<span style="font-weight: bold"><span style="font-size: 125%; line-height: 116%;">Soluunar</span></span><br/><br/><span style="font-size: 110%; line-height: 116%;"><span style="font-style: italic"><br/>Sounds of laughter and celebration reached the small campfire, but the two men seated on the ground to either side of it paid the revelry little mind. Drunken shouts and snatches of song drifted over to them on the night air, but Barth didn't acknowledge any of it as he pulled the wooden skewer away from the flames so as to pick at the bits of rabbit that had been cooked on it. <br/><br/>"You put a lot of people at risk today." <br/><br/>The prince looked up from the fire and peered into the other man's face. Even sparsely lit by the flickering light as it was, the glare on his friend's gaunt, bearded visage was obvious. <br/><br/><span style="color: #FFFF00">"Don't start this now, Olin."</span><br/><br/>"It needs to be started," the other man replied, his greying mustache hitching up with aggravation. It was a perfect match for the thin but long hair that framed his face to either side. "It needs to be said. Barth, you are the leader of a military force. You are the only man Linden's soldiers will follow. You must be harder!" <br/><br/><span style="color: #FFFF00">"I will not beg your pardon for saving lives." </span><br/><br/>Olin stood up, both fists clenched so hard that the arms attached to them were visibly shaking. Barth spared him the most cursory of glances before switching his attention to the tiny potato that had been stuck onto the sliver of wood so as to introduce some kind of variety to the meal. It was most definitely an occasion for celebration, as vegetables were a rarity in the lands south of Linden that had been ravaged by Tutari flames and steel. <br/><br/>"Saving lives, possibly at the cost of many more! You wasted valuable time protecting a farm containing fewer than twenty people, man! We were almost too late to lend support to our legion by the river. We could have lost hundreds of pe-"<br/><br/><span style="color: #FFFF00">"We didn't," </span>the prince replied around a mouthful of potato. <span style="color: #FFFF00">"We won the day, we held firm, and we also didn't turn our backs on a group of women and children. Innocent people who were in need of aid."</span><br/><br/>"And if the battle had gone differently? If we hadn't arrived in time? Ausan could have fallen. What then?" <br/><br/><span style="color: #FFFF00">"Unlikely. Ausan is twice the soldier I am." </span><br/><br/>"Our people don't need you to be a soldier, Barth. They need you to be a leader! You must be able to make the hard decisions, the difficult choices. The people of Linden count on you to do what is best for them, and sometimes what is best is to let a few die so that many more can be saved!" <br/><br/>Barth pulled a bit of charred meat from the stick, the last piece, before throwing the wood into the fire. He chewed slowly, feeling the other man's eyes on him but not returning his gaze. <br/><br/><span style="color: #FFFF00">"I am not that kind of leader." </span><br/><br/>"You must change. You have to, if we are to stand a chance in this war." <br/><br/><span style="color: #FFFF00">"An alliance with Lebidan is what would give us a chance." </span><br/><br/>The other man snorted, sitting back down on the other side of the fire, the anger in his face fading somewhat but the irritation remaining evident even in the inconsistent light of the embers. <br/><br/>"That will never happen. The Tutar are a long way from their lands, and your father-"<br/><br/><span style="color: #FFFF00">"-is a fool. Aye. But one day the Tutar will not be solely our problem. One day Lebidan will have to face them, and they will want us at their side. In the meantime, I shall remain the man I am, Olin, and I will continue to do whatever I can to protect those in need of my help. I will not be the cold, uncaring leader you covet." <br/></span><br/>Olin picked up his cup and took a deep drink from it, allowing several drops of water to spill from the edge and fall through his beard like liquid pearls. When he was done he wiped his mouth with the back of a hand and tossed the cup aside, his eyes locked onto those of the prince. <br/><br/>"Then you will die. And you'll take the rest of us with you." </span></span><br/><br/><br/>Barth shook himself, wondering why he was being assailed by the past at such an inopportune moment. He recalled Ausan's comment about his horse and shook his head with a humorless smile. He didn't think hers would've fared any better, though perhaps it might have thrown him off a little more gently.<br/><br/>Even with the aid of the Gods on their side, the Drorghans were a long way from being removed from relevance. A third of their number lay dead upon the field, but the remnant were as dangerous as ever. If anything they were even<span style="font-style: italic">deadlier</span>now, in the face of the Godly powers opposing them.<br/><br/>Barth wanted nothing more than to be by Ausan's side, putting steel to stoney flesh, fighting alongside their immortal allies, but he could not afford to focus on anything other than the big picture. Hearing soft footfalls to either side of him, Barth became aware of the three Gods as they joined him. Haman watched them nervously with his lone remaining eye, as the prince looked to the bearded man with the staff.