Dreamwaking: Chimera - Sacrifice.

[Carnath-Emory]

Rhaena needn't read a word upon that page. Rhaena need simply set her eyes on it for long enough that those who'll watch this all later -- through those eyes -- are afforded opportunity to read the thing themselves.

Calomel needn't contribute anything to the situation at all. He's demured so far from putting a knife through her throat or a word into her ears, and this suits the swordswoman's needs very well.

Karolinger needn't toy with that blade so fluidly, but he's doing it with his back turned towards her now, and that's some measure of ease. So is the sound of those words, of which she finds herself rather approving.

Kurt Lentham, however, needs to stop what he's doing right this minute.


Several things happen very swiftly.

Lentham emerges from the trees as if he were another ruined corp, Seth Bloodmoon -- Seth! -- very near him, shouting something which her ears haven't time for. Agnieszka Kaczmarek, knife in hand, is coming for them damned fast. Rhaena Olwak is pulling at Karolinger, Calomel is diving at Lentham, Rhaena Olwak is right in the middle of it all -- and Rhaena Olwak is absolutely essential to everything that will occur after they wake.

Her decision is instantaneous.

And it flings Ariane into the furor as well, all quicksilver reflexes and glittering flesh. Right in the middle of it all, with hands which are lunging for the trader's small shoulders, which mean absolutely to fling her bodily distant.

[Vanidor]

So much occurred within that instant. The Detective Constable bursting from the trees, and the intent murder in his eyes. The flash of a wicked falchion. Another motion, the sword-wielding elf who shouted for someone to yank him free and then sought to put himself in path of the cleaving assault.

More screaming. Shouting. There was a spatter of blood that added itself in a sizzling hiss to the already bloody ground about them. It wasn't a fatal blow, there was too much commotion raised by this assault to make it such a strike. But Aeryn was most certainly missing his left hand. There it lay, as it happened. Sizzling like a hot coal upon the fleshy earth, crisping both itself and the ground beneath it.

Rhaena was tugging at him. Glenn was tugging at her. Agnieszka was charging at Lentham, Calomel the same. He wondered, idly, how much of this was because of who they were, or because of self preservation. It didn't matter much, because the next thing that would happen would be the mercenary falling to the pustular ground as his legs came out from under him. It was a dream. It wasn't a dream. The pain was very real. It was interesting, though, how much clearer your mind could become due to pain.

Here was Seth. Here was Lentham. They emerged together, and he knew that that meant that the duo were... .linked, in the manner in which himself and Calomel were. The death of one was the death of the other? Wasn't that what the paper had said. How far would you go? "Lent... Better than this, you fucker."

His vision swam a moment. A laugh for this, what the hell was he trying to do? "You. Elf. Forgive me, eh." He was on the ground, his bare rear sitting quite uncomfortably upon the crimson-stained ground. It was sizzling as well, and the sickly sweet smell of broiling skin joined with the other scents of this Héllish place. He was on the ground. But he was still an expert with the knife, where to put it in a gut to ensure a quick death. Or how to throw one into the small of someone's back. Here it was, then, a quick and over-handed hard throw that aimed his knife for Seth's back, the boldly printed words of 'Use Me' flashing in his eyes as it darted.

Bloodmoon. Your death would mean Lentham's death. Aeryn had nothing against you, personally, but he certainly wasn't about to allow Lentham to end both himself -and- the Governor because he was murder-blind.

[Jirai]

There was Aeryn, falling out of her hands, blood flying.

There was Agnieszka, and Cinnabar, and a flying knife, and Glenn drawing nearer. That last was a reassuring sight - perhaps moreso than it should be.

There were hands on her shoulders, hands with strength quite enough to send the girl flying through the air, eyes wide with shock. A startled exclamation escaped, changing to the hiss of forcibly expelled air as she hit the ground. Enough of a shock to keep her from rising immediately - but see, Ariane, how those bronze eyes remain fixed on what happens here.

