For a human she was old, well into her sixties and it showed. Crow's feet and laugh lines proved she'd worried and celebrated the ups and downs in her life. Her hair was a curly cap of iron grey that lay close to her skull. Moss green eyes were clouded and filming.

But her step was light, balanced on the balls of her feet. Her spine still straight, her arms still strong enough to wield, and for the most part control, the iron banded cudgel she preferred. The banded maille she'd taken loving care of for the last few decades may not have fit as well as it had when she'd been in her prime, but it still did the job.

The group she moved through the city with worked well enough together, more than half their number having seen combat at one point or another in their previous lives. Made it much easier to communicate through hand signals when most of those around her knew what she was saying, and could reply in kind. Despite the sound of boot soles on cobble stones, the quiet jingle of rings or chain, or the soft creak of well worn leather, they moved in relative silence from one place to the next.

In their wake they'd left more than one group of "Cultists" in varying degrees of incapacitated. Bound hand and foot, stuffed in barrels or dumpsters, unconscious, nursing injuries that, while not life threatening, prevented them from rejoining the fray. The defenders hadn't come out unscathed, though they'd lost less of their own than the enemy had.

Constantly in motion, they'd only stopped long enough to engage, and defeat before moving on. Now though, they were static, forming a wall in front of a small shop where girls of all races could spend an afternoon, an evening, playing dress up with the most elaborate of costume closets and accessory chests, and have catered tea parties with their friends and families.

The children were gone now, as were their parents, leaving behind that odd candy smell that always seemed to accompany children of any race. And a human woman, screaming her way through the contractions that turned her belly to concrete, and wracked her small frame. The shop's owner hadn't been able to move, to leave, when the Cleanse began, hours of hard labor having left her too weak to escape. With blood on their hands, those participating in the Cleanse weren't all that picky about who they hurt, or killed.

The old warrior looked up from her place between the woman's legs and nodded at the men who'd put aside their axes to let her brace her feet against their shoulders. "One more now girl, one more and it'll be done."

Outside, metal rang on metal and men shouted, screamed and fell, while inside another life came wailing into the world.

Tiana

She could feel the blood magic pooling, feel the pull and throb of it against the edge of her reach. The honey haired woman blew out a breath and savagely yanked her will away from the yearning lean of it.

"All right now, you younglings no one can get in unless they're let in, unless they're led in so don't for the love of the Gods. Don't let anyone in now." At the rising protests she let them have their voice. Let them voice their reluctance and denial of the edict.

Then she cut them off with quiet, firm finality. "I mean it. They're killing each other out there, and I won't lose any of you to it. " One by one grey eyes met theirs and held for a heart beat. "Losing any of you to this would destroy me, would hurt all of us. But me specifically it would destroy, and it took me too long to get up off my knees and remember what I am." They all knew, for she hadn't kept the circumstances of her renewal secret from them.

"It's selfish on quite a few levels, and you'll have to be okay with that. We found our way here, all of us in our time and manner. We're family, and we serve a purpose to each other,, the world, and ourselves. If we're dead, we can't help anyone."

The younglings didn't like it, not one bit, but they'd listen and obey, if only to keep from hurting her and the others rather than from caution.

"They can't get in if we don't let them, but they won't be here forever, we won't be penned forever. Our Lady is out there fighting to save and protect who and what she can, we'll do protect and comfort after. Get the bundles together, keep the soup pots warming and the bread baking.

"By morning, Gods I hope this madness snuffs itself by then. By morning there'll be wounded, and worse. People are losing their homes and worse tonight. We'll do what we can, no matter how little, to ease some of the stress of wondering what next from them."

With pride she watched as they scattered, hurried off to see to their tasks, to tend to their duties. And she sagged a little when the last of them disappeared from sight. "Would that I could have kept you, all of you, from any of this. From anything like this."

The eldest of the lostlings, the first of those who'd come to her for shelter and family, clucked his tongue. "Lady, that's like wishin' to hold back a clap'a thunder in a paper bag. This is Rhy'din, too many people do stupid real well 'round here for that kinda regret. Let's get doin' our part, mebbe if somethin' like this happens again it won't crack off so hard or bad."

He and a half dozen others adjusted the straps of their kits, double checking the fit and heft before turning their attention back to her. The universal symbol for healers and aid neatly emblazoned on their jackets and on the flaps of their bags they made a dashing, proud, and hopeful sight.

"Yes, let's get to it then." Her lips curved again, and joy and wonder spread through her. These were her children, these were her family. And they were all the pride of her heart.

She opened a portal to one of the field hospitals in one of the worst hit areas and, after her troop filed through, she crossed the threshold.

The noise of it, the horror choked her throat, and had nearly all of her kids blanching or going green and stepping back. But, even as she reached out to the nearest, the green haired girl straightened, shook herself, and knelt down next to a man whose eyes were glazed with pain and shock.

The group, after reporting to the medics in charge, moved through the wards, doing what they could with their growing abilities and skill. And Tiana felt an answering surge of power when she reached out, kneeling to lay hands on a woman whose arm had been beaten to a pulp, when the woman she prayed to answered.

It was going to be a very long night.

Tiana

She'd been right, all too right.

By morning the majority of the fighting had died down through the city though there were still pockets of rage flaring up like a fire driven underground. The stream of wounded, dead and dying slowed to a trickle, but even that taxed the support crews who'd been fighting their own battles during the night. One by one the Lostlings she'd brought with her lost their fight with exhaustion, sleeping where they sat or lay. More than one still had a hand on their last patient as though to comfort each other.

Tiana felt hollowed out, wrung dry and pounded flat when she straightened. A breath of pain hissed through her teeth as she knuckled the small of her back where the bone deep ache pulsed in its own rhythm. Her grey eyes were clouded, blurry as she laid the back of a hand against the brow of the young man she'd spent the last hour coaxing back from the brink.

When she let herself look around she felt a painful mix of pride and sorrow. Pride that her Lostlings had so freely given so much of themselves to comforting the survivors, even now the younglings were moving through the make-shift wards with soup and bread for those still awake, vouchers, duffles, and pamphlets for those who'd lost their homes or businesses, a shoulder for those who'd lost more. Even with the stunning amount of clerics and mages the city had to offer, they still hadn't been able to call every person who crossed back. Too many had lost their lives tonight. And that was only the outer skin of the sorrow.

Briefly she leaned into the warm, comforting hand that settled on her shoulder. Let her eyes drift closed as a hum sounded in her throat at the quiet words of support and easing, "rest now. We'll do what we can."

She jolted when recognition came a moment later.

There were others like her hidden in plain sight or slipping intentionally through the gaping chasms that Rhy'din called cracks. Other Lost, Forgotten, or Dead gods who'd found themselves here through whatever manner for whatever purposes.

The pride surged, tangled with throat choking joy when she recognized other Outskirters weaving through the beds, taking up places beside the newly arriving wounded to heal. To do what they could without thought to support or consequences. Without consideration to favor or prayers. They gave of their own power when they had to.