<br/><br/><span style="color: #FFFF00">"I need a vantage point." </span><br/><br/>"If doom approacheth, better to watch its progress than to sit in blind anticipation," the God responded with a nod, and then in a flash of blinding blue light Barth found himself rocketing up towards the sky above.<br/><br/>He gasped, feeling the air rushing down past him and into his eyes as his stomach fought to catch up with his rapid upward progress; as a child he'd dreamt of flying, but this was not how he had envisioned it. Perhaps if the God had provided him with some kind of warning he wouldn't have felt quite so nauseated as he finally stopped, feeling oddly weightless as he stared down at the field around and below him - unfortunately, he was so stunned by the speed of his ascent he barely registered any of it.<br/><br/>He blinked, shaking himself, knowing that he wouldn't be up there for much longer (he knew it was unlikely, but he wondered if the God would just drop him from the sky and allow him to paint the ground below with his life's blood) and he squinted through watery eyes, peering down at the carnage below.<br/><br/>There were around ten of the monsters still in commission, and it seemed that their enraged confusion regarding the battle's unexpected shift had spurred them forward. The prince looked on as they drew closer, their roars shaking the air itself as the defending mortal forces quavered in light of the horrific charge. But something about the charge itself seemed strange to him. The smaller figures on the ground, the humans, they were moving with incredible speed compared to what he'd seen earlier. The charging monsters were much slower by comparison, and even the massive Tutari horde behind them was appeared rather sluggish. His eyes narrowed as he saw a flurry of movement towards the rear of their formation, moving in the direction of the tree-line.<br/><br/><span style="color: #FFFF00"><span style="font-style: italic">Verana</span></span>, he thought with a pang of worry. She was smart enough to know when to pull back, but he couldn't help but feel concern for the younger of the Maidens as he went back to studying the enemy force. Another Drorghan was down, and yet another was being assailed by the flying Gods whilst a third was contending with glowing figures that were too small and wearing too dark of a cloth to be spotted with any clarity from the height at which he hovered.<br/><br/>Seven remained on their feet; four of them were leading their charge, nearing the mortals' front lines, and the remaining three hung back, not hesitant but simply moving slower either due to injury, fatigue or some shared sense of caution. He knew Ausan was in the area, along with her Godly support, and as he turned back to the front lines he noticed something that had escaped his scrutiny. He was staring down at it, marveling at the sight, when he began to drop. He kept his eyes shut tightly, refusing to succumb to the urge to look down. Thankfully he hadn't been dropped from a half a mile up as he'd feared, and his boots hit the ground very gently.<br/><br/>He straightened up on unsteady legs, offering the Wind God a grunt of thanks before turning to regard the ponytailed one that had addressed him upon their arrival.<br/><br/>"Has your view given you some insight, Prince Krinwulf?"<br/><br/><span style="color: #FFFF00">"Aye."</span><br/><br/>"Shall you require aid for the Drorghans that approach?"<br/><br/>He turned back to the bearded God, eyes tarrying for a moment on the staff in his grip.<span style="color: #FFFF00">"No. I'd prefer you focus on helping the Demigods that are fighting with Ausan. The Tutar that are creeping up now, I'd like them contained for the moment as well." </span><br/><br/>The response came alongside narrowed eyes and the twitch of a beard.<br/><br/>"What of the ones in front?"<br/><br/><span style="color: #FFFF00">"Soluunar will handle them. Along with sharp steel and good fortune."</span>He turned to the woman, observing the twinkling eyes beneath the hood.<span style="color: #FFFF00">"If Lady Luck chooses to oblige me, that is."</span><br/><br/>The smile she gave him was all the confirmation he needed, though she looked uncertain as he turned to regard the soldiers arrayed around him.<br/><br/><span style="color: #FFFF00">"With me!"</span>he shouted, his longsword in the air as a cry rose up around him. Haman and a group of chosen swordsmen, a contingent of Lebi Knights, and a grouping of Sisters including Sen charged forward behind the prince as they advanced towards the oncoming assault. Over one trench, past another, and finally as they reached the third he halted them, ordering them to fan out into a line as the oncoming Drorghans cut through the distance remaining between them with alarming speed.<br/><br/>To an outsider, Linden's prince would have looked nothing shy of insane, or perhaps he would have appeared to have been afflicted with some combination of heavy delusion and a desire for a quick death, but what Barth saw while soaring high above the field was something that he knew they could use to great effect, Gods willing. Or Goddess willing, rather.<br/><br/>Defeating the beasts with the power of Gods? A rallying point for the troops, no doubt. A lift to morale in every direction. But Lindenian and Lebi steel converging to slay the monsters? Mortal sweat and muscle besting the most fearsome foes any of them had ever encountered? No soldier could fail to be inspired to new heights by such a sight. As uplifting and emboldening as the image of the Gods appearing in time to save them all was, Barth knew in his heart that nothing would be able to match<span style="font-style: italic">them</span>saving them all.<br/><br/>Grey skin, the hue of old rocks, visibly just as hard; Drorghans up close were a sight beyond description. He could see the reptilian eyes that screamed of a fallen ancestry, could see the hatred in them, could feel the light spray of spittle that flew from their enormous, hideous maws and traveled upon the wind to pepper the resistance. He felt the ground tremble beneath his boots, could hear the haggard breaths of the men and women to either side of him, could smell the metallic notes of blood and death on the air.<br/><br/>Fear, too. There was fear in abundance, all around him. But although their foes towered over them, the line held firm. Whether because they believed, or because they did not think their commander would so eagerly lead them all to ruin, he did not know. They were afraid, yet they didn't move as the four mountains of flesh and fang, wielding boulders hewn from Soluunar's deepest reaches moved to engage them.<br/><br/>From high above, he'd watched the armies, studied the movements of the enemy - but he also studied the field. From the ground it was impossible to tell, but from high above he saw what was hidden to everyone else. A massive expanse of land on the far side of the third trench, the ground eroded and worn from tremendous weight and endless waterings of blood (among other contributions), was lower than the rest of it. A tremendous sinkhole was forming, and the distinctiveness of the difference between the lowering stretch of field and its surroundings was as subtle on the ground as it was jarring from the sky. All they needed was the timing to be right.<br/><br/><span style="color: #FFFF00">"Roll!"</span>he shouted, brandishing his sword, feeling a heat rising in him that he hadn't experienced for the duration of the battle. Aside from the brief struggle for his life he had yet to fight, had yet to play the role of soldier, but that was over now. He didn't look back towards the Goddess, but Barth knew she'd done it.<br/><br/><span style="color: #FFFF00">"They are tall,"</span>he said loudly enough to be heard down the line in either direction, as the Drorghans hefted their manacles.<span style="color: #FFFF00">"Tall, but the world we fight for shall bring them down to size!"</span><br/><br/>Just as the monsters reached them, boulder arching high into the air with all the speed of instant death, the ground collapsed beneath the Drorghans. Roars of malice and rage turned to shrieks of confusion and alarm as Soluunar swallowed them up; they fell to roughly the height of a tall mortal, though their boulders still swung upon their initial descent.<br/><br/>Barth sidestepped one, and with a shout he jumped on top of the crude flail, the frenzy of battle on him as he shouted words he couldn't even identify, his feet picking a confident path from the large rock to the chain links, and up the links to the shoulder of the creature that was only then starting to scrabble desperately against the dirt.<br/><br/><span style="color: #FFFF00">"Mind the ground!"</span>he screamed, hacking, slashing and then thrusting the long blade into the skull of the Drorghan even as someone else assailed the head from the other side.<span style="color: #FFFF00">"Watch the arms, they can still fight!" </span><br/><br/>They could indeed; a Sister and two men, one of them a Knight, were slammed to the ground by a single boulder with a sickening thud that made it clear none of them would survive, while further down the line a claw nearly liberated Haman's head from its body, instead impaling the unfortunate man who'd been standing right next to him. But they were prevailing.<br/><br/>The line of mortals was cutting down the crippled beasts, aided by the very lands they fought to protect. In every direction cheers and roars of elation were rising up as the monsters perished; Barth, perched on the shoulder of the dead Drorghan as if he were a climber standing atop a conquered mountain, could see the last three going down as well. A cyclone ripped through a column of Tutar, flinging them back and preserving the temporary calm that had fallen on the forefront.<br/><br/>It was a quick trot back to where he'd initiated the counterattack; a soldier wearing the colors of House Garth nodded as he approached, and Barth recognized him as one of Jahal's men.<br/><br/><span style="color: #FFFF00">"Yes?"</span><br/><br/>"Lord Resuran sent word from the camp. The Heart Guard is here."<br/><br/>Barth stared at him for a moment, waiting for him to begin laughing at his joke - when it didn't happen, he blinked.