[channe]

The problem with this was that she was still too far away. She and Glenn, certainly within shouting distance, but unable able to pound the bloody ground fast enough to do anything to that knife, to stop it, to change it, to do anything to it --

-- oh, Seth. She's always taken you for granted. You're always there at the bar, an upstanding guy, that's what they all say, that Seth Bloodmoon. She wasn't totally sure that you were innocent in this, but --

Words echo in her head. Another swordswoman's.

Think on this, she'd said. He murdered that boy.

Calomel will reach him first, Ariane too, and she's still running, her knife cocked at such an angle that it's no longer certain that she's going to use it to rip flesh, and a scream --

"Aeryn, no!"

-- that could be so many things, that is so many things, for his hand, for his injury, for his pain, and for his action, as she runs her hardest for the scene, and she cannot help you, Seth, time is short, time is unchangeable, Lentham is closer and she can only run so fast -- she'll reach it seconds after the knife finds it's destination -- and so she'll still try to wrench Lentham away, to throw him to the ground.

[Tebrin]

Maybe he would remember to repeat it when he buried his knife betwixt the woman's shoulderblades. He was certain she'd enjoy it. Voices? He frowned, then, peering into the distance of the hellish landscape.

"Whose?"

Did it matter? He was certain Jirai would inform him it didn't matter. Clutching the dagger tightly in his left hand, emerald eyes fell balefully upon his unfortunately-chosen companion.

[Jirai]

Ah, Tebrin, you are quite correct. "What does it matter?" She asked as she stalked away.

"They all deserve to die." The woman continued her stalk, but here she did glance over her shoulder, eyes gleaming with some dark light. "Tell you why, Tebrin. Because the lives of the fools should be made brief, for the rest of us death will be a relief - We all deserve to die. And I will have vengeance. I will have salvation."

[Tebrin]

Lip curled in a distasteful scowl. That he disagreed with her was quite obvious. "If yer lookin' forward t'death so much, Jirai, why are y'still alive? Why not jes' end it long ago? If it's such a relief, why perpetuate yer own suffering?"

It was a fair question. If she was going to preach this sort of thing, then what sort of hypocrite was she to value her own life in any way? To even -want- to live? To even ALLOW herself to live?

"...Is that Glenn?" He gestured towards one of the figures in the distance, squinting a bit to try to make out their identities.

[Lent]

There is just the moment. There is just the here and the now. Lentham's training, his life, prompted him to react in certain ways. His blackjack swings out wildly not at Calomel, but instead at Agnieszka, one shot meaning to keep her distance, one shot meaning to cripple her attempt to stop him. She had been the one to fell Charles McCoy, to allow Karolinger to kill him, and though he did not know that, he intended that swat of the blackjack to prevent such a thing from occuring again. Calomel, however, had not come at him with the blade but with the body and the governor's considerable strength now faced off against Lentham's sheer desperation.

Not like this, Karolinger? Hiding with the wooded skirts of elves, refusing to face any justice but the sort of your own choosing. There was no other way.

And then the dagger flew past him, towards Bloodmoon, who's only error was to not act quickly enough. Could Calomel hold him back when he knew his life might be at an end, when he knew that he had to strike at Aeryn again now, or else he would not get another chance. He did not look back to see whether it struck the elf or not. There was no time.

No, Kurt Lentham did not care enough about his own life, about his own duty to Charles McCoy, to strike DIRECTLY at Calomel (the Boy wouldn't have liked that much anyway). Was Cinnabar connected to Aeryn? There was no way of knowing for certain. Still, he would not knowingly strike down the governor, a good man, in cold blood in his quest for justice. Instead he would put his entire body into one last thrust with the falchion towards Karolinger and Karolinger alone, dragging Cinnabar behind him if that's what it took. If Lentham was to die like this, if this last stab at Karolinger would end Cinnabar INDIRECTLY, then fine! But justice would be done.

