It was eerily calm outside of the Brakmarian temple. The sealed gates were like a lid which kept the chaos contained, but it didn't hide everything that was going on. The castle and temple grounds became dangerous territory as soon as the wedding and coronation came to a bloody end, every corner and path carefully watched by people who had no right to be in Brakmar. Though no matter the vigor these unwelcome strangers acted with, they were luckily not aware of all the ongoings.
Three individuals dressed in blue and silver were looking for a way into the sealed off temple without raising any unwanted attention, their efforts fruitless after they found an unguarded side door. Vapors and smoke rose from the metal and wood which deteriorated from the strong acidic concoction applied to the lock, the man sitting crouched before the door looking pensive as he stared at the acid doing its work.
"Any luck, Diego?"
The Sram didn't look up from his handiwork when he heard the question before he shook his head and applied more of the acid to the lock he tried to break. "No dice, Maddock. These gates and walls are far too thick and heavily fortified," he said from behind his mask before he tilted his head back to see the two others behind him," I hardly have any acid left and I am not even close to getting through."
"This is bad," Maddock mumbled and looked over towards his female companion, the woman dropping a knocked out guard onto the ground after she dragged him around the corner to get out of sight. "I hope you have better news for me, Varessi," he said when she started to search through the guard's belongings.
Varessi was thorough while checking every available pocket and pouch, patting the guard down and searching behind the loose fitting armor before she shifted her focus to another unconscious guard and repeat the motions. "I wish…" she sighed," these guards are like the others we encountered; fake. There is no insignia or a hint of who these people are. They all seem random and unrelated to one and another, save from the white tabards and cloaks they wear. All I can tell you is that they really like white and obviously have a grudge against Brakmar… or weddings." She shrugged to make her uncertainty clear before she pushed herself up and brushed her hands off," I still can't believe we didn't notice them skulking about."
"Like shadows in the shadows," Maddock grumbled as he stood with his arms folded across his chest," their awareness of our presence may have given them an advantage but they didn't manage to incapacitate us completely. A for effort though…" He eyed the knocked out guards, the same ones that ambushed them when they tried to sneak into the temple. Those guards, or whatever they were, knew exactly who the Bontarian infiltrators were but luckily underestimated their skill sets and strength. "We need to find out what is happening inside the temple and fast. Lives could be at stake."
"You think this is an assassination attempt?"
Varessi nodded at Diego's guess," sure looks it, but who exactly is the target? We would have noticed any suspicious activity around Ernaldus, let alone an increased interest, and the same goes for the Lady Alys. There was nothing out of the ordinary, safe from the whole arranged marriage gobball crap."
"This whole coop might be months if not years old, judging by the scale of it. It had the time to weave itself deep into the daily lives around here and become a part of the norm. Not even the Brakmarian spymasters seem to have picked up on what was unfolding under their noses and those guys are difficult to fool." Maddock's long pointy ears twitched when a soft hush sounded and interrupted his speculations, his whole posture becoming more alert until it settled when two familiar faces came around the corner.
The approaching large brute looked a little silly in the tight bodysuit he and the others wore, the pieces of silver armor looking flimsy when compared to his blocky and broad build. In front of him was a much more petite but curvy figure who was completely overshadowed by his size though her large green eyes were striking and quickly demanded all the attention.
Maddock was pleased with the return of his teammates, the group no longer spread out across the place. He trusted each member well enough to know they could fend for themselves but he rather had everyone accounted for with the current issues. "Glad to see you both are safe. What's the situation at the castle?"
Reyna was the one to report when she and Bernal joined the others, soon finding her spot beside Varessi," it's the same as here. The castle is under complete lockdown with these white cloaks stationed at every door, gate and corner. Nobody goes in or out and anyone who tries is struck down or taken captive. These people are ruthless…"
Bernal only grunted to verify what the female Sram shared, his nodding slow but firm.
"I don't know about you guys, but it sounds like we are severely outnumbered here."
Maddock had to agree. While Diego was usually the overdramatic one and prone to overact or be a little on the negative side, he was right in this case. These strangers were everywhere and they were well organized. "I don't want to think the worst but I have a feeling that this wedding isn't going as Brakmar planned it." He eyed the building before turning his gaze to Bernal and motioned with a tilt of his head towards the door Diego was still working on opening. "It's up to you now, big guy. Try and break that door down. We need to get in there, oversee the situation and then save who we can, if possible… or needed. If it is it turns out the situation is far too severe for us to handle, we'll need to retreat."
The giant Sram complied with a determined look in his visible eyes before he lumbered up behind Diego to investigate the door he was supposed to bust down, once more grunting from deep down his throat like a long thoughtful hum. This door was no joke, even he could see it. It was fortified wood with a thickness suitable for a castle wall gate. It won't break so easily but perhaps there is a good chance once Diego is done tampering with the lock.
The much leaner Sram continued picking at the lock while Bernal inspected the door, each drop of acid he applied making the metal sizzle and weaken. "This should do it, I hope," he muttered when he applied the final drop before he backed away to make some room and carefully corked the empty vial, unable to do much more. It's in the hands of the one with brute strength.
The muscles in Bernal's thick neck popped as he rolled his shoulders and cracked his knuckles to get ready for some bashing, the others looking on while also keeping a watchful eye on the surroundings. This was not going to be a quiet form of entry and after they got ambushed by whoever had infiltrated Brakmar, they rather not go through another. Bernal's large fists rammed against the wooden surface with powerful thrusts after he finished assessing the door, each punch making him grumble and grunt more loudly.
Time was running out, the situation not calling for finesse. They had no idea what was happening inside the temple, unaware that the newly crowned king was already dead.
There was no laughter, no music and no chiming of wedding bells or clinking glasses. The symphony of happiness one would expect from a wedding was replaced by the chords of chaos which swept through the temple the moment Ernaldus hit the floor with his last dying breath. The crown he had savored for but a few seconds gleamed like the many sharp objects stuck in his back, each knife and arrow a pillar of victory in a growing sea of red.
When panic rose and took hold, only but a few of the stronghearted noticed a sudden increase of the color white amidst the guests and the dark interior. Cloaks and robes were quietly but quickly discarded and disguises were torn away to reveal many of the attending guests were not who they were supposed to be. Even the guards posted by the exits, statue, and altar revealed themselves to be wearing white underneath the golden and red Brakmarian armor and soon enough drew their armaments at the panicking crowd.
The instinct to flee and survive took over and drove most of the terrified guests towards the sealed off exits, desperate to find a way out but unable to. Their cries filled the large hall while anyone who was foolish or brave enough to question the guards with violence got struck down by silver blades and spears. Those who listened to the strangers dressed in white or cowered away were spared. Anyone who tried to make their way to the fallen king or the captured queen was stopped in their tracks by more of the white-clad knights and warriors forming a crescent-shaped line of defense around the altar.
Joris was one of the first to jump to his feet when the bladestorm crashed down on the king of Brakmar and Alys' screaming filled the hall but he didn't get far. He was surrounded by five men the moment he dove off the bench and pushed aside the representatives who were trying to flee, his uncertainty about the situation staying his hand rather than fight. He eyed the five assailants to figure out who they were or what group they belonged to, wishing he had his hammer with him while he kept his hands raised.
He should have known something like this would happen but he had no idea what the motive could be behind this madness. If these people were only after Ernaldus, they wouldn't have sealed off the temple and locked everyone in. How long ago did they infiltrate Brakmar and take over security? Was there a single guard of Brakmar present or were they all fake? The latter appeared to be true, for there was hardly any resistance from armed forces.
What of Alys? Her screaming had stopped.
The master crouched ever so slightly as he peered past the legs of the knights before him towards the altar, the tension in his muscle making his limbs tremble like a wound spring. He could see the Eliatrope struggling to break free from her captor, another fake guard donning a white hooded cloak. She was unharmed but far from being safe, no matter that the altar was currently the calmest place inside the temple, almost like the eye of a storm.
"Let go of me!" The fear she felt was present in her voice as she tugged and pulled with her whole body to get her arms free from whoever had pulled her back and saved her from the deadly silver hail, the grip on her wrists painfully tight. The cool metal of the gauntlets pinched her skin and made her squirm while her arms were bent behind her back, the high fur collar of her gown preventing her from seeing who exactly was behind her.
"Calm yourself, Lady Alys. We have no intention to hurt you." The voice of the archbishop reached her and was like a sedative which caused her to pause in her struggle, her large hidden eyes turning to the robed and hooded figure who was miraculously unharmed after the knives and arrows came down from the ceiling.
"Who-who are you? What have you done?"
