<div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">group initiatives</div><div class="spoiler_body">Enemy initiative: 4, Friendly initiative:17</div></div><br/>As Malia and Mina are thrown onto the stage, supine and struggling to keep their knees before their tormentors, most of the crowd gapes and stares, emitting a cacophony of noises of appreciation at the movements and abuse.  By Nephele's end of the stage, the stranger flicks his gaze over where Ox has begun to pace, and though he seems to ignore him for now, it's apparent he's not... disinterested.  Ox stands out in that he won't take this display sitting down, despite not, for the moment at least, desiring to deal out his share of abuse.<br/><br/>Regardless, the stranger seems to continue ignoring Crow completely, while taking another long pull from his bottle and glancing once more at Nephele with a twinkle in his stone-blue eyes.  "It's about to get interesting," he says, flicking a quick, nonchalant wink with long lashes before turning his gaze back to Malia.<br/><br/><i> The dark-haired girl, signs of suffering and humiliation laid bare upon her lovely form, rolls her shoulders up from their weary slump to speak.  "To your first question... her."</i><br/><br/>The stranger seems rather surprised at that, but only for a brief moment.  He shrugs, rests his bottle on the table, and rubs his palms together.  Whispering softly to himself,<i>"Ath'al or'e mrat fer'ghail,"</i>he points one finger at the stage, crosses his hands together, provides a gesture of... twisting?  Turning? ... his fingertips as if pivoting tools, and then, with one hand open, he raps upon that flat palm with his opposing knuckles.<i> Tat tat.</i>[Knowledge: Arcana or similar available]<br/><br/><i> "As for your second question... <b>you.</b>"</i>(https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0Fju9o8BVJ8) There is an audible click, subtle and metallic, as the manacle pins are released, freeing Malia's hands with a sudden jangle of iron between her feet.<br/><br/>Without pausing, the supple muscle of Malia's thighs, calves, and abdomen grow taut as she springs to life, launching herself like a cat into the looming form of the skull-faced Walker.  In that short distance, her bare feet and toes have but the time to find purchase twice on the stage planks, but it's enough... and through sheer ferocity and determination, she plows her shoulder into that wispy form's silhouette with all the strength she can draw up.  It's not the most practiced or masterful maneuver, but it is superbly executed, and in a controlled, horizontal leap, Malia is able to drive the walker's body back a full 10 feet.<br/><br/>Her paces following after as it scrambles to find purchase with its feet, sending it sprawling across the brazier with Malia atop it.  The skull resting on its edge clatters on the stage floor with a smoking sizzle, and a gush of sparks and embers flies up around the Walker's body as Malia keeps her feet before its thrashing form-- it whips about like a frenzied bat at a cookfire, before flopping aside, emitting a rush of heat in orange waves flecked with dancing fireflies of embers into the air.  The gilded cow-skull faces away from her, but a fierce, demonic light spills from the dead eyes as an angry, pained roar fills the air, drowning out the gasps and surprised utterances of the mob.<br/><br/><br/><div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide</div><div class="spoiler_body">Malia bull-rush: 19 + 0 vs. CMD: 10+2+2=14 ... Hits.  Can push The Walker straight back extra 5 feet (10 total... succeeded by score of 5).  Bull Rush DOES provoke an Attack of Opportunity... Walker AoO vs. Malia: 1... miss.  Test for a Critical Miss: 15, non-critical miss.</div></div><br/>One of the torch-bearers grasps for the flanged mace at his hip, working it loose from its facets with fingers clumsy from surprise before readying it aside his dark-hooded face.  He moves closer, but is unable to aid the floundering Walker in containing the rivulets of glowing heat that ripple up its back.<div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide</div><div class="spoiler_body">(Roll: 4)</div></div>, The other does not even bother with his weapon, and instead rushes forth and throws his arms wide to encircle the naked girl while his mace bounces harmlessly at his hip.  His flowing cloak and vestments make for a momentary confusion, but his grasp is easy for the agile young woman to slip.<div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide</div><div class="spoiler_body">(Roll: 12 + CMB 1 = 13 vs CMD 14.  Miss.)</div></div><br/><br/>There's a whipping of rope in the air as a net is thrown from one of the flanking guards aside the stage, the weights tied to its edge causing it to expand-- but not properly-- as the sudden confusion causes it to go wide as one edge folds across tangles its opening, causing it to clatter against the planks uselessly.<div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide</div><div class="spoiler_body">(Roll: 2 + 2 BAB = 4)</div></div><br/><br/>At the edge of the stage, Mina's guard keeps his head-- he stays affixed to the blond girl, wrenching her manacles to hoist her from the planks before collapsing his weight down upon her hips and lower back as he straddles her with his weight.  The serpent-spitting whisper of metal tells her what the delicate skin under Mina's chin confirms-- this remaining guard has placed a dagger's point against her fair skin, and has pinned her for a coup-de-grace.  With but a twisting thrust, he could spit her throat with the wickedly sharp point.<div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide</div><div class="spoiler_body">(Roll: 13 + CMB 2 = 15 vs. CMD 13)</div></div><br/><br/>There is the sound of steel brushing brass and iron as a half-dozen guards around the room draw shortswords or longswords, whereas others simply reassert their grip on their polearms as they move into position surrounding the stage.  They do not move in immediately to suppress Malia... but their apparent leader-- one with a red-tufting crest of feathers topping his grotesque mask of folded and sculpted iron-- swivels his face to gather all detail immediately.  "Positions-- men!  Bennetto, Worza'al, on me!"<br/><br/>Meanwhile, amid the sudden violence-- the stomping of booted and bare feet against the stage, and the outrcy of the crowd-- a mixture of surprise, outrage, and perhaps even heartfelt enthusiasm at the display (however short-lived) of bravado-- one voice calls out in shock, perhaps even terror, at the display.  A grossly disproportionate reaction, it would seem, to the threat posed by one unarmed, naked woman fighting a small unit of fanatics and soldiers... nevertheless, the Brazier-bearer, painted and grotesque throws herself into the midst of the stage and prostrates herself, knees wide apart, hands splayed on the stage before her, as she presses her head to the floor.<br/><br/>She lifts her face to the Walker, whose cold fury at Malia's attack has possessed it with pure hatred and the madness of pain under that hollow-skulled stare. The acolyte cries shrilly, "No!  Please, no, Matron! The contract!--" but is unheeded.