[Cinnabar]

Considerable strength, but not enough leverage, the ground filth-slicked and yielding, bare feet failing to find purchase as he clings to the Constable's clothes, striving to hamper him, to stop him.

His foot stamps into the fleshy ground a moment later as his arms seek to wrap about Lentham's torso and neck, grappling with the detective, aiming to pin his arms, if possible to bodily haul him out of this fight, away from the mercenary; distance is needed, out of reach of fist or knife or sword, or this'll spin out of control further than it already has. Hissed words for Lentham's ear in the meantime, cold fury in every syllable.

"When did you turn murderer?" Giving in to anger, to violence, to thirst for blood? Not you, Lentham. You're better than that. Better than Karolinger. Calomel knows it, McCoy knew it. "You're still a Constable, you bastard, even here. Don't you dare shame the badge. Don't you dare. Do it right. Do it right."

[Carnath-Emory]

Uncommon, that she should act with such sudden strength; unnatural, absolutely, and hadn't she warned the Governor of this once? Long ago, days and weeks ago, and here's the fruit of it: Rhaena Olwak, sent flying and landing firmly, and carefully distanced from this furious chaos. Rhaena Olwak, who had best keep her eyes upon it, for a swordswoman intends that there'll be no mistaking what had happened here, no confusion about it at all.

Who has done precisely that, and hours from now there'll be real, earnest admiration for it.

Presently, there's no time for any such thing. No time for anything at all, but to sprint headlong into this collision of old grudges and newfound liberties. She cannot save Seth Bloodmoon from anything: knows this immediately, bitterly regrets it. She cannot touch a hand to Agnieszka, who is so closely entangled with Lentham and Calomel that to do so would risk flinging her into the path of something lethal.

These are very swift realisations, quick as wildfire through the mind of a woman who's sprinted across this foul ground, who's trod a severed hand beneath her bare heel and reckoned it for part of the gruesome landscape. Who's snatched that knife from her belt in the midst of this fast, fast dash, and employed the hilt of it --

In a wide and careful and bludgeoning sweep for the side of Karolinger's head. It hasn't a chance of murdering the man, hasn't the strength for that at all. But for knocking him out ..

Oh, absolutely.

[Seth_Bloodmoon]

No need for forgivness if this was to be the cause of Seth's death. If it was the time for such it was the elf's own fault for not doing something to prevent this mess from breaking out in the first place. He also understood that a man would do what they must to survive.

Death via thrown knife sought the small of the tall elf's back. Death, something he would have so readily embraced about a year ago.
Deadly blade would tear through the fabric of his cloak and sink deeply into elven flesh. It would bring forth a grunt of shocked pain from elven lips and cause him to stagger and drop to one knee. However, it would miss the small of his back, just barely. Perhaps another twist of fate, this, or most likely due to the elf's own motion.

For the moment all is forgotten by Seth. The pain and shock of the unexpected knife in his back has all of his attention. Death may still claim him but it would not be as quickly as intended. He takes in a shakey breath through gritted teeth while shutting his eyes tightly. As that pained breath is exhaled there is a curse uttered in ilarian elven followed by Twilight Heart being planted into the fleshy ground to offer him some support. He did not wish to collapse face first onto this grusome turf.

[Vanidor]

Here was a last ditch assault by Lentham. A blow aimed at the side of his head by Ariane. Some screeches and screams. Aeryn did the most expedient thing a man in his position could do. It was simple, and perhaps the last thing many would think of in such a predicament. He laid down.

It didn't matter that the turf was pustular and vile. That mucus ran down the gradient in equal measure with feces and seminal fluids. With urine and spittle. With all the other sort of unmentionable fluid matter that was stuffed into a human body. It didn't matter because his naked ass was already smashed down firmly against it. He pressed his back into the fleshy matter beneath him, this to allow a falchion to thrust over his face, where seconds ago his torso had been. To allow the bludgeoning rear of a knife to pass through the location that his head had recently occupied.