The archbishop didn't answer her right away, his white-clad hands reaching for the rim of his heavy hood before he drew it back and shrugged off the oversized and dusty old priest robes. It all dropped onto the carpeted floor of the altar without much care, soon revealing a middle-aged man dressed in pure white, his wavy brown locks combed back across his scalp while a single wing on his back stretched and fluttered after receiving freedom, the other wing but a small broken stump.
Alys stared at the Eniripsa in horror before she stammered," doctor…?"
He looked her way when she recognized him, his familiar smile and the way he closed his eyes causing the previous pleasant memories she had of him to be distorted in a scary way. "You are a long way from home, Alys, but then so am I. This cesspit is nothing like Emelka, is it?" he asked, his calmness not fitting the panic which swirled around the altar," to think it was about to become your new home."
She couldn't believe her eyes. This man was the village doctor, Varden. He healed her on several occasions* and was there when her little brothers were sick with a cold or sprained an ankle. He visited the Crunchy Gobball nearly every morning and evening to enjoy Alibert's cooking and was adored by many of the villagers. He was always so kind to her and her family. Why was he here, of all places? Why was he dressed like this and why… Her line of thinking strayed when she looked away from the doctor in search for answers, the sight of chaos and the lifeless body of her husband the only answered she needed.
"Brakmar... The safe haven for those who are unworthy to walk on the soil gifted to us by the Gods. To willingly live alongside demons is a sin. To allow them in our midst is a crime. To indulge them with our company is an abomination. But no more…" The doctor's smile disappeared to make way for a neutral expression after he followed her gaze and watched the masses crowding the sealed exits. "We will purge this unholy city and beyond and will not rest until all Shushus harbored by sinners are exterminated. Master Joris."
The sharp calling of his name didn't flinch him, his intense glare almost hidden in the darkness of his hood. The small master was an intimidating force brewing amidst the small circle of men surrounding him but no one backed away to give him his space and neither did he move when the Eniripsa demanded his attention.
"Your presence here is no surprise with your standing as Bonta's famed representative and we will, therefore, excuse and spare you. We have no quarrel with Bonta. After all, we share your desire in upholding justice, peace, and purity in this world, like the Gods intended.
"I have no interest in whoever you are," Joris snapped with steady nerves," but do not lot Bonta in with your delusional beliefs. You murder innocents for your cause. You have blood on your hands you can never be redeemed for. Bonta will never-"
"The White Cloaks of Virtue follow and uphold the teachings and virtues of Menalt*," Varden cut in," we are the successors of his Order of the Valiant Heart. You know of it, Master Joris, and you know it well. The Order was Bonta's strongest line of defense during the first and second Crimson Dawn. Menalt gave his life to saving Bonta and the rest of this world from Rushu's hunger and yet his demonic servants are still among us. Pampered, enjoyed and respected by people like him." He pointed at Ernaldus to make his point.
Fanatics. Of course it had to be this type of people to cause trouble. It explained a great deal about how this lockdown was handled but Joris knew one thing for sure; fanatics could be unpredictable. Who knew what they might do next.
"We know of your partnership with a Shushu," the Eniripsa continued, the tone in his voice foreboding," but we will overlook it. Your prior achievements and all you have done in the name of Bonta is enough to grant you pardon, as long as you don't stand in our way."
That was a threat and one Joris would remember.
"And you, our lovely but unfortunate lady…" Alys shrunk behind her veil when Varden turned his attention to her. "Your strength is admirable. To think you were forced to marry a demon worshipper and support Brakmar's twisted visions after doing this world a great service. It is a shame many do not know about what you've done but the White Cloaks do and we honor you for it."
Whatever was he talking about? Alys tried to back away from the imposter but she was kept in place by firm and strong hands.
Varden picked up on her confusion, even with the black veil hiding her face from him. He dared to advance and close the distance between them, his approach only making her struggle more to break free and get away from someone she once trusted. "You rid us of Malaphar and his Crimson Brigands*, one of the White Cloaks' greatest threats. You slew a demon. Surely you agree that it is an accomplishment you deserve praise for."
Praise? No… She killed someone and that was a guilt she was still coping with. Her actions that day not only put an end to Malaphar but also killed many others in the process. The Brigands weren't innocent but they didn't deserve to die. Just like him… Alys could barely look at Ernaldus when she thought about him, the fact he was murdered refusing to sink in, the whole situation far too surreal. And to think that this man standing before her aided her in her recovery from the injuries she received during the fight against Malaphar… It disgusted her.
