*Since leaving Volaire the day before the full attack on the city was launched, Poppy and Otani have spent their time traveling one step at a time through the forests. They have made a point to avoid paths and are being cautious as they make their way North toward Tel Doras.*

*Poppy has been conflicted. Otani has begun to notice that she doesn’t hardly smile, laugh, or even talk these days. The feeling of helplessness has begun to eat away at her, and many nights she cries to herself thinking of the many people suffering in the city she left behind. Something in Poppy’s heart has begun to stir: a hatred. She had never been exposed to the carnage of war or the hatred some can have towards others for no reason. She has begun to deeply despise those who would kill others over differences, and as a kind healing herbalist, she is unsure how to handle this feeling. She often spends her evenings writing letters to Zuigrii and Storm and Nill- everything from ranting to venting to just having conversation - all in an effort to console her own restless soul. Many of these letters meet the campfire but some are being saved for Tel Doras.*

*Otani has become restless. Since walking away from the ongoing fight in Volaire and leading Poppy to the safety away from the fallout, Poppy has noticed that he rarely sleeps and is much more gruff and curt. He speaks only to answer questions or correct direction, to ask simple thoughts or to give one-word commands. Hes clearly hurting over being unable to fight and having to flee, but he isn’t exactly known for being an emotionally open conversationalist when he’s upset either. Due to the frustration and inner turmoil, Otani often has to strike at trees with his club and train physically until his body gives out each night just to manage to fall asleep.*

*both have been deeply effected by the start of a war, and both are hoping for the future of reaching Tel Doras in one piece soon.*

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*the eruptions from the sky begin less than 2 days after Otani and Poppy begin traveling, and from as far as they have traveled they still light the night sky like a distant show of fireworks. Their eyes widen, as they both can gather what magic of that calibre is capable of. They look at each other, silent and solemn*

Otani…all the people…*poppy says, seeming almost on the verge of tears even thinking about it. She grips her portion basket* I…I-I’m a healer Otani! I-I can help with the- *she takes a step back in the direction of the city, but Otani blocks her, his face deadly serious*
you can’t. *he says gruffly* you can’t save or help them. 
B-but Otani! *she pleads helplessly, but he stays between her and the violence*
That, small one, *he steps aside and looks back at the city*…that, is why we avoid big cities. Politics, grudges, laws…war. 
*He crouches and his eyes meet hers* if we return to that city now, we will both die and save nobody and nothing. Keep moving. We did not know them as anything more than passing allies. I hope they’re ok, but we can’t exactly go back and find out. *he stands, scooping her up in one hand and placing her trembling form over his shoulders* we should head for Lieb-Olmai. They started this, and will be safer until this places gathers its strength to strike back. *his hand softly pets her head as he talks* when Volaire regroups and gathers its strength, we will join the fight. Until then, I am not so attached to that place that we ought both die over a feud we have no stake in. 

*they continue through the forest, poppy closing her eyes and trying not to sob as Otani walks forward with silent stoicism, not daring to look back.*

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The air pressure drops so violently it makes ears pop, instantly followed by the sickening stench of burning ozone and melted stone. Then, the sky over Volaire tears open.

It isn't a battle; it's an erasure.

A hundred-foot pillar of crackling lightning and searing, acidic green fire slams into the street. Zuigrii’s wards—already raised and humming—catch the brunt of the strike. The invisible barrier literally screams, bowing inward like thin glass under an ocean's weight. Sickly purples and necrotic greens bleed across the impact zones, throwing violent, bruised light across the living room. The heat radiating off the buckling magic is enough to blister skin. In the corner, the iron ward-jockey stands completely motionless, its cold metal claws gripping the ward key, utterly indifferent to the apocalypse as it waits for Zuigrii's next command.

Outside the shimmering dome, the slaughter is absolute, and the very geography of the city is changing by the second. Through the distorted, weeping magic of the ward, Volaire is being unwritten. Deafening blasts of elemental fury—gouts of unnatural ice and corrosive acid—shatter unwarded homes across the avenue, reducing centuries of history to splintered craters. In eerie, terrifying contrast, blinding pillars of pure, etheric white light touch down in complete silence, vaporizing entire intersections and leaving nothing behind but smooth, glowing glass. The air outside boils with ash and displaced magic.

Through this apocalyptic storm, the Leib-Olmaian death squads march in lockstep. Their heavy armor reflects the dying, neon light of the city, and the dark banners of the Shifting Scale hang heavy in the soot-choked wind. They don't shout orders. They don't roar battle cries. They just kill. A neighbor stumbles onto their porch from a half-collapsed building, coughing up ash and screaming for the gods, only to be silenced instantly by a volley of heavy crossbow bolts. The soldiers don't even blink, marching straight over the twitching body. Hide or die is the new status quo of Volaire.

Inside the warded living room, the air is thick with the smell of scorched fur and raw, primal terror. In the corner, Twitch—the youngest rat Beastkin—has his tiny hands clamped over his ears, his chest heaving in rapid, silent hyperventilation. Flip, the older otter child, is desperately trying to be brave, curling his own small body over his kin's to shield him from the flashes of neon death outside.