He was missing a hand, but that didn't mean that he was without his wits. This was, of course, the worst sort of injury that the man has sustained. But it didn't take away the training he had. Here was discipline, Calomel. The ability to think by the hairs on your ass. For the next thing he would do is thrust his stumpy wrist upwards towards Lentham's extended forearm. Cinnabar surely had a steady enough grip on the man, he had seen how desperate and unsteady the stance was. He had seen the knife bury itself into the back quarter of Bloodmoon's back. Had he the time, he'd whisper another quaint apology.

But for the time being. Fuck it.

This sundered wrist of his would be used, hopefully, to push that falchion wide and out of place. Perhaps others would grab for it. Perhaps they wouldn't. It would depend on how much they cared for Calomel, he figured. Sure as sure only one of those here gave a damn for him. And even now, that was questionable. Things had changed so much lately.

In any case. His bloody arm was extended, so it held to good reason that he'd thrust out his foot as well. He wasn't sure if he'd even hit Lentham with it at all. Or catch Calomel, or Agnieszka, or whomever the hell had thrown themselves into the melee. At this point, it was about keeping himself alive.

[Jirai]

A hypocrite? Quite likely. Insane? Most definitely. There was a smile over her shoulder, a predatory one.

"Well, I did die once. Maybe this time I'll stay a bit more dead, hmm? But I think I shall take you with me."

Her head snapped back around, then. "Glenn? Oh. Ariane's pet. Yes." And Tebrin, you'd best have a plan in mind. She was not yet close enough to the gathering - but she would be soon. And the moment she was near enough, that hand would be coming up, knife held in a throwing grip.

[Tebrin]

Cheeks dimpled handsomely as he returned her insincere display of pleasure with one of his own, accompanying it with a sardonic wink. He couldn't help but think, in his irritation, that this woman would look far more appealing without the ebon skin that covered her. Perhaps he should remove it for her? As a gesture of peace, of course.

"Righ'. Ariane's pet." He repeated with a bit of a sneer to lazy syllables. A plan? No, Tebrin had no plan. Tebrin did not, as they say, 'plan.' He could not yet make out what was going on, but he had a feeling it couldn't be good.

"Oh. 'Ey. There's Seth. Y'know, wouldn' it be a blasty blast fer yeh t'take out the surface elf? I know how killin' them gets y'all hot an' bothered." That is to say, better Seth than Glenn... or Tebrin.

[Malaroth]

He grasped her soft hand within his own, pale and soiled by their shared nightmare. A thin rivulet of filth trickled between forefinger and thumb and began to intrude upon her flesh as well. Her words set teeth together, hardening his jaw and narrowing eyes filled with cerulean storms as he hefted her from the ground. The slender figure hung from him like a reed, even as his one arm struggled to lift her under its own power. Instead of the hot ache of fatigue however, he felt only a subdued chill began to trickle through his extremity. It hardened his strength, steadied his arm, all the while his gaze raked her flesh as if with rusted blades.

An angel? Of course she would call her kind such, he considered, attempting to play further to his pity and confusion. The filth of this world was more for her kind, hellish and disgusting, revelatory of her true nature.

It would be a simple thing, he knew, to suddenly release her or even to dash her against the side of the slope. In the time it took for her to fall the short distance he could be upon her, with knife and fury, to silence the lustful she-devil before she could lead any other Myrken men astray. Even if he perished, as the note had said, at least the land would be rid of one more foul villain.

Yet, his countenance slackened while he noticed her feet swaying above the ground, there were countless others ready to take her place. The entire tea house had to be in upon this rank evil, and there was never a shortage of monsters for poor Myrken Wood. Furthermore, the knights were scattered and leaderless. It would be a disgrace to them, and all that they stood for, if he were to wreak justice upon the fiend who dangled helplessly in his grasp. Honor, he remembered; honor and wisdom.

With a grunt he hauled her up beside him, setting his feet into the filth that puddle between toes and encroached towards his ankle in a putrid caress. “No angel, but a devil. A succubus, a lustful tempter of the flesh.â€