"I do not want your honor," she whispered, her voice shaking," or your respect. You healed so many… You did good in this world and now… no. No matter what you've done for me, the boys and Emelka, or how much you praise me for killing a man, the Eliatropes will not join your cause, neither support it."
His neutral expression changed with the raising of his brows, a look of mild surprise washing over him before he gave her a small smirk. "I saw this coming, but I am certain you will change your mind. Same for Bonta." He turned his head to see Joris when he mentioned the White City but only received a silent scowl in return… as expected. That little man can be quite scary but Varden didn't fear him, the amount of White Cloaks he had under his banner far too great to worry about one lone fighter.
"If not," a sudden singsong voice sounded before an arm crept around Alys' neck like a black and brown snake," we will either make or break you."
Alys tried not to buckle when the hooked arm around her neck yanked her down and forward, the pain in her arms spiking as her hooded captor refused to give her any room to move while he continued to hold her arms bent behind her back. Her heart steeply dropped when her face was brought close to the one who had pulled her down like a heavy necklace, the dark complexion and blank eyes unsettlingly familiar.
The woman grinned a known wide grin as she slightly lifted the black veil to peek under it, the expression she found on the Eliatrope's face one of shock and detest but mostly shock. "Hello Alys," she said with the same singsong voice from before while turned the grin became more menacing and foreboding," it's been a while, hasn't it?"
Her voice was lost as Alys' mind tried to make sense of things. Of all places and times, this is where she meets the Sacrier who lived to make her miserable. Royale was easy to recognize, even with washed hair, clean skin and a new outfit in blinding white. It was two years ago she last saw her, right before she was entrapped within a cocoon of vines* to end her mad rampage. There was no rage this time, no desperation or crazed insanity, just a grin and the usual mockery and playfulness she knew Royale to have.
"Congratulations on your marriage. You always did have an exquisite taste in men, Alys. I mean, what a catch," Royale snickered and grabbed for Alys' chin to forcefully turn her head and have her look at Ernaldus' corpse," so lively."
Alys refused to look, her wide-eyed gaze skipping over the body to black it out in her mind and view. She instead caught sight of Joris and felt all her senses abruptly turning to him as if he was the lifeline she needed, the men surrounding him ignored though they worried her. The long veil she wore prevented their eyes from meeting and locking but she took solace from the fact he was keeping a close eye on her. He was waiting for the right moment to intervene and act, the small master severely outnumbered.
As she pulled her chin free from Royale's hand with a quick turn of her head and tried to shrug her off, Varden suddenly spoke up with but a single word. "Brother." The look on his face betrayed he wasn't in a good mood as he waited for a response to his calling and soon enough someone stepped through the wall of armed White Cloaks protecting the altar, his white mask standing out in the black of his hood. "Your leash is too long," Varden said once the Masqueraider joined his side and stood beside him like a quiet shadow, their focus on the Sacrier," reel her in."
The pout Royale showed was a fake one, her little sound of disappointment overdone as she leaned more heavily on the restrained Eliatrope. "Aww, come on. Let a girl reunite with her bestest of besties in pe-"
"GARD?!"
The sudden angered scream caused a few heads to turn and yet the one the name belonged to reacted the slowest. Almost all eyes were on Timinne, the Huppermage kept pressed down onto the floor by several White Cloaks in the middle of the long aisle. She put up quite a fight when Ernaldus was struck down but like Joris, she didn't get far and was quickly overpowered by the prepared imposters.
"You filthy traitor! All this time! Ernaldus trusted you and you killed him! He was your Liege!" She fumed with a glare which could destroy a Crackler but her outrage didn't faze Gard in the slightest as he watched her in silence from behind his mask. "I'll have your head for this!" she screamed, the eruption of flames from her restrained hands causing several of her captors to reel back before one quickly doused the flames with their own magic. The splash of water made her squirm after it soaked the leather of her gloves before she screamed in rage," all of your heads!"
"Wow," Royale whistled and finally removed her arm from around Alys' neck to take a large step back and slump a little in her posture with a mocking grin after setting a hand on her hip," someone is hormonal."
Varden rose his hand to gesture for Royale to shut up, a melancholic grimace resting on his face. He sighed with a lowering of his shoulders as she watched the Huppermage fight to get up her feet before he said less boisterous than before," it was you who avenged our slain brother by murdering your own father, Timinne. Our brother's death was the tipping point behind our crusade, the push we needed to start acting."
