As the rain poured down, the Judge pulled her hair tightly back to avoid any lapse in peripheral vision. She stood from her crouch and made her way from what was almost certain to be a slick rooftop, to a neighboring flat-topped building. From this new vantage point, she knew that if she looked hard enough, and in the right places, she would be able to see most of her Sisters patrolling their areas. The Scathachians had come out in force this night. They all had had dreams, visions, and general feelings of uneasiness about this night. There was no getting around it, something smelled rotten upon the air; and it was coming closer.

She faced the west, she could see the lights of the dockside trail off into the blackness of the sea. A chuckle escaped from her throat, muffled only by a far-off strangled roll of thunder. All of this trouble, all of this death and danger were contained within the confines of this city. Cut off from the violence was the sea, with its cozy velvet blackness spreading far and wide. The ocean boasted no worries, no regrets.

A cold, wet breath was stolen from the stormy sky. She recalculated her footing and her thoughts. Better to dwell on things over which she had control. But that was her, always reaching for what was out of reach, always endeavoring to mend the shattered, always falling from the highest heights. A gloved hand wiped the water from her nose and cheek. It was going to be a long night and she needed her sense in the forefront of her mind. She couldn't explain why, but even here in the West End, upon her sentinel's perch, she felt as if she should be somewhere else, she should be looking in another direction.

She drew a long breath, though her eyes did not look over to her inquisitor. She had seen a shadow earlier, and had guessed at its source. It was almost like a test. Isuelt had been testing herself a lot lately. She had been curious if she still was as sharp as she had been when she had first left the Island. She would need all of her skills to be honed to as sharp a razor's edge as her blades were. Night was coming, darker than ever before.

"Yes," her quiet husk of a voice strangely pushed its way through the rain-spattered night without drawing too much attention. She now looked to the man who stood on the neighboring rooftop. The Judge could not be positive, but she sensed a familiarity from this one. Another test for the Scathachian, she easily leapt from the flat roof of one building to another to stand beside him. Her gloved hands were not resting on her blades.

Another look to the smoke-encircled male, yes, she did recognize him. He had spoken up in the Inn perhaps several months ago, in acknowledgement of the work the Scathachians had put into the city. "Perceval, was it?" Isuelt had an uncanny memory for supporters, it was rivaled only by her memory for enemies. "Tell me, sir, what is it that brings you out on a fine night such as this?" as she swept angry raindrops from her cheeks, a smirk alighted her features.

Before he responded, her dark eyes darted back down to the street and over two rooftops. The Scathachians were out in full force tonight. It seemed that everyone smelled something rotten. And this was something far fouler than the docks' usual low-tide grunge.

The left side of her mouth lifted in a small smirk. "Trouble sleeping...maybe you could say that. But for now, I'm working." A hand reached up to push some of the sopping hair from her face. The rain was really beginning to get on her nerves. As if the job of the Judges wasn't hard enough already, a storm had moved in to make visibility dismal. "So are the rest of the gang," Isuelt nodded to a cloaked shadow keeping close to the building across the street. "There are nine of us, plus a few other allies," water dripped from her chin as she turned to look at Perceval, "Like yourself."

Her boots barely made a sound above the rythmic pounding of rain on the rooftop as she moved closer to the retired soldier. "Things are coming together around here," a glance heaven-ward, "Like this storm. Elements coming together, minimally harmful if not highly annoying on their own. Wind, cold, rain, thunder, lightning. Then they come together and it feels like the world is ending." Her dark gaze was once more returned to the streets below. "Kinda starting to get that feeling now."

A shread of lighting forked the sky on the western horizon, capturing her attention. Isuelt had been jittery lately, though her hands would never betray her. Her focus had been on a razor's edge, ready to pounce. It was no wonder every loud clatter and every prolonged creak of floorboard had the tiny hairs on the back of her neck standing at attention. The Judge's gaze was next pulled back toward the heart of the West End. The sickly glow of gas lamps smoking against the storm and sallow yellows pushing through streaked glass windows sorrowfully illuminated that end of the city. She was thinking how the West End looked like it was throbbing tonight, pulsing. All the lights looked to be ailing with the same sickness.

"Probably just the storm." She knew she was most likely wrong, but it made her feel better to blame something other than the unknown.

Suspense built in the air and it was clear to those who knew how to listen that it was more than just an oncoming natural storm. Jewell had smiled a little at the Sisters" grumbling when a few had left the Sanctuary together, stepping out into the night as champions of justice. They pulled the layers they wore tighter around them, trying to protect their skin from both air and the rain that threatened, knowing that it would be a useless gesture should the heavens decide let loose the storm down upon them. They did not thank Jewell when she looked up at the sky and pronounced, "It will rain all night."

The rain did not bother the Fae, though she was less than pleased with the cold, like it did the Sisters. For Jewell, it was a welcome thing: another veil of concealment against the unfriendly eyes of the night. It helped that she could dance between the raindrops, none touching her unless she wished it. She usually worked alone on nights such as this, leaving the Sisters" sides and disappearing through the curtain of water that fell from the sky. She would run across rooftops heedlessly, never slipping, never cursing as her feet splashed through yet another growing puddle. Jewell would even dare to stand openly on the parapet of a building, peering down at the streets far below without any worry that anyone could peer right back at her'she was mistress of the water and the water protected and concealed its own.

Tonight was different, though. Jewell got little joy from the rain that came pouring down upon them all. With tension rife in the air, she stuck close to the Sisters, trying to always keep within signaling distance of at least one of them. It was a precaution taken both for their protection and her own; she knew she moved easiest and with less scruples through such weather than any of them, easily and quickly coming to their aid if they were in need, but she also knew that she was more than likely no match for whatever was out there, stirring the drums of war that echoed silently in the air, no matter the weather. In fact, Jewell was sure that neither she nor any of the Sisters alone were a match for what they were pitted against, whatever that might be. Dreams had brought her back to RhyDin and what she found kept her on the streets, night after night, as anxiety plagued them all. Something was coming.

"Probably just the storm." Isuelt had responded. Tucker had listened carefully as the Scathachian spoke. He could see the concern in her, but, like him, wanted to brush it aside.

His eyes moved now to the clouded sky; the rain spitting down on them and the lightning streaking through the atmosphere. Concern grew in him as well. There was nothing worse than having a bad feeling in the pit of your stomach and nothing to blame it on, unfortunately though, this was the reality.

Tucker took a step toward her as he spoke in a compassionate tone. "Isuelt, I haven't managed to be around this long without listening to my gut, and I doubt you or your fellow Judges would feel comfortable dismissing this suspicion either." His gaze moved to the sky once more, apprehension hanging in his eyes. He spoke again, this time with a frustrated tone. "I need to do something." Looking back to her now, "but I have no idea what."

Perceval moved closer to the buildings ledge and looked down over RhyDin. "I fear for the people of this city." And just as his words ended, a crack of thunder resonated through the air, reinforcing his words as well as his concern.

Janet moved only slightly from her high perch to look up at the angry clouds that rattled with thunder and the occasional bright flash of lightening. She did not shiver as her face escaped the protection of her cloak's hood and the fat droplets of water covered her visage. Blinking away the water, she shifted from her position and moved to the next rooftop.

She kept to her positions along the tallest rooftops, giving her a bird's eye view of her surroundings. It made it easy to notch and aim her bow when she could see everything. She was possibly the closest to the docks, the smell of dank salt deeply intertwined with every breath. Her slick movements were blended with the darkness that shadowed the contours of each building as her powerful bare feet clung to the wet rooftops with a natural familiarity.

Every one in a while, Janet could catch the movements of her Sisters on patrol. Not because they were noticeable, but Janet knew where to look. She kept a close eye on every Sister available, ready to assist and to stand beside her loved ones. There was a heavy layer of tension that built over with time, and Janet could see it in their staunch patrolling. Everyone felt something was just a smudge different this night, and the rolling storm only added to the oppressive suspense.

She had been watching Issy and another shadow from a different rooftop for some time now. By watching their stances, it did not seem to be a threatening situation and so she did not make her way there. Yet now there was another shadow present to join, but Janet could recognize her Sister Mirage from any distance. They were very similar in their styles to one another...they thought and fought the same. Janet's strong feet guided her to another damp rooftop, still within her designated area, but it moved her just a bit closer to the trio.

Moving her dark eyes to see if she could spot Phin, Jewell or any other ally, Janet pressed her muscular back to the side of the stone chimney, but certainly not enough to restrict the range of her deadly arrows. From this position, the Scathachian carefully watched.

From atop his perch, the eldest Ravenlock let his eyes pan the expanse that was WestEnd once more...He cursed himself a bit, as he knew he should have been in bed home with his beloved and their children. He should be doing a lot of things, but this is where he needed to be....he felt it. It called to him, the drums of war once more beat with the most determined of sounds, and as with that stormy night a month passed, Brian Ravenlock was more than ready to rush head long into the Abyss once more for the sake of those he and his beloved head closely.

The storm intensified yet again, as the torrential rain swept WestEnd in sheets of ice cold rain, and howling winds...Underneath the half mask he was so fond of wearing, Brian smiled. Honestly, he missed this...More than he cared to admit, and that night a few weeks back, it was made evident.

Mate...Father...Businessman, it didn't matter. He could not change what he truly was inside, as was the same with his beloved Jenai. They were fighters, plain and simple. And tonight, Brian felt something in the winds; something in the bone chill of the torrential rain. He knew it would not be long before Jenai joined him, and the others.

Waiting a moment longer, Brian looked towards the blackened skies, as he took a deep breath once more of that chilled air. The expanse of his lung tingled from the action, and it made him feel that much more alive! Arms extended, his eyes closed as he let loose with a primal cry of sorts. Remaining that way for a few moments, he looked downward, and noted a most familiar sight. And like that in an instant, the eldest Ravenlock had begun his descent from building to building, finally ending up on the corner of an old abandoned building, as he eyed a someone he hadn't seen in quite some time.

The Don Mega, Himself.

Using an old fire escape type ladder, Brian slid down quickly and moved from the alley into the middle of the street, right in the path of Scorp. Pulling the half mask down, Brian pointed to the Big Man and called out.

"A little nasty for a walk, eh?"

Outside, Brian was glad to see his old friend...Inside he was glad as well, yet he was more...Anxious...The drums called to him, they sounded time and again, and with such an intensity that he felt he had to be there...He had to seek them out...Since that first night back in WestEnd, they have called and taunted, Brian deep within. So many gathered it seemed, and still beat just as hard...Could anyone else feel this" Could anyone else hear them' So many questions, and so little answers. Shaking that aside for a brief moment, Brian saluted his friend with a two fingered type.

"Red is on the way, Brother. Where's Isuelt?"

Eddie usually took the far-ranging patrol - her size and superior speed allowing her to cover the distance more quickly and efficiently. Usually, she completed her circuit - with a swing past the Pi compound just to assure herself everything was fine, making it back in time for a few hours sleep before her temple duties.

Tonight, however - things were different.

She had awoken soaked in sweat for the first time in months - since returning from her long holiday with Jaden, yet this time she didn't remember the dream. The day went on as normal - until her patrol. The rain poured over her - soaking her strawberry hair, matting her ponytail to the back of her neck. Her nimble feet barely made the puddles ripple as she moved through the alleyways - only the drips from her black hoodie spattered as she flew past. Something niggled the back of her distracted mind - a sense that something big was going down, and soon. Eddie picked up even more speed, as fleet-footed as her sacred namesake "Diana".

Shielding her eyes from the pounding rain, Eddie looked up and caught sight of some of her Sisters - Issy, and Mirage by the recognizable silhouettes - Trixie too, her posture unmistakeable, and someone else she didn't know - male, by the look of the hulking shadow in the rain. The attitude seemed friendly enough, but Eddie eased a hand toward the chakra on her hip - just in case an unseen evil was lurking. A glance around the perimeter caught the shapes of more of her Sisters - Janet up on one side, Phin a far distant on the other - Jewell, Brian - and the really big guy that Issy liked, which made Eddie lowly giggle.

Then, the heavy weight of the moment - the flash of lightning, the crash of thunder - hardened Eddie's youthful face, as she glanced up at the rooftop, waiting for whatever the dark night would bring.

And with the very next trigger of light was Jenai's black clad form moving right past Alain.

"Already hiding in the back?"

Only the end of her flame red hair peeked out from under the black wrap she wore to hide the signature trademark. Silent as ever, it was routine for someone brought up for this to follow some laser flinging hobbyist turned pro. But she was only where Brian knew she would be, When they said they had each other's backs, they meant it rain or shine or even hell.

Narrow eyes landed and watched him, narrowing just a little bit more before she was on her way to catch up to Brian and Scorp. "Where's your back up Alain?"

And then she was out of earshot completely and lost in the dark rain looking for the others.

Her dropleg pouches never shifted as she went on her way, a tiny vibration from a pearl earring warmed to the core even in the cold. They'd been looking for a little outing, and what? They didn't think they'd come" Just because you don't live at home anymore doesn't mean you forget who your family is"

For the arrogant posturing of Jenai, the detective did not even nod. However he noted the Scathachian and her spouse was subtle, and lost to the noisome war between light and shadow. She was hurrying out of earshot, and Brian moved off too....which suited him just fine.

Alain had business with the Don Mega tonight.

The next flash of lightning illuminated a stony expression, more interested in lighting a cigarette for the moment. The eave of the building afforded him little shelter from the rain, but holding his soaked fedora over his lighter, the cigarette managed to snatch the flame.

Long gone were the hip holsters and heavy blasters when first he worked with the Scathachian Sisters. A .38 revolver rested in a leather shoulder holster better suited to a cop than a mercenary.

"How go the negotiations?" Alain asked, the words divided by a flash, punctuated by a distant rumble.

One had to absolutely love conditions like this, and everone's favorite Mithran heroine, Kerrithra lived for said conditions! The rain! The wind! The darkness! And so many people to play with! A night like this, save the wetness to some degreee was made for Kerri and she sure as hell would make the most of it, and even have a little fun with it!

Moving from spot to spot, Kerri made whatever mental note she could in reference to several scents in the area. Some were all too familiar like Issy, Issy's man, Jen and Bri. Trixie, who had once saved our heroine's ass like no other, and even that Eddie chick who jumped all over the place like Kerri.

And then there were those who she was not familiar with, like the man talking to Iss' sex machine. He looked decent enough, and then it hit Kerri like a mallet upside the Head! The sherlock who was at the bar! The one Raven sent the drink to! Laughing inside, Kerri made a point of this, and move on a bit. That was until a new scent came to her attention!

Humans and their toys were rather funny at times, and Kerri knew Raven to be one to carry heat, but this night the Mithra sex-pot knew the Raven was not carrying any heat, and someone else was. And that someone was well hidden, and would have slipped by had Kerri not had the acute and finely honed skills of a Mithran scout. Night vision, and a serious case of nocturnal ADHD, not to mention her damned snout gave Kerri a somewhat advantage. As she watched the man with the pretty gun, as if he were wearing brightly colored JAM bermuda shorts in a snowfall with nothing else in the background. Actually, Kerri thought he was kinda cute, till she caught sight of what he was aiming at for a moment. So now he had her full attention, hands down.

Well he did, until he relinquished his attentions from Jen and the Raven. So Kerri in turn, released her notched arrow, and quivered it once more. A fang-a-licious grin took form, as green eyes of mayhem twinkled. Maybe he could hide better after a bed romp with our heroine. Kerri kept it in mind, as he didn't look half bad, but his spitting, ew! Course, her Cor was cuter. But hey, a girl can dream can't she?

"Natcho Libre, big dog. Yeah, you get to live another day, mi amigo. Maybe on that another day ya can romp with mah kittay. Nya-ha-ha. Oh yeah, gotta work!"

Laughing to herself, Kerri didn't care who saw her at this point. She'd make herself know to anyone, and sides— No matter what anyone says, everyone needs back up in some form or another. Insurance babies, that's what momma was talkin' bout, Willis. Anyways, Kerri waited a bit longer, and then linkpearl'd her findings to the Raven and his woman. Then in a flash the Queen of Mithran Mayhem was yet another ghost, as she looked for Eddie!

Tucker gave a smile and a congenial nod to each Sister as Isuelt spoke their name. He studied, them, as he does with most people he meets. These Sisters; they never fail to amaze him. They give so much of themselves and rarely receive their due recognition. Tucker hoped to be only a shadow of what they were. True he had the luxury of 30 some odd years of battlefield experience, but these women were pure to him. Their hands weren't covered in needless blood. Maybe that's what he was doing out here, night after night; he needed redemption from his past.

?"we just don't sit home on our asses in front of the fire braiding each others' hair." Tucker smiled just as the streak of lightning and its inevitable crack of thunder followed, almost like some sort of malevolent laughter at Isuelt's jest. He smiled not at the joke itself, but the underlying truth to it. Many in this line of work say that they aren't in it for the gratitude. He knew however, that a little bit of thanks or a kind word every now and again is a welcome respite.

Acknowledging each woman in turn, Tucker addressed them. "Keeping the peace and protecting the innocent is an honorable calling. Personal honor and a devotion to service above self, I believe, are the motives which drive the Sisters to discharge their responsibilities in full measure. It would be my honor to work with you ladies tonight."

Then, giving a nod to Isuelt, he continued, "Might I suggest that we focus our efforts on one thing this evening; find out what it is that has us all on edge."

"Uhhh," Delphinea sighed after the last electric shock ripped across the heavens. There was just no letting up of this insipid rain. What she hated the most, however, was the nagging cold. Rain wasn't all bad, after all, especially if it was warm and brought relief from a sticky, humid summer day. This weather, though, was far from summer. The wind tugged at the blonde hair along her neck, rendering it hopelessly wrapped in curls.

She had hugged the shelter of the block for too long. She knew that she should be on the move, it was just that she was stalling, waiting in desperate hope for a break in the storm. Her prayers were ignored and Phin knew she should start heading back toward the docks. She would do a final sweep of the Southside area before heading back to the center of the WestEnd.

Phin could always be counted on to do as she was ordered. She was a soldier, through and through; she almost took pleasure in taking orders. It was simple to this Scathachian: do your job, do it well. And nothing, not even the cruelest of winter storms would prevent this soldier from completing her mission tonight.

"Just a little mercy?" her shadowed eyes looked skyward as she headed down the street, as she shoved off from the shelter of the buildings. The tall, hulking form of the Judge moved westward in the middle of the street.

There were remarkably less people out now than when she had first begun her patrol. Even rats seek shelter in the rain, she thought. The others, the poor law-abiding citizens of the WestEnd were usually in their homes behind locked doors well before sundown these days. She had even begun to see fewer familiar shadows. Isuelt and the others were left to their own very capable devices; Phin figured it was better to go where others were not. While they couldn't be everywhere at once, Delphinea figured that she would still give it her best shot. She tended to be more of the lone wolf, anyway. She had always admired Trixie, Rae and Akemi for their kinship in this matter.

After passing the dimming beat of the Club Blue, Phin thought it odd that she could almost still feel the rhythm of the dance club striking at her bones. Even after she was blocks away, it was still a singular sensation; one that chilled her even more deeply than the wind that began to play havoc with her cloak.

Mirage lowered her blessed weapons once Issy displayed a posture of friendship towards this massive man named Perceval Tucker. A small but warm smile was offered to her friend and mentor, Illea, before turning her attention back to the stranger. After looking the powerful male up and down one single time, Mirage genuinely nodded her head to their newfound ally.

Above the raging storm she clearly spoke, "It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance Mr. Tucker. Any friend and ally of Illea's is one of mine as well. Mother Scathach's blessings upon you...and upon all of us this ill fated eve."

Her dark eyes looked past both of them and out into the wild, rainy night. Another grin slowly broke the rigid stoicism of her face as she saw her deadly Sister Trixie sitting ever-so casually on the building's ledge. To her fellow Scathachian Sister she also offered a nod as she spoke once again, "This storm is hell-sent. I don't truly know why, but I was definitely drawn in this particular direction tonight. Something is undeniably wrong out here. It's nearly suffocating. I therefore agree with you Mr. Tucker...we should seek out the origin of this oppressive uneasiness and if possible confront it...before our unseen fears materialize. Materialize and wreck atrocious havoc."

After looking once more to Trixie, Perceval and then finally to Issy, the tall Judge quickly sheathed her blades and folded her wet, muscular arms across her chest. There she silently stood as she waited on the next order from the Scathachian leader.

Serena always did put things smoothly. In fact, Isuelt would not have been surprised if she had become a member of the High Circle if the fiery Mirage had stayed put on the Island. Isuelt's lips flushed as she nodded to her Sister, in spite of the bitter storm.

"This rooftop, nor the way down, isn't going to be any less slick as the night wears on. We should head down toward the streets." If they had indeed caught sight of someone who needed their attention, slipping down the drainpipe to apprehend him would never do. "I am going to head up a few blocks more," they were presently gathered a few blocks up from the Alley Cat Club.

Isuelt had plans of taking the bridge further north and speculating just outside of the WestEnd. She simply had the odd feeling that by lingering in the heart of the WestEnd, she was sitting in the wrong place. She had the peculiar sensation that her eyes were being pulled wide of the mark on purpose. Those little hairs on the back of her neck were standing at attention as she made her way toward the door leading to the stairs. Her teeth were grinding together as she anxiously moved down to street level, Perceval, Mirage and Trixie behind her.

"How about a bit north tonight?" it was a question posed to the trio, as well as herself.

Frank watched the exchange through the scope on his rifle, crosshairs following the big man's hands. Oh, well, they shook and nobody'd died yet- hadn't even been stabbed! How quaint. It's not that he -wanted- to put lead in anyone, but, well, he had trust-issues. There it was.