<br/><br/><span style="color: #FFFF00">"The best shock cavalry left on Soluunar? What opportune timing." </span><br/><br/>He turned to Lydia, but the Goddess only shrugged with a smile.<br/><br/>Looking back to the messenger, he clapped him on his back, nodding behind him to where he knew his Lord waited.<br/><br/><span style="color: #FFFF00">"The time has come for the cavalry. Make sure Lord Resuran and the Captains know: they are to keep right and left beyond the third trench, lest the horses be swallowed whole." </span><br/><br/>He heard a familiar neigh, and turned to see that Haman, atop his own horse, had brought along Ausan's, leading it by the reins. The prince quickly swung himself up into the saddle, idly realizing that he'd never sheathed the sword he held, still coated in the blood of the Drorghan. He patted the great animal's neck with his free hand, smiling as it nickered softly with recognition. He'd need to make sure the horse lived, lest he endure the nagging of a lifetime.<br/><br/><span style="color: #FFFF00">"It is time to finish this. We ride!" </span><br/><br/><div><hr style="height:2px; width:100%; border:0; color: white;background:white;"/></div><br/><span style="font-weight: bold"><span style="font-size: 125%; line-height: 116%;">Upper Regions</span></span><br/><br/>"Open your eyes, Skyhand, for judgement has come."<br/><br/>Rolyn obliged, a smile on his face as he regarded the other members of the Circle. He was seated in a chair near his favorite fountain, but the quiet solitude of the garden had been disturbed by what felt like half of the Upper Regions' population.<br/><br/><span style="color: #0080FF">"Has it, now? What can I help you with, Malinar?" </span><br/><br/>Malinar's weathered visage darkened in response to the calm response he garnered.<br/><br/>"You know why we are here. There is<span style="font-style: italic">no way</span>the Elder Gods on Soluunar went there of their own free will. You have used treachery and deceit to get around the Circle's will!"<br/><br/>Aside from the entirety of the Circle, the Hand, Pyrexus, was also in attendance, as well as a number of Elder Gods and Goddesses who watched from the fringe, not coming too close but watching with great interest.<br/><br/><span style="color: #0080FF">"Nonsense. Elder Gods travel below all the time. Why, Weylyn's realm is Soluunar and he seldom leaves it." <br/></span><br/>"I will not stand here and bandy words with you like we are sitting across a damned table from each other, Skyhand! Even less so now that you have shown you care not for our policies or decisions! We demand that you stop influencing time on Soluunar at once."<br/><br/><span style="color: #0080FF">"Regardless of what you may believe about the Elder Gods and their motivations for venturing below, they are upon Soluunar and are therefore under my protection," </span>he said, the faint white glow still outlining his body as he continued to lend his aid to those fighting for their lives against the forces of the Ravine.<span style="color: #0080FF">"Thus it was written in our Laws. A Member of the Circle shall oversee the safety of the Upper Regions' citizens at all times. Even within the mortal realm, if it is a large group. All who are assembled here know our Laws. Does anyone doubt my claim?" </span><br/><br/>There was silence as several members of the Circle looked at each other, uncertainty blossoming in their features, but it ended when Malinar took a step forward, his entire body trembling with fury. For the first time, Rolyn considered the fact that the God might actually try to kill him.<br/><br/>"You wriggled around the damn Laws, and now you hide behind them!"<br/><br/><span style="color: #0080FF">"Anger cannot undo, Malinar." <br/></span><br/>Rolyn stood up, eye to eye with the man that was once his friend. He regarded the rest of them, eyes roving to each member of the Circle in turn until finally returning to the God of Destruction.<br/><br/><span style="color: #0080FF">"What is it you govern over? What purpose do you serve? What power do you possess, if you will not use it to aid those in peril? What use is there for Gods at all, if there exists nothing for them to protect?"<br/></span><br/>Lorkhan and Valiya nodded, the former visibly shamed by his words, and they moved to stand on either side of him in a display of their support; heads all over the garden were now nodding in agreement, mindsets having been changed in light of Rolyn's words.<br/><br/>Freiya merely watched him blankly, her eyes like blue chips of ice, and Malinar glanced to her for a moment before turning back to the God of Time, a dangerous calmness having settled over his features.<br/><br/>"You're right, Skyhand."<br/><br/>He turned and walked away, and Rolyn watched as Gods and Goddesses scrambled to move out of his path as he exited the garden. His final words still reached the silver haired Circle God's ears as he vanished from view, though they were spoken in scarcely more than a whisper.