There was a pause in her struggle but her glare didn't subside, her curiosity and confusing making her hesitant. Hesitation was something she wasn't fully familiar with and it made her uncertain, the desire to hear Varden's explanation behind his words and what it stirred inside of her taking the upper hand. Was he speaking of her husband?... Their brother?
"We know how much you loved him… You turned your back on this place to be with him. We thank you for that, we thank you for the love you felt for him and that you made him happy. It was truly inspirational to our cause. But… we won't hold back on adding you to the culling of the heretics if you continue with placing Brakmar on a pedestal."
By the Gods and beyond. Timinne stared at Varden, speechless by the revelation. Her anger didn't have her notice it before but he almost looked like the man she eloped with and lost to her father's disapproval. These two men leading this onslaught were her husband's family. Suddenly things started to make sense even though it only angered her more. It was true. Gard didn't appear at the prince's side until a while after her husband died and she returned to Brakmar and set her father's execution in motion. But that was years ago… Had this plan been in motion for this long? Utter madness.
"You besmirch his memory with this stupid crusade of yours!" she spat with newfound grief, her struggle to break free flaring once more," you bastards are destroying everything for nothing!"
He didn't hide that her words hurt him, the grimace he wore growing darker before he closed his eyes and nodded, apparently making his peace that she was lost to them. He exchanged a glance with Gard before he nodded again like a quiet answer to a wordless conversation, unable to read his brother's face but still knowing what he felt and thought.
Although they didn't see eye to eye, Alys' heart reached out to Timinne. She knew the story even though she never asked to know it. To think Gard was speaking of his brother then when he told her about Timinne's husband and father… Did it hurt when he shared it with her? Was he still mourning his loss? To imagine the Masqueraider with feelings felt alien and to bring up sympathy for him was complicated but she emphasized with the losses everyone endured and led to this mess.
"You've chosen your side then," Varden said with a hint of remorse but he steeled himself to not lose sight of what he tried to achieve this day and the next. He looked over to the line of White Cloaks in front of him with a hardened look before he rose his voice and spoke up," slay the Brakmarians and apprehend any Shushu they might carry. Those who resist or fight back will suffer the same fate."
"NO!"
Alys' plea fell on deaf ears and same went for the objections coming from anyone present in the temple. The desperate cries from before swelled in volume when the White Cloaks obeyed and advanced, the panic returning tenfold among the masses. Every attempt to flee was quickly thwarted until one of the exits slammed open with a loud echo and the door broke free from its hinges. A large hulking figure appeared in the doorway before rushing forward to punch a nearby White Cloak straight in the face after he turned to see where in the blazing the flying door came from, soon clearing a path.
"Spread out!" Maddock's voice sounded behind Bernal when he ran into the temple, the Sram closely followed by Varessi, Reyna and Diego before they broke away to do as they were told and get into the fray.
The sudden arrival of the Bontarian Srams was a distraction many took advantage of. Timinne broke free with ease when the men restraining her were startled by the invasion, albeit small with only five blue-clad Srams. She knocked most of them back with one of her air spells before quickly following it with an ice spell to freeze them in place, incapacitating them within the blink of an eye. The slippery and frozen aisle propelled her forward after she got up and made a straight beeline towards Varden and Gard, the flexing of her hands breaking any of the ice shards which had formed on her wet gloves and sleeves.
The leap she made at Varden got intercepted by Gard like a lightning strike, the astral rapier which was her signature weapon missing its target after she summoned it to strike at least one of the brothers down, preferably the leader of this madness. She caught a glimpse of Royale brushing by after Gard pushed her back, the Sacrier wise enough to not pick a fight with the Huppermage as she knew Timinne's reputation all too well. She instead went for far easier prey amidst the crowd which tried to escape through the exit Bernal opened up to them, picking them off and dealing with them in her own way.
The fight which erupted between Gard and Timinne was a good distraction for the nearby Eliatrope and her captor, the sudden hope the Bontarians brought along with them bringing some clarity to the disarray in her head and the fear which wrapped around her heart.
Alys gathered enough concentration to collect a fragment of her Wakfu in her hands, the flickering glow gaining the attention of her captor. The White Cloak frowned at it while his grip on her wrists tightened to the point she could feel her bones twist but she bit through it. The wedding ring around her finger heated up with the build-up of Wakfu before a flash erupted from the palms of her hands and blinded the man, buying her but a second of freedom. She had enough leeway to yank her arms loose after the flash startled the White Cloak and made him fumble, the Eliatrope diving forward to get out of his reach but she didn't get far.