Apparent confrontation avoided, he turned his eyes- and his rifle- skyward, sating some other twinge of paranoia. Nonetheless, he caught the signal. He snorted and looked around again- something wasn't quite right. He made a mental note to invest in some night-vision. He waited for a flutter of lighting and signaled the Eagle back.

The alley was empty with the next flash.

"How about a bit north tonight?"

The lead Scathachian had posed the question to them, and Tucker nodded in agreement. He was just as sure about where to start looking for the origin of this ill feeling as much as the next person. Going with your gut feeling had always been Tucker's way of operating. It had gotten him out of many a sticky situation, but at the same time, it had landed him in worse places than he had been in before. Regardless, he was still alive and that's all that mattered. He wasn't about to change his MO.

"May I suggest splitting up?" Perceval offered. "There are four of us. We can cover more ground if we move two by two. I propose that Isuelt and another move north, as you suggested. I'd like to move to the west and then south along the docks to the ship building yards. From there, we can move back east and then north through the heart of the WestEnd. We can all meet back up at the bridge in one hour."

Tucker had delivered his suggestion in the most respectable manner that he could muster. This was the Judge's operation and he didn't want any of them to feel as if he was trying to take it over. They were all out here for a common purpose. Whichever way the Scathachian's wanted to play it was fine by him. The military supervisor in him, however, was hard to suppress.

"If that arrangement sounds alright with everyone, we can leave it up to Isuelt to determine the teams."

"I'm ready for her," was his cool reply. "My people will back me up if I need it."

He looked out at the street beyond Scorpion. He didn't like being here - it gave him the feeling he was watched more than he could watch, at least to any effect. Very low visibility, even when the rain abated.

If the gods were not frightened from their celestial thrones by the storm rolling over, perhaps they had been washed down to earth' Swept away into the gutters to drown....It would certainly make sense of their curious neglect of RhyDin City.

"I'll keep my end quiet. If the Security Division's covering me, they won't even know why."

As if to make up for the silence, lightning flashed three times and thunder rattled the alleyway. When the distracting crashes had finished, murmuring off into the distance, the Detective was walking away.

Getting back on track, Brian broke off from Jenai and made his way deeper into the bowels that was WestEnd, still the storm raged onwards much to his possibly misplaced pleasure. Constant updates between Jenai, 'Gorgonite' AKA Kerri, and himself kept him in decent in the arena of awareness, as 'B-Lock' went from block to block.

What set most on Bri's mind more than anything was the severe lack of people in the streets tonight. So far save Alain, Scorp, the others 'Big Sexy', and Gorgonite had spoken of, he had seen not a fricken soul. That, more than anything caused Brian a bit of concern. Shoving that concern aside, Brian had to smirk a bit as he recalled the quick talk he and 'Big Sexxy' had a few moments past.

"B-Lock! What the hell are you doing back, brah?!"

"I heard ya were puttin the band back together, thought I might tune up an see what kinda music I can bring to the table. Sides, we're family, brother. Don't matter far we roam, we always come home."

B-Lock grinned a bit...As he was brought back to the here and now. Honestly it was damned good to see the big man again, and while he wouldn't openly admit it to his beloved, he did miss the big f*cker. But this wasn't the time for that, as something up ahead caught Bri's attention once more. Tensing a bit, he nearly made for a small door way for some type of cover, and just as quickly forwent that idea, as he once more realized that whoever or whatever everyone was here to attempt to find, more than likely knew exactly where each of them were. So out in the open he waited..

As just in front of him, a small black kitten bolted across the alleyway from one garbage can to another...Bri would be lying if he told you he didn't tense up at that exact moment...Or for the few moments that followed. Sighing somewhat to himself, Brian fished in a pocket and procured a small piece of jerky and tossed it towards the kitten, who in turn emerged from it's cover and sniffed at it curiously. Brian was then on his way, as he thought back once more to Scorp...

"Nasty night' Brother, this is the worst f**ked up mess of a storm I have ever seen. I was on my way to ahhh...catch up with Issy and her crew. They are over that way man. They're stalking the buildings; peeping s**t out. I tell you what boss, let me wrap up some s**t with Alain here, and then I'll meet up with you over with the crew. We definitely have some catching up to do brah."

"Handle yer business, Brother. Then we got some sh*t to discuss, and come catching up to do....At the Blue. I wanna toss my hat in your ring so to speak. Anyways, we'll hammer that sh*t out later, brother. Stay in one piece till then."

And that was that...Few words indeed between the men. Few words that carried volumes in the realm of content, for those who were not in the know, so to speak. Brian knew he would see Scorp soon and that was all good. For the moment his mind once more at intersection of 'Here & Now' was back to his beloved Jenai and their partner in crime, Kerri. More the former than the later, as he continued on his path to hook up with Jenai.

Northward...Northward felt right. And that was the direction the eldest Ravenlock went...Towards that which seemed to call each of them in one way or another.

Jewell had been trying to keep within visual distance of Mirage for the last hour or so but had lost sight of her a few minutes back. She was not concerned"yet. She had seen the Sister disappear in the direction from which, if she stood still and listened ever-so-carefully, the voices of her friends drifted through the wet night, the raindrops carried them to her: at first only one sister, and then at least two, she hoped the one that joined latest was Mirage; and a male voice, she was sure of it, but not one she immediately recognized but she certainly would have known him if she saw him. She was only a few buildings away but out of sight, eyes trained on the ground below her as she listened for any signs of a scuffle her pointed ears would hear even above the crashing thunder.

When none was apparent, she moved on. She stepped lightly along a thin, slick ledge, the width of a tight rope perhaps, having to step over the protruding head of a gargoyle that was in her way. She was silent in her work, eyes not watching where she was going'she trusted her light, nimble feet to not lead her astray in a fall"but steadily cast on the streets below, on the dark windows of the buildings that were everywhere and went on and on. Their enemies could be hiding in any of them, couldn't they' Watching them, waiting. She felt the watchfulness and it made her all the more cautious. Only when a flash of lightning rent the sky did she make any noise"a tiny gasp"and press herself flat against the brick wall. Rain and thunder she could withstand, but lighting she cared not for; it irritated her senses, threatened death and harm in the most painful of ways for her. Around the edge of the building she went, thinking it high time that she came at least within sight of another ally again.

She leaned perilously far out over the ledge she was standing on, not even holding on to the building behind her to ensure her own safety, and looked up and down the long street she was now standing above. Lady luck blessed her with a glimpse of Laufeia passing below a streetlight about a block away; both the Judge and her pet snake, Bobbie, were a welcome sight. Jewell shielded her eyes from the falling water to confirm that it was Lauf, now moving in the direction The Empress had last heard the voices of the other Sisters, before she took up actually running along that dangerously thin ledge to trail behind the elder Sister. She jumped the spaces between buildings, landing on another ledge without ever breaking her stride, without ever slipping. Her secret' Her boots never touched down on the brick and concrete the buildings were made of, or the water that made them slick as can be; Jewell was running on air.

Even through half-smiles and introductions, Trixie had stayed quiet. That, in itself, should have been a warning. The edge in the air was palpable; it rested just past the stench of broken ozone and rain-drenched pavement. She could feel muscles going rigid in other people. The sensation alarmed and aroused her, simultaneously.

When the trio called her down the steps to the streets below, she took up the rear, walking mostly on her toes. She didn't even realize she was doing it, anymore. Once in the suit, things became second-nature.

On the street, she finally peered around at the faces of her current company. She didn't scowl, or make much in the way of an expression, really. She just checked them out, one by one, sometimes with the wriggle of her nose. When both Illea and Tucker had spoken, she decided to take her cue.

?"Chea. Splittin" up is usually a solid plan. No twosies, though, Percy." There, she grinned, one well-placed flicker of lightning adding a glint to the canines exposed.

"No "fense, or nothin". Best I play alone. Ladies, gent"happy huntin"." She puckered the black-painted lips with a mock bow, adding a step away into her flourish. Her slippers bat water to either side as she spun away from them and headed for a side-street, a whistle dodging and weaving through raindrops. It was a merry little tune. She broke it long enough to speak conversationally into the storm.

"Good ta" smell ya, WhiteSnake." She thought she caught a whiff of something else in the water. Something regal. But she couldn't be sure, so she didn't address, yet.

"Hell is empty and all the devils are here." William Shakespeare - The Tempest Music to Read by: Midnight Syndicates - Born of the Night

Sparks danced from sharp heavy claws, dragged upon the surfaces of nearby buildings that loomed black in the cold. Blurred and indefinable, only the glowing of hungry red eyes shone through the murky vision. To tall to be cats, those eyes were feral and vicious, radiant without the aid of light to offer any refraction. Flickering in the shadows they watched. Like ominous fireflies, the shine snapped on and off with the pace of a beating heart.

Some distance away a light flared and died in a showering of glass, the box lamp of a simple town watchman crashed and mingled with a sudden terrified scream. The sound hung heavy in the air. Seeming to offer a muffled echo before the wind finally captured it and drew it off across the black menacing clouds above.

From above a chorus of sound rolled, mingling with the booming voice of thunder. Cold, icy shrieks unleashed. Was it just the wind" Lightening danced across the heavens. Curiously hued those ragged spikes. Blues bleeding into purple, jagged fingers shed that eerie second of illumination upon circling forms above. Horned and tailed, like prehistoric birds, but in that moment of sight, great maws opened to howl their song to the intensifying storm. Lips curled back, exposing the deadly snapping of razor edged fangs.

A rasping chorus of hissing joined this ever-growing symphony. Smaller forms, squat but swift, moved in the murky night. Playing tag with the darker shadows, they scampered past watchful eyes with the ease of creatures used to such wicked evasions. A blaze of sickly, puss laden yellow eyes that peered upward but in a flash that image was gone. So swift was that vague impression of something unnatural and malevolent. Some might question if that brief vision was real or a product of their own erstwhile imaginations.

More cries rose in the crescendo. Were they hapless innocent victims perhaps? Yet it hardly mattered as several youths fled from those unseen monsters. Only three of six, or perhaps seven would reach that Scathachian quartet. Their features lost under a gory sheen of rain and bloody rivulets. While their frenzied eyes lacking sanity were wide with horror. Unable to stop those deranged howls of mindless terror that flew from panting lips.

Behind them, their fallen comrades lay still upon the cobblestones. Shadows inky black growing wider around their bodies, with the dance of rain rippling amidst the gruesome sheen. The coppery scent of blood unleashed to tickle the senses, so thick that even the storm couldn't lessen its effect.

It was a sinister unnatural stillness that consumed the area. The pall of death hung there, while time slowed to a crawl and only measured by the increased pulse of pounding hearts. But the aura of inertia was soon shattered when a blood-chilling giggle cut through the hissing sheets of heaven's wrath. Those indistinct forms sprang to life, dancing away with mocking spins and rolling tumbles. Macabre nightmarish jesters at play, whose very movements reflected their contempt of the Scathachian watchers. Before they scattered into shadows in a flurry of taunting motions and chilling laughter.

Isuelt had accepted her Sister, Trixie's, exit as she had so many times before. She knew that the Harlequin was more at ease 'hunting' in a manner that was most comfortable to her; she also knew that that manner was not always accepted by the general public. She had simply extended her love, blessing, a wink and a smile to Trixie as she departed.

She turned her eyes then to Perceval and Mirage, and was about to speak when an ungodly screech pricked her ears. Isuelt had always fancied herself as quick, but as heaven would have it tonight, she was not quick enough. Snapping around, dark eyes wide, trying to pierce through the rain, she only saw bits of shadow darting into the protection of buildings, alleyways and larger shadows.

Then, everything was still.

The shriek continued to hang in the air like nails on a chalkboard; it shook her spine until she shivered.

The Scathachian wasted no more time, it was like this was what she had been waiting for, this was what the night had been longing to bring them. Both blades were drawn, a metallic crescendo sang out cold and clear against the storm. Her jaw was set, flinching only once as she looked back at her counterparts. Isuelt's brow lowered, her expression changed so quickly, going from familial to business in a heartbeat. Dark eyes widened, daring someone or something to come into their line of vision. The rain dripped off of her sword blades as a dark foreshadowing of the blood that would take its place this night. She started off for the last place she caught sight of the rolling, almost frolicking laces of shadow. That sound of malevolent cackling was still hanging on a memory as she began what she hoped she wouldn't regret.

As an answer, the sky belched forth a shriek of lightning and a roar of thunder, clapping themselves against the Rhydinian night.

And so it began.

Docks.

The Southside Docks.

When Phin had first arrived in Rhydin, this was the first place she had to deal with. Rather than an amused or satisfied smirk on her lips like some of her fellow Sisters might have, Delphinea just shook her head remembering the man she had to choke and all but beat for his familiarity with her. At least, she hoped, he had learned his lesson. She rolled her eyes thinking about that blowhard from the Inn. Baker something or other. What was it that made her such a beacon for the searing foolishness of men" Focus. Stay focused.

Standing facing due west, the hulking brute of a Judge looked more macabre than avenging. Soaked to the bone and none too happy about it, Phin tried her best to stay focused. In this storm, the docks were quiet. No ships coming into port, none leaving. No dock workers working, no sales for ware. Except for the nagging rain and the occasional split of lightning, the scene should have been still, almost peaceful. Still, there was something not right about it. Something was off. Like a nagging gut prophecy, Phin knew something was very wrong here. But what"

Her feet set forward, not used to the confining boots. The sloshing sound made her long for the warmth and heat of the Island even more. Focus. Stay focused. A screech...no, a scream. What was it' She turned quickly, a wet strand of blonde hair slapped her across her chin. Nothing but darkness and shadow. She didn't reach for her blade, nor the bow at her back. Instead she watched, steadfastly. Surely it was a trick of the light, or lack thereof. The shadows up against the barrels in front of the DeVernon Dockside Warehouse were...moving? Shifting and darting, impossible. Delphinea looked up expecting to see lightning or the moon in a clearing of clouds, something to account for this strange phenomenon that held her attention captive. Nothing but the blackest clouds as the rain spat on her cheeks.

And then, quiet. Eerily so. Her eyes looked back to the shadow play against the barrels. Completely still. Almost as if there were no shadows at all. She was marveling at this inconsistency, but did not finish her thought. Before Delphinea could take a step forward, she was hit hard by something cold, icy cold, on her right side. Nearly knocked down, she stumbled forward, trying to keep her balance. Her skin stung where she was violently pushed.

Gasping, her heart racing, she readied herself for battle. Close range, best to go with the blade. But sooner than she could draw her weapon, she was hit again from behind. That cold, painful sensation creeping over her skin where she felt the hostile force. And that sound, it was a keening that rattled the soul and practically made her teeth chatter.

The wind picked up, aiding in the assault, a crescendo of lightning adding its own punctuation. She could feel hands on her now, though glacial grips they were. She fought to get to her feet, fought to stay focused. She had battled through worse than this, she lied to herself. Struggling, she pulled her sword free and shrugged off the hold that gripped her like death itself. Spinning around, blade ready to face her attackers, she stuttered in surprise. There was no one there. Then movement caught her eye to the right, a shadow. Inky black against the veil of darkness cast by the moonless night. But eyes, eyes the color of blood in the daylight. A flicker of shine to suggest an outline. One, two. Four of them. Small, malevolent creatures the eye could hardly see.

"Bless my hand and guide my wrath, never failing from your path," she recited as she had so many times before. Delphinea, Daughter of Scathach, began her counter-attack. The first one, sliced clean through in an arc from her blessed steel. The others, seeing their vanquished brethren, scattered. The creature closest to her, gave poor chase and was ended as Phin hoisted her sword in both hands and brought in vengefully down through the small shadow-being's skull. He stuck there momentarily before he, too, vanished into nothingness.

A blur of black, a sting, a blur of red. Phin's face was rocked to the side as her cheek met with the sharp claws of another of these strange nightmarish fiends. She reached out with her bare hand and caught hold of it, though the cold scorched her skin. Holding the squirming, screaming thing aloft, she swiped at him with her blade, rendering him halved. Though she had slaughtered three of the four emissaries of hell, her ears rang with their high-pitched screams. Blood, watered by rain, ran down her face as she looked up and saw several more of the creatures leaving their shadowy protection of the warehouse and barrels. They sped around the corner, making their way east, away from the water.

Delphinea quickly sheathed her sword and drew her bow, knocking it cleanly, and took off after them. The angry sea roaring at her back, laughing as the Priestess followed the trap to hell.

Helluva night.

There were times when going to the Red Dragon for a cup of coffee was more trouble than it was worth. Tonight had definitely been one of them. Renna's devil daughter - or whatever the hell the girl was - that strange woman who kept pushing whiskey at him, Izira's odd manner. Boudicca, pissed off at him for no reason he could tell. Scathachians dancing in the street over Renna's imprisonment - at least they weren't storming the Guardhouse to drag her out into the streets and lynch her. Well, not yet, at any rate.

Some nights, things just wouldn't go right if you bribed the Fates with chocolate. The tension in the air over the WestEnd was so thick you could cut it with a knife and serve it on a platter; as the first rain droplets hit him, he shook his head and sighed. What a night for freezing rain and fog, peals of thunder, gusts of hurricane wind....usually, he liked the rain. It made him introspective, suited his melancholy and broody moods.

He'd been happy unusually often lately, throwing himself into his work and other distractions with a fierce, manic joy. Maybe this was just the downturn of that, his moods swinging like a pendulum. Maybe he was overreacting....it's not like he and Izira were particularly close, after all, or he and Boudicca. And really, what did he care if Renna's creepy little apprentice glared at him with that disturbing crimson eye..."

Ugh. Just thinking of that stare on him made him shudder. He could still feel that eye on him, creepier than a goose crossing his grave. Creepier than damn near anything. Seemed like just about everyone had been staring at him, tonight...

Awareness struck him with a slap of cold realization, not unakin to the slashing chill rain beginning, the skies weeping overhead like a broken child. There were still eyes on him, watching from the rooftops, peering from the shadows. The night was alive in the WestEnd, and a chill ran down his spine.

"It never goes smooth," he mourned quietly. The night exploded into violence as the shadows boiled with terrible life, all snarling teeth and slashing claws. He reacted on instinct, muscle memory and fast reflexes saving his life neck once again; a half twist, a sharp duck, taking the brunt of the rush across his protected back, suddenly straightening to flip the attacker away. He'd barely recovered his balance when the second one barreled into him, claws digging in under his coat, rending and tearing. He howled in pain as he went over, rolling across the cobbles, grappling desperately. The shadowthing ended up on top and started to dig its claws in again when he lashed out with the living fire dwelling within, blasting it backwards, ripping it off of him.

It lay in a smoldering heap as he rolled shakily to his feet, but already the first one had recovered from his throw. It rushed again, snarling gutturally, hungrily. No time for guns or sword; his foot-long fighting dirks appeared in his hands as though by magic, and he leaped for it even as it leaped for him.

Silver blades and ebon claws flash in the crazy flicker of the lightning, blood both crimson and sable dripping from their wounds and being washed away in the sluice of rainwater as they stamped back and forth, struggling for dominance, slashing, biting, clawing. Paladin spun into a roundhouse kick that barely missed, deflected the parry with a fold of his coat, and smashed an elbow into the thing's razor teeth, grunting with the impact even as he felt the fangs shatter. It howled through a mouthful of enamel splinters just long enough for Paladin to jerk his arm back, twist slightly, and bury a blade in its throat.

More of them came, bubbling up out of the shadows in a chittering, squealing tide. This is pretty fethed up, even for the WestEnd- he thought dizzily. No time to check the wounds on his sides - one of them felt deep, probably nicked a rib. No time even to catch his breath. He'd had worse, and though his sides were cold and damp with rushing blood, he knew he wasn't out of it yet.

The dead body evaporated around his knife, banished back to whatever abyss had spawned it. One of the little ones was rushing in, yapping like some sort of terrier hellhound, all glowing eyes and gleaming claws. He shifted his feet rapidly, slid back and lashed out with a low side kick, swinging for the bleachers. The steel toe connected like a wrecking ball, launched it in a short, flat arc that ended with the shadow creature splattered across a wall.

Paladin didn't stay to watch it land - letting the momentum of his kick swing him around, he spun on the ball of his foot and launched himself down the street, running flat out. Behind him, the creatures bayed like starving jackals and gave chase.

Down King's Street, catch the fast left onto Freak Lane. The curio shops were closed at this late hour, their proprietors no doubt huddled in their homes, listening to the fury of the storm, trying to ignore the bloodcurdling noises that occasionally slipped past the peals of thunder. They would get no restful sleep tonight, their dreams haunted and uneasy.

Paladin flicked his knives back into his sleeves as he ran, slid his hands under his coat - hissing as he connected the raw tears along his sides - and drew his pistols. He fired on the move, half-twisting to bring his guns to bear while keeping up his sprint. The .45s beat out their heavy drum, once, twice, making more of those shadow figures drop and vanish - and then, all too soon, fell silent. Whether it was the WestEnd's nature or some property of the storm or the strange shadowy creatures it had brought, John Browning's finest legacy had been struck mute. Steam hissed from their silent barrels as the rain struck them.

Paladin swore bitterly, dropped the guns back into their holsters, and concentrated on running. Some nights...

A disturbance up ahead, more of the monsters. Bubbling up from storm drains and out of alleys, dropping off the rooftops like black hail, eager to join in the coming slaughter. Did they eat people" With teeth like that, they certainly weren't vegetarians...

He had no intentions of finding out. With a flick of his wrist like a stage magician removing a handkerchief, he produced a fistful of gleaming throwing knives. Bree Dawnsteel's best. He flung them and leaped, landing in the thick of the growing mob with his sword drawn, punching and kicking, hacking and slashing, cutting his way through the mass with simple, straightforward brutality.

He had barely reached the far side, legs bleeding from a half dozen fresh wounds, when the first pack slammed into the second. The shadow creatures bit and clawed at each other frenziedly as they struggled to reach the lone Guardsman who had so frustrated them. Confusion reigned.

In chaos, there is profit - here, a chance to gain some ground, do some damage to the creatures that have been dogging him.

He was digging in his coat when one of the terrier-sized ones came snarling out of a side street and lunged for him, mouth gaping impossibly wide. Quick as thought, he punched at it, burying his arm to the elbow - down its throat, into its gullet. It slavered and gnawed at his impenetrable sleeve, undaunted by his arm protruding out of its stomach - he winced in pain and disgust at the horrible chill stabbing his hand, spun again and whipped his arm sharply, hurling it back into the snarling mass.

The shadow-thing impacted and was immediately submerged in the melee. It had just begun to reemerge when the 'present' he'd left behind in its stomach detonated - a polished, egg-shaped and sized obsidian orb. A moment of time, snatched from the heart of an erupting volcano and held captive by powerful magic. He wasn't sure that it would work, in the crazy magic of the WestEnd, but work it does - releasing that pent up heat and fury in a cataclysmic blast that rocks the street, nearly deafens him. The center of Freak Lane was torn apart, taking most of the mob with it.

Most, but not all - there was no time to congratulate himself, no time even for a pithy one-liner. He was almost at the turn to Rochefort when the bomb went off, and cobblestones started zipping by his head. He dropped and slid into the intersection like a runner coming into home plate, ignoring the bruising impact of cobblestones along his battered legs - slapped a hand against the ground to propel himself back to his feet, taking the right turn into the next street with hardly a drop in speed.

He'd pay for it later, if he lived - pay for all of this, later. It hasn't been five minutes since it all started, and the wounds on his side were icy cold and numb, a stark contrast to the fiery slashes along his legs. But the end is in sight, the bridge across the Rhydin River to the Market district just ahead. He wasn't sure how he knew that there was safety on the other side of the bridge, but like Ichabod Crane with the Headless Horseman close behind, he knew that once he was across the rushing waters, he'd be safe.

And then he saw the other running man, so familiar, and his heart plummeted. Alain D'Mourir, private eye and security expert. Maybe not a friend, but someone he'd be proud to call one. What the hell brought him to the WestEnd on a night of storm and fury?

Paladin gritted his teeth. He could make the bridge - one step ahead of the pack that pursued him, long ahead of the ones dogging D'Mourir. With Paladin across the bridge, the shadow things would almost certainly turn on the gumshoe, rend him limb from limb.

It's not even really a decision.

Delila... Paladin thought fiercely, despair gripping his soul for the first time. ...I'm so sorry, darlin'... He spun lightly on his feet, skidding to a stop along the cobbles just short of the bridge, facing the pack of shadows.

"Come on, then!" He roared, sword and fighting knife leaping to his hands, his rage expressing itself in a flaming corona all around him, searing the pouring rain to steam. "Come one, come all! Let's see how a free man dies!"

She took to the air like an avenging angel. Although she did not need them necessarily to fly, ethereal silver wings sprouted from her back, scattering silver dust wherever she moved. She was not surprised when several of the flying beasties, their massive jaws open in welcome, veered off whatever course they were on and came right for her; her energy would call to them. With her eyes, they were hard to see, wisps of shadows amongst darkening clouds that were only truly illuminated during those frightening bursts of lighting. However, she was no longer looking at the world from a mere sensual point of view. Overlaying that of the physical world were those of other dimensions and planes of existence. There, the Unseelie Fae's minions were hard to miss: dark stains marring the scape with their existence.

Jewell met a group of six head on in a clash of elven steel, claws, horns, and jaws. With a two-handed grip on her sword, she crashed through the flock. She kept her blade before her: cutting with its edge and burning with the magic that danced around it. The first pass only brought down one with a stroke of luck and soon the others regrouped and were upon her again. There were too many to out-fly and out-maneuver.

She was soon wielding her long sword one-handed, freeing her other hand to fend off the other beasts with short bursts of mana energy. Those short bursts, while helpful at driving the winged creatures off for a moment, were only really effective at provoking them to come back at her harder, quicker, angrier due to the burn-like wounds"eating away at their very being"those energy blasts induced. Her sword, haloed by the silvery illumination of her magic, was more effective; it cleaved through the monsters, negating their very existence. That was only when she got a direct hit, though. She had to go through many times of lopping off appendages, and hearing the awful, terrified shrieks ringing in her ears, before she even took down another one of them.

Fighting in the air was possibly harder than it looked; Jewell was open from all sides. As she cut one monster right through the middle, another came at her from below and latched onto her ankle with its powerful jaws, causing her to scream out. It didn't like the taste of her, though, once it pierced that resilient outfit of hers, or the way the way the air around her'saturated with her magic and energy"made its skin smolder. It bit into her extra hard before releasing her, just in time to get its protruding snout lobbed off vengefully by the Fae's blade. Another caught her across her cheek before she ended its life, impaling it on her blade and then kicking it off as it dissipated unwholesomely into the air.

A brief burst of lighting distracted her for a moment, long enough for the two remaining monsters in the vicinity to come at her at once. The one latched itself onto her back with its powerful claws, digging into her shoulders, while the other attacked from the front, attempting to impale her with its horn. A quick burst of energy in the face of the one clinging to her back, and making ready to tear out her jugular, sent it reeling away while she flew forward to meet its friend. She swung as the creature flung its whole body at her. She had to throw up her hand to catch its horn, but it did not relent in its attack and they quickly became a tangle of limbs and claws. Her blade was doing her little good in such close quarter fighting and she tried to reach for one of her many daggers, while continuing to attempt to keep the monsters from impaling her, when they hit a pocket of anti-magic.

Anti-magic works in many different ways. Jewell had encountered and avoided many such pockets and waves before in her time spent in the WestEnd. They were often very clear to her: black holes to her other-senses in a world filled with light. When she was in the air, wrestling with a beast that was wrapping its leathery tail around her neck and slowly choking her, pockets of anti-magic were hard to detect, let alone avoid. The Fae and fiend, locked together, literally rolled right into it. Instantly, she felt as though she lost control of most of her body as the abilities she would normally never even think twice about using"like gravity manipulation"were suddenly gone and she went plummeting to the ground, dragging the night creature with her.

She released her hold on her sword as they plummeted, using a two handed grip to snap the creatures neck as its teeth grazed her nose in an attempt at a bite. It broke apart into smoke as she came closer to the ground; and she realized her vital mistake in killing it so soon as the cobblestones loomed closer: she had rid herself of the one thing that could have broken her fall.

Jewell's sword clanged onto the street only about three dozen feet or so from where Alain was, a harbinger to her own fall from the sky. Moments before she hit the ground, magic returned to her. She used it in a frantic attempt to slow herself down as well as cushion the impact the inevitably awaited her, trying to call the rainwater to catch her. It worked....sort of. At least it worked enough that she did not break any bones. She threw her arms around her head, trying to tuck herself into a ball and roll when the laws of gravity reasserted control over her and brought her crashing onto the cobblestone street. She hit the ground on her left side'sending a shower of silver sparks (faerie dust) and rain drops (gleaming a brilliant blue) bursting around her to go bouncing across the pavement like little sprites before they absorbed into the ground"and rolled in a tangle of arms, legs, and wings to a stop on her stomach.

She wasn't given a moment to lie still and recuperate from her fall from heaven. The second monster, which she had blown away from her before her deadly descent began, had been hot on her trail as she fell. Aware that more of the creatures were out there, and probably nearby, Jewell was already making an attempt to move seconds after she face planted into the earth, reaching clumsily in the direction she thought her sword was as she tried to push herself up, dazed and distracted from her crash landing. The monster used this opportune moment to swoop around her once before plunging down at her.

Despite her usual silence during patrolling, Janet had to chuckle as Trixie popped out against the darkness of the night. The Harlequin seemed to have no worries of wearing her usual black and red suit with white makeup. Some would call her foolish for standing out, but Janet admired her ability to stay concealed. Rolling her amber eyes around, she gave a saucy grin with seeing the Don Mega. It seemed that the night called for all of those that could not resist the dark. With a minor adjustment to her bow on her back, her bare foot directed her to another building, where she nimbly crouched and blended.

The quick Diana almost flew by her sight, and Janet could not help but study the area around the youngest Scathachain. With a stroke of luck, the angry storm hurled lightning, and it brightened her view enough to assure that everything was safe. Making an irritated sound, she sneered up at the clouds, as if expecting them to cease their path for her wishes. Instead, only more fat droplets missed the hood of her cloak and landed on her face. "Hmph."

Staying on her high perch, she watched several more familiar faces crept out into the night. Their numbers were large and despite the security, it was unsettling. All of the strongest warriors out on the same night ? it was a temptation to the Goddess herself. As the storm continued on, Janet began to sympathize with cats that hated the rain. The constant wet and cold made her move again to keep the blood warm and flowing. Despite dampness and chill, her adrenaline was pumping without a sign of giving way. Not one could deny the tempo of storm with the accelerando of unease.

And then she heard shrieks that curdled blood.

Everything happened so quick after that. Several groups or people that she had been watching reacted, Jewell's catching the most of her attention. Ready to move, her access to her bow and arrow was practiced and some would call it graceful. Her movements were quick from rooftops, having faith that her calloused feet would find purchase against the slippery surfaces. She heard the fire of gunshots, the ringing metal swords, but most of all she heard the eerie silence that filled the voids.

Thump thump.

Her heart raced, and she nearly passed a prized place to see almost everyone. Not bothering to conceal herself now, she resembled a standing statue on top of an older building. She did not panic as the small creatures blended so well into the darkness, and relied on the beat of her arrows instead. Against the still buildings, they might as well be completely white to her senses. Arrows were released, singing with the need to meet and match their target.

Janet's concentration was now no longer on the chill and rain, but instead of the dance of the attacks.

Just starting to rise, Jewell was unaware of the creature threatening impending doom for her until it was near enough that she could feel the air from the beat of its wings. Still too dazed to actually make a decent defense for herself, she moved her arms back over her head as a cheap protection, preparing for the onslaught of pain when the loud crack! of iron against the creature's body rang in her ears, followed by that yelp before it dissolved into nothingness.

She looked up, pushing herself slowly to her knees, and knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that she had never been happier to see Alain D"Mourir in her entire life.

"Good of you to join us, Empress."

"Yeah, I thought I would just," she coughed, a familiar metallic taste filling her mouth; that was never a good sign, but she couldn't yet determine if the blood came from the stream that was trickling down the side of her face or from more serious, internal injuries, 'drop in. Yah know'see what was going on down here."

It apparently wasn't going too well down here, as she soon noticed. She hadn't gotten past her knees, thinking that was a feat in itself, when that chittering noise reached her ears. She looked around the protective form of Alain, eyes widening at the sight of the group that was nearly upon them. With apparently nothing more than a length of iron in Alain's hands, they stood no chance. Vision steadily returning, she acted as quickly as she could. Making a gesture as if she meant to push the air before them at the minions of death, Jewell actually gathered the excess water that was thickening on the streets with the continued rain'the snow and ice clogging the sewers and providing little escape for the additional precipitation"and sent it like a mini tidal wave at the incoming creatures. It wasn't meant to really take them out, just to buy them time to get the heck out of there.

"Run," she spit out at him, grabbing her sword as she forced herself unsteadily to her feet. Her left foot, the one that had been mauled when she was in the air, almost gave out; in fact, the entire left side of her body was feeling less than stellar from her crash landing, not to mention she was pretty sure her shoulders were both bleeding down her back. The rain helped, though, as she no longer prevented it from soaking her entire frame, letting it embrace her and wash away the blood as she reached to grab Alain's arm and pull him' well, she didn't know where, just away!

Rain and thunder, cold and storm But he has rage to keep him warm This foe is black as shadowed night They swarm unnumbered towards the fight And there he stands, with bright blades drawn - One lone Guard, who prays for dawn...

As death poems go, it stinks; he gets the feeling he should tack a 'Burma Shave' on somewhere at the end. The hell with it. Nobody expects Shakespeare on a battlefield, and anyway, outside that initial moment of despair he doesn't really plan on dying this eve. He leaps forward as they rush him, breaking the momentum of their charge, stealing their initiative. The street has gone pitch black with their mass; it's hard to get an accurate count when you're fighting creatures of gossamer and nightmare, as indistinct as a half-remembered dream.

His thrice-blessed steel flares with a pure white light as he slams into the leading edge, sword and dirk weaving in graceful, lethal patterns. He dances through their ranks, leaving a visible trail behind and around him as the fallen vanish in death. They have the numbers - he holds the rest of the cards, even as worn and weary as he'd been, just a moment before. Tapping that core of righteous anger makes the pain of his wounds and the weariness of his legs seem vague and distant as he leaps, spins, and cuts. He is strong and skilled, swift and sure, sweeping through the crowd like a harvester reaping grain.

But quantity has a quality all its own. They press him on all sides, struggling to get close enough to rend him, tear him, bring him down. They snarl and snap at each other in their eagerness to reach the hated foe, crowding forward even as their front ranks are demolished by fire and steel. One bounds off the backs of its brothers, only to be intercepted by a series of slashes that cuisinart it, scattering pieces across the street. Another dives in low, and gets a steel-toed boot to the skull for its trouble. Even with the number he kills and wounds, there seems no difference in the tide of darkness that chokes the street. He hurls himself into a backflip as a dozen charge him at once, leaving them in a dogpiled heap to tear at each other; their chaotic, vicious natures are doing as much as his sword arm to keep him alive. The distraction buys him just enough time to glance back over his shoulder - and only the eerie calm that descended on him when he shouted his challenge keeps him from gaping like a poleaxed steer.

D'Mourir is still there.

It takes a flash of lighting for him to realize why - the blue haired form pushing herself to her knees is distantly familiar and obviously wounded. She flings her arms out, sending a tidal wave of water gushing down the street, pushing back the pack that had been harrying Alain - trying to buy them enough time to run. Even at that distance, through the curtain of torrential rain, Paladin didn't think it was going to be enough.

Gods damn it. If he fell, and neither Alain or the woman made it to safety, then his death would be worthless. Not the way he wanted to go, nevermind that dying to this pack of half-rate horrors would be an insult he simply could not bear. And Gods damn the fething WestEnd. If his guns worked, or if he could rely on magic to behave properly, then he could try to pick off the ones rushing the pair, or throw up an 'instant wall' to hold this mob back while he rain to the rescue. Hell, if he could get into his bag of tricks, he had a thousand ways to buy them all time - but he needed someone to buy him time to get into his bag. Catch-22.

When all else fails, be creative. He snaps his blades back into their sheathes and lashes out with a wave of pyrokinetic fire, driving the shadows back on their heels, throwing up a wave of steam as the rain hit it. When their vision clears, they just barely catch his boots disappearing through a window - across the street and through the boards covering it in a split pair of seconds. With a howl of incandescent fury, they rushed to pursue - tormented and frustrated by the squishy man-thing who was, somehow, so impossibly hard to kill. They poured into the building after him, bursting through boarded windows, the padlocked door, even the rotting walls in their haste - forgetting all about the two figures at the end of the street, staggering towards the bridge.

Lady, please let this building be abandoned, Paladin thinks desperately as he races up the crumbling steps, across floors that gaped with holes to the ground below, through which he could see the house filling with shadow-shapes. He hopes it is - the orange condemned sticker by the door had helped fuel his decision to pick this one. That didn't always mean anything, though, in this part of town.

Too late now for second thoughts. You made your decision in a heartbeat - you lived with the consequences for a lifetime. As he ran, he set the building ablaze.

Plaster walls, wooden supports, mildewed wallpaper soaked from the leaky ceiling; get the fire hot enough, and everything burns....and he's burning so very, very hot. The house becomes an inferno behind him, something the shadow beasts are too intent to notice, right up until he slams the attic door in their faces, its pulpy oak bursting into white-hot flames. Too late for most of them to escape as the house burns to ash around them. Too late to do more than scream in pain and frustration and bitter, bitter rage.

Paladin doesn't slow down as he hit the roof; on the contrary, he pours on all the speed he has, and prays to Saint Jude that it's enough. One of the reasons he'd chosen this building was because it stood apart from its neighbors like a single rotting tooth in a gappy smile, giving the blaze he planned less chance to spread. He hopes. Oh, Gods, I hope.

His heart freezes as he approaches the edge; there's almost a twenty foot difference in height between his building and the next - with his the shorter. He figures he can cover the thirty foot difference between the two easily enough, but a fast calculation in his head leaves him wanting. Not that far. Not that angle. He adjusts his target and aims for a dark window on the far face.

Crash through, roll with the impact. He slams hard into a sofa, makes it to his feet, stumbles over a coffee table. Go figure, he manages to pick the occupied one. Finding the front door takes a moment, and he's barely gotten it unbarred, unlocked, and unchained when the owner comes out of the bed room with a shotgun. Ducking buckshot as he dashes into the hall, thinking bitterly, Oh, yeah - his guns work! Fething WestEnd!

Down the hall, up the stairs to the roof - the next jump is easier, and this is the building closest to the river, and Alain.

Thank Lelune, Paladin thinks gratefully. They're still alive.

He flings himself off the building with a rebel yell, fire sprouting in his hands.

The blade within her right hand spins rapidly, chucking water from its edge and creating a whirlwind of bright red. Jalleia steps fully from the shadows and very directly shoves her sword outwards and holds it aloft at Delphinea.

"Proclaim yourself!"

"I proclaim myself irritated," she spits out through the rain, though as glowing greens move over Delphinea's form, her weapon lowers. "However, you hardly match their description." It can be noted that her right arm shakes heavily as she does so, blood mixing with rainwater on the back of her hand and fingers.

"I am Delphinea Quinn of the Scathachian Temple. You are safe with me. Follow if you wish, your help would be appreciated."

Her head turns, and she slides out of the other female's way, contemplating her words. She has no knowledge of any 'Scathachian Temple,' and the, what she guessed were supposed to be, reassuring words made her chuckle. It's a long moment before Jalleia lets her right arm relax, still holding her sword, and turns to follow the female at a brisk pace. Upon catching up with her, she slides a glance her direction and manages a sideways nod.

"Jalleia. I assume you've seen the hellions about...what exactly are they' I must pay these creatures back for what they've afflicted upon my face."

"Jalleia. I assume you've seen the hellions about...what exactly are they' I must pay these creatures back for what they've afflicted upon my face."

Delphinea's voice did a sound job of carrying over the storm's rumblings and their footsteps as they ran through narrow alleyways and along the storefronts of the WestEnd. "I know not what they are, other than sent from the depths of some dark hell. They are running in this direction, I want to see where they are retreating to. Perhaps we shall find the answer to your question there." Phin's voice, never one to sink to sarcasm or nastiness, was clean and clear, even if her ears had pricked at the chuckle and tone from this woman.

The docks were now distant to their backs as the pair covered ground quickly, the slick sounds of feet on wet pavement gave a new rhythm to the evening. Delphinea could see hear the roar of a man and the chittering of those creatures they tailed. Turning another corner, she saw a lone man engaged in heated battle. She recognized him; it was her Sister Jenai's partner. No hesitation was entertained, she knocked her blessed bow and let one, then two arrows fly to aid the Elder Ravenlock in his scrimmage. Her swift and sure-footed self then headed quickly in that direction with her arm waving for Jalleia to join her.

Tucker took a step back and watched for a moment. Though there was nothing wrong with rushing into battle, he was more of the type to observe and gather information if he had the chance. Not only that, but he wasn't quite as spry as he used to be. He couldn't help but grin watching the women in action. They lived for this.

He watched as these shadowy creatures were dispatched one after another. They were even eradicated from the sky; catching a quick glimpse of Icer leading an aerial assault. What troubled him, however, was the sudden surge in numbers. Where had they come from' He could understand a random beastie here or there running around the WestEnd, but not this many, not all at once.

Out of the corner of his eye he caught the glimpse of some bystanders moving his way. About five people, no doubt, wanting to get a good view of the fight. "Great?" he muttered to himself, ?"my hesitancy has earned me crowd control duty." Moving down the street toward the group, he began calling out to them and motioning them away from the area. "Stay clear of here folks! This is nothing you want to get involved in!"

About fifteen feet from these people is when the stench hit him. He winced, looking quickly about for the origin of the smell. The odor was akin to rotten eggs, but worse. As if something was rotting on the ground in front of him. That's about the time he remembered. He had smelled this same stink about six months ago.

Taking a step back, he narrowed his eyes at the approaching group. They didn't walk, they slumped and shuffled. Tucker gritted his teeth and grumbled, "Zombies."

The last time he had dealt with this lot, Tucker had to make do with a discarded axe handle he had located in the alleyways of the city. It did the job; smashing heads like rotten melons. This time, however, Tucker was prepared. Un-slinging the pack from around his back, he removed a mace.

Tucker had received this weapon years ago. A gift from a group of clerics whose temple his regiment had protected during a skirmish. They were innocent bystanders of war, but they did appreciate the need to protect oneself. It was roughly three and a half feet long with the end being a massive ball of steel studded with spikes and topped off with a blade. The handle was wrapped in ornate leather and held a counterweight at the end.