Reginald, the massive bear Elder, drops heavily to his knees, wrapping his shaking arms around both children. He buries their faces in his chest to block out the strobe-light horrors of the dying street.

"Hush now, my little fish. Hush, little mouse," Reginald whispers. His deep, rumbling voice cracks, brittle and wet. "It's just a summer squall. The thunder is loud, but the house is strong. We're safe. I promise you, we're safe."

But the tears spilling silently into his fur tell the truth. Reginald looks up, his hollow, defeated eyes meeting Fang's. The Pack Leader is pressed against the wall, his claws digging so deeply into his own palms that dark blood drips onto the floorboards. Every instinct in Fang’s body is screaming at him to tear the door open and rip out the throats of the invaders, but he is paralyzed by the agonizing realization that the moment he steps outside, his pack dies. Zuigrii, Nill, and Storm stand rooted in the center of the carnage, trapped in a glowing cage while their city is fed to the meat grinder.

The heavy, synchronized crunch of armored boots halts inches from the bleeding ward. The shadow of a Leib-Olmaian squad looms through the magical distortion. The screech of their metal gauntlets casually dragging against the exterior of the barrier sends a physical shiver down the spine."Keep moving," a dead-eyed voice barks just on the other side of the magic. "West, North, and East gates are locked down. Docks are secured. Nothing breathes, nothing leaves."

A second soldier chuckles, the sound muffled but horribly clear over the roar of a nearby acid strike. "Barely even a fight. Command says one of their baronies already surrendered. Just two more to go... those uppity false knights and the undead lovers. Then we burn the rest."

The boots march on, leaving behind only the sickening hum of the failing wards and the quiet, broken sobbing of the children. The city exits are choked, the enemy is at the door, and Volaire is burning. 
VolaireIsBurning.jpg
[Out-Of-Play Information: The Occupation of Volaire]
Status: Volaire is currently under Martial Law.

• The Sky is Still Falling: The occupation by Leib-Olmaian forces is an ongoing, active event. Unpredictable Elemental and Etheric strikes are continuing to drop across the city.
• Total Annihilation: Unwarded buildings are being actively leveled. If a character is unlucky enough to be caught in the compounding blasts of these strikes, they will be utterly obliterated. There won't be anything left to sweep up, let alone revive.
• RP is Open (Locally): You are completely free—and encouraged!—to roleplay within the specific locations your characters are currently hunkered down in. Feel free to trauma-bond, plot, and panic within the safety of your current bubble.
• 🛑 STOP BEFORE YOU WALK OUTSIDE 🛑: If your character intends to leave a warded area for any reason, you MUST contact a member of Plot before making the forum post. Do not hit submit on a post where you step past the wards without GM clearance first. The streets are a literal meat grinder right now, and Plot needs to adjudicate exactly what happens the second you drop your shields.

Jade rubs her arm with her hand and looks down.

"It's been hard loosing Julien to the curse. Before I had Ikaru but... Now he's gone too. And on top of everything Vesta is pissed at me and avoiding me. I've heard whispers that she thinks I'm going to kill her? I don't know what to do so I'm just giving her space."

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E'ni'cala's smile brightens even more. "I look forward to it." She shrugs one shoulder. "I'll be okay. I'm doing everything I can to help people. That makes me happy."

She waves to Vesta. "Be safe!"

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Vesta lets out the breath she’s been holding when E’ni’cala tells her that it’s been sent. Relief softens her shoulders, and she returns the hug tightly. “Thank you,” she murmurs. When she draws back, she nods, offering a warm, if weary smile.  “I’ll have tea waiting for you next time. And perhaps a few new chapters from my book.” She readies herself to leave. “You take care of yourself too, alright?”

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E'ni'cala accepts the bag and holds the bundle close. "I understand. I'll see it done. Wait here and I'll let you know when he's sent it off."

The elf turns and walks back towards the hall, turning the corner and vanishing from sight.

About fifteen minutes later, E'ni'cala returns with the bag in her hands. She walks right up to Vesta and wraps her in a tight hug. She squeezes once and then steps back.

"It's done. And..." She smiles brightly at Vesta. "I'm sure everything will work itself out. Please, take care of yourself, Vesta. I'm going to come check on you when I can, okay?"

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“Yes, it is.”  Vesta slips the bag over her head and places it gently in the elf’s hands.  “I appreciate this, E’ni’cala. Truly. And tell Lord Marquanthis that I am grateful to him as well.” Her gaze drops to the floor, a soft smile touching her lips even as sadness lingers in her eyes.   “This matter is very dear to me.” She says quietly. “I leave it in your hands.”

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E'ni'cala gasps and reaches over to close the bag, pushing it towards Vesta. 

She leans in conspiratorially, eyes darting around, and whispers to Vesta. "Don't let anyone see you with that." She steps back again and smiles. Hold on. I'll go ask Lord Marquanthis if he'll take that as payment. I'll be right back."