She stifled a yelp when she was brought to a sudden halt after the man she tried to get away from stepped on the back of her gown and grabbed for the large fur collar while drawing his sword. The piece of spotted fur was torn off after he gave it a strong tug and she pushed forward, the golden skull brooch which kept it pinned to her gown falling to the floor with a dampened clink. He angrily threw the fur piece aside while Alys struggled to get away with the constraints of her tight gown, his gauntlet-clad hand reaching for her once more with grasping fingers.
A pained scream escaped her when he grabbed her by her tied up hair to close the distance between them and not let her get away, but he didn't expect what she did next and neither did she as she acted on pure instinct and improvisation. She flung her arms back, her glowing fingers leaving a long arched trail of cyan before the Wakfu cluttered together and became solid, the partial shield she summoned uppercutting the White Cloak right in the jaw.
His head snapped back from the impact, the hold he had on her hair slipping until he regained his senses and frustration flared. He swiped at her with his blade, his aim poor as he stumbled back while she fell forward.
A gasp was stuck in her throat when she heard a sharp sound right before a wheat colored lock of hair brushed past the edge of her vision, the painful grip the White Cloak had on her tied up hair and scalp suddenly gone. A cascade of her hair swirled through the air and down her shoulders before every curling strand fell onto the floor or remained clutched between the man's fingers, the blade having cut the bun straight off by pure accident and sheer luck.
There was no time to think about it or to let it sink in. The window of escaping grew smaller with every passing second.
Joris kicked back one of his assailants to gain some room in the small circle he was kept in, every White Cloak he downed replaced by another. They kept on coming to stop the famed master of Bonta and prevent him from interfering but he wasn't planning on giving up either. There was a fraction of a second where he could shift his focus to the Eliatrope, the one he desperately tried to reach, though what he saw caused him to waver.
Time slowed down when he caught sight of Alys trying to run after her hair got cut, only to suddenly stop and lean back with a terrifying jerking of her whole body, a look of terror washing over her. Her lips parted and her mouth opened wide as if she was about to scream but no sound escaped her when a long silver blade pierced her from behind, the sword sinking into her lower back with a precise stab.
"Alys…!" All Joris could do was whisper her name under his breath when time sped up again and he barely got a hold of himself, his eyes large in shock. He didn't waste a second, the frenzy he felt burning and expanding in his chest spread through his whole body like a hot wildfire. His fists clenched before he feverishly leaped at the White Cloak closest to him and delivered a powerful punch before directing himself at the next one to knock them back and break through, every sense lost as his whole being was focused on reaching the Eliatrope.
Varden's stoic exterior began to crack when he caught wind of something happening and saw the Eliatrope falter from the corner of his eyes, his head slowly turning towards the spectacle with a growing and confused frown. "You idiot," he hissed at Alys' captor through clenched teeth once he understood what happened, his frustration taking a hold of him.
"Jurgen!"
The sharp calling of his last name barely reached him though he looked to where the voice came from after he landed back on his feet and prepared himself for another attack, his blood boiling. He caught a glimpse of Maddock amidst the fighting crowd, the Sram throwing something heavy his way after he called for him. His mallet.
Joris' eyes narrowed before he jumped up and grabbed for one of the White Cloaks to gain some altitude, the kick he delivered mid jump knocking out a few teeth and bringing another White Cloak down. He tightly gripped the handle after catching his hammer from the air, soon enough dropping back onto the floor as gravity pulled him down. He spun around like a small whirlwind the moment the soles of his feet touched the floor, the wooden weapon swinging like a mighty swift force and ramming it into anyone who stood in the master's way.
Alys slowly slumped onto the floor when her knees buckled after the White Cloak withdrew his sword to no longer skewer her, a burning and agonizing sensation numbing her. She tried to gasp for air while her head was cast back and her eyes were on the ceiling, unfocused and fading. She felt her precious blood leaving her and stain the gown she wore, its warmth quickly becoming cold and sticky.
The White Cloak took a single step back after she collapsed before he leaned over her to check if she was still breathing, unaware he had done something foolish. He was suddenly knocked off his feet by a massive force hitting him relentlessly in the head, the heavy blow making him stumble to the side and trip over his own feet before he blacked out.