Tucker was not much of a believer in religion, however the clerics had told him that it was "blessed". What that meant, he had no real idea, but he did take the mace with him on his travels. He would bring it to all of the shrines, mosques and tabernacles he came across. It had been "blessed" by countless other monks, clerics and holy men of all religious denominations. It was covered in runes placed there by each holy man who had put there hands on it. Carved into the handle was the name of the mace given to it by the original monks who forged it from a holy flame; "Gods' Will".

Which God, Tucker had no idea. All he knew was that it made pretty good dents in things. The runes, he had later discovered, were the same thing repeated over and over, the exception being the word "God" which was replaced with the name of the particular holy man's deity who was blessing the mace.

Dropping the satchel to the ground, Tucker took a good grip on Gods' Will and looked to the group again, now roughly eight to ten of them. He gave a slight smile, and moved forward, wading into the undead gang?

As Alain moved away into the storm's embrace, Scorp pondered their brief meeting. Alain was thorough and frankly he liked his "business attitude". The gumshoe was very dependable. And that was always a good trait to have, whether you were a detective or a shady gangster.

His thoughts were suddnely interrupted by an odd sensation. As the lightning decorated the sky, and the thunder resonated throughout the dark city, Scorp grew very, very cold. It was hard to outright describe, but it felt as though the temperature in this area had dropped nearly thirty degrees...and almost instantaneously.

As The Don Mega pulled his thick, black cloak tighter about him, he caught some sharp movement out of the corner of his eye. A smaller, but very fast "something" darted behind some large metal cans, scurrying right by him at an alarming speed.

A rat' No way, too big. Then what?

No rodent he knew of had eyes that damn near glowed like piping embers and teeth that made an unnerving chattering noise as it "babbled". No sooner than he had entertained these quick thoughts, did the crazed beast hop forth from the cans and fiercely swipe at him.

The Big Man was quite quick in his defense out of sheer street instinct, but this happened way too fast even for him. The claws of this shadow creature swiped over his cheek and lacerated his face at the goatee line.

"S**t! You little bastard!", Scorp hissed as the chittering beastie ran to the mouth of the alley. Scorp put his gloved hand to his burning face and then examined it. The black glove was coated in a layer of wet blood from his cut face. The claw marks on his cheek and chin began to throb and sting as the cold rain struck the wounds. Scorp angrily spit on the side of the alley's floor, and turned to face the little c**ksucker that did this. He was now thoroughly pissed.

The summoned beastie stopped its scampering run at the mouth of the alley, about forty feet away. The thing was not more than two feet tall, but it was muscular and far from weak. It sharply turned around and looked back at The Don Mega. As those slanted red eyes squinted, a distinct smile spread across its dark face. Rows of sharp teeth, like some bizarre caricature, were clearly evident in the glint of moonlight. A hissing, gurgling nose rapidly erupted from its throat as the storm continued to pour down on them.

Un-f**king-believable! This f**ken thing was laughing at him! This ***damned, miniature bastard was laughing at him!

What the hell kind of place is this"!!! What the hell is that thing"!!! Eyes like that! Teeth like that?""! And the f**ker was laughing at him! Laughing"!! Oh, not good. Not good at all. This damnable creepish thing was intelligent. That could not bode well at all.

Scorp slowly drew his powerful handbow....that wonderful street sweeping "Bitch-a*s punk eater" designed and built for him by the infamous Stagmin back in MC. He was so gonna pump this little bastard full of steel. Welcome to buck-town you little f**ker.

Keeping a keen eye on the mocking beast, Scorp violently kicked over the three metal cans in the alley to ensure that no more of those little s**ts was hiding in wait to rabidly feast on his flesh once he turned around. The steel cans made an awful racket on the hard ground as they fell and flipped, but Scorp didn't really give a flying s**t. Nothing behind those cans but lingering trash and a few scared roaches. Good.

The Big Man irately glared at the monster that was waiting for him at the alley's maw. "Come here you little son of a bitch...? Scorp muttered as he took off at top speed after the evil thing. He was determined to punk this ugly, little f**ker.

Seeing the large man in black hastily approaching, the shadow creature laughed defiantly once last time before running off into the wet streets. All the way, the bloodthirsty monster chittered in some dark and obscene tongue as it dashed with inhuman speed onto the block where Issy and her small group were located.

"A new challenger has arrived! A new challenger has arrived! A new challenger has arrived!" ~ Street Fighter II <Capcom JPN & USA> The rage Raven felt manifested itself, something fierce as he fought like a literal caged animal, as he went toe to toe with the creatures that barred his path! The katana 'Pulgasari' slashed and struck until it was nearly covered completely with the thick blood of the monsters, in frustration due to it's current lack of effectiveness, was tossed aside, as Raven soundly kicked one of the remaining smaller ones as hard as he could send it into the others, for but a brief moment. Long enough to each behind his back once more, and draw forth the elven mail gauntlets, that Gorgonite had given him.

The spike gloves offered a ember tint, as finger's flexed for the briefest of moments as heavied breaths were taken, like a bad cliche', he offered the 'Let's get it on' hand gesture and was quickly taken up on said offer, as a pair of the remaining small ones leapt towards him. Sidestepping the first, he reached out, snagging it by the back of it's next and hurled it into a pile of crates along the opposite end of the alley, and with a quick pivot gave the second attack a vicious elbow that connected literally with it's mouth! It's own teeth cutting skin, as the elbow became hot with Raven's own blood.

Still he would not relinquish, and pressed the attack, as his free fist found it's mark! Knuckle spikes impailed leather flesh of it's face with ease, as the creature yelped in pain and staggered back. In reaction, the others at the mouth of the alley roared yet again, as elongated claws scaped against the soaked cobblestoned floor. Backing up, he prepared for whatever would come, as he had not faced the larger ones as of yet, a grimaced expression came across his blood stained face as the realization set in, that he had only so many rabbits to pull out of his *ss. He would have to dig in deep if he was to see anyone else after this. That is when everything changed. Blood spewed forth from chest of one, as two arrow heads literally busted from within the creature itself! In a maddened flail, it howled and shrieked, slashing at it's own chest in some twisted attempt to do something about the arrows, as steam and blood continued to exit it's flailing form. Seeing his prayer answered, Brian stepped up the offensive, grabbing the one he had been pummeling, and flinging it into the trio that were before him, that was when he noted something taking to the sky, as the green orb went overhead.

Backing away, he shielded himself as the spectacular display commenced! The creatures howled in utter chaos, as the magick commenced to it's task. Writhing and shrieking, they covered themselves, in whatever manner they could, the pain evident from their twisted expressions. The light however served another purpose, as he could now see them...They were something twisted, as a combination he could not truly describe, something from a nightmare of sorts, there was no true way to describe it. Not that it mattered, now another chance...A better chance! Narrowed eyes looked around the ground for something, and luckily he had found it fairly quickly. Sticking out from under a pile of trash, looked to be the head of an old mace, it's spikes as plain as day courtesy of the magickal show overhead. Scrambling, Raven reached into the pile and jerked as hard as he could. For some reason it would not budge! " Mother F*cker, come on! I said come on you tossed away piece of sh*t, come on now! Now!" Another hard yank, and another and finally it gave! Pulling it free, he nearly had to do double take, as he noted a hand attached to the handle, and to that hand was an arm. Working the fingers free, he shook his head and set the arm to the ground, his narrowed eyes looked to the monsters, and behind them, as he could make out something closing in. He knew business had picked up once more, and it was go time again. That proverbial second wind kicked in, as his body set aside the pain that wracked it, and let the adrenaline surge, like a wave. A quick glance to the arm once more, as he hefted the mace. "Thank you, whoever you are." An instant later, he was charging yet again, the mace held in both hands, drawn back. Another cry of vengeance, and he rear back and swung with all he had at the largest one he could see! The impact felt instantly, as leathery skin and bone caved to the heavily swung mace! Blood erupted from it's eyes, and ears as if it were juice from a grape. No other thought, to anything as he went for the next in what was yet another shower of blood! In his rage however, he never saw the smaller one he had tossed aside, or it's friend as they moved to their clawed feet and were now behind him...

"Thank you, whoever you are." Jalleia ultimately believes that the male is speaking to her, and she chuckles. Her left hand wipes sheet after sheet of water from her brow and hair. Her beret has long since been lost, and the blood on her left temple long since washed away. Now, there are only three deep gashes that look black in the green light.

Her head turns to observe Delphinea and her prowess with a bow, and she also nods to her, satisfied. As her hand lowers from her temple, hues of purple and black begin to crackle between knuckles gently, readying just in case.

"Lord Ravenlock. I am Jenai's Sister, Delphinea."

"Ravenlock.." realization slides into her tone as glowing greens resettle on the male. "You are Alex and Jewell's relative," matter-of-factly stated. Jalleia stays silent as Delphinea introduces her, the fingers of her right arm twitching erratically. Dark lips purse as she realizes they were beginning to go numb. Was there poison in those abomination's fangs? To better comfort the sensation, she lifts her arm with a fair bit of trouble and settles her right hand deep within the pocket of her puffy, black jacket.

It took The Don Mega a few good steps to get into high gear, but once he had picked up enough speed, he was moving like a focused rhino after that hideous little bastard who cut his face. Through the pouring rain, Scorp kept his eyes on the beast as it turned and ran. He clearly saw the creature dart from the mouth of the alley and seemingly run straight across the street, so Scorp was firmly set to do the same.

Well, the best laid plans and all that bulls**t right' As Scorp reached the mouth of the alley, moving destructively like Big Blue's Brandon Jacobs unleashed, his pursuit of the shadow goblin came to a crashing end.

In this case, "crashing" was truly the appropriate word to use. Crushing or devastating would have had equal merit as well, for Big Sexxxy got laid the f*ck out!!

From her hidden position, the very muscular arm of Isuelt DeRomiano seemingly came out of thin air and slammed into his chest with the force of a Herculean demigoddess. Seeing how Scorp's speed only further propelled him into the flattening clothesline hit, it was no large surprise that he ended up on his a*s with a heavy grunt.

Had he been a shorter man and this same shot from Issy hit him in the throat, he most likely would have been killed...his trachea crushed under the extreme force from the ironclad strike. It was evident from this colossal wallop, that the Scathachian warrior was in no playful mood this eve. Too bad that she didn't know this was Scorp. And too bad The Big Man didn't know that this was his Issy who just kicked his a*s!

Hah. Irony never rests, it only breeds.

Now, being no stranger to sneak attacks, The Don Mega at least had the wherewithal to remember the golden rule of Metro City when getting knocked down in the line of fire: NEVER, EVER DROP YOUR WEAPON.

Hold tight to his formidable handbow he did, not firing off a single bolt after being clotheslined by Isuelt's powerful forearm and bicep. He was knocked flat on his back, looking upwards. Then, after drawing a quick but deep breath, Scorpion sat straight up with both gloved hands gripping the handle of his gun. Though his face was wet with rain tainted red from his wound, he acutely focused his eyes in front of him.

He had to. No choice. It was do or die.

Scorp knew that he truly needed only one good shot. The deadly poison he had coated his bolts with before leaving the Sanctuary tonight would do the rest. Nasty sh*t this expensive stuff was. Supposed to be amazingly strong. Earlier this week, he had bought some of it from this infamously sinister "Asian themed" locale called The Onyx Lotus. Time to see this death-juice work!

F*ck it though! Lets make sure this is a head shot...just for good measure.

The Don Mega of the nWo laid there on his broad back in the wet alleyway. His black outfit nearly blending in with the dark hues of the cold, stone ground. Scorp tightly held his gun in front of him, primed and accurately aimed at the looming shadow now standing before him.

His infamous trigger finger began to tense. GAMETIME NWO-ites!

She'd heard her brother by way of the link, but just couldn't get to him at the time, taloned paws digging into another of the winged Hellions that had dogged her through the stormclouds.

One wing had a nice new tear through the sail membrane, but she paid little to no attention to that, weaving, her way through the sky, and sending a few more demons back to whence they'd come, before finally making it to where her brother was.

Circling once, twice, she landed near Brian, shaking off a mixture of rain and crimson blood.

All Hell had literally broken loose.

Mirage was indeed correct when she observed that they had "company". Company indeed, from the damnable Abyss itself! After dueling with the nasty, little shadow goblins, who had viciously leapt out from behind every dim alleyway and dark patch in their immediate area, the Scathachian soon noticed that her well-muscled legs were steadily bleeding. And all courtesy of the razor sharp claws of those dreadful monsters.

Mirage knew she had sustained three or four deep cuts on both her calves and on her left thigh. She too, of course, had returned the favor to these little chittering bastards; slashing at them skillfully with her blessed blades while doing her very best to rid RhyDin of as many of these freakish cretins as she could lay siege to.

Always making sure not to stray too far from their immediate patrol group, Mirage kept a close eye on both Perceval and Issy during the fierce fray. After she decapitated the last of the shade goblins in her direct radius, she glanced over at Perceval just in time to see him rushing into a group of slowly shambling "people".

The tall Judge tilted her head in surprise, as she watched him angrily hack into a group of aloof pedestrians. He seemed determined and willing to murder these folks. Why in the name of Scathach would he be attacking those innocents?

Mirage rushed over to that area, but before she could pose her query, the answer was thrust upon her. Those faces....by the gods those decomposing, unspeakable faces. As the rain fell and the lightning illuminated the region, the Scathachian saw those many eyes staring blankly forwards, lifeless and glazed over with a sickening film. And those teeth. Teeth that hungered for fresh human flesh as bloodstained, rotting hands reached and pawed for their next meal. Unfortunately, the ghouls saw that next meal in the hulking form of Perceval.

Zombies. Serena absolutely loathed the undead. They were the one group of foes that she had never been comfortable in dealing with, even under the most opportune circumstances. These in particular, the mindless, fetid cannibals. It unnerved her quite a bit to think that these things once had real lives, families, hopes, and dreams. All of which were now locked inside of a corpse's decaying carcass.

Snap out of it Mirage! The Scathachian warrior quickly assessed their position, seeing Issy waging a successful siege on the alleyway and Perceval in real immediate danger. With that, she sheathed her swords in favor of her bow. Knocking an arrow, she followed her massive ally's lead and began targeting heads.

Serious cranial trauma or raw decapitation were the only sure proven methods to ship these walking piles of pus back to Hell. She wasn't ready to take any chances.

Being mindful not to hit Perceval, she set her sights on a zombie nearest to his blindside. After whispering a quick prayer to her goddess, the Judge let loose her arrow. The streaking missile found its lumbering target. It sped and buried itself into the forehead of this grotesque female zombie, whose hungry mouth was craving the warmth and flavor of Perceval's very skin. The arrow's sharp tip burst through the back of her head, taking portions of putrid brain matter with it. The creature fell over dead in a pool of its own jellylike blood. Dead, for good this time.

She deftly repeated this as many times as necessary to help Perceval successfully make his heroic stand. Thick blood was flying everywhere, and rancid bodies were quickly piling up. The stench of death was permeating the very air that they were all breathing.

It was nightmarishly surreal. Mirage knew this hellish night was ill-omened. They all had. But what would be next'

Goddess help them.

As she lets them converse, Jalleia continuously tries to flex the fingers of her right hand but finds it exceedingly painful and extremely hard to do so. Jolts of ice cold and searing pain shoot up from her head to her elbow, causing her to grimace in the rain.

Her head lifts as the male spoke in her own tongue, her right foot sliding backwards along the ground. He is no Highborne...the human creatures were not allowed in Silvermoon. Jalleia cannot place where he may have learned Thalassian, and therefore nods.

"Bal'a dash."

"I apologize...Blacked out a tad. Some elixir and I'll be right as rain. Anyways, thank you Jalleia, your magick was incredibly efftive and could not have been timed better. I owe you one...And yes, I am the eldest Ravenlock, brother to Alex and Jewell. Well, met."

"It was merely a trifle I assure you...Although, I am also in need of.." speech ceases as the dragoness circles, and her gaze follows it as she lands. Jalleia is not used to untamed dragons given free reign. She looks to Delphinea at the male's suggestion of leaving, a questioning glance that silently asks just how many more are involved in this horrific event.

As the male seems fine, she awaits Delphinea's decision. Although confident in her skills, wounded as she is, she would rather have at least one back-up party.

He lands, crouched, with fire in his hands and rage in his eyes. The four story drop doesn't seem to have bothered him much; he's up again in a heartbeat, lashing out in a series of flaming punches and kicks that blasts his foes to ash, lights up the night like a lightning strike, buys the beleaguered heroes some room to breathe - and reveals more coming.

"D'Mourir, we really need to stop meeting like this." He says over his shoulder as he draws his sword and dirk again. "Ma'am, nice to see you again." He recognizes the blue-haired lady from the Red Dragon, now that he sees her up close, although they've never been introduced.

The body does all sorts of foul things when you die. Capital amongst these is the production of bacterial gas. During life, one of the intestines primary functions is to contain the bacterium that is used by your body to break down foods. When you die, however, that bacteria is no long held in check and breaks free from the intestine, running rampant throughout the body. It causes what is known as the "bloat stage" of decomposition. Ever wonder where flatulence comes from' There you go. Now imagine the body's bacteria not just eating what is in the intestine, but the body's bacteria eating the body. It leads to all sorts of unpleasant sights and smells.

Tucker swung God's Will liberally. The mace was an incredibly effective remedy against zombies. The skulls of the undead were already soft, like spoiled fruit. Some heads literally exploded when struck, releasing their bounty of gases followed by an unmatched putrescent stench. There was also the spatter of rotten brain matter and putrid spinal fluid. It was akin to crushing moldy pumpkins filled with aged vomit.

The first was dispatched quickly enough, however, zombies had a tendency to swarm around you quicker than you'd like. Tucker had now found himself in this precarious position. Dodging gnashing teeth and swiping claws, he tried his best to keep his distance from these decaying foes.

Suddenly, zombies began dropping to the ground around him. He paused for a moment, finally noticing the arrow shafts either whizzing through or getting lodged in the skulls of the rank enemies. Quickly he shot a look and a grin to the fit and athletic one they called Mirage. A quick nod to show his appreciation, and he was back into fray.

It wasn't long before each zombie from this particular group had been exterminated. Tucker backed away from the pile of bodies, keeping a close eye for any possible re-animation. The rain was more of a blessing now, washing away the spattered filth from his chest and arms. He moved vigilantly back down the street stopping next to Mirage. Once again, he gave her an appreciative smile while nodding toward her weapon. "Nice bow."

"Fast and quick as ya may be, you'll never catch my kitty! Whoa! Woot! Wha ha! Ha ha ha and HA! Oh that was close! Woooo! To be da man ya gots to beats da man! Rawr biatches! You can't see me! Ha! Oh ho! Eep! Huh"! Reinforcements eh' Natcho Libre! We dun fear the undead, or the dead dead! Ha! Oh shave my ass and call me 'Charlotte' what Renna's undead lingerie sale is THAT!?"

We apologize folks, as it seems Kerri here done got herself in another mess...And this time no Duke Boys to help her out, kinda bad eh' Me? Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't introduce myself, my name is— Well that ain't important right about now, as it seem hell done broke loose in this here WestEnd. Funny thing about hell, folks. Some people hate it, and some people love it, and then we have these here geniuses like Kerri here who think it's a free ticket to DollyWood or sumthin'. By the way she was actin' ya think it was free waffle day, down at the WaffleHouse. Course, she ain't fighting Waffles, and if she was, I don't think she'd have enough LogCabin to go round. But I Digress, folks. Back to the story at hand. Or at least a bit of ketchup...Heh, Sorry a bad play on words ah know.

So let's get to work, then. After splittin' from Raven n' Red, our heroine here decided to check into something, and got soaked for her efforts. Dryin off, she then headed deeper into maze that is WestEnd. That's when all hell broke loose, or as she put it, 'We all got clocked in for overtime, biatches', her words folks. Anyways, After seein' a family bein chased, she went into action and dispatched the chasers with extreme prejudice, and by that I mean her swords dun care what color your ass is. they kill ya just the same.

That bein done, Kerri here went ahead and escorted families from their homes to a main drag in the area and shoo'd them along, so she could get back to work. She heard Raven, and Red and figured they'd be okay for the time bein' an sides she could never turn her back on children in need. Call it her maternal bone or whatever, I dunno. So back and forth she went, cuttin and a slicin', all the while making it a game for those she helped. Funny ain't it' Well it was up until, a buncha of whatever the hell those things were decided to block off one street and then call in some back up, seems like our little kitty cat may have bitten off a bit more than she can chew, I tell ya what.

CLAP! CRASH! BAM! Brianna hated the rain"Ugh and that smell!

The air reeked with the foul smell of rotten flesh. It was pungent, sickening, and in many ways oh so nauseating that she would lose what little "meal" she had to hold on to. The storm was not helping the smell dwindle or fail; if anything the storm, the water, made the cannibalistic mounds of rotten flesh more pungent. That did not help vampires with heightened senses.

Lightning. Streaks tearing across the sky like a fierce monster, never able to be tamed. The lights, the lights. Oh, how they disrupted the flow of darkness, it was beautiful. The lights, the chaotic lights, it disrupted the day walker's thinking as she lifted her nose and curled it to the growing smell of decay.

Puff! The fire of the candle was now out. The needle was set aside, crude syringe now emptied. The rubber band around her arm was removed as she closed her eyes. That smell, the whole mess was enough to kill her buzz. Shaking her head, she grunted as slightly glazed eyes opened to look around the lightless room. Turning she looked towards the window as a brow lifted. What was clambering in the West End today"

Another strobe of chaos burned through the night. A churn of green came over her as she looked out the window. Cursing lightly, she snorted as she saw what was making the smell so pungent. Zombies. Great. The whole idea of them frankly made her sick. Brianna hated the walking dead. Ironic no'

Damn her and her ways. Sighing, she closed her eyes as she began to mutter to herself," The Lord is my Sheppard I shall not want. He makes me lie down in green pastures, he leads me besides quiet waters, he restores my soul." Kneeling down as she approached the couch she groped under it. Pulling out two twin blades she sighed as her words continued," He guides me in paths of righteousness for his name's sake."

Turning on her bare heels, she moved towards the door. Holding up one of the blades she looked to her reflection. There against the silver edge, was her face looking back at her. She always looked tired, always looked frail, but no one knew of her talents. Granted her black hair was dangling over her head in a mess of curls that swished over her side. Blue eyes were slightly blood shot and glazed as she smiled a fanged smile, all and all she was okay.

The window"

The clap of her bare feet came as she turned to look at it. The clear glass glimmered as she eyed it. Flash! There was more light as it danced in her hues. She was just going to meander out the door, but she had a much better idea. Bah! She could get a new window. The fabric of her ruffled skirt swayed as she lowered her blades, pace quickening as the skin tight shirt on her torso wrinkled slightly.

Then she was running as her voice came again," Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me;" Crash! Glass broke around her as she flung her body against it. Her figure spiraled through the air as she sucked in a breath. The rush was over, the buzz, dead, but the thrill was growing. She fell as she spoke," Your rod and your staff, they comfort me."

Falling down she looked at the corpses below with loathing and hate. The smell grew nearer, the further she fell. Story after story being left behind before " Crack! She landed in a kneeling position. The cobbled stone beneath her long bare feet was broken, cracked, sunken in. More lightning clapped and crashed around her as rain began to kiss and lick at her tanned flesh. Eyes lifting they were reddening with rage as she saw the uneven numbers steadily growing. How unfair.

The glint of an arrow from the tall woman Mirage was spotted; she knew where to go now. Blades spiraled forwards as she shot through in a run. More words fell from her lips as she swerved through the vile undead flesh before her," You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies." Sadistic was her smile as the rush came of her blade.

Splat! A head fell at her feet as she left it behind. A body tumbled in her wake. More words rumbled from her lips as the billow of the thunder called in the night," You anoint my head with oil; my cup over flows." Rain was still licking at her flesh as she pushed forwards. The light of lightning came as her blade delivered another head slicing blow. Another decaying body toppled, finally freed from the cursed walk of a zombie. The man had spoken, she didn't understand his words, she was still too far away to hear them. Watching the path before her she murmered," Surely goodness and love will follow me all of the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever."

One more head fell, and she was in the circled group. Sadistic smirk still on her face as she paced on her bare feet. Eyes going to the zombies as they continued to overpower her with their pungent stench. A sick look grew on her face as she shook her head. The thunder billowed as her wet hair clung to her flesh. The droplets of water then clung and ran over her skin in beads.

Blue orbs turned to the bow weilder as she flashed a slightly fanged smile," Right then" Too late to join the dance?" Snickering she nodded and looked back to the swarming undead as her voice called over a billow of thunder," Ambrianna Hesstia Slythe, the Third?" The name seemed to trail on the lightning as she licked her fangs," At your service."

A rumble, a flash of light. Let the rain...pour"

The stench was unbearable.

She hated that smell.

Perfume was so much nicer. Or the inviting vanilla aroma of the rouge stain she sometimes applied to her cheeks and lips.

And the noise!

The awful racket of shambling dead, undead, living dead, whatever. Hope had always thought that zombies and like creatures gave her kind a bad name.

There was something about the weather, too. It just wasn't likely that Mother Nature would spit down so furiously upon any city.

One thing was for sure. She didn't like the feel of this one little bit. She had been wandering earlier after sunset around the Hands Over Hollywood, then over to Club Blue. The smell hadn't gotten any better. Hope had ascended to a relatively quiet rooftop to keep an eye on things. She was no shrinking violet when it came to confrontation, but she was no lover of war either. Hope much preferred the laid-back, luxuriant lifestyle of artists and musicians. She had found a small, but promising haven here in Rhy'Din. And now, this upheaval seemed to threaten even the small patch of peace she had found.

With her ivory arms folded over her chest, her body draped in its usual gossamer fabrics of grey and silver, she watched the streets. She thought it was odd that those Scathachian women were crawling all over the rooftops themselves, as well as the avenues below. Not a good sign.

A worse sign" Zombies all over the place, scattering those who would dare oppose them. And just what were those punitive shadowy vermin" Hope did not like the looks of them.

And a peevish Hope was not a good start.

"We will face them in the Marketplace!"

"To the Market, we make for the Market! To the Market!"

Mithran ears caught that loud and clear, as our heroine squared off with what looked like a large pile of ass on a stick, minus the stick folks. Yep, at least that was her assessment of the sitch-ee-a-shun at best! In any event, the Queen of Mithran Mayhem took a more serious approach and decided it was time stop fartin' around and slap a good 'ol the end on this piece of monkey crap that was before her.

Innocents evacuated" Check!

Big ass pile of undead zombies blocking your path' You betcha!

The need to seriously get the fuck outta dodge to join in the naturally bad ass battle that will no doubt take place in some bad as fashion' You know this, dawg!

A hand written note barring you from being held liable for collateral damage caused in the sheer bad assery you may cause during the course of the evening" Forged and readied, Boss!

A seriously large piece of military ordinance, that will cause some major van-damage and no dount fuck something up way beyond recognition?? Oh hell the fuck yeah, brother!

Reaching back behind her, and into her pack, Kerri whupped out an RPG launcher, and grinned quite evily! A push of a button, and the RPG extended, the site popped out and the safety released, as Kerri took to a knee and begin to laugh aloud!

"When ya get to Mid Boss Hell, you tell em Kerri Tu'Atha sent your sorry asses! Say hello to my 'lil friend, pinche juevitos, el tengo un gato en me pantolones, bastards! Nya ha ha ha ha and HA! FIRE IN THE HOLE!"

The rocket let fly, and slammed into the group of undead, exploding instantly, sending fried dead ass parts all over the place, folks. It wasn't pretty by any means, and the locals would have a bitch of a time getting those scorch marks out of the cobblestone and surrounding area! Just as quickly as it happened, it ended with yet another cackle from our fluffy heroine, as she tossed the used launcher aside and pointed to the smoldering remains!

"Kerri 1, and undead bastitches, ZERO! Nya ha ha ha and HA! I pwned you! Superior fire power, and a sexy butt! Look at it, LOOK AT I— Oh yeah, I gotta find Red and Raven! Ack!"

On her way again, in an instant. That's Kerri for ya.

Thankfully, her arrows laid waste to many of the foul monsters. Yet still, they came. From the side streets, from around blunt corners, and in steady numbers they crept, after the warm flesh of mighty Perceval. The city, caught in the grip of this unholy storm, was ringing with the ungodly moaning of the undead. That horrific lament which nearly drove Mirage insane and was an affront to Mother Scathach herself.

Her tanned biceps bulged as she held steady her bow. Mirage continued to carefully choose her shambling targets before allowing the large arrow to fly and forcefully strike their rotting heads. One after another, after another they fell; looking like deranged unicorns with the crimson arrow shaft extruding from their pale foreheads. Those that she did not slay, Perceval laid waste to with his hefty blunt weapon, powerfully crushing their brain matter into quivering pulp.

Mirage reached to her back once more...her defined jaw tightened...her trusty quiver was finally betraying her...only one arrow left. Damnable beasts!

And then, out of the storm, they suddenly had more company on this night of ill tidings. Brianna was now amongst them. That imposing, dark-haired, barefoot warrior had abruptly descended from above and was expertly wielding her blades in combat. Without hesitation, Brianna had effortlessly decapitated the zombies who had drawn a little too close to Mirage for comfort. The cautious Judge was ready for just about anything tonight; she saw those honed fangs of the newcomer. They were just like her Sister Trixie's.

Serena promptly observed the stranger's body posture and behavior as Brianna calmly said, "Right then"Too late to join the dance" Ambrianna Hesstia Slythe, the Third"At your service."

This new arrival, who appeared to be kindred of some sort, was now staring down the street at the ghouls, her blue eyes boring into them. Mirage could literally feel the intensity rising off of this woman. Almost as though this stranger wanted to slay these foul abominations as much as she did.

A wise Scathachian always trusts their inner instincts. Mirage was no exception.

"Thank you Ambrianna." Mirage quickly, but steadily said. "I am Mirage of the Scathachian Sanctuary. If your heart is true, then your help is greatly appreciated and most welcome here, friend." The Judge then snapped her sharp gaze forward and saw that Perceval was dispatching with the last ghoul in this particular horde with his impressive mace. After the last fetid skull was caved in with "Gods Will" , the massive hero ran to rejoin her further away from the spot of the massacre.

"Nice bow," were his words. Without missing a beat, "Nice mace," was the focused Scathachian's smooth retort. She exhaled, "Perceval, meet the talented Ambrianna Hesstia Slythe, The Third. An apparent ally in this malevolent onslaught."

While she spoke, Mirage's dark eyes glared past the mounds of bloodied, rotting corpses which she, Perceval, and Brianna had dispatched with. Her gaze was now on the twenty or so more of these grotesque things that were lurching towards them from further down the wet, foggy road. And yet, still more clawing forth from some of the longer alleyways.

The Judge carefully glanced around for Issy. Serena immediately saw that Illea and another tall well-built figure, whom she couldn't recognize in the heavy rain, were still at the mouth of the same dead end alley where she had left her. They were definitely not engaged in battle. Off to Isuelt's far right, a slow moving, groaning pack of the undead was drawing steadily nearer to them.

The Scathachian warrior swiftly flung her bow onto her back and drew both of her blessed blades from her hips as she looked to Perceval and Ambrianna, "We have to help them! Now!"

As the malignant crowd of ravenous ghouls, stained hands outstretched for the promise of balmy flesh and rich blood, drew closer to Issy and the sizeable person with her, Mirage felt her blood pressure starkly rise as her mouth went dry. On long legs she hurriedly ran forth in order to aid her Sister and mentor. All the way, Mirage pointed with her left sword and loudly shouted above both the thunder and the incessant moaning "Illea! They're coming!!!!"

I can try something fancy....but I don't think it'll work.

Paladin's words were lost to the snapping of jaws and the crazed chittering of their dark enemies, but Jewell's came between a lightning flash that startled the imps, and the roar of thunder that followed it. The detective looked over at her and pointed: "Make it work! I'll buy you time!"

To make his point, he stepped forward, whirled the iron rod, and jabbed it like a spear into the snapping jaws of an imp who would not wait for his brethren and had decided to pounce prematurely. Its little roar turned to an enraged bubbling in its throat, and it would not die, workings its jaws and flailing its sharply clawed arms and legs. With a roar of his own Alain reversed the weapon to swing the other end into a line of the devils, snapping one neck and bowling two others over. The skewered imp snapped its jaws loudly and continued to claw wildly at the air, and Alain looked over his shoulder at it, and that's when an idea occurred to him.

Imp-flail.

He slid his hand back along the weapon to heave the improvised 'hammer' over his head and crashed down into the skull of a monster with a satisfying crack. He swung once left and once right, bludgeoning the creatures as hard as he could and breaking their ranks, and when he heard a snarl behind them too close to comfort, he swung the weapon around and jerked suddenly back on it.

The skewered imp sailed off from the rod, outstretched claws slicing and knocking down two charging creatures, and hit the wall of a building with a crack. It disintegrated before it could slide back down to the street.

"My heart sister will not harm you, Highborne, I assure you." Jalleia's uninjured hand lifts to cut the male off, and she offers him a smile.

"I have never been less worried." Her head swivels around as she watches the droves of undead approach with calm indifference. Jalleia has seen her fair share of such creatures. Days upon days of travel and killing those you once conversed with, laughed with and spent a great deal of time with would numb you to it. As the dragoness seems to have everything under control, glowing greens slide over to Delphinea whose calls are drowned out in Jalleia's ears by the mighty roars and unpleasant death gurgles of battle.

"Come! Toward the Marketplace!"

She nods to both the call and the situation, turns on a booted heel and dashes after the muscled female. She forces herself to hold her right arm tightly to her side, as each step sends jolts of ice cold pain throughout the entire limb. Gritting her teeth and making a mighty leap, Jalleia closes the distance considerably between them, and her head tilts in Delphinea's direction.

"They trail us," she says dryly, a hint of irritation spilling through in her tone. No doubt the other female by now can hear the few zombies that escaped Icer's assault mixed in with the incessant heckles of the tiny demonic creatures they had faced previously.

Without warning, Jalleia once more skids to a halt and whips around. Her drenched golden braid whips at her collarbone, and flings a wave of water outwards. Her left arm moves in a sweeping motion as she does so, a jet of sparking black and purple erupting from the base of her palm. The concentrated shadow follows her direction, straight into the necks of three oncoming undead. Their heads release themselves from their bodies, spinning rapidly whilst spewing thick gore from severed veins and tendons. The creatures crumble to the ground one by one, as dominoes, and twitch as if clinging to the fake life that possess them.

Within the next second, Jalleia finds herself upon the ground, a yell of pure agony tearing through her throat and echoing around them as she crashes down upon her wounded arm. The small demon that had been the cause of this crawls upon her left side, claws and teeth brandished, slicing through her clothing.

Even though she feels blood once more begin to ooze from her right arm, she lashes out with her left and catches hold of the creature by its face. Her long fingers dig into its flesh, nails already stained maroon turning black in no time as they mix with the demon's blood. It shrieks and wails in her grasp, clawing at her wrist to no avail.

It then erupts in a burst of emerald fire, and Jalleia's hand lowers while she rolls to her back. She knows this isn't the last of them, although the fact that she isn't alone allows her these moments to collect herself. Her chest rises and falls in steadying breaths, her left hand sliding over her wounded arm and gripping it gingerly. The faintest touch causes pain, but she needs to stem the bloodflow. Glowing greens close tightly to the rain that threatens to pelt through her eyelids, and she grits her teeth, waiting for the excruciating sensation to taper back off to bearable.

While the rain had done its best to weigh down the silver gossamer fabrics rippling over her ivory form, her rebellious platinum curls defied the weather and retained a bounce and vigor that was nearly impossible. Hope was not so much contemplating this fact as she was watching the antics of those below her. The tenacity of the shadowy minions, the stench of the zombies and the valor of the heroes was enough to provide even this discerning Toreador with enough entertainment to stop her in her tracks. The epic struggle between good and evil, as Hope saw it, was a beauty unto itself; and she couldn't tear herself away.

The Marketplace was filled with the crezendos and glissandos of a steel symphony. Only another odd presence could rip Hope's enraptured attention from the recital. Quite her contrast, a female being wrapped in sanguine skin and bold black apparel crouched to her right. This creature had wings of night where Hope had none, and was the very color of Hope's most sacred desire. For Hope, the scent of her wafted upon the stormy night air like lilacs at sunset. It was only natural that the Toreador would take note of her. Hope's kind were driven by survival and nuance, and this creature was a bit of both.

The soggy gossamer figure rubbed an ivory digit over her painted bottom lip as she pondered the presence of such a creature. The agitato tempo continuing below without her full attention. The wind lifted a curl from her pale forehead just then, as she began to formulate a theory.

Interesting, she thought. This piece is as yet an unmatched edge to the puzzle. And I am sure that the performers are unaware of her superior position. Hope decided to keep an eye on the red-skinned succubus Jamie for the time being, she was positive that a plot twist would likely stem from her.

Alain didn't have time to register Jewell's attack, and then it was over. He wanted to stand in awe, even congratulate her, but growls still sounded out in the darkness, and he moved with Paladin to meet them.

Finally, they had a little breathing room. Alain spun the iron rod twice to settle into both hands, still feeling pretty cocky after the "imp-flail" manuever.

He nodded to Paladin's remark, catching the gist of it in spite of the noise, and grinned: "If I'm going to hell tonight, at least I'll go with good company."

He knew there was little time to revel, though. He hurried onto the bridge, scanning ahead, and turned around to wave on his companions. "Coast is clear! It'll stay that way, God willing!"

He called her formidable. That was nice; it made her smile despite the pain that shot up through her leg as she straightened. Jewell eyed the wound at her ankle darkly for a moment, but there really wasn't time at the present to do anything about it as both Paladin and Alain pointed out. They needed to cross the bridge and to cross it fast. Everything would be okay once they were in Old Market, she reassured herself. Once they were in Old Market, her magic would work normally and she would be fine; she would be better than fine! She would be formidable.

She waited for Alain's signal that it was all clear before she started moving under the watchful eyes of Paladin; it was nice to be with such good company that made sure you didn't face plant it into the ground after just going through all that trouble saving your friends. Jewell managed to stay on her feet, although her first few steps were unsteady and she seemed to have a little trouble finding that usual beat to run to, her gait almost staggered. The second she stepped onto the bridge, however, a change occurred. She found the rhythm she needed as magic started to pulse through her veins, uninterrupted and undisturbed, and picked up the pace. "God willing" Pssh, try Empress willing,? she cracked her lame joke, an attempt at showing that she was fine after that little magical display despite the paleness of her visage and the slight tremble in her limbs.

Each step she took away from the WestEnd brought a measure of relief. She released the control she usually kept over the natural silver illumination of her skin, lighting up the immediate area around her quite well, and focused the energy elsewhere in her body: mainly to accelerate the healing of the wounds she had already obtained and preparing a store of energy in the event that they encountered more foes.

It was strange.

In that split second, she'd seen an eternity flash by her mind's eye. It registered late, but it still registered. Scorpion Wraitharan and Isuelt DeRomiano, for all their flirting, fighting, cavorting and messing around, had almost killed each other. Some back in Metro would have called it 'Poetic Justice.'

"What am I doing?"! Me"! Are you outta your f**ken head sneaking up on me like that"! I almost killed your a*s!"

"Sneaking up on you? I didn't sneak up on you, you came barreling out of that alley like hell on wheels!"

"This freaky a*s, little s**t took a swipe at me, laughed, and then the sleazy bastard ran out there to the street!"

So alike they were, Isuelt and Scorpion were miserable without each other. And while some would see their oft bickering as incompatibility, it was really more of a secret code between the lovers. Mirage's call was heard, Isuelt knew that the creatures were zeroing in on their position. There was no more time for their speed of pleasantries.

Superstitious by nature, both Isuelt and Scorp were more than out of their element here. Still, the warrior in Isuelt was as strong as she needed it to be at this moment. It was as if that warrior side detached and came to the forefront; Illea was in charge now.

She took two steps away from Scorp and lifted her Scathachian sword. The wet steel was brought close to her lips as she kissed her blade in the rainy moonlight. It was blessed, sacred. She prayed that it would not fail her.

Her voice was low, gruff, "Stay behind me. Don't let them touch you. Or bleed on you." She didn't look at Scorp, but her words were meant for no other. Her job was now two-fold. Take out as many of these creatures as she could to cut a path out of here, while protecting The Don Mega of Metro City.

She took a deep breath as her steps started propelling her forward, into battle. As she raised both of her blades, lightning illuminated the scene as the thunder crackled and sizzled its way through the city. A yell rattled her vocal chords as she slashed downward with both weapons, rendering the undead before her into ribbons. Nearby others, as if sensing the demise of one of their comrades, turned and focused their attention on the Scathachian and Big Sexxxy. Like so many of her Sisters and allies were doing at other locations throughout the WestEnd, Isuelt was cleaving heads from bodies in a surreal encounter. She kept her mouth tightly shut and her limbs relatively close to her, her attention was split between what she was doing and what Scorpion was doing. She would keep him under her watchful eye for the rest of the night until the both of them were off the battlefield and safe in bed.

The storm seemed to lighten only for an instant, Isuelt could see a clearing. There was a gap in front of her; she could see Perceval, Mirage and another woman. She could also see a clear path to the bridge that would lead them north. Isuelt could have also sworn that she caught side of Icer's shadow up above. "We've got to get out of here. Get to the bridge, let's get to the bridge!" The stench around them was almost unbearable, and the gore scattered over the street was making for perilous footing. Isuelt reached back and grabbed hold of her lover's arm, "C'mon!" Her boots pounded the pavement, treading carefully over putrid body parts and rain watered puddles of bloodstained gore. The moans of those zombies yet to meet a weapon were still around them and Isuelt wanted nothing more than to put serious distance between herself, her allies and them.

"Mirage! Perceval! Let's get to the bridge! We'll make another stand at the Old Market!" She was sure that her Sister would bring the other woman who was there with them. Introductions would have to wait until later.

The rain was starting to bother her. Clothes on her frame were getting soaked and heavy, weighing her down. Each time they came to a dip in the cobbled stones her long toes sunk into mud, some places as deep as her ankles.

That squish between her flexing toes was not irritating, but pulling her feet free was becoming more and more of a hassle. Each puddle she rushed through, her bare feet were cleaned in a minimal way. Lifting with each steps, if one was observant, they could see the broad flats of her feet were nearly black. It didn't matter if the rocks she stepped on were jagged or even if they teased at her ironlike flesh, threatening to break into them. Her mind was focused on one thing, the battle.

They were cutting through to the woman and the man. Strong toes curling against the stones and then flexing outwards as she launched on them forwards through the deathly chaos. Dirty feet sliding forwards she yelped at the feel of fleshless fingers coiling around her arm. Eyes snapped back to see what was gripping at her when she saw a eyeless face, pits of darkness, and gray bone looking back at her as a blade shot down towards her.