<br/><br/>"Anger cannot undo…"<br/><br/><div><hr style="height:2px; width:100%; border:0; color: white;background:white;"/></div><br/><span style="font-weight: bold"><span style="font-size: 125%; line-height: 116%;">Soluunar</span></span><br/><br/>The longbow's string whipped forward, a movement and accompanying sound that was echoed behind and to either side of Verana by countless others of its kind as the flurry of arrows found their targets. Demonic croaks of death sputtered out from the ground under them; the Maiden flicked a pair of grey eyes to either side and signaled before a well practiced hand, adorned with soft leather and thin steel plates, seized another arrow from the quiver at her waist with automatic precision.<br/><br/>Another line of arrows cut through the dim light, whistling a soft, deadly harmony with one another as a second group of axe wielding Tutar stumbled, feathered shafts protruding from necks and eye sockets. Hearing the sound of metal scraping against wood somewhere behind her, Verana Snowblade turned and glared at Borim and the heavily armored men surrounding him. The Lord Knight's weapon was still sheathed at his side, but the others had swords drawn as they stood awkwardly in the gaps between the trees behind the archers. They were out of their element, on unsteady ground and with no room to spread out, but then again they didn't need to be there anyway. Verana scowled, thinking back to Barth. She didn't need any<span style="font-style: italic">protection</span>, or whatever it was these blowhards thought they could provide for her. She knew it, and so did the Prince.<br/><br/><span style="color: #FF8080">"Be silent,"</span>she whispered, but by then the Tutar under the ridge they stood upon had become aware of their position. Thick, heavy spears were whizzing by, skewering trees and skittering along the ground at their feet. One bowman, a man named Tobal, took one to the leg that nearly severed the limb from his body; he shrieked as he fell, blood spurting from a horrific wound, as the other archers began to scramble for the cover behind them. Up ahead a number of Tutar began the climb, fangs bared in malicious outrage as they pushed through trees and clawed at the slope.<br/><br/>Verana felt the wind of a spear as it nearly grazed her left cheek, but she didn't move as she nocked another arrow. Less than a second later it was entering the eye of the foremost climber, and then a second later another was glancing off the decrepit chestplate of another behind it. She swore under her breath, knowing that she had picked the most inopportune moment to start missing.<br/><br/><span style="color: #FF8080">"Support!"</span>she barked at Borim and his men, and then she was slinging her bow over a shoulder and drawing her broadsword as the archers between her and the red bearded man moved forward again, some with shortbows out whilst others had swords in their grips.<br/><br/>Verana hefted the blade that had once belonged to her father, and though she did not have the time to look for it she knew the sheath at her side from which the weapon had come displayed the plunging falcon that marked the crest of a house long destroyed. A house whose name she had abandoned, to replace with one that was all her own. She raised the weapon and prepared a vicious slash in the direction of a Tutari neck just as the sound of heavy footfalls behind her reached her ears. It seemed that Barth was right after all. The Knight and his men would actually prove useful for a cha-<br/><br/>The ground beneath her feet suddenly shifted, and the Tutar she'd been about to decapitate disappeared as the ridge underneath transformed itself into a landslide of dirt and rocks that carried the demons back the same way they'd come.<br/><br/>The sword fell from Verana's grip as she seized a tree branch, the ground under her slipping away with alarming speed; the archers shrieked as they tumbled downward, and before she could do much more than stare helplessly as they crashed into the waiting trees and the flailing Tutar below, the limb she held onto snapped.<br/><br/>She hit the slope on her rear end, but then managed to contort her body into something of a half-standing position, the undersides of her boots skidding along the surface as she pivoted just in time to avoid crashing into a tree trunk the color of old iron. She hit level ground and rolled several times before springing up to her feet, shifting a lock of vivid red hair from in front of her face as her quick eyes scanned the area.<br/><br/>It took only a cursory glance to see that retreat was the only option. In the immediate vicinity there were more Tutar than she could count, and although many of them were disoriented and caught at unawares by the landslide, more were streaming over from the field of battle less than a quarter mile away, adding their hulking frames to those that were already assembled in the area.<br/><br/>Verana heard strangled shouts and turned to see that the other archers, the ones who hadn't been able to avoid the trees waiting at the bottom of the slope, were now being taken apart by the Tutar who had survived the fall.<br/><br/>She grabbed her longbow and shot a hand to the quiver at her side, only to find that there was but a single arrow remaining to her; undoubtedly the rest had tumbled out during her unexpected descent. There was a snarl to her right and she caught a flicker of movement in time to throw herself backward as the jagged blade of the black scimitar came whipping down where she'd been a fraction of a second earlier.