Caith looks down at her hand, which, as it drains some of Kata's own life force, briefly seems solid, tangible, colorful again. She blinks.
Slowly, with a sad smile that holds too many years and too few real memories, she pulls back.
"You're going to fix things, Ka. You're going to save us." The ghost-child watches as her hand fades to gray again. Her entire form begins to blur, as she begins losing control of the manifestation again. "It doesn't think you can, but I do. And--and that starts here."
Her form wafts to the tomb door. "You go on ahead." She reaches through the door.
Wind rushes through the pipes, and a click echoes through the chamber.
The round door slowly rotates, but there is no sound of grinding stone. It neatly separates from the wall and pulls to the side to reveal a wide open space beyond. The sounds of rushing air and jingling windchimes ring out from beyond, and the light streaming in is initially too bright for vision to pierce from the shadows.
Caith has vanished. Still, her presence lingers in this room, a bitter, mildewy taste on the tongue, a faint ringing in the ears, a pressure weighing everyone down ever-so-slightly with the weight of the eroding captive spirit. Caith is not at rest. Caith cannot rest. But she will not manifest in this room again.
And her fading voice echoes down with two simple words.
"I'll follow."
Broccan moves forward, nodding to Edrukk as he does.
"We got'this," Broccan says over his shoulder to the rest.
Broccan will take the lead through the door unless Edrukk moves do do so. He will defer to his elder companion.
"Thank you, Caith," Kata murmurs, flexing her denuded hand. "We will fix this." Hefting her spear, Kata follows Eddruk and Broccan through the door.
Alaïs watches in horrified fascination as Kata exchanges a last hand-clasp with Caith’s shade, hoping it won’t end disastrously. She lets out a breath she doesn’t notice herself holding when Kata emerges somewhat the worse for wear but not, at least, choking for air on the ground, say.
Indeed, part of Alaïs is already imagining how she would retell the scene as part of a grand tale of chivalry. Her mind staunchly refuses to focus on – or perhaps even process – what Caith said is out there and coming.
She readies her shield and lingers just long enough to play rearguard, so that the more lightly-armoured of the party, like Briar and Venelle, don’t get caught out in case there’s more than impossible echoes floating up from behind the trapped stone face now that Caith’s haunting seems to have come to an end.
The ghost’s metaphor does stick in the aristocrat’s mind a bit, and she doesn’t like it. Barbarous notion, and unsporting, even granted that they were talking about mice, not a hunt. From her place in line, she grumbles to herself a bit in
Of course, whatever undying thing lurks in, around, or all throughout Diamond Lake probably doesn’t share Alaïs’ sense of propriety, but disappointing the sheltered lady’s improbable expectations is perhaps the gift that keeps on giving.
Broccan moves forward, nodding to Edrukk as he does.
"We got'this," Broccan says over his shoulder to the rest.
Broccan will take the lead through the door unless Edrukk moves do do so. He will defer to his elder companion.
Seeker's head bobs unevenly. "That was very interesting. Strange things in these hills."
Venelle is quiet, and she stays close to Kata as she follows the group. Her gaze is faraway.
The cavernous chamber the group arrives in consists of a large stone walkway around a deep chasm that leads into darkness. Four platforms lead from the walkway to a central ring, but two platforms are broken. Bright light reminiscent of a summer's day filters down from the ceiling about forty feet above. Four wide galleries extend from the outer walkway, their far walls covered with enormous bas-relief vistas.
A sighing wind emits from a huge pillar of rushing air at the center of the chamber. The column extends from the floor to the ceiling, cutting through the room's central ring.
The sculpting on the walls appears very crude from a distance. Figures are blurred and distorted behind double-panes of crystal, and it’s impossible to tell what the images are meant to represent.
"We shou' see'f th'other bridges'r safe t' cross," Broccan suggests, moving towards the still intact bridge to the group's left.
"Lad, d'ye wanna risk th' bridges right away? Mebbe worth lookin' 't th' art t' see who left th' puzzle-tomb fer 's t' find." Edrukk motions at the obscured reliefs on the walls.
Alaïs peers into the huge chamber that opens up ahead with increasing curiosity, especially once she sees the decorated walls, which also offer the prospect of a distraction from the parting words of Caith’s shade.
“Not to worry, sirs, I’d be happy to take a look at the carvings meanwhile! I’m sure if you want to check the stability of the architecture first that will be fine, Mr. Dunchad,” out of respect for Kata and Venelle’s loss, she tries to curb her enthusiasm and speaks quickly and quietly, her excitement coming across mainly in her droll formality, as if the Cairn were merely an interesting old ruin to explore, and not one that is still all too deadly after centuries upon centuries.
Without further ado, the eccentric aristocrat pads softly over to examine the sculptures in the first gallery, on her left, seeing if getting up close will let her get a good enough glimpse to guess what’s being represