worn, left wrist>   a fitted vambrace of splinted steel, lined with dull spikes
<wielded, right>     a steel longsword boasting the Knights' crest on the pommel
<used, as shield>    a heater shield of steel displaying a ferocious wolf's head
<worn on torso>      a black steel lamellar cuirass patterned with pewter rivets
<worn about body>    a blue cotton cloak bearing the Crossed Swords on a Chalice
<worn about waist>   hinged, riveted tassets of smooth polished, blackened steel
                     a dark leather belt with a big brass buckle and coin purse
<worn on legs>       a pair of smooth, black steel cuisses over splinted greaves
<worn on ankles>     a set of gilded Knight's spurs with silver yokes and rowels
<worn on feet>       a heavy, square-toed pair of blackened steel plate sabatons

Sir Lans ab Durandal screams. A piercingly loud scream as a full torrent of un-being courses through his body and pierces his cuirass. The man coughs dark blood and grinds his teeth: "Good." he says miserly, "Me. Not the people." he heels his horse forward and charges, sword at the ready: "For... for the chalice!" [Charge]
   Sir Lans ab Durandal's charge is interrupted, leaving them at a extended distance from an anthropomorphic creature with sagging folds of rotten skin.

Dame Vlora von Vashaak plants her immense shield on the ground as a barrier, "Commander, get the frak back-- you'll just get eaten!" She bellows out, ducking down behind that tower shield for a moment. A hand delves into one of her pouches, drawing forth a smaller pouch sewn with a golden chalice. She tugs on the drawstrings, cocks her arm back and tosses it over-arm and over her shield towards the horrible creature.  [Apply]
  Dame Vlora von Vashaak misses an anthropomorphic creature with sagging folds of rotten skin! 
  Dame Vlora von Vashaak throws a pile of powdery gray ashes at an anthropomorphic creature with sagging folds of rotten skin! 
  an anthropomorphic creature with sagging folds of rotten skin catches Dame Vlora von Vashaak's badly thrown a pile of powdery gray ashes! 
An anthropomorphic creature with sagging folds of rotten skin looks to be in excellent condition.

"Get back, get back!" Prisca shouts out to the others when an anthropomorphic creature with sagging folds of rotten skin engages Sir Lans ab Durandal. She reaches behind her and unstraps a sizable barrel smelling of lamp oil, hefting it around to hold in front of her. [Prisca]

Prisca wields a sizable barrel smelling of lamp oil.

Sir Lans ab Durandal gets a pile of powdery gray ashes from a sturdy leather backpack emblazoned with the Knights Sigil.

[Action: Prisca is keeping her distance from an anthropomorphic creature with sagging folds of rotten skin, a barrel held before her atop her horse.]

Sir Lans ab Durandal "Never." is Sir Lans ab Durandal's gritted answer as he continues to charge, dipping his gauntlet into his backpack, "Never surrender." he says through blood stained teeth. [Apply]
  Sir Lans ab Durandal applies a pile of powdery gray ashes to an anthropomorphic creature with sagging folds of rotten skin!  
An anthropomorphic creature with sagging folds of rotten skin looks to be in excellent condition.



An anthropomorphic creature with sagging folds of rotten skin seemed entirely unconcerned about the encircling Knights or Sir Lans ab Durandal's charge, but Dame Vlora von Vashaak's grey powder is enough to stir a reaction from the creature. It raises its rotten hand again and a barrier of black fire crackles into place. Some of the fresh skin on its back suddenly goes black and rotten. As the ash passes through the ebony energy disappears and with it the momentum of the dust. The rest falls onto the street in front of the corpse-rotten demon. Sir Lans ab Durandal's follow-up salvo, however, sails through the air into the gap in both the magical barrier and the attention of the abomination. The flakes fall on rotten flesh and burn it away, dozens of little holes opening up in the demon. [Fecho]
   an anthropomorphic creature with sagging folds of rotten skin masterfully manipulates Void.

Safir rides in from the east.
Safir slows to a halt.

Sibylle dul Fontaine rides in from the east.
A mammothian dark-skinned man with gray-streaked hair has arrived.
Sibylle dul Fontaine slows to a halt.

[Action: Safir is entering the street from the direction of the church square, wielding a sword. ]

[Action: Sir Lans ab Durandal is charging the demon, looking wounded! ]

Dame Vlora von Vashaak hoists a blackened steel tower shield detailed with a gold chalice back into her arms, her ash spent and thrown to apparent little effect- she charges, the Knights at her sides charge with her. A cacophony of steel rings out into the street as several armoured figures advance on the creature, trying to block it in with all their shields and armour- lest it eat anyone else. "Shit!" She calls out, throwing herself forwards with her shield, her sword lashing out in a trusting arc to try and catch it in one of the vulnerable areas opened by the ash. [Attack]
The strike is resisted by a damascus steel bastard sword with an incise floral motive!  It appears to be in good condition.
  Dame Vlora von Vashaak lightly hits an anthropomorphic creature with sagging folds of rotten skin's body!  
An anthropomorphic creature with sagging folds of rotten skin looks to be in excellent condition.



Sir Lans ab Durandal continues his charge as he does a circuit around the monster, seeking a vulnerable side! "Look at me! Look at me and be ended!" he screams at the top of his lungs, his voice marred by an intense pain. [Charge]
   Sir Lans ab Durandal charges to a medium distance from an anthropomorphic creature with sagging folds of rotten skin.

Sibylle dul Fontaine Sibylle dul Fontaine brings the satchel in hand and takes a deep breath. Someone better suited to this heroing business might have shouted something heroic or inspiring - instead it is just a sailing bag trailing a dusting of gray ash and leaving behind a hopeful looking priestess, watching its trajectory. [Apply]
  Sibylle dul Fontaine misses an anthropomorphic creature with sagging folds of rotten skin! 
  Sibylle dul Fontaine throws a pile of powdery gray ashes at an anthropomorphic creature with sagging folds of rotten skin! 
  an anthropomorphic creature with sagging folds of rotten skin catches Sibylle dul Fontaine's badly thrown a pile of powdery gray ashes! 
An anthropomorphic creature with sagging folds of rotten skin looks to be in excellent condition.

Apprentice Perelle ab Symons arrives from the east.
A hefty, tan guard dog has arrived.
Apprentice Perelle ab Symons continues to the west.

Apprentice Perelle ab Symons crosses the center of the area.

Apprentice Perelle ab Symons leaves west.
A hefty, tan guard dog leaves west.

[Action: Sibylle dul Fontaine sits on her horse here, looking a real failure ]

Prisca grumbles, "I'd better get some coin out of this," and attempts to kick a cantankerous rabicano-bay Charalin mare towards the creature in support of Sir Lans ab Durandal. [Charge]
   Prisca's charge is interrupted, leaving them at a extended distance from an anthropomorphic creature with sagging folds of rotten skin.

A cantankerous rabicano-bay Charalin mare isn't having anything to do with an anthropomorphic creature with sagging folds of rotten skin, and backs up rather than moves towards it.

An anthropomorphic creature with sagging folds of rotten skin pauses in its forward momentum for the first time, but the holes in the rotting skin slowly begin to close as the creature draws on all of the flesh and meat of the broken victims in front of it. Pieces of flesh fling themselves towards the demon, smacking into Sir Lans ab Durandal, Dame Vlora von Vashaak, and the rest of the Knight that surround it. The rest, however, glob onto the demon and are uses to speed the healing of the ashen holes. When Dame Vlora von Vashaak's damascus sword strikes true, it cuts a swath of muscle out of the creature that drops to the stone pavement. As soon as the sharp steel withdraws, however, the wound closes once more. Black bands of energy roll out from the creature's chest and slices into the nearby Knights without regard or aim. [Void Attack]
  An anthropomorphic creature with sagging folds of rotten skin critically hits Dame Vlora von Vashaak's legs, painfully hitting a pair of articulated steel cuisse, under inscribed greaves!  It appears to be in good condition.  
Dame Vlora von Vashaak looks lightly wounded.


Grechian dul Ghaan arrives from the east.
A common, chestnut horse has arrived.
Grechian dul Ghaan slows to a halt.

A small lady with pale blue eyes and curly hair arrives from the east.
A small lady with pale blue eyes and curly hair slows to a halt.
A plain woman with saxe blue eyes arrives from the east.
A plain woman with saxe blue eyes slows to a halt.

 >look safir
  She is here, riding a hulking Charalin palfrey.
  She has a long-hilted gold toned obtanium sword with a lupine motif drawn.
Safir is entering the street from the direction of the church square, wielding a sword.

Safir is riding a hulking Charalin palfrey.
She is tall and slim, with a lithe build.  Large brown eyes with flecks of
amber are set wide above an aquiline nose and framed by arched auburn brows. 
A mass of curly red hair hangs loose around her shoulders, falling to her
mid-back.  Pale lips are rounded by an angled chin and mirrored upon either
side by freckled cheeks.  Her long torso is graced with a slight bust, the
shape of which is accented by her lanky frame.  Her nails are kept shortly
trimmed and her hand betray evidence of work and archers calluses.

A scar has healed over her right brow, creating a slight jag over that
eyebrow.  A long white scar lines her hairline on the right side of her face,
ending near her ear.  The tendrils of a tattoo might be spied on the back of
her neck.

She wears a few marks of age, most notably the lightning of her hair to a
more strawberry color than red.  She looks to be in her late forties.
 

There are bandages wrapped around her forearms.  
She is taller than Prisca by two and a half hands.

Safir is using:
<used as a light>      a dark-paned glass black-out lantern with a sturdy handle(off)
<worn on head>       an open-faced helmet crafted of deeply embossed sienna hide
<worn on ears>       a pair of copper-hued glass orbs with vibrant swirls
<worn around neck>   a twisted bronze torc with ornate endings of howling wolves
<worn over shoulder> a leather quiver padded with nyxis fur made for shouldering
                     a makeshift navy-linen pouch sewn with surgical stitching
<worn on arms>       a pair of rigid oxhide sleeves scaled protectively in armor
<worn, left wrist>   an archer's leather bracer bound with a taut brace of cords
<worn, right wrist>  an oxhide bracer tooled with elaborate patterns of knotwork
<worn on hands>      pliable chestnut gloves cut short at the wrists and knuckle
<worn, left finger>  (covered)
<wielded, right>     a long-hilted gold toned obtanium sword with a lupine motif
<worn on torso>      a brass breastpin, forged into a stately winged staff sigil
                     an embossed leather vest trimmed with chestnut-colored furs
<worn about body>    a black cotton cloak with slate lining, hood edged with fur
<worn about waist>   a low-slung oxhide belt with a clasp of bronze-inlaid alder
                     a heavy bronze keyring hung with a single, wicked bear claw
<worn on legs>       delicately layered scales of hide armor covering the calves
<worn on feet>       a pair of knee-high boots, brown leather molding to the leg

A plain woman with saxe blue eyes slows a bit as the group begins to encounter an armed crowd.

Sir Lans ab Durandal attacks from the side opposite Dame Vlora von Vashaak, using his sword for an horizontal slash. His eye is alit in murderous rage, and his jaw is locked in. A trail of dark blood is plastered to his chin. [Attack]
The strike is resisted by a steel longsword boasting the Knights' crest on the pommel!  It looks to be in excellent condition.
  Sir Lans ab Durandal lightly hits an anthropomorphic creature with sagging folds of rotten skin's body!  
An anthropomorphic creature with sagging folds of rotten skin looks to be in excellent condition.



A small lady with pale blue eyes and curly hair's eyes open wide, as she takes in the situation at hand. "Oh my my," she whispers under her breath, her face growing pale.

Sibylle dul Fontaine gets a pile of powdery gray ashes from a looping length of slender dark leather capped with silver.

Safir makes up for Sibylle dul Fontaine's lack of heroing, and lets out a loud, sharp whistle, the kind that the Charalin might use to communicate between scouts on the Plains as she tries to edge closer towards the Knights and the beast.  "Hey, ugly!"  Safir shouts in the direction of an anthropomorphic creature with sagging folds of rotten skin. Light shines against a long-hilted gold toned obtanium sword with a lupine motif. 
  Safir appears to be of Heroic charisma.

A plain woman with saxe blue eyes also seems to change her mind about slowing once it becomes clear what's going on, and she actually hurries her pace after Grechian dul Ghaan, giving the crowd wide berth.

Grechian dul Ghaan begins to focus, lifting her hands.

Grechian dul Ghaan folds her hands and begins to pray.

Grechian dul Ghaan remains silent, intent upon the prayer.

Grechian dul Ghaan moves her lips silently in prayer.

Grechian dul Ghaan speaks a dire plea for salvation, eyes opening.

Grechian dul Ghaan makes the sign of the Chalice, concluding the prayer.

A small lady with pale blue eyes and curly hair "Grechian, this is not the time to pray!!!," she exclaims, prodding Grechian dul Ghaan on the back. "Come on, we are in danger!! We are getting in the way of everyone. Move!!!"

Safir With that introduction, Safir joins the fray, yelling over to the Knights, "If someone knows how to use one of these things better, get your Arien hands free and it is yours!" [Attack]
The strike is resisted by a long-hilted gold toned obtanium sword with a lupine motif!  It looks to be in excellent condition.
  Safir lightly hits an anthropomorphic creature with sagging folds of rotten skin's body!  
An anthropomorphic creature with sagging folds of rotten skin looks to be in excellent condition.



Dame Vlora von Vashaak takes the hit against her armoured shins, the attack getting past her shield. "Bollocks!" She calls out, stumbling back a foot or two after her attack was infective. The Knights continue to throw themselves against it with little regard for their safety, doing what they can to slow it down- to slow down the inevitable encroachment of this horrible beast. "SOMEONE BRING FIRE! BURN THE BASTARD DOWN!" She yells at the top of her lungs, her voice piercing through the acrid din of combat. As she yells, she catches sight of Safir, her eyes flaring. "STRIKE IT!" She yells, and follows her own advice, lashing and hacking at it with her bastard sword. [Attack]
The strike is resisted by a damascus steel bastard sword with an incise floral motive!  It appears to be in good condition.
  Dame Vlora von Vashaak lightly hits an anthropomorphic creature with sagging folds of rotten skin's body!  
An anthropomorphic creature with sagging folds of rotten skin looks to be in excellent condition.


Sibylle dul Fontaine "Damn," Sibylle dul Fontaine utters as she readies another satchet from her beltpouch. She steadies her attention, her focus, but Grechian dul Ghaan distracts her. "Acolyte, GET OUT!" comes the Grand Inquisitor's order. "Lead out the citizens!" [Apply]
  Sibylle dul Fontaine misses an anthropomorphic creature with sagging folds of rotten skin! 
  Sibylle dul Fontaine throws a pile of powdery gray ashes at an anthropomorphic creature with sagging folds of rotten skin! 
  an anthropomorphic creature with sagging folds of rotten skin catches Sibylle dul Fontaine's badly thrown a pile of powdery gray ashes! 
An anthropomorphic creature with sagging folds of rotten skin looks to be in excellent condition.

Grechian dul Ghaan jumps onto her mount and rides over to Sibylle dul Fontaine shouting over her shoulder at the woman following her "Run, quickly, just run as fast as you can"

Prisca puts her weight on one stirrup and swings her leg over a cantankerous rabicano-bay Charalin mare.

Prisca skillfully dismounts from a cantankerous rabicano-bay Charalin mare.

A plain woman with saxe blue eyes steps behind Grechian dul Ghaan, placing the acolyte between herself and everything happening across the way and makes the sign of the Chalice. When a small lady with pale blue eyes and curly hair claims it's not time to pray, a plain woman with saxe blue eyes bites her lip, looking torn between running away as fast as she can and standing ground with consolidated support of faith.

"Your Holy Honor! Step back!" Sir Lans ab Durandal bellows over the top of his lungs, before he raises a hand to Safir, adding: "Elder, the sword, flip it!" he says, coughing up blood. [Sir Lans ab Durandal]

Growling in frustration, Prisca jumps down from a cantankerous rabicano-bay Charalin mare and attempts to charge forward, lifting a sizable barrel smelling of lamp oil before her. [Charge]
   Prisca's charge is interrupted, leaving them at a extended distance from an anthropomorphic creature with sagging folds of rotten skin.

A small lady with pale blue eyes and curly hair "I have to get to the hospital, the prime will want to know!," she exclaims to Grechian dul Ghaan and a plain woman with saxe blue eyes. "You two, get out of here!!!," she screams, rather shrilly before running off towards the hospital.

A small lady with pale blue eyes and curly hair furrows her brow in thought, mentally planning.
A small lady with pale blue eyes and curly hair begins to move west.

A small lady with pale blue eyes and curly hair jogs through the center of the area.

A small lady with pale blue eyes and curly hair leaves west.

Safir turns a long-hilted gold toned obtanium sword with a lupine motif in hand to hack at an anthropomorphic creature with sagging folds of rotten skin's neck - she's already started the motion before Sir Lans ab Durandal yells at her.  "Be ready for it when I do, one-eye."  Safir calls back.  [Attack]
The strike is resisted by a long-hilted gold toned obtanium sword with a lupine motif!  It looks to be in excellent condition.
  Safir lightly hits an anthropomorphic creature with sagging folds of rotten skin's head!  
An anthropomorphic creature with sagging folds of rotten skin looks to be in excellent condition.



Grechian dul Ghaan pulls her mount up beside Sibylle dul Fontaine's her eyes focused on the an anthropomorphic creature with sagging folds of rotten skin she starts to pray "Dear Lord of the Springs, please protect all who fight here, please watch over them and keep them from harm"

Prisca continues her advance, getting tripped up by people fleeing and the like. [Charge]
   Prisca's charge is interrupted, leaving them at a extended distance from an anthropomorphic creature with sagging folds of rotten skin.

[Action: a plain woman with saxe blue eyes stands silently behind Grechian dul Ghaan, pale and shaking, but holding her ground as she watches events unfold. ]

An anthropomorphic creature with sagging folds of rotten skin is unaffected by the hacks and slashes of the Knights, new flesh growing in to replace the old rotten remnants as soon as they are cut off. Soon a veritable pitter-patter of rotten remains hits the streets, without any noticeable difference in the regenerating demon. When the light is reflect off of the sword in Safir's hands, however, the creature halts its motion immediately. Slowly, it begins to back away, and then faster, lunging away from the weapon. It's not fast, enough, however, to avoid the strikes of Safir. When the sword impacts on the rotting flesh, it grows bright to the eye to match the darkness that fills the wounds. Each strike is followed by a concussion, an explosive blast of force that threatens to knock anybody nearby off their feet. Wherever the sword hits, however, nothing returns to fill in the flesh. The creature is missing half of its scalp and some of its ribs from the last two hits.

[Action: Grechian dul Ghaan keeps her horse next to Sibylle dul Fontaine praying constantly ]

A sunburned, grey-haired woman arrives from the west.
A sunburned, grey-haired woman slows to a halt.

As an anthropomorphic creature with sagging folds of rotten skin is battered with the obtanium sword-induced explosions, Prisca powers forward, smashing a sizable barrel smelling of lamp oil over it in the chaos. [Attack]
The strike is resisted by a sizable barrel smelling of lamp oil!  It looks to be in excellent condition.
  Prisca lightly hits an anthropomorphic creature with sagging folds of rotten skin's body!  
An anthropomorphic creature with sagging folds of rotten skin looks to be in excellent condition.



Prisca stops using a sizable barrel smelling of lamp oil.

Prisca inverts a sizable barrel smelling of lamp oil, spilling oil all over the ground.

Prisca drops a sizable barrel smelling of lamp oil.

A plain woman with saxe blue eyes has gone AFK.

The church bells ring six times, announcing the hour of prime.

Dame Vlora von Vashaak hunkers down behind a blackened steel tower shield detailed with a gold chalice as the explosive blasts of force peel off the creature, "Arien shite!" She bellows, gritting her teeth as the force rolls over her- thankfully, she manages to keep upright for now if a little staggered from the repeating blasts. "YES!" She calls out in excitement, as the Obtanium sword seems to have an effect. "Go for the limbs! The Legs!" What passes for legs, anyway. [Defense]

NEW COMBAT ROUND!
Prisca is still engaged in combat.

Sibylle dul Fontaine "You are on latrine duty if you do not leave at once, Acolyte," Sibylle dul Fontaine commands Grechian dul Ghaan from atop her horse. "Get medics ready. Now." [Throw]
The strike is resisted by a steel throwing knife with a knightly emblem upon the hilt!  It appears to be in good condition.
  Sibylle dul Fontaine lightly hits an anthropomorphic creature with sagging folds of rotten skin's head!  
  Sibylle dul Fontaine throws a steel throwing knife with a knightly emblem upon the hilt at an anthropomorphic creature with sagging folds of rotten skin! 
An anthropomorphic creature with sagging folds of rotten skin looks to be in excellent condition.

Grechian dul Ghaan hesitates only a moment clearly torn

Grechian dul Ghaan furrows her brow in thought, mentally planning.
Grechian dul Ghaan begins to move west.

Grechian dul Ghaan crosses the center of the area.

Grechian dul Ghaan leaves west.
A common, chestnut horse leaves west.

A plain woman with saxe blue eyes crosses the center of the area.

A plain woman with saxe blue eyes leaves west.

Sir Lans ab Durandal "The sword, woman! Or just strike ahead!" bellows Sir Lans ab Durandal as he sees what is going on. He lifts his shield and hisses tiredly. [Defense]

"Oh, frak off!"  Safir complains as the explosive blasts hit when she makes a strike, a hulking Charalin palfrey dancing around on his feet so much as he is able in the melee to keep himself and his rider aloft.  The horse snorts, rearing slightly before he charges for Safir to take a swing at an anthropomorphic creature with sagging folds of rotten skin's legs.  "Get your Arien hands free so you can catch it!"  Safir yells to Sir Lans ab Durandal. "Or do you wield two of these stupid things at a time?"  [Attack]
The strike is resisted by a long-hilted gold toned obtanium sword with a lupine motif!  It looks to be in excellent condition.
  Safir lightly hits an anthropomorphic creature with sagging folds of rotten skin's legs!  
An anthropomorphic creature with sagging folds of rotten skin looks to be in excellent condition.



Sir Lans ab Durandal stops using a steel longsword boasting the Knights' crest on the pommel.

An anthropomorphic creature with sagging folds of rotten skin loses a rotten chunk of most of their right leg as the glowing sword shears through it like butter. Another concussive explosion rattles through the street as brilliant light meets unquenchable dark. This one, however, knocks the demon off its feet, causing the creature to fall to one knee. It stops attempting to drag itself away from the sword. The mouth of the creature rotates unnaturally, opening, and a fog begins to flow forth towards Safir as she readies for another strike. Wherever it touches, it burns.  [Void Attack]
  An anthropomorphic creature with sagging folds of rotten skin critically hits Safir's arms, grazing a pair of rigid oxhide sleeves scaled protectively in armor!  It appears to be in good condition.  
Safir has been wounded.


The clouds descend and drizzle.

Safir stops using a long-hilted gold toned obtanium sword with a lupine motif.

Safir gives a long-hilted gold toned obtanium sword with a lupine motif to Sir Lans ab Durandal.

Sir Lans ab Durandal wields a long-hilted gold toned obtanium sword with a lupine motif.

Warm, dawn-hued ripples are exposed down the length of Sir Lans ab Durandal's blade as he draws it out of its sheath, shimmering aureate gold in the light.

Prisca stops using an oil lamp.
Prisca lights an oil lamp and holds it.

Dame Vlora von Vashaak stomps her sabatons, sidestepping about the creature in a rapid pace. "Catch the bloody sword!" She calls up, keeping a blackened steel tower shield detailed with a gold chalice high enough to cover Safir too, after she takes a hard hit. "Back off now!" She calls over her shoulder, trying to cover her retreat. [Tech]

A sunburned, grey-haired woman begins to move west.

A sunburned, grey-haired woman leaves west.

As the fog advances on Safir, she's quick, but her reflexes allow one choice - she glances to Sir Lans ab Durandal and tosses him the sword, before she's engulfed in the fog and the burning - her body tenses up and a hulking Charalin palfrey screams.   [Safir]

NEW COMBAT ROUND!
Prisca is still engaged in combat.

Sibylle dul Fontaine rides out for reinforcements or something. [Flight]
  Sibylle dul Fontaine tries to flee east!
Sibylle dul Fontaine flees to the east!

Sir Lans ab Durandal now has it. He extends his arm and catches the sword thus thrown. Now the man's armored fingers close around the hilt of the sword. Warm, dawn-hued ripples are exposed down the length of the blade as he holds it, shimmering aureate gold in the light. He breathes in and out, then heels his horse forward, moving in a blur of motion while he slices the monster's back legs: "Let me hear you scream, abomination!" he bellows. The sword catches the rain and sends rainbows of warfare all along the area. [Attack]
The strike is resisted by a long-hilted gold toned obtanium sword with a lupine motif!  It looks to be in excellent condition.
  Sir Lans ab Durandal lightly hits an anthropomorphic creature with sagging folds of rotten skin's legs!  
An anthropomorphic creature with sagging folds of rotten skin looks to be in excellent condition.



Prisca lights a lamp and throws it at the puddle of oil as an anthropomorphic creature with sagging folds of rotten skin drags itself away. [Throw]
The strike is resisted by an oil lamp!  It looks to be in excellent condition.
  Prisca lightly hits an anthropomorphic creature with sagging folds of rotten skin's legs!  
  Prisca throws an oil lamp at an anthropomorphic creature with sagging folds of rotten skin! 
An anthropomorphic creature with sagging folds of rotten skin looks to be in excellent condition.

 >look creature
  He is here, fighting Safir.
  He is dripping wet.
  He is stark naked.
The only trait this being holds that resembles a human being is its
anthropomorphic shape, the rest is just plainly gruesome.  The foul odor of
rotting skin and flesh permeates your senses, coming from the folds of skin
that sag to its frame, pale as if it had been stripped from a buried corpse.
Its face is a puzzle of mismatching features: two eyeballs that are
badly-placed, hinting the reddish, wet eye sockets; the hints of a bony jaw
where no skin has managed to adhere to the demon; a hole where an ear should
be. 
He is taller than Prisca by a hand and a half.

An anthropomorphic creature with sagging folds of rotten skin is using:
<worn on head>       a superficial bruise (no treatment needed)
                     a shallow scratch (bleeding) (no treatment needed)
<worn on legs>       a shallow scratch (bleeding) (no treatment needed)

[Action: Safir is in thick of the fight, next to an anthropomorphic creature with sagging folds of rotten skin, and unarmed.  ]

[Action: Prisca is in the fray!]

Dame Vlora von Vashaak moves into the side as Sir Lans ab Durandal strikes at it with Excalibur, she's trying to distract it from the rear by slashing and prodding at it with her bastard sword. "Strike at the head, Sir Lans! Lop the bloody thing off!" She calls, her sword lashing and trashing through the air in a rapid flurry- just trying to piss the thing off. [Attack]
  Dame Vlora von Vashaak misses an anthropomorphic creature with sagging folds of rotten skin! 
An anthropomorphic creature with sagging folds of rotten skin looks to be in excellent condition.

Doused in oil, battered by successive strikes of the sword, the creature looks less than humanoid at this point. One eye, filled with hate but unmoving, remains burning at the center of its half-cut scalp. Most of its left leg is gone, sheared off in a clean cut. Filled with hate, the creature raises a hand to point at Safir once more, the essence of decay gathering in its rotten palm. Before the infernal power can be unleashed, a lamp gently bounces off its remaining leg and settles at the base of the demon. A moment later, it is on fire. As it burns, new flesh replaces the old in an everburning torch of flesh. Distracted by the flame, the abomination never notices the final  strike from Sir Lans ab Durandal. The sword cuts like butter through the flesh of the demon and carves upwards towards its core. Light shines too brilliant to look at directly, hemming in the night at the core of the abomination. A final flare of light illuminates the the street, and then an anthropomorphic creature with sagging folds of rotten skin explodes in a cacophony of light and sound. The stones of the street crack and crumble, flying outwards. [an anthropomorphic creature with sagging folds of rotten skin]

Sir Lans ab Durandal sheathes his sword.
Dame Vlora von Vashaak sheathes her sword.

Everyone standing near the center of the explosion is thrown off their feet and sent flying away, many hit with stone and rubble and blinded by the light of the explosion. Two Knights that were encircling the demon are down, unable to avoid a particularily big cobblestone. At the center, where the demon once stood, is a crater in the cobblestones. The only trace of that last blow is the sword that remains, torn from Sir Lans ab Durandal's hands but unaffected by the explosion. When one looks, however, they will notice that the sword has a single crack running down the blade. The only remants of the demon is the viscious energy of decay that still afflicts Safir. Wherever it touches, flesh turns rotten, until the entire hand that held the sword falls onto the cobblestones, pitter-pat, like the rest of the flesh from the demon. It leaves a clean stump, already covered in pink flesh. [Eldon]

Sir Lans ab Durandal swings his leg over his mount, preparing to dismount.

Sir Lans ab Durandal easily dismounts from a well-muscled destrier.

Sir Lans ab Durandal sits down and rests.

Sir Lans ab Durandal stops using a long-hilted gold toned obtanium sword with a lupine motif.

Sir Lans ab Durandal drops a long-hilted gold toned obtanium sword with a lupine motif.

A well-muscled destrier sits down and rests.

Safir swings her leg over her mount, preparing to dismount.

Safir skillfully dismounts from a hulking Charalin palfrey.

Prisca rests.

[Action: Sir Lans ab Durandal is sprawled on the floor. ]

Prisca hits the deck in the explosion, covering her head with both hands protectively. a cantankerous rabicano-bay Charalin mare bolts from the area.

The church bells ring five times, announcing the hour of terce.

A cantankerous rabicano-bay Charalin mare begins to move west.

A cantankerous rabicano-bay Charalin mare walks west.

Sir Lans ab Durandal is BLASTED away from the demon, same as his horse. Falling back, the man CLANKS with his armor against the cobblestones, looking dazed. He barely managed to shield himself and dart away from the core of the explosion. He hisses and begins to lift himself on a shoulder, dark mane of hair covering his eyepatch.

Thrown from her horse in the explosion - a hulking Charalin palfrey himself thrown away, Safir moves to shift in the rubble and push herself up - but it isn't working like it should.  Looking down through the dusty and debris at her weapon hand, she sees her fingers dissolving.  With that vision in sight, the battle-hardened Charali warrior passes out.   [Safir]

Safir goes to sleep.

[Action: Safir is lying in the rubble, her 'hand' a pile of goo.  ]

Dame Vlora von Vashaak makes a futile attempt to throw herself behind a blackened steel tower shield detailed with a gold chalice as the blast rockets the street. As the others, she's blown clean off her feet like a battering ram, clanking across the cobblestone as she goes arse over elbow- her sword clutched tightly to her middle as she rolls with it- no doubt the knuckles inside her gauntlet bone white with the effort. A steady stream of Vandagan expletives filter through her helmet as the Knight rolls. She lands against one of the light posts, which breaks her roll- and quickly, with great effort she throws herself back to her feet- her sword raised high. "Report!" She yells out, but the rest of her squad are still fishing for their feet. "Basta-" She's about to yell, eyes flitting round the battleground, before they fall to Safir.

"MEDIC!" She Vandagan bellows out.

[Action: Prisca is huddled on the ground in the aftermath.]

A mammothian dark-skinned man with gray-streaked hair has left the game.

Sir Lans ab Durandal coughs heavily and wipes bile and blood from his mouth with the back of his hand -- leaving a streak of it. He blinks and eyes around, then pushes himself up. He looks at the sword, then at the fallen warrior, and grimly moves for the former, limping: "Damnit." he curses, "Damn all. Pages! Squires, someone get the Prime Medicus now!" [Message]

[The mood of this area is changing.]

Prisca carefully considers a long-hilted gold toned obtanium sword with a curved crack.

It is priced at approximately 3622 silver.
This 'a long-hilted gold toned obtanium sword with a curved crack' is a kind of weapon.
This weapon is a type of sword, and it would deal slash damage.
Damage is wicked.
It appears to be made of obtanium.
It looks to be in excellent condition.
It weighs around 2 pounds.
It can be worn as follows: take wield
It could be reasonably held in both hands. (Actual size: 30)
The incredibly hard, gently glimmering silver star-metal possesses warmer, gold
ripples when exposed to heat, such as when worked by a blacksmith in a forge.
The aureate ripples are retained by any weapon created with the metal, closely
akin to the patterns of waves in damascus steel.

Its value should be approximately 3622 silver.
This can be embellished.
It appears to be of good quality.

 >look obtan
Prisca examines a long-hilted gold toned obtanium sword with a curved crack.
While balanced for one-handed use, the longer handle and the shape of the
blade are Charalin in origin, more reminiscent of a common spear.  The
weapon, however, is far from common; the wavy pattern of the metal commonly
found in damascus shows warmer gold ripples, indicative of the inclusion of
the much rarer star-metal known as obtanium.  Along the lengthened hilt, the
carved figures of a pack of stalking wolves provide a better grip.  Etched
onto the pommel is a spider with one leg raised, poised as if to strike. 
What once was unbroken metal, however, now has a jagged crack running along
the length of the blade. 
(0 paces away, eastern edge of the area)

[The mood of this area has changed.]

Sir Lans ab Durandal gets a long-hilted gold toned obtanium sword with a curved crack.

[Action: Safir is lying passed out in the rubble, her 'hand' a pile of goo. ]

[Action: Sir Lans ab Durandal stands at the center of the crater, looking hurt. ]

Church Street West
[Warm, dark clouds, strong winds from the south, morning] 
  Iron lamp-posts share curb space with tall, well-trimmed trees along the
two edges of Church Street, as far apart as the banks of some rivers. 
People, wagons and other traffic flow between them rather than water,
however.  Small houses dot the northern side of the road, prettily
maintained.

Recently:
(There is a crater at the center of the street and cobblestones are strewn
everywhere.  Dark energy stills clings to the broken stones in places. )

[ Exits: -north-  east  south  west ] [ Air exits: up ]
     A brass oil lamp is lying here. (eastern edge) (off)
     A steel throwing knife with a knightly emblem upon the hilt is here. (eastern edge) 
     A sizable barrel smelling of lamp oil is here. (eastern edge) 
     [Broken]Simple iron lamp-posts edge the street, burning tallow candles. (northwestern corner) (off)
Sir Lans ab Durandal stands at the center of the crater, looking hurt. [App: 4]
  He is resting here.
A hulking Charalin palfrey is standing here.

Safir is lying passed out in the rubble, her 'hand' a pile of goo. [App: 5]
  She is sleeping here.
A female Knight Venerable with grey streaked hair is here. [App: 1]
  She has a steel longsword, with intricate fuller of etched chalices drawn.
A large, midnight black warhorse in knight barding is here.
A male Knight Venerable with a scarred, stubbled face is here. [App: 2]
  He has a steel longsword, with intricate fuller of etched chalices drawn.
Dame Vlora von Vashaak has just arrived, leading a formation of Knights bearing shields and swords. [App: 4]
A well-muscled destrier is sprawled on the floor.
  It is resting here.

Prisca lifts herself to her knees, and surveys the damage, brows furrowed at all of the injured and dead. She doesn't notice Safir's missing hand from this angle, and seems more concerned for the fallen knights.

[Action: Dame Vlora von Vashaak is standing amongst the chaos, bellowing orders and thrashing her sword about. ]

A slender man with black hair and brown eyes arrives from the east.
A slender man with black hair and brown eyes continues to the west.

A slender man with black hair and brown eyes crosses the center of the area.

A slender man with black hair and brown eyes leaves west.

[Action: Prisca is knelt, surveying the aftermath.]

A pitch-haired, sturdily-built Farin rides in from the west.
A pitch-haired, sturdily-built Farin continues to the east.

A pitch-haired, sturdily-built Farin slows to a halt.

[Action: a pitch-haired, sturdily-built Farin canters down the street atop an athletic, chestnut-colored destrier. ]

Epion Anteya Soranson arrives from the west.
Epion Anteya Soranson slows to a halt.

[Action: Safir is lying passed out in the rubble, her weapon hand dissolved into goo. ]

Epion Anteya Soranson steps nearer, teeth pulling over her bottom lip as she looks over the several gathered. Her eyebrows furrow faintly, hand lifting to her forehead as she releases a slow breath.

Sir Lans ab Durandal breathes in and out heavily, pushing hair behind his ear. obta glistens in the light, and everywhere -- there is black acid dissolving cobblestones, lots of which simply exploded all around the area, centered where this knight stands. He looks around, blinking, and says: "It is over... is anyone... Safir." his eye falls on Safir, and notices the stump. He begins to limp towards her: "No, no. Elder..." he hisses, clutching his side over where something punctured a pair of smooth, black steel cuisses over splinted greaves

Epion Anteya Soranson's attention falls on Safir, eyes falling on the goo on her hand. She pulls in a breath, looks to Prisca, then looks back. Her words are even as she speaks. "Remove the hand," she says. "Now. Before it spreads. Remove the hand. Is there... anyone else?"

[Action: Epion Anteya Soranson is paused, surveying the scene carefully. ]

Sabatons slap against the ground as Dame Vlora von Vashaak jogs over towards her fallen squad, the duo of Knights covered in rubble and cobblestones. She starts pulling off the bigger chunks, and helping them to their feet- thankfully due to their armour, they've more or less unharmed from the blows. "On your feet, Knights- secure the area, picket lines..." He gauntlet snaps out in various directions, "Here, here, and here- call for reinforcements from the Keep, we need a contingent of men-at-arms to secure the area." A fist slams against her breastplate, "See it done!" Next, she strides over towards Sir Lans ab Durandal, and claps him on the back of his armour, "Good shot, Sir Lans... that bloody sword..." A hard breath blows from her cheeks.

She whistles between her teeth at Epion Anteya Soranson, directing her to a pitch-haired, sturdily-built Farin. "Walking wounded." She calls out, and then marches back into the center of the space- directing men and women back and forth. That is, before a pitch-haired, sturdily-built Farin arrives. A fist slams against her chest, "Lord Earl Marshal," She calls out, beckoning him over. [Dame Vlora von Vashaak]

Prisca gets back to her feet stiffly, moving to assist with anyone who might need to be carried or dragged away. "What in Arien happened?" she asks in a voice a bit louder than usual. "Can barely hear anything but ringing."