Clink! She blocked it with her twin blade as she gritted her teeth. This was new, this was new! Skeletons, another undead she hated! Shink! Her blade screeched across the skeleton's blade as she cursed under her breath. Freeing herself from its weak grip she glared at the rather intimidating skeleton in half armor looking back at him. Twisting on her feet she had to think as she gritted her fanged teeth. She couldn't just f*cking stab the beast, no, because there was no flesh for the damn thing to die.

Nodding to Mirage as she called out for her to follow she looked around. There had to be some way to slow them down. Snarling she narrowed her eyes as she spotted it. Her voice came out as she let the French roll off her tongue," Fichue droite quand mon bourdonnement est " sa haute." Crouching down on her knees, Bri sneered as she looked over to the oncoming skeleton; shaking her head she leapt forwards.

To slow them down this was necessary. Dexterous toes latched onto the edges of crates as she shouted over her shoulders to Mirage," Go! I'll catch up!" She was serious as she pulled up on the mountain of boxes. The wood splintering at her knees and bare feet as she grunted. She didn't care, pain was pain as she shook her head of it. Toes wiggling, she stood at the top and found her eyes searching about the area. This was going to have to be done with brute strength. No problem.

Looking down she saw the "bone head" below her climbing up after her. Great. This was going to have to be done fast. A deep breath was taken as she leaned back in her spot. Slowly Brianna pushed herself between the crates and the wall. The calloused balls of her feet tensed as her long toes flexed and curled out. Pushing on the boxes she grunted, great.....they were full. Closing her eyes her legs extended and crate after crate came toppling down like dominoes over the zombie hoard and the skeletons joining the fray, for now they were blocked. At least she hoped so.

Brianna was now falling. She yelped again as she toppled into the boxes. Her eyes closed she winced as she felt one slam into her shoulder. Pop! Her toned arm was out of socket. Wincing she shook her head and climbed from the boxes. Hunched over she took a gage of the area around her. Good, she had landed on the right side.

Again her toes sank in the mud, the squishing goo sliding between each long digit as she charged forwards. The ones that had been unscathed, those zombies that had managed to keep from getting clipped or crushed were sliced through as she rushed after Mirage and her friends. Sticking with them had proven to be more then amusing, as she went through the grim night. The "buzz" still going stronger as the feeling of cold rain, of mud, and of cold air were intensified with each move she made. Hair steadily clinging to the vampire as she soon found her way to Issy's side; she nodded lightly.

Blades slashing and dicing at the rotting flesh she had left behind at the arrival of the skeleton. For now she was at a draw. Brianna didn't know which one was worse, the Zombies and their frank cannibalism or the Skeleton and their mindless need for destruction. Again her voice came as she called out to Mirage, the sight of another skeleton horde coming, "Okay f*ck this! GET DOWN MIRAGE!", Her opinion voiced, she sneered as she shot forwards.

Powerful toes lifting her up like a ballerina, she spun on them as her other thick foot rocketed forwards in the air. Sucking in breath, her fingers started to spark as she twitched. Chants were uttered under her breath as mighty blades were stowed at her back. Magical doom coming as she struck such a elegant pose. Slamming down her bare foot, Brianna watched as raw earth lurched up from her toes forwards into the skeletons. The front masses seeming to take the brunt of her blows.

"Ha ha! Take that you.- Oh sh*t!" More zombies. Damn it. Blades once again slicing forwards, the warrior moved back into the group she could now call 'allies' as she grunted," Where the hell are they all coming from"!" She so hated the undead.

From her new roost on a high building just across the river, Jamie continued her observation. The resourcefulness of the unlikely heroes was pleasantly surprising, including the wild magical powers that the blue-haired female had displayed. Large things always did find a way to fit into small packages, and such ability was not an exception.

The flickering of icicles decimating an entire throng of unholy beasts crowded in a street was a spectacular show to watch. Such a pity that the woman had lost control and the last bits of the ice attack turned into flowers instead. She couldn't help but laugh at the sad display that ended it. Such problems were reason why most sorcerers and wizards trained to condition and discipline their power.

To outsiders like herself, the knowledge of harnessing and fully controlling such abilities came much more naturally. She still remembered the bliss of awakened instinct of what she was capable of when she had been turned. There'd be nothing like that again.

Jamie's solid black eyes did not waver from the intense performance of brave or foolish heroism by the mortal beings far below. As they all now joined to race across the bridge, she felt pleased by having moved earlier. She wouldn't have wanted to miss their planned antics in the Marketplace further north. If they were as amusing as the icicles turning into flowers, she'd likely have to get a needle and thread to stitch her sides together later.

It was then she felt a pair of eyes on herself, and considering it was her task to observe the events out here, it was utterly unexpected that someone would be watching her. She turned her gaze toward the source of the other, finding the woman crouched not too far from herself on the next building. One look told her that there was no pulse in this beautiful creature's veins....a vampire undoubtedly.

She returned the curious stare with a small smile. The demoness herself had once ranked among the kindred, but that had been a long time ago and before she had met Jade. With the smile, she sent a light wave of her hand before bringing her attention to the band of heroes that struggled against evil.

That is, she would have, if she hadn't felt the Prime Material twist and something as malevolent as herself tear its way into the world. Her eyes darted toward the south, back to the West End, as she stood up in momentary shock.

What is happening down there? she thought silently in rising curiosity.

With a dismissive shrug, she remembered her place and crouched back down on the roof to watch the heroes. Whatever it was, she was certain she'd find out sometime later. Right now, she had a duty of spying to complete.

Dragons. Shadow Monsters. Zombies.

Now he had seen it all! Or so he thought.

Zombies. He remembered his boy Slapjack always making direct reference to the "Hoo-Doo-Voodoo' magic that clever white men would use to summon up the ravenous dead. Slap had of course insisted that their purpose for doing this was to kill all of the black folks in Metro....to keep the brothers down by letting the zombies eat them!

Slapjack's words, laced with ruthless and suspicious agitation, were suddenly ringing in Scorp's stunned head: "You gotta split their motherf*cken wigs nigga. Smash their funky a*s domes or cut the ***damned things right off. That's the only way to send their punk a*ses back to cracka Hell!"

Despite this insightful wisdom from his right hand man, Scorp solemnly hesitated, which was something that The Don Mega never did. The sickly groaning of the zombies was truly deafening. He could hear it well above the splashing of the heavy raindrops and over the torrential roar of the thunder.

Issy now stood just out in front of him, and Scorp saw his Scathachian warrior go to work on these grotesque monsters who had seemingly escaped from some petrified child's most vivid nightmare. Her twin swords skillfully cleaved into rotting flesh, either cleanly severing their heads or splitting their domes like a putrid piece of fruit. She was like a whirlwind. She refused to yield to any of these monstrous things.

The Don Mega still could not believe this sh*t was going down right in front of his battle tested eyes. He had spilled plenty of blood in his days, but it had been *living* blood rather than coagulated jelly. Finally, Scorp's vacation from reality was quickly revoked as a mottled, pale hand, ripe with cracked, filthy fingernails hungrily swiped over at him; just grazed his chest in a vain attempt to snatch at his covered skin.

Scorp sharply inhaled, a sour mix of rainwater and blood from his wounded cheek filled his mouth. It was then that he inadvertently locked eyes with a decomposing face which stared right back at him, complete with vacant, bloodshot eyes and a ravenous snarl. The Don Mega broke his trance like a wannabe punk's neck and realized just how deep they were in this pooling mess.

He tightly clutched his repeating handbow with both gloved hands and let his MC street knowledge take over his muscular form. Time to put in work. Now, Scorp was always damn good with his shots...one of the things that he had truly excelled at all throughout his crime-filled life. Quickly spitting the blood and rain concoction in his mouth to his left side, The Big Man took aim, squeezed the trigger and started letting the powerful bolts fly. He popped off and popped off, expertly moving to the next ghoulish target even before the previously fired bolt had effectively buried itself into its intended forehead.

>CAP! CAP! CAP! CAP! CAP! CAP! CAP!< Bolts flew and forcefully put their zombified targets down in a pile of their own fetid flesh. Big Sexxxy was straight bringing MC here to the twisted streets of Rhydin. It was on!

When the bolts were eventually depleted, Scorp hastily holstered his handbow and reached for a special item on the inside of his ebon cloak. Let those others worry about fancy swords and sleek sabers. F*ck that. The Don never left any crib without his faithful ball bat. Designed for him by Stag himself, the weapon was firmly wrapped in vicious barbed wire and strategically plated with portions of flat reinforced steel. An apocalyptic weapon which accurately reflected the real barbarism of his home.

Move. He simply could not afford himself the luxury to think at this time. To dwell in thought on this terrifyingly outlandish encounter would be enough to make him desperately flee for the safety of the *known* entities of the world. The "known commodities" as he always said.

Scorp simply forced his innate wrath to take over both his mind and his body. Pushing past Issy, he ferally swung the nasty bat like an extension of himself, using his sheer physical dominance to run the scene. He brutally smashed several skulls and underlying pulped brain tissue with the force of a mythological tempest unleashed; he was not allowing any of those horrific creatures to box him and his Scathachian back in that literal dead-end alley.

A sudden change of scenery...Reinforcements! F*ck yeah! That much he did see out of the corner of his keen eye, despite the fury of the ongoing storm . The blood covered Metro gangster could definitely make out the tall figure of Mirage and that wild barefooted chick, Brianna. One he knew, the other he did not. Right now he honestly didn't give a flying sh*t who the support was! Help was help! Both were putting in serious blade work to help him and Issy clear a path through the determined ghouls who greedily craved each of their life-forces along with their warm, balmy blood.

Big Perceval had to be out there somewhere near the back of the gaggle or at the periphery of this out of control mess, but Scorp didn't have the time to locate his exact position. No way was he taking his direct gaze off of these piles of walking puss. If they caught ya slipping, it was lights out. No joke.

As he fought on, Issy soon gripped his arm and strongly pulled him towards a wider break in the undead line. As she towed him, Scorp's bat continued to pulverize looming heads with the gangland mentality that he was raised with. No rest for the wicked. No rest for the wicked. Keep swinging Big Man.

Finally, they were all past the blood-lusting hands, and hungry, gnashing teeth. This group of isolated fighters was now heading for some bridge. Issy had clearly shouted to make for the bridge and then go forth to the "Old Marketplace?. Sh*t! The damn ghouls were steadily following them.

The Don Mega's keen mind was soaring like an unruly hawk now: What if when we get there, the zom....Don't think Big Man. Don't think.

They all continued to run with determination as the cold rain baptized their exposed heads and washed away some of the vile gore which irreverently littered their forms. On this insane night of chaos, even the storm was playing its macabre role like a poised thespian.

Isuelt and Scorpion had fought and pushed their way from the claustrophobic mouth of one of Rhydin's many alleyways and had gotten to something of a clearing. The Scathachian looked to her lover and silently gave a prayer of thanks for seeing them both through, at least this far. "You okay, Scorp? You know you love this, babe," she smirked realizing fully the superstitious nature of him as well as herself. "Don't think I don't know that you wouldn't put up with this sh*t for anyone else but me."

Her attention was then immediately on those allies now gathering with them. Although Trixie had not yet rejoined them, Isuelt silently counted: Scorp, Kacilla, Brianna, Perceval, Mirage. All were accounted for. And then she caught sight of her: "Eddie!"

The youngest of the Scathachians was running at full speed, she had indeed chosen her initiation name of Diana wisely. There was little time to waste. If they stayed for reunion and reflection on what had just happened, the rest of the shadow demons, skeletons and zombies would surely reach them. Isuelt deferred to the earlier call to retreat to the Marketplace. They were not far from the North Bridge, after all. "C'mon! Let's keep moving!" Her boots pummeled the pavement, sending water and gore splashing in every direction. The decided rumble around her signified that the group was moving as one, all were in this together.

The lampposts on the arches of the bridge were almost close enough to make out the sputtering rhythm of the flames against the storm. Once over the bridge, it would be only a matter of moments until they could take a stand in the vastness of the market stalls. The tunnel vision of the WestEnd would be behind them. An open battlefield was always the better battlefield, said the old general to herself.

Jalleia figures that she has taken more than enough of her own sweet time lying on the ground as she is. In one heaving motion, she gracefully pulls to her feet and turns on a heel, running after the fleeing figures of Delphinea and Brian. The dragoness' wing beats get a narrow-eyed look.

As she skids to a halt beside the barefoot Scathachian, a fresh wave of dirty water sprays into the air and mingles with the dwindling raindrops. Jalleia trains her gaze towards the aforementioned bridge silently, using it as means of a distraction away from the searing sensation of what feels like massive shards of ice coursing through the entirety of her right arm.

"It's okay, I think. I think those are Scathachians over there. They've got those...those dead things over there with them."

"You are correct, there are indeed several parties.." she mutters musingly, tasting the aftermath of Jewell's magic on the air. Dark lips curve into a sneer, and the tip of her tongue slides along her wet mouth. "Magic has also been used."

However, her assessment is drowned out by Delphinea's battle cry. For a moment, Jalleia is uncertain whether she should follow or depart, but as the thought of facing a stretch of unknown territory in her condition, alone as well, enters her mind, she crouches low and darts after Delphinea with viper like speed, her lowered left hand already housing a spinning ball of green lightning.

Covered in bits of other "people", she finally attracted a little too much attention to herself. She felt one of the zombies paw at her neck, yet just when she turned around to chop the hands off, there was a smaller beast gnawing at her leg. God. A fucking kid" She winced as she swung her knee up and dropped her elbow down simultaneously, shattering the skull against her leg. That, of course, hurt like a bitch, but Scathachians sucked it up.

The more she dispatched, though, the harder it was to stop her chest from heaving and the more difficult it became to ignore the gurgle and growl of her innards. She knew she had to get herself out of the mass to regain some sense, so as they groped and moaned, Trixie tried to disentangle herself from the throng. If she could just get over to the"

What the Hell" Suddenly, she felt the Earth move under her feet, but it wasn't the sky tumbling down. No. First, it was the shadow of a wall that she was on the wrong side of. Trix snarled when she felt the wall shake, whipping her neck around to bite back the fingers that were trying to hold her, thrashing for a wild moment. Her heart sputtered into high gear as she literally tore limbs from the sockets to break free—once she was unhindered, she made for a narrow passage at the side of the wall, suddenly very thankful that she was faster than the average bear. The structure dropped behind her, crunching and crushing up a sickening melody as she squeaked by. She arrived in time to see Brianna skipping off towards Serena, leaving a moody Trix in her wake.

The Harlequin's throat rumbled with an unpleasant growl as she shoved the gory swords back into the holders, the teeth of a previous victim popping off her skin as her body mended. She stayed shaded in red, with the white face-paint stared out in rare pristine patches. It about matched the glint of her fangs. Trixie kept her distance from the pack, in order to calm herself down enough for round two (or was it three").

Besides, she didn't like vamps.

"Running, I hate running." Tucker thought to himself as he skirted up the street toward the bridge. His idea of running wasn't really, well, running, it was more like a trot; with his mass and his age, it was really the best he could muster up, not to mention, as said before, he hated running.

Now imagine if you would a polo player, galloping down the field at an express pace. Every now and then, the player leans from his horse to the right or the left, striking the ball solidly with his mallet as he progresses along his way.

Now we have Tucker; lumbering down the street with his formidable mace in hand. He's already broken a sweat, but his endurance is almost never ending. Along his path, zombies limp in his direction. They claw, they gnash their teeth, they drool ungodly looking fluids from their mouths. As he passes them, Tucker would lean to the left or the right, depending on his target, and soundly bash his opponent's skull into pieces. If a bystander were to watch him go by, it would appear as if throttling zombies was done as more of an afterthought; as if the undead were more of an annoyance and that he had something much more pressing on his mind.

Real frankly, Tucker just wanted to get to where he needed to be so he could knock off all this silly running business and do some real fighting. He was pretty sure that his comrades felt the same.

"To the Market, we make for the Market! To the Market!"

The words screamed aloud to whomever would hear them, as he repeated himself once more. Bolting from the alley, he caught sight of his beloved from his peripheral, and turned to his Jenai with a most relieved look on his face, as he ran to her, while the others ran their course! And just like that, his resolve was strengthened tenfold, as pain was set aside, and for that moment all was as right as it could be, it had to be that way...Because in all reality he knew, if this was in fact the beginning, then all would not be right by any means, as this night progressed.

She sent a sharp wolf whistle out to her Sisters as she saw them starting to head out!

"Remember Strath baby?" She sent him a most mischievous wink and feral smile. Undead or undead-ish everywhere and outnumbered, undermanned....She was still giving him the grin when her main sword arm went out straight to her side, the blacken'd swords' tip scrapping the wall, leaving a trailing scar. Until one of the 'Nasties' stepped out of a break between two buildings in a short lived spray of blood. It's head bounced with that cocoanut sound to the street. What ever the body did after that Jen and Brain took no notice

Her red hair was coming undone, the black shreds of the wrap and her clothing waved like personal battle banners as she ran full sprint with Raven towards the Market Place. They both looked like they were on the losing end of a bar brawl, their own blood caked, battle fatigues torn, ripped, unserviceable. She knew she's feel all this later, berserker blood flew thru her now as much as she was fighting it. Fight smarter not harder....smarter not harder.....

Now if any couple knew this market place like Jenai and Brian, she wouldn't have to say a thing, nor would her battle partner. She knew which and what they would do. Turn, up, over, jump. The Cake shop was near!

"Doctor Luna! DOCTOR LUNA!"

The screaming and pounding bolted Eva out of bed. Her gun scratched across the bedside table as she ran down the stairs to the door. Eva cracked the door open and an arm burst through, a whole body frantically trying to come with it, pushing at the door, smearing the frame with blood.

"HELP!"

Eva threw open the door, and a small blond girl fell into her arms, soaking wet. Blood dripped from a jagged cut on her arm and neck. The girl shook with every boom of thunder as Eva dragged her up the stairs.

"There's something in the Marketplace, something in the Marketplace....you have to help....help....help..."

"It's alright, you're gonna be just fine." Eva could smell alcohol on the girl's breath as she settled her in the chair. Probably on the way back from the Inn. The girl continued to babble as Eva assessed her injuries, trying to grab at her with her red slicked hands.

"There's something in the Marketplace....Marcus....Marcus....he's still there....with the thing....the thing....you have to help....help....help..."

Eva looked down at the girl, at the terror in her blue eyes, and then moved past her to the window. A flash of lightning lit up the square just long enough for Eva to see a black unmoving lump. Eva cursed.

"Don't go anywhere. Do you understand?" As fast as she could, Eva pulled on a pair of pants, and her boots. She grabbed her gun from the table, and her black medical bag from the floor, hiking it up her shoulder and ran down towards the door. "Don't open the door for anyone but me!"

It was pouring down on the square, and Eva's boots splashed as she ran, her tank top instantly soaked to her skin in the cold rain. The blood was almost washed away from the lump that had been Marcus, but there was so much of it, Eva could smell it before she dropped her medical bag and knelt beside him. She could also smell his death. Eva rolled his body over, one hand holding her gun. His throat was torn out, his mouth opened in a silent scream. With her right hand, Eva closed Marcus' eyes. What could do this"

Then she heard it behind her. The click of claws on the cobblestones, a low growl. Something was there. The something that ripped out poor Marcus' throat. Eva froze. The growl was steady, remaining at a distance. With as little movement as possible Eva pulled back the safety on her gun. The rain nearly swallowed the sound of a round being chambered. Not nearly enough. Eva stood and turned, just in time to see the beast barreling towards her at full tilt, its skin gleaming in the wet, its teeth bared. No time to shoot. Eva ran.

The thing was faster than her no doubt. Eva's boots pounded the cobblestones. Terrible place to run. Could it maneuver" She glanced over her shoulder as she cornered around one of the permanent stalls, then another, then another. She could hear the beast struggling to follow, distance growing between them. Was it a dog" A rabid dog" It wasn't barking, just growling, and each time she looked over her shoulder, it seemed to disappear into the shadows. What the hell was it"

Eva made another turn, and found herself in a long aisle between rows of shoulder to shoulder permanent stalls. Only way out was straight ahead. Eva broke for the end, and then heard the beast behind her. She couldn't outrun it. She stopped and turned suddenly, facing the oncoming beast. Did it have wings? She didn't have time to think. She braced and squeezed the trigger, firing into the moving shadow as it bounded towards her. Pop, pop, pop, pop, pop, pop. The thing didn't stop coming at her. It leaped up, jaws open, black eyes bulging with hunger for her throat. Eva did the only thing she could think of. She ducked.

The beast flew over her head, landing behind her, its claws skidding and scrabbling to come back on her. Eva tried to stand, but her boots slipped on the stones and fell backwards. Her gun clattered away to one side. She jerked with her body towards it but there wasn't enough time.

The beast lunged for her. It looked like pure darkness. Like nothing she'd ever seen before. She brought her arms up to protect herself, the thing clawing at her as she wedged a hand around its neck. She kept her arm straight and strong, squeezing as hard as she could while jaws hung open just above her. The beast's putrid breath was hot on her face, its thick drool dripping onto her cheek and neck. It growled at her, panting. Eva looked up into the darkness of the beast, holding him back with all the strength that she had, then she took a deep breath and screamed.

They're across the bridge, and Alain's broken off from the others in search of 'equipment.' His first stop" The future home of Kaldi Gourmet Coffee Imports, a little shop close to the Marketplace, owned 50% by himself, 50% by ex-Governor Helston.

A stack of papers lies on the counter of a shop that is otherwise empty. Well, not quite empty.

He turns his pants pocket inside out, wringing out water and dropping keys into his palm. He's soaked, head from toe, and beginning to shiver, but hypothermia is pretty low on his list of concerns. Along with bills - he rolls his eyes at the papers and ducks over to a cabinet behind the counter as another thunderbolt rattles the little building to its foundations. He unlocks three different locks, jerks the cabinet open....and finds exactly what he's looking for.

A scream pierces the night, blended into rolling thunder, but he picks it out. He puts the weapon over his shoulder and takes off into the night, slamming the door shut and locking it behind him - no need to turn his latest investment into a war zone, after all.

When he locates the source, the weapon is lowered and ready, the magazine pushed back into place, sticking up and out at an angle from the barrel itself. It's a submachine gun, an IZMASH-701 to be exact, and while it looks an awful lot like one of the old Sten SMG's, it's an impressive little beast in its own right.

Anastas Iskandorj gave it to Alain when he returned to RhyDin and gave up all his weapons, and gave him a little lesson about it. It fires enormous .45-caliber bullets at an impressive rate, 160 rounds per minute at about 1100 feet per second. It is, according to Mr. Iskandorj, the hand cannon of SMG's.

"Anka, I hope you're right," he mutters, flips the selector switch, and squeezes the trigger.

Three bullets race out into the night, two of them colliding with the beast baring down on Eva, the third striking the wall behind them. It slumps against the wall, limps about to snarl at Alain, but the detective marches closer. Close enough to safely open up with the IZMASH on fully automatic.

The roar of the gun is punctuated by the thunder, and when the thunder fades and the clip is empty, the creature collapses, riddled with holes. It's his only clip for that gun, but he's cold, bleeding now from cuts on his arm and chest, and really pissed off at these things.

"Good to see you, doctor," he says to Eva; he shoulders the weapon, draws his revolver, and extends his other hand, slick with rain and blood, down to her to help her up. "Are you all right?"

Jewell watched Alain jog at a brisk pace down the street until he was out of sight, making sure no little creatures jumped out and attacked him while his back was turned. None did and they were all apparently safe for the moment, although the Fae's ears could still pick up the distant cries of both the night-creatures and their victims. They weren't that far away.

She slumped back against a brick wall—wincing as the rough surface came into contact with her mauled shoulders—and inhaled, seemingly not alarmed by the slight, wheezing sound she made as she did so. Grey eyes moved from the street Alain had disappeared down, in search of supplies or something, to her sole remaining partner. She did not know Paladin well but that mattered not, not tonight at least. "Take a breather for a second?" she asked him; even if he didn't need it, she certainly did. Despite her usually stellar endurance, getting mauled, falling from the sky and basically face-planting into the street, pulling off that fancy little magic trick and having to fight with the WestEnd to save them all from the beasties and herself from spell-backlash, and then running a mini-marathon over the bridge to top it all off, had taken its toll.

She was taking a breather whether he wanted to or not apparently, sliding down against the wall until she was sitting in a puddle of rain water, desperately pulling off her left boot. Rolling up the material of her ruined left pant leg, she eyed the torn flesh of her ankle. It did not look good. She extended her leg, letting the heavy rain clean the blood away from the wound. "Give me a few minutes and I'll be healing up pretty well," she commented aloud, "then I'll be good to go another round."

"Now if I can only find?" she started muttering to herself as she pat herself down, wincing as she touched the left side of her abdomen. She was pretty sure she had bruised her ribs, at the very least, but there was little she could do about that right now; fortunately, the suit she wore for scouting helped to make sure her side didn't get joggled or stretched too bad until she did have the time to do something about the injury. Another few mutters, "No...not there," before she gave a little, "ahah!" and removed a small tube of something out from behind one of the straps along her legs. She held whatever it was aloft triumphantly, grinning at Paladin as her cold, numb fingers worked to unscrew the cap.

"This is Goldenrod," she explained as she hastily spread the cream from inside the tube on her ankle wound. Instantly, the wound started to heal until the open cuts were almost completely closed over. "It really only works well for Fey, and it can't heal bigger things but at least I can stand now." To demonstrate this, she actually sprung up to her feet, holding the wall as she pulled her boot back on. She spread a little bit of the cream on the cuts on her face and then on the ones on her shoulders that she could reach. "Yeah," Jewell gave a swift, confident nod and grin, "now I'm good to go."

Delphinea's bare feet were starting to numb. The hard motion on the concrete paired with the temperature bore no favors to the blonde island girl. She nearly bowed her head as she arrived near to Illea and Mirage, so overjoyed she was to see them. The back of her hand reached up and smeared away the fresh blood from her cheek as the running had gotten her heart pumping and blood flowing once more. Dark blonde locks had spirited down her forehead and were stubbornly stuck there, clinging with rainwater.

Her bluest blue eyes looked back to Jalleia and it was then that she noted her Sister Jenai had joined Brian Ravenlock. She also beheld Harlequin and Diana, Trixie and Eddie to most. For this, she was supremely glad. In times of crisis as well as in times of recreation, there were no people she trusted more than her Sisters. Now that they were here, there was a proverbial light at the end of the tunnel; even with the lightning simmering down. Her sun-caressed face was bound to light up all the more as soon as Laufeia, her favorite teacher, reached them.

Phin aspired to recognize those gathered: she noted Illea's beau, Scorp, the blue-haired fae, Jewell, and several unfamiliar females and an unknown male of soldierly proportion. Phin noticed another red-headed man, and if she had been quicker, or not as busy pushing rainwater from her eyes, she might have seen Alain go tearing off just after the scream that Illea had called attention to. As she watched her elder turned and pursue the one that needed help, her shoulders rose in a deep breath. She knew that while they should not split up any more than necessary, she couldn't let Illea go alone. She hurried after her Sister, bow knocked.

"Holy shit did you see that!" Lostest boys get a move on, we're missin' out on a big 'un! Move it or lose it! Hoooooooo!"

Kerri's eyes gleamed with a want only those closest to her could understand. The self proclaimed queen of Mithra Mayhem and our heroine (self proclaimed mind you), know this was the one. This is what she was here for. This was her level 75 elite ass kicking and name taking moment, oh hells yeah it was SO on! All she needed was a chicken, and her Leeroy Plushie, and she would so be set.

But since they weren't present, the lostest boys would have to do. The numbers crunching in the Mithra's head, as she pondered what odds she and her two dozen strong lads might run into, of course that was quickly tossed aside, as she knew the lads were as off center as she was, and could care less, so long as there were asses to kick and names to take. So quickly, the militia closed in on the location of Yotsuba's cake shoppe, and ground zero for a bad ass battle! Boo yeah indeed.

"I got a visual, Boss! Undead and a shit load of em! Some priests too! Man, they are tossin down! It's a mess down there, I think we n—"

"Natcho Libre, Muchacho! No time for love Doctor Jones, let's do this chums! Kerriiiiiiiiiiiiiii Seeeeeeeeexy-butt!"

"Oh shit, she went in there. Jeezus, Boss. Stick to the plan chums! Stick to the plan!"

Leaping from stone to stone, Kerri went straight into the battle, with her lostest boys in tow! Closing the gap between themselves, and the undead, they ran through the small gap that Urashima's had kited the undead swarm through, and collided on the undead's six in a clash of steel, and undead flesh, bone and whatever else those bastards had on em! Cries of 'Lostest!' filled the air, as they went to work using their surprise attack to their advantage.

The priests in turn, shifted their focus, and went into a fully defensive position, keeping the swarm in check, preventing an escape. Kerri in the thick of it looked like a kid at play, leaping and bounding from opponent to opponent. Her boys sharing her zealous demeanor, as the felt the tide shift, and coupled with that, the healing spells of the priests.

Still while the tide shifted the undead would not yield so easily, and of course a cornered prey can be the most deadly. Their bearing gained again, and undead fought back, again and again, as they pressed back and forth with the humans. Kerri feeling the tide turn, had a twisted idea and began to bark orders to her followers, who in turn cried out loudly as they could to others, while they back tracked with the priests to the cake shoppe building itself, the three story structure still intact surprisingly.

As soon, as they cleared enough, Kerri grinned that toothy grin and looked to the two who remained with her, and quickly went to work, as they began to lob molotav cocktails at what was left of the swarm, the fire quickly spreading among the undead, which promptly shrieked in rage, and went into a frenzy, as they crashed into eachother, and soon were in pursuit of Kerri, and her duo which were hauling ass away from the shoppe, still hurling cocktails behind them.

"Go go go go go go! Oh man, where the hell is that damned Ice Dragon! ICER Where are you!?"

"Hey Red! If you can hear this, grab Raven's ass, and give us a hand! An hurry it up, we're runnin' outta booze!"

OOC Note: Forward warning this post has quite a bit of drug refrence" Granted most of Brianna's posts do! XD Enjoy!]

It was raining, the thunder crashing through the sky. Light was dwindling all around. The moan of rotten flesh was echoing through the senses. Darkness, death, and the constant pour of water set the overwhelming mood of the night. Chaos was abundant"The sress of it all seemed quite threatening. The night was right for the living to dwell in pure fear.

Then there was Brianna, skipping with vengence. The family Slythe's black sheep, well she was a bit off. Granted she was quite aware of the situation, but she was in a world all her own. She was excited and over eager for the setting taking place al around her. The chance to do something good was over whelming. Could have been the fact that she was able to rid the world of cursed beings, or the "drugs" rushing through her system. It was the drugs"yeah' The Drugs.

The sickening smell wasn't even bothering her anymore, it's pungent aroma wasn't disturbing her. That was until she once more turned. Her eyes widened as arms swooped out towards her, pulling her in within a swell of decaying flesh. A wailing screech came from her lips as the smell devoured her senses. Gasping for breath she fought back the growing lurch in the back of her throat threatening to break free. Her eyes were searching for help, for the group she was supposed to be with. Where were they'

There was a flicker of Mirage in sight, but everyone else was lost to the stench, the numbers, and the cold arms. Another howling cry came from her as she began to resist. Her hands and arms were pulling free from the grips eager to pull her into despair. She was surrounded by a mess of Ghouls. They weren't after her flesh; they weren't after something to devour, no, these beasts wanted to be the end of her. They were after death.

Her blades! They were gone! Again her orbs shot around while she searched, silver glimmered, but they were outside the groping mess, "Damnit! Right when my high was getting good!" Now she wasn't happy. It was time to assess the possibilities she could explore. She had to get free from this and return to the group.

Another rush surged through her body, the crimson drive was starting to nag. The drugs were wearing off and the beast was pushing free. Fangs extended then retracted as thirst fought drug, extend, retract, extend, retract' it was starting to get painful. Not good! She knew what was coming, the risk that could become a reality," Damnit! Not now!" Came another cry from her lips, this time in a pained manner.

The massive swell was swarming around her in a hungry mass. She had to focus on one problem at a time. For now, the Ghouls would have to wait. The safety of the living was more important to Brianna. Fingers were groping at her frame, some not her own. Tra-La-La land was turning out to be a nightmare!

As lightning flashed above her in a cascading ray she felt an unwelcomed hand grope at her security. That was a no, no in this vampire's rule book! The lesser beast was freed with that action of gropage. It was as if an 80's Earth song had burst into play in her chaotic mind. The big hair, the classic sound, all of it coming to life in an incomprehensible flow that had yet to gain its footing in her head.

The ballet show was back as her toes turned slowly, now clung to by clumps of mud and filth that she had trekked through. Her long, bare feet were only being supported by the tips of her toes while they curled and arched. The grace of an angel was in the middle of a swarm of animated flesh. One foot seemed to lift up to the heavens, all the while the vampire's" eyes closed.

"Where have all the good men gone And where are all the gods Where's the street-wise Hercules To fight the rising odds Isn't there a white knight upon a fiery steed Late at night I toss and turn and dream of what I need"

Right as the music gained its footing she smirked. Her eyes snapped open and her senses took off in a wild dance. Her grace filled poses remained while she took in her surroundings. The Ghouls shot forwards ready for her to fall to her knees. Her leg did come plummeting down, almost chaotically. SLAM! Her foot collided with the cemented ground leaving in an indent in the earth. Rock shot up around her while her eyes blazed a fire red. The sound of something whistling through the air came as the lifted earth rotated and circled around her forming a protective torrent. Shredding, slicking, and crushing the hostile flesh around her.

I need a hero I'm holding out for a hero 'til the end of the night She's gotta be strong And she's gotta be fast And she's gotta be fresh from the fight I need a hero I'm holding out for a hero 'til the morning light She's gotta be sure And it's gotta be soon And she's gotta be larger than life larger than life.

It was time. Her hand shot for her assurance greedily. Panic was on her breath as she inhaled the air around her. A needle, vile, and rope were gathered up and brought before her eyes. Blue and golden swirls danced in the vile, forcing her to lick her lips hungrily. The thirst was putting up a fight as she resisted the alluring scent coming back from where she should be, it was a new scent. The animal in her was nagging at her to look for it and taste it.

Somewhere after midnight In my wildest fantasy Somewhere just beyond my reach There's someone reaching back for me Racing on the thunder and rising with the heat It's gonna take a superman to sweep me off my feet

Still the earth spiraled around her; all the while that rope was being wrapped around her arm, producing the vein she needed. The cap was pulled from its protective spot over the needle. Another hungry lick was made as she emptied the vial of air, only sparing a single drop. Her eyes closed slowly as she found the vein. A raw growl was made in the back of her throat as she felt the slick silver pierce her skin.

I need a hero I'm holding out for a hero 'til the end of the night She's gotta be strong And she's gotta be fast And she's gotta be fresh from the fight I need a hero I'm holding out for a hero 'til the morning light She's gotta be sure And it's gotta be soon And she's gotta be larger than life larger than life.

It wasn't instant, it wouldn't be instant. Once the vial was empty the needle was freed from her flesh. A deep breath was drown while the wound sealed almost instantly. Thirst would be the first to go but that scent. It was alluring her still, something was pushing beyond her hunger as an animal, something was nagging at her to taste it even now. No, she had to resist!

Up where the mountains meet the heavens above Out where the lightning splits the sea I would swear that there's someone somewhere Watching me

Crimson eyes opened. A flat look was given to nothing in particular, as her brows furrowed. A fanged smirk glimmered on her lips while the earth stopped dancing around her. It hovered in the air for the fraction of a minute before it came tumbling down. Bouncing on the ground by her bare feet as her rank toes wiggled lightly. She was starting to feel the pulse of adrenaline, of delicious intoxication.

Through the wind and the chill and the rain And the storm and the flood I can feel his approach Like the fire in my blood

The odd needle was still clutched in her hand. It wouldn't be released until she smelt "it", the foul rotten flesh of an undead cannibal creeping towards her. That hand holding the needle shot up, the same cold look on her chiseled face. The needle was driven through the beast's skull while she stood there, peeved on having to use a fraction of her security. The figure of the undead fell limp, ceased to hunger, and fell down to the ground atop the masses of already decaying flesh that lay there lifeless. The mixed worlds of Tra-La-La land and Reality seemed to be more exciting and far more pleasurable then the taste of a warm neck.

I need a hero I'm holding out for a hero 'til the end of the night She's gotta be strong And she's gotta be fast And she's gotta be fresh from the fight I need a hero I'm holding out for a hero 'til the morning light She's gotta be sure And it's gotta be soon And she's gotta be larger than life larger than life.

The rumble of thunder, the flash of lightning, and the pour of rain all made this figure seem but a meek shadow surrounded by the hungry. Wails, moans, and screeches all filled her ears as the swell lurched out for her. As they closed, their groping hands beckoning her nearer. The scent of their flesh tangled through her nostrils, but then there was that scent.

I need a hero I'm holding out for a hero 'til the end of the night She's gotta be strong And she's gotta be fast And she's gotta be fresh from the fight I need a hero I'm holding out for a hero 'til the morning light She's gotta be sure And it's gotta be soon And she's gotta be larger than life larger than life.

Eyes snapped towards the scent, towards its source in an instant. Time seemed to slow as her breath quickened. Her heart skipped a beat and her lips let out a gasp. It was something different while she stood there, watching in those few distracted seconds. Stunned and captivated as she took in every fine detail...of her" the priestess" the judge" Mirage.

The music died, everything went silent. Not even the wailing moan came to her ears. All there was, was the scent, the image of Mirage seemed to stop time for the Vampire. Biting her lip she sucked in a breath, but suddenly it turned into a pained scream. Her eyes shot closed as she was jerked back to reality. Teeth were sinking into her shoulder as she grunted. Flailing until a Zombie head fell before her feet. Blood was oozing from her shoulder blade. Pain grunted from her lips while the toxic Zombie plague was destroyed by the blood already controlling her. Being a vampire had its pluses.

Now she was swarmed and unarmed. Another flustered cry came from her. Her lips parted as she shouted angrily," Would you beasts just f*cking die already!"!"!" All the while her figure was being swallowed by the ravenous Ghouls hungry for her death.

Headless figure after headless figure was sent flying to the outside of the fray. She was fighting the best she could. One by one pulling the heads of the Ghouls clean off. Tossing the head and body into different directions so as not to become whole again. She was very out numbered, very out numbered. All she could do was let Tra-La-La Land wait a while. She would have to wait for her blades to come close or backup to play hero in shiney armor.

"Dandy little mess this is Ambrianna" Woo...Way to get distracted?" Another head was torn off while she nagged at herself," But that smell" Oh that smell...No, no' no' can't get distracted. You can get distracted later Ambrianna" Later." Pop, snap, another head and body to add to the growing numbers," Just keep removing heads" I wonder if she's single...or even like that' NO! No, no! Get back to the heads Ambrianna Hestia Slythe!"

Ahh the scattered mind of Brianna, so beautiful" Thus the process was repeated. Body pulled into her clutches, loss of said head from body, then tossed aside...Granted she continued to wonder what was becoming more and more captivating. Mirage. It was like a Tic-Tac-Toe game that always ends in a draw" Wee!

"I wonder if she likes take out?" Brianna was in deep thought mode," Maybe Chinese?? Pop, off went another head. Oi she was hopeless. She couldn't get her mind off Mirage!

The gunfire was defintely heard, as well as the deafening cry of the big man. Watching Isuelt, and the others split off, halting himself in turn, awaiting whatever would come, his eyes glancing occasionally to his beloved. His eyes once more went to the big man, as Brian truly felt sorry for whatever would come his way.

Planting himself in a similar fashion, he could only think back to Vana'diel, back to when the Shadowlord's orcish forces took city after city, back to Strath, as he and his beloved alongside others braced for whatever scourge had thrown at the defenders...It was a similar song and dance, only the partners and locations had changed.

"Hey Red! If you can hear this, grab Raven's ***, and give us a hand! An hurry it up, we're runnin' outta booze!"

"The hell?"

A hand lifted to his link pearl in surprise, as he could hear Kerri clear as day, for the first time since this had begun. A concerned look on Raven's face, as he turned to Jenai a brief moment, as he replied.

"Gorg, where are you?! Gorg"!"

"Yotsuba's! Undead, place is a wreck, runnin outta booze an headed to the grand fountain, got em on my ass, so where the hell are you!?"

All it took was one look to Red, and he knew what needed to be done. They had the numbers here, but Kerri didn't. Nodding to Red, Raven looked around to the others.

"We're needed at the grand fountain, we'll catch up when we get the rest of our group, Godspeed!"

Swords in hand, Raven took off from the others, with Red in tow, as the pair ran at a dead heated pace to make to Kerri and her people. There was no time to reply, and no thoughts involved, as the pair navigated the chaos that engulfed the Marketplace. No words between them, as they worked in tandem once more, one knowing exactly where the other was, and what they were thinking, even more so than at home with their own family, here in the field they were one. And as they did so, enemies fell before the pair, as they continued to work their way towards Kerrithra.

...

An overflowing gutter did a roughshod impression of a waterfall as the torchlight on the skirts of the Marketplace stalls reached to illuminate Isuelt's path. The moonlight of the night was absent behind the thick rain clouds, and afforded no aid in the way of visual clarity. As the Judge hurried off after the quick cry for help, she began to lose her direction. There had been no further call, no further screaming. Isuelt would find later that Alain had the situation under control as he had reached Luna first. But before she could reach the pair to discover this, a color in the night pricked her peripheral vision.

In the dead darkness of this moonless night, a throbbing red quietly made its presence known. Isuelt's booted feet pivoted and ground her heels into the wet pavement, causing a skidding splash. Delphinea, who was hot on her heels behind her elder nearly slammed into Isuelt, her bare feet having no brakes, save for her skin on the rain-slicked street. Isuelt's strong arm, spattered with only traces of blood now that the rain had done its washing duties, reached out to catch her Sister from falling. Her dark eyes, however were not on Phin. They were pointedly aimed at the rich red tapestry that wove its way through the latticed windows of the residence on the Marketplace. A residence she knew. Mallorek Manor.

"What in the hell is that?" Isuelt's voice was barely audible above the rush of water from the rain gutters overhead. She was nearly riveted to the spot by the pulsation of sanguine illumination. Before she could ask Delphinea for her thoughts, the red light waned and died. The Scathachian priestess stood silently, looking at the windows of Lucien's home, waiting for something more. Waiting for an answer.

None came.

They looked at each other, Isuelt spoke first, "I know who lives there. We'll check it out in a moment, before we..." she sighed as she glanced toward their prior direction. "I haven't heard anything else. I don't like it. We should get back to the others. It smells like a ploy." She began to second guess herself. A trap" Maybe. Someone in desperate need" Maybe. Would she damn herself if she was wrong" Definitely. Still, a general was forced to make arduous judgments in war. And this was just as faithful a battlefield as any open field. One last listen as her brown eyes looked toward her intended path. "C'mon," she began to Delphinea as her boots turned and pointed themselves toward their origin. "Let's get back to the Marketplace."

Alain had been looking around, scanning their surroundings, wary of letting his guard down for even a moment (and thinking about brushing aside her question of injury) when she shouted. Bright blue eyes turned to her, illuminated by lightning that struck somewhere far south of the river, and he took a step forward. His voice was quiet but firm, and he hoped it would be reassuring - he waited for the thunder to die down before he spoke:

"They started appearing in the West End, and I swear I smelled undead, too. I ran into Jewell....she's injured, but Paladin's looking after her. There are others with us as well - Scathachians, most of them - but most of us split up when we made it across the bridge."

He then removed his coat halfway, to show where the claws had dug their way into his forearm. It was a nasty wound, though not bleeding as badly as it could be. "One of them got in a lucky shot. I don't feel woozy yet, but if you can help me, I think it would be wise to patch this up."

He didn't look at Marcus. He'd already seen him, and knew all he needed to know - the boy was dead, and beyond their aid.

As soon as Isuelt and Phin reached the larger group back in the Marketplace, she saw Perceval and Kacey ready for round two. And while there weren't as many of their undead enemies to put down this time, the Scathachian figured they could all use a break. Her motivation was two-fold, however. That gleaming red light coming from Lucien Mallorek's home began to gnaw at her. It wasn't right, that much was simple.

"Everyone, cut right! Follow me!" she bellowed as she brandished her blades once more to lead the way toward Mallorek's apartments. As the group picked up speed and moved to the northeastern corner of the Marketplace, Alain and Eva made their appearance. "Fall in, you two!" Isuelt yelled over her shoulder as she spied the few remaining undead and shadowy figures following behind them. These summoned creatures of the hells would at least be stalled if they ran for cover indoors. The Scathachian priestesses could place blessings and make-shift wards over doors and the windows of the barrister's residence. And while those prayers would not fend off their hellish adversaries forever, they would at least give the rattled regimen some time to regroup, count their numbers, see to their injuries and plan their next move.

After winding through one short alleyway and around a corner, Isuelt spied the familiar sight of the Mallorek apartments. "Lucien! Lucien Mallorek!" a heavy gloved fist banged on the door, "Lucien" It's Isuelt!" there was no response from inside, which worried her only because of the red glare that had earlier blazed through the windows. It wasn't exactly odd that the barrister was not at home, in truth he had another abode between which he divided his time, and it wasn't far fetched that he should be out enjoying the distractions of the city. It was only because of the curious light show that she tried the door. Unlocked. Isuelt's expression soured all the more.

Flinging wide the door, still one sword ready for anything, she swiftly looked around and perceived a quiet, warm, and best of all dry receiving room. "Mallorek" We're coming in!" She sighed lightly, not guessing what to expect on this unusually dark night, "Okay, everyone in!" her hand flicked her blade in the direction of the room and let the allies with her file into the barrister's residence. She was looking beyond the very tall shoulder of the last man, Scorpion, and saw no sign yet of their pursuers. Good, she thought to herself, Give us time to think.

"Scathachians, wards for the doors and windows. Everyone else, fan out and inspect the dwelling. This is Lucien Mallorek's residence, make yourself known to him and if he is here, make sure he is safe!" The heavy door was shut and barred then, Isuelt herself performing a simple but effective blessing on the door as her naked hand was laid upon its warm wood.

It was almost too much to take in. There were more of those monsters" Others were hurt' Undead" Alain's voice was calm but the content was hardly reassuring.

Eva barely had time to look at his wound, something she could focus on, something she could understand, something that actually made sense. But suddenly, the Scathachians were all around her; strong women, bloodied women, and the other fighters that accompanied them, many twice her size, fearlessly wielding weapons of a kind she'd never seen.

"Fall in, you two!"

Fall in? Was this some sort of military operation' Eva shivered in the rain, taking a skittish step backwards. Her eyes skimmed quickly over the fast moving group. She could see injuries among them. Limbs favored, open wounds. It was enough to know she was needed.

Eva turned and jogged quickly over to her medical bag, kneeling over Marcus' dead body to pick it up. She'd never left a body before. Even during the Marketplace explosions, there were those taking care of the bodies. Marcus deserved a burial. And if he were left behind, his body would be left....to the creatures. Eva stood up with her medical bag on her shoulder and looked up at the light in her window. She could see the girl, Marcus' girl, waiting in the window, silhouetted against the light of her apartment, watching. Eva looked back towards the Scathachians, moving swiftly along without her, then looked back up at Marcus' girl in her window. There was nothing Eva could do for her. She held up a hand, palm up, silently asking her to wait. Then turned and ran to catch up to the pack.

In the residence of Lucien Mallorek, a man Eva barely knew, she let herself into what looked like a sitting area, a living room, obliviously tracking in god knows what on her running shoes, set her soaking wet medical bag down on the floor, unzipped it, began to pile supplies on a low coffee table, and glanced towards Alain.

"Let me see your arm."

Emerald orbs remained wide in fear, as Kerri watched the undead's somewhat methodical approach, it was as if the Queen of Mithra Mayhem were literally stopped dead in her tracks, as she stared ahead of her, and still despite all of her efforts, could not move an inch. However if one truly took a closer look at Kerrithra, they would see that the undead were not what literally froze the young warrior, if one would glance in the direction that her emerald orbs were staring, they would see that she had seen something that had indeed been able to put the literal fear of God into her...Whatever it was, it's effect was immediate, and felt to the bone. Finally, after a moment, she regained enough of herself to vocalize. "Can't move...C'mon MOVE! Got to get back, got to find the others. No way, muchacho! I can't cash out this way, too much to do...Still haven't slept with Cor...I ca— I don't wanna die, not this way, not like this! Help me...Someone, help— Mother" Are you there" Please, give me some of your strength. I wanna see you someday, Mother. But this ain't the day!" Struggling inside and out, with all that she had, Kerri fought tooth and nail to further the regaining of herself, as she felt her body begin to succumb to the numbness that was her fear...Despite all the bravado the young woman had deep down inside, at this very moment, she was likened to a small child, abandoned in the dead of night. So alone.

"Gorgonite!"

"Kerri!"

Or was she?

The answer to that question, was no...Kerrithra Al'Tuatha was not alone, by any means...Never, so long as those who loved her, held the troublesome Mithra dear to their own hearts. Never, so long as those who held her closely, would without a thought, walk through the gates of Heaven or Hell, to be by her side...She was one of their own, and Ravenlocks, never left their own...Ever. Not by longshot.

Screaming the Mithra's name aloud once more, Brian literally skidded around the corner of a gutted building. Gloved hands dug into the street to allow some kind of traction, as the eldest Ravenlock regained his footing once more and charged towards their loved one. A gutteral growl let loose, as 'Pulgasari' was quickly drawn, the 'undead bane' coming to life, as Raven held the blade low, it's tip scraping along the moist cobblestone, as sparks began to trail, the blade's master.

In a near instant, the undead shifted their attentions from their prey, to that which was rapidly approaching them, as they replied in kind to the Ravenlock's growl, with a sickening reply of their own, as they literally threw themselves into a frenzy, pressing towards their newly arrived aggressor, their focus soley on him..

And that, was where they erred severely..

For it was not what they saw, that was the true threat...More so, it was what they did not see, and detect, that was the real threat to contend with.

Which was made evident in the deadliest of ways, as glass shattered from above, directly in Brian's path, showering the street with shards, revealing that this Ravenlock, like the rest was never alone..

From the second floor she descended, no regard whatsoever, to the several lacerations she had just subjected her body to, in the process. Looking the part of the Valkyrie herself, in all her battle-worn glory, truly a sight to behold! Flame kissed locks escaping their confines, as Jenai fired off two chakras towards the advancing undead, her aim held true, as a pair had been taken out nearly instantly, and upon the ancient weapon's return trip, yet another had been cleaved in two. Landing upon one knee with a deadly grace, arms outstretched for the chakras, as locks of flame settled over the face of Brian's beloved. All that was exposed of her face was the snarled grimace her mouth had formed, as the chakras were caught once more, and holstered. It had only taken the Priestess seconds to complete the task at hand, if one were to blink, they would have easily missed the spectacle.

Following Jenai's lead, Brian broke into a dash, raising 'Pulgasari' above his head, as he ran straight towards Jenai herself, who had her back to him. Bracing herself, Jenai remained deadly still, as her love leaped into the air, landing on shoulders, using them to vault himself into the air. The eldest Ravenlock, soared above the enemy, coming to a skidded landing directly behind them, as they had continued to press foward. As he did this, Jenai went into action, springing forth once more, her own swords now drawn, as Brian in turn charged the undead from behind. It had only taken seconds, as the pair fought as one being body, mind and soul. The result of which was the severe decimation of their opposition.

Quickly looking around the area, to make sure it was truly over, Brian let loose a sigh of relief, and offered the goddess of his heart, a raised fist, as 'Pulgasari' was sheathed. In reply, Jenai gave him one in return, as the pair then turned towards and approached their wayward Mithra, who was still quietly staring wide eyed in the distance..

As Brian reached out to touch her shoulder, Kerrithra Al'Tuatha let loose with a terrifying cry of her own, as the Mithra fell to her knees, her arm outstretched, she pointed ahead into the darkness.

"It's too late...We're too late!"

Isuelt had spoken the order and Phin needed nothing else to prompt her. Another wipe of her bloody cheek by the back of her hand and she was off, moving into the next room.

"Mister Mallorek" Sir?" her voice boasted a confidence that manor's shelter helped to provide. The rain was coming down in more of a dribble now, carving tiny routes down the window's glass. The lights of the Marketplace shimmered beyond the manor's view, and while Delphinea knew that the lack of movement there did not promise the end of the night's fighting.

She swallowed and stepped to the window, pushing the heavy velvet curtains fully out of the way. Her eyes closed as her rain and blood smeared hands went to work. Although she tried her best not to spread the grime from her fingers to Lucien Mallorek's window pane, she did her duty as a Priestess of Scathach. Delphinea's lips moved in silent reverie as she petitioned her goddess to bless the house and its present inhabitants; her lashes clenched as she pushed forth all of the emotion she dared to part with at the moment. So great was their need for divine intervention.

As her hands finished tracing the window and her lips finished uttering their pleas, Phin turned around to face the room. She knew that there was a hallway outside, which would probably produce more rooms with more windows. After a last glance outside past the raindrops on the window, she willed herself to leave this room behind.

"Mister Mallorek" Hello?" she had not heard from the owner of the dwelling, still Delphinea pressed onwards, from room to room, blessing the windows and praying that those wards would not be tested.

The Judge walked within the grand house with a completely lost look upon her tanned face. The dripping funk of the zombies and skeletons was still fresh on her exposed skin. It was only now, now that this group of lost heroes had stopped running and seemingly come together at Barrister Mallorek's home, did Mirage allow herself to dwell upon everything which just transpired.

As her wounds sung striking tunes of pain to her brain, the Scathachian warrior was momentarily lost in her absorbed thoughts. This was just supposed to be another night patrol. A tour of the West End to ensure no further outbreaks of chaos and bloodshed. What a stroke of irony at its best! All of Hell had apparently poured down upon each and every one of them, just as assuredly as the thick rains drops plunged down from the skies.

As this random collection of individuals cautiously settled inside of Lucien's house, it seemed as though this truly was a welcomed rest; a sanctum for the time being to gather their strength and pool their ideas. The night's activities, however, were far from over, as the hollow moans of the walking dead and the sinister cackling of the chittering shadow beasts still echoed throughout Rhydin's City. A nightmare indeed, from which there would be no early waking.

Mirage saw many pensive faces in here by the illumination of the dimmer lights, but one visage she did not see readily see was Brianna's. Her mysterious friend had shown up so suddenly to aide them out there, and she even made the long run for the bridge with them all. The Scathachian thought that the sword wielding kindred had journeyed with them to Mallorek's, but she could not be entirely certain amidst the chaotic clashes with those monsters and the fury of the raging storm outside. She hoped that Bri had decided to stay here with them to make their stand...in fact Mirage solemnly prayed that she did.

Now, where in the Heavens was Barrister Mallorek" That was a damned good question seeing how the large house looked very much lived in and quite recently attended as well. They had seen a distinct crimson light spill out into the darkness like a macabre beacon from this locale. Others had seen it as well, so Mirage knew that it was not imagined or merely contrived by her battle-weary mind. Despite all of this, however, there seemed to be no living sign of the crafty Lucien Mallorek here as members of the group continued to call out his name.

Mirage's sharp eyes scanned all that was visible to her. She quickly spied the powerful Fae sorceress Jewell Ravenlock, the mighty Perceval Tucker, and her own stalwart Sisters, Issy and Delphinea. Her attention then turned to the wounded detective, Alain D'Mourir, as he spoke in rather calm tones to the very drenched Dr. Eva Luna.

Serena was absolutely sure that there were still more of their allies in here with them, for their ample group was much bigger when they all quickly piled into this residence from out of the wet night. Her broad assumption was soon confirmed as she then heard voices, other then from the faces she initially saw, conversing about the violent melee from which they had just narrowly escaped.

Suddenly, without warning, a sizeable flash of lightening ripped through the tumultuous sky, further illuminating the larger room. At least the light gave the brooding Judge a brief glimpse of the identities of the other "lost heroes" who had been mysteriously drawn together here in this oddly abandoned house. Safety in numbers" Naturally.

Yet still, even this did not settle her tensed nerves. Despite their temporary shelter within a tastefully rich home, one which would usually be heralded as a secure place of sanctuary, Mirage simply couldn't shake the ominously dread filled feeling that the very walls were about to start brutally closing in on them all.

Kacey knew exactly what she was tracking in on her work boots. Black gore and ichor mixed with the blood still running sluggishly down from the slice in her calf and left a foul mess with every step on the carpets. Not to mention the mud and rain and the rest of the cuts and scrapes she'd managed to acquire over the course of this unholy night. But the sight of those howling Black Monks sprinting towards the group, toward the house, was enough to drive any concerns for propriety from her mind. She didn't know the house or its owner, didn't recognize the name Issy had been shouting as they entered.

But she knew Eva by sight, recognized the doctor from after the Marketplace bombings, and seeing those medical supplies laid out so competently was enough to make her knees sag, briefly, in gratitude. She wiped the blades of her stolen swords carefully on a less-filthy patch of denim and started to sheath them " only to realize that she hadn't actually taken the sheaths to go with the swords. A muttered curse " violent enough " escaped her mouth before she sighed and just held them.

Alain was being treated for the injury to his arm; Kacey could wait her turn. Carefully she propped one sword against an end table and then limped over to one of the windows. She had hoped to find solid shutters " no such luck. Just curtains, heavy drapes. When she twitched the curtains back to look out into the heavy night, a hint of movement farther down the wall outside caught her eye.

Only for a moment, and not enough that she could tell what she had seen. She was too distracted by the sight of the Black Monks careening down the street, getting too close. Their howls and unearthly cries were muffled by the glass and further when she let the curtain fall back into place. Her hand had tightened around the hilt of sword, white-knuckled; she looked at it with a bit of surprise.

When had her nerve returned" That piece of herself she had thought lost forever" Or was it all illusion " would the walls open up and begin to bleed on her again? Almost desperately, chocolate-brown eyes scanned the walls of the room they were in. No signs; if she was going to break down, it wouldn't be now. Almost a gasp of breath before she carefully eased her grip on the remaining sword and left it leaning against the wall by the window.

While Eva worked on the detective and the Scathachians and the magic users went through the house warding every entry, Kacey limped into the kitchen. The back door hadn't been warded yet, but she wasn't going there for defense. No, it was something much simpler she was in search of. She found her goal with a tin of rich black tea and a large kettle. After some consideration, she also filled the largest pot she could find with more water and set it next to the kettle to boil. Coffee.

Mugs, one after another, were lined up on the counter. She was moving automatically, and an abstracted part of her mind whispered, shock, while another answered, protection, and then both were still. There were almost certainly more people in the house than there were mugs, but the set she had found in the cupboards were lined up and ready to be filled with nearly-scalding hot liquid of the drinker's choice.

Coffee and tea, the warm and homey scents drifted through the house while Kacey sat at the kitchen table. A mug was wrapped between calloused hands while chocolate brown eyes stared out the kitchen windows at the storm that had faded to unhealthy drizzle and the lightning that still seared the sky. It gave a strobe effect to the approaching monsters; flash and they were a little closer than before. Eventually she would remember her calf bleeding and the forgotten pain of it. Eventually she would scramble for her swords in the other room. Eventually. For now, she sat and cradled the mug of tea, and watched.

Plop" plop" plop'splat! Ahhhh the sound of bouncing heads. Brianna was standing in the middle of a pile of oozing meat. Those orbs were gazing forwards, in a void like trans. Now where oh where did everyone go' Left, right, left, right' Drat' Where did they go'

Yeesh Brianna just follow your nose!

Great now she was hearing things in her head. Ahh those glorious doses of joy. It was dancing through her veins! She shuddered for a moment and purred. The scent was back, streaming through her nostrils. It was glorious! Her head turned to her right and her eyes closed. A resounding growl pushed from her lips and her lips parted into a wide fanged smirk.

"Ohhh yum?" Yeah, she was going to enjoy following that scent any where!

Those vampiric toes bounced and skipped through the gathering crimson pools at her feet. She began to hum as she moved in a semi rapid pace. Her lips parted in a glee filled giggle before she spun on her toes to glance about. Seeking that scent again with her nostrils she turned to her left and followed, licking her lips as the rain poured down on her.

Her lips parted in a song while she skipped forwards in pursuit," I'm running through the rain" Da" da...dee..daa. Dee'da'dee'da'da" Following my nose" da". Da'da'da..daa..da..da" Following a scent I want to lick?" Snickering madly to herself, and turning now with a spin to her right.

Either she had lost her mind orrrr". She was lost in that mysterious 'la la land' again. It was obviously a mixture of both at this point. Her lips parted and she shivered when she spotted the vile undead baring her way. Almost as if pleasure was coursing through her body. Brianna grinned for a moment and simply skipped on forwards. Her vampire's strength doing the work for her, since her blades were now secured upon her back.

Nails dug and tore at the dead flesh that moved in her way, not that she was having violent issues to begin with. She smelled like the undead herself, and her pulse was un-existent. She was completely gone beyond all comprehension. That sweet scent still playing in her nostrils the whole way.

There was a rumble from her as she skid to a stop. Big eyes peering up at the grand house before her and her jaw dropping," Bwahahaha!" This was just getting more and more interesting. Tripping like an insane drug addict, ha! The kindred didn't care up to this point what happened. Her body wiggled and she struck a pose," Hooahhh!"

Spinning on her long toes she 'tra-la-laed' onwards; moving in through the door, prior to Jewell's spell, and then spotting the 'beauty' she had followed with her keen nose. If it was possible, her jaw dropped lower and she kept her methodical pace over to Mirage's side. Her eyes were probing over the house with mild curiosity. It was all just too"creepy.

Brianna snickered once more and turned to Mirage while she waggled her dark brows," Cozy." Spinning on her toes she then gave a slow, yet very hidden glance over to the tall Judge before lowly humming. Her hair bounced over her shoulder as she sprang forwards like a curious puppy, eager to explore," Mirage" Is it a bit cold in here?" Bri turned to look at the Scathachian and grinned; just staring at Mirage as if she knew something the Judge didn't, before her expression finally turned into quite a satisfied look.

Without saying another word she glanced around for a moment, her strong arms folding behind her back. A smirk now on her lips, Brianna moved a bit further into the house," And what are we now looking for here?? Was asked as she hummed softly, eager to get on with the next bit of the show.

"Okay...Who ordered the dead people?" The voice was unmistakable, even though its sudden utterance surprised Isuelt. Her dark head swiveled toward the voice and her suspicions were confirmed.

"Great Hera!" She quickly made her way to the woman who was now standing with Mirage and Brianna, a hand outstretched. "How did you get in?" Her brown eyes were already making their way to look toward the window where Jewell was standing. After answering her own question, she looked to the assassin, checking her over for injuries. She was sopping wet, like the rest of them and stunk like the grave, like the rest of them. But Hera was without some of the blood, cuts and scrapes that members of the group were presently dealing with. "You okay?" She offered to her friend as she turned in time to see Scorpion coming up the stairs. Her lips flinched into a smile for him as she silently nodded her head toward her old boss and present lover.

Hera had asked how she could help, and besides Trixie, who was unaccounted for as of yet, Isuelt knew that Hera was their best bet to scope out possible rooftop escape routes. "You can take Mirage here and try to figure out how in the hell we're going to get out of here if we don't find Mallorek," she paused. "Or if we do find him and he's got no covert way out. I'm thinking rooftop, since you were successful at getting in." She sighed heavily, she hated the feeling of being cornered or trapped. And that was precisely the feeling that was beginning to surface. "I think Jewell's got the upstairs pretty much sewn up. I'm going to head back down and see to the injured, reassess our forces."

When she got down there, she would be ever grateful for the normalcy that Kacey was trying to instill in the group by putting on the kettle and coffee.

The bridge..., now why hadn't she thought of that before? Waylaid by numerous imps and undead, the dragoness hovered just a moment to catch her breath, ice blue eyes following those below on the bridge, the skeletons, imps and zombies just kept coming.

Soon, jaws parted wide, and she let loose a blast of icefire, aiming not at the foe, but the bridge itself. Soon there was a slick coating of ice that easily could trip up any that tried crossing, a diversion if any that might buy some time.

A toothy grin formed momentarilly as she watched one zombie topple into another, sending the ranks down like pushed dominoes, turning then, she glided toward the last place she'd seen Kerri and company, eyes squinting as lightning streaked overhead.