Joris was at Alys' side before the White Cloak he struck with his mallet hit the ground, inspecting her wound while she wheezed and tried to keep herself up on an elbow, the Eliatrope trembling. "Breathe, Alys," he said, sounding unnaturally calm though his heart raced and his nerves shook, his mind in disarray," you have to breathe." She was bleeding profoundly… He pressed a hand against the bleeding gap in her flesh to apply pressure and hopefully stop or lessen the bleeding, his worry for her wellbeing beginning to cloud his judgment. He forced himself to look around and assess the situation, finding it hard to focus though he barely managed.
The panic was high inside the temple. The five Bontarian infiltrators were fighting tooth and nail to save whoever they could from the White Cloaks' vindication, the lifeless body of Ernaldus completely forgotten about. Timinne was still locked in combat with Gard while Royale was having her own little fun by terrorizing any of the unfortunate souls trapped inside the temple. Amidst the chaos was Varden, a calm presence which was almost like a shining beacon of hope… even though he was nothing of the sort. The leader of the White Cloaks of Virtue slowly stepped up beside the corpse of the prince after Joris glanced his way, their gazes crossing with a silent message.
They were outnumbered, with nowhere to go and absolutely no threat. The White Cloaks were winning this fight.
"Maddock!"
Joris' hoarse voice cut through the sounds of combat and many cries of anguish, the Sram responding to him with but a slight incline of his head after he kept one of the White Cloaks at bay. It only took a second for him to observe the situation before he nodded and rose a hand to ball it into a fist, a silent sign for his fellow Srams. It was time to retreat. "Diego!" he loudly added after he dropped his fist and began to back away with his daggers crossed before him like an improvised shield, inching closer towards the altar and wounded Eliatrope.
The other Bontarians followed suit to gather as close as they possibly could to each other before Diego took several vials from his belts and tossed them around, each vial caught by the intended people.
"Drink this, quickly," Joris hushed to Alys after he caught the final vial, uncorked it with his teeth and spat the cork aside, his eyes staying on Varden. He helped her with wrapping her trembling fingers around the long vial when she reached for it and guided it to her lips when she faltered, her strength waning. She managed to swallow half of the vial's content when he carefully but urgently poured it into her mouth, only needing half for the potion to work. She started to turn translucent within seconds and flickered in his grasp like a ghostly apparition before suddenly disappearing in a burst of bubbles, leaving the master by himself in the turmoil.
The White Cloaks were already advancing as the Bonta aligned Srams disappeared one by one after drinking a recall potion, the master soon being the last one standing. He grabbed for the handle of his mallet with a bloodied hand after Alys and his fellow Bontarians were no longer with him and rose to his feet while he chugged the remaining potion down, soon throwing the empty vial aside while he gave Varden a hateful glare.
He dove forward and swung his mallet when the first advancing White Cloak was in reach, forcing the crusader back before he dispersed in midair, not leaving a trace of himself behind other than a few bubbles which rapidly popped and disappeared just like him.
Varden's eyes narrowed after Bonta was quick to retreat, not liking how they escaped. This could prove to be a problem, a wrench in his well thought out plan which took years to come to fruition. He couldn't leave this unattended… bur first, he had a city to deal with.
The rounded top of Joris' hammer slammed against the marble floor when he reappeared after the recall potion took effect, the sounds of terror gone. The gloomy interior of the temple had made way for the white marble of Bonta's throne room, its blue banners welcoming him back home. He rose from his crouching and released his weapon to find Alys, the wounded Eliatrope already surrounded by Varessi, Reyna and two confused palace guards.
He quickly made his way over to them to kneel beside Alys and slip a hand under her head, carefully lifting it from the cool floor before he drew back her torn veil, her face twisted in anguish. She lay gasping for air as she struggled with the pain while barely conscious, all color having drained from her face.
"She needs a healer," he said to anyone willing to listen after Alys acknowledged his presence with a weak fluttering of her eyelids and reaching fingers, the master trying to keep himself collected. "Inform His Majesty that his presence is required immediately. Bonta and Brakmar are in grave danger."
To be continued.
*: See Traces, chapter 24.
*: Menalt, the previous Protector of the month Martalo. This centaur was the founder of the Order of the Valiant Heart and fought during the first (and second) Battle of the Crimson Dawn to protect Bonta. He was killed by one of Rushu's most powerful henchmen, Hyrkul.
*: See Traces, chapter 45 - 47.
*: See Traces, chapter 34.