E'ni'cala turns and walks in the opposite direction from which she came and disappears down the corridor.

About five minutes go by before the young elf returns. She is grinning and the sleeves of her robes are pulled back down once more.

She walks over to Vesta.

"Okay. He said he'll do it but he wanted me to stress that he wouldn't normally do this since sending missives is reserved for other things." She is still grinning as she reaches for Vesta's hands. "I'm so glad I'm able to help! If you want, I'll just um.... Take the bag? And I can return it to you once the letter is sent. I assume the letter is in the bag too?"

 

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Vesta’s confidence falters, just slightly.

“Well… I don’t have any coin. But-”  She shifts her bag off her shoulder and nudges it towards E’ni’cala, opening it with a small, almost sheepish motion. Inside rests a wheel of cheese, carefully wrapped. “I have this. I’ve been saving it for an emergency. I’m hoping it’s enough.”
She exhales softly.

“If not, I can volunteer my services as well. For as long as it takes. Scrying, healing, whatever is needed.”

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E'ni'cala nods slowly and reaches out to set her hand over Vesta's clasped in front of her. "I'll go ask the Guild Second if he would be willing to do it. It's not really something we offer people here since we're healers but... Maybe he'll be willing to bend a little. If I say it's a favor for me." She gives Vesta a brief, soft smile. "But how much can you afford? I know components are getting harder and harder to come by so he's most definitely going to ask for payment. Not that I have any clue the going rate for components." She chuckles awkwardly and squeezes Vesta's hands. "I'll haggle as much as I can."

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Ignoring the blood and whatever else she might have on her, Vesta steps forward and wraps E’ni’cala in a tight embrace. She holds on for a few long seconds before pulling back.

“Sorry. It’s been a rough morning.” She sniffs, brushing quickly beneath her eyes. “I… need to send a letter to Tristan. A missive.”

Her fingers twist together in front of her.

“I know I could go to the Mage’s Guild, but I don’t really know anyone there. And this…” Her voice wavers just slightly. “This is too important to place in unfamiliar hands. I need someone I can trust. I was hoping you might know someone here.”
She straightens a little.

“I can pay, of course.”

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The young woman with long brown hair is waiting around the front of the guild and sees Vesta approach. She lowers the wards for Vesta. Then she waits for Vesta to approach and gives her a soft smile.

"I'll fetch her. Wait here for me." The woman says and then heads off to disappear further into the Guild.

A few minutes pass and both the brown haired woman and E'ni'cala come into the room. They are speaking quietly. E'ni'cala has rings under her eyes and her robe sleeves are pulled up and tied at her shoulders. She is wiping a cloth down her arms to clear off any remaining blood or sick from her hands and arms. 

When E'ni'cala sees Vesta, her expression turns worried and she rushes away from the woman beside her and up to Vesta. She starts to reach for her friend's hand but stops herself short.

"Vesta! Are you okay? You..." She looks Vesta up and down. "What can I do for you, Vesta? I want to help you however I can."

E'ni'cala presses her lips together in a firm, determined line.

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Vesta approaches the Guild of Light looking like a shadow of herself. There are no silken skirts, no glittering jewelry save for the ring on her finger. Her curls are not carefully arranged. Instead, her hair has been pulled up hastily. Her clothes are practical. Where kohl and shimmer would normally frame her eyes, there is only bare skin and the faint redness of someone who has been crying for far too long.

She pauses at the entrance just long enough to steady herself, gathering what composure she can. 
Once inside, she moves quietly to the desk. Her voice is softer than usual, stripped of its usual lilt.

“I would like to see E’ni’cala, please.”

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“Thanks. I appreciate that.” 
Vesta turns towards the vardo, taking a few steps before hesitating. She pauses at the threshold and glances back at Storm.

“My ear’s always open for you too, Storm,” she says softly. “Goodnight.”

She gives her a small wave, then slips inside the vardo and closes the door gently behind her.

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Storm shrugs. "You needed an ear. I had two. I'm not the best with advice though. I'm a hunter. Not a philosopher."

Storm jerks her chin back towards the path they traveled. "I'll get you back to town. I honestly hope everything works out for you. Just keep in mind you're dealing with nobility and they do whatever they want. Us small folk don't really matter."

She waits for Vesta and then turns to lead her back through the woods to town.

When she gets back to the vardo, Storm rubs the back of her neck. 

"I know I'm not the best person to come to but..." She sighs and shrugs. "I don't mind lending an ear when you need one."

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“Yeah…” Vesta says quietly, her gaze lowered. “Friends should matter to us…”

She smooths her skirts absently, drawing in a slow breath.

“I feel a little better. Not a lot. But… it’s something.” She gives a small shake of her head. “I suppose that’s better than nothing.”

There’s a faint, tired curve to her mouth.

“I don’t think there’s anything else.” A brief pause. “Thank you for listening, Storm.”

She hesitates, then adds softly, “Sorry to disturb you with my antics.”

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