Prisca stands up.

A pitch-haired, sturdily-built Farin slides off the top of an athletic, chestnut-colored destrier before the horse even slows, thumping down to the ground and moving over to Dame Vlora von Vashaak in his own state of disarray. "I came as soon as I got reports." he says shortly, offering a salute in return. Looking over the area, he asks, "How many are injured?" He eyes the crater for a long moment, before letting out a loud grunt. At a newly arrived pair of Knights who come to a halt, taking in the scene, he bellows, "Don't just stand there! Move your Lunare damned asses and assist with anyone who needs it." He looks back to the Dame with a frown creasing his features.

"Would that I had lost my hand instead of her." Sir Lans ab Durandal hisses back at Dame Vlora von Vashaak as he looks at Safir, brow furrowed in a rare display of a tiny bit of emotion. He looks at the vandagan amazon knight, though, and nods in acknowledgement of her praise. "Thank you, Dame." he says more quietly, before his eye meets a pitch-haired, sturdily-built Farin, and them and the knight salutes stiffly: "Lord Earl Marshall." he says, himself covered in ash, dust and blood. "Injured... many... but the Order prevailed." [Sir Lans ab Durandal]

Epion Anteya Soranson looks over Safir.

Safir's weapon hand has dissolved away.  She's got a stump covered in fresh, new skin at her wrist.

The sleeves along Safir's weapon arm also looked pretty wrecked too, likely injuries underneath.  [Safir]

[Action: Prisca is helping to move the dead and injured.]

Epion Anteya Soranson's lips press faintly as she releases a breath, first moving to approach Safir and crouch beside, as everyone else is at least... awake. "If we could move out of the street, that would be best," she says quietly, glancing about to the others. "Even if it isn't all the way to the hospital. Just... elsewhere. And then I can tend to everyone."

Grechian dul Ghaan rides in from the west.
Grechian dul Ghaan continues to the east.

Grechian dul Ghaan rides across the area at a walk.

Grechian dul Ghaan rides east.

[Action: Epion Anteya Soranson is crouching beside Safir. ]

Epion Anteya Soranson motions aside to one passing, asking quietly, "Can you please ask Student Eldon to let those in the recovery ward to know that the danger has passed?" [Message]

"Dozens consumed by the demon, no accurate count." Dame Vlora von Vashaak huffs out, her eyes on a swivel. "Few injured-" She moves off, "I'll bring the reinforcements." She offers, smacking out a salute and moving off towards the horses. "Sir Lans, would that if you did- fate makes its own mind up." She rumbles, mounting up and starting into a canter towards the north gate. [Dame Vlora von Vashaak]

Dame Vlora von Vashaak reaches up to her mount's saddle, preparing to mount.

Dame Vlora von Vashaak confidently mounts A large, midnight black warhorse in Knight barding.

The church bells ring four times, announcing the hour of sext.

Sir Lans ab Durandal gulps and sheathes the sword, then kneels by Safir and frowns: "I can take her where it is needed, Prime. Just tell me." He looks dulled now, nodding absently at Dame Vlora von Vashaak. 

Sir Lans ab Durandal stands up.

Sir Lans ab Durandal lifts Safir.

Dame Vlora von Vashaak furrows her brow in thought, mentally planning.
Dame Vlora von Vashaak begins to move east.

Grechian dul Ghaan arrives from the east.
A common, chestnut horse has arrived.
Grechian dul Ghaan slows to a halt.

Dame Vlora von Vashaak rides east.
A male Knight Venerable with a scarred, stubbled face leaves east.
A female Knight Venerable with grey streaked hair leaves east.

[Action: Sir Lans ab Durandal is lifting a wounded, sleeping beauty. ]

A pitch-haired, sturdily-built Farin has lost link.

Epion Anteya Soranson presses her lips faintly, glancing aside to Sir Lans ab Durandal before offering a nod, then pushing up to her feet, as well. "The hospital would be best. But, you are injured, as well. Can you carry her that far?" She then looks to Prisca, "And you?"

Grechian dul Ghaan swings her leg over her mount.

Grechian dul Ghaan skillfully mounts a common, chestnut horse.

Grechian dul Ghaan furrows her brow in thought, mentally planning.
Grechian dul Ghaan begins to move west.

Grechian dul Ghaan rides west.

"WHAT?" Prisca asks Epion Anteya Soranson when she's spoke to, crouching to pick up one of the fallen. [Prisca]

Epion Anteya Soranson clears her throat quietly, raising her voice a bit, "Are you injured, Captain Connor?"

"Just scratches," Prisca replies to Epion Anteya Soranson in a voice too loud, "Let's get the injured and dead to the triage and morgue, aye?" [Prisca]

"My injuries are meaningless, Prime." Sir Lans ab Durandal says unhappily, frowning, as he holds the woman against his armored chest: "I live to serve. Let us... let us away, please." [Sir Lans ab Durandal]
  Sir Lans ab Durandal appears to be of Gifted strength.

Epion Anteya Soranson nods in reply to Prisca before looking back to Sir Lans ab Durandal, watching him a moment before relasing a breath, then beginning to step away. "Come, then. Let us go."

Epion Anteya Soranson furrows her brow in thought, mentally planning.
Epion Anteya Soranson begins to move east.

Epion Anteya Soranson slows to a halt.

Prisca ponders possible routes.
Prisca begins to move west.

Epion Anteya Soranson furrows her brow in thought, mentally planning.
Epion Anteya Soranson begins to move west.

Epion Anteya Soranson leaves west.

Prisca crosses the center of the area at a walk.

Sir Lans ab Durandal crosses the center of the area.

Prisca leaves west.