<br/><br/>Her back hit the ground and she bent her spine, bringing her legs up and over until she had completed a full backward roll. As she straightened up the Tutar turned to face her, spittle flying from its mouth as it sifted through sharp, broken fangs. The saliva was accompanied by a projection of its grating voice as it snarled in her direction; she answered it with an arrow to the eye that provided an abrupt end to its monologue.<br/><br/>She sprang forward, and before the heavy corpse could collide with the ground she yanked the arrow back out of the eye and turned smoothly on the spot, putting it back to the string and firing the bloody projectile into a new eye in one fluid motion, dropping another Tutar just as another four converged on her position. She leaped towards the flailing demon and withdrew the arrow yet again, this time jerking to one side so as to evade a downward slash from a scimitar before raising the bow again, pivoting her body as she sent the scarlet arrow forth from the string.<br/><br/>This time, close to her target as she was, the arrow exploded out of the back of the creature's skull, careening off into the distance as it escaped its usefulness to her.<br/><br/>Even more of the monsters followed behind them, as they continued to stream into the area from the direction of the battlefield; they were drawn by the bloodshed, intent on stamping out the single ripple of resistance that had fallen into their midst.<br/><br/>She stared up at what remained of the ridge above; she loathed Borim Garth, and she would always resent the part of the Prince that made him think she needed to be looked after like she was some sort of child, but the Lebi Knight and his men were now her only hope of getting out of the situation alive.<br/><br/>She saw them, standing at the top, staring down at her; Borim looked at her, before turning to regard the oncoming horde, with a blank, unreadable expression firmly in place across his features. After a moment he motioned to his men who backed away alongside him, moving back towards the trees.<br/><br/>Abandoning her.<br/><br/>More than shock, more than the fear of death… Verana felt nothing but cold fury at the cowardly betrayal. Dying meant no longer standing at the side of her Sisters, no longer aiding her country. Never seeing Barth or Ausan again.<br/><br/><span style="color: #FF8080">"Naiya's wrath take you,"</span>she breathed as she turned away from where the cravens had vanished from sight.<br/><br/>With a shout of desperate rage she drove the end of her longbow into the face of the foremost attacker, before withdrawing it and slamming the broad side of the weapon into the side of its head with one hand even as she drew her long knife with the other. The bow didn't do much, and with no more arrows she dropped it to the ground having no immediate use for it, but the blade was where she chose to place the remnant of her dwindling hopes.<br/><br/>It was a sharp but sturdy length of steel she had acquired not long after she took to the field; the hilt was carved out of smooth, white stone, and the blade itself looked strangely white whenever it caught sunlight upon its length. It was the origin of her name, the name that replaced the one she had once carried in a former life.<br/><br/>She drove that same blade into the Tutar's throat before throwing herself to one side as his fellows converged on her. She slashed at a bestial face, inciting a roar but doing little more than infuriating it as a spear narrowly missed her coming from the other direction. More of the demons were coming; soon it would be her against twelve, and then fifteen, and then thirty - their numbers, just as they'd been before, were overwhelming.<br/><br/>Her vision became nothing more than a series of frenzied blurs as she moved with the kind of quickness and agility she had never witnessed from herself before, evading blows coming from every side as she fought without conscious thought. She was moving with speed beyond belief, as if it came from the Gods themselves, but it wasn't enough. A sturdy thrust ended the Tutar she'd injured, but there was no time to recover before the next one attacked.<br/><br/>A wicked blade tore through her light armor at the left shoulder, cutting into the flesh and leaving a deep gash as it continued its motion; she cried out in pain, bringing up the knife to parry another sword that slashed at her neck, forcing it to glance off and upward but unable to stop it completely as it cut into her temple. The knife fell from nerveless fingers just as the third attack landed.<br/><br/>She looked down as the scimitar punched through the bottom segment of her thin, flexible chest plate as if it were nothing more than wool. She felt it burst out of her back, impaling her as she tasted blood in her mouth; the world around her darkened with a velocity akin to blowing out the only candle in a tent, as she fell heavily to her knees. The blade in her was roughly withdrawn, yet the brutal act accompanied no pain whatsoever as Verana Snowblade exhaled for the last time.<br/><br/><span style="color: #FF8080">"Linden,"</span>she whispered, as she fell forward and embraced the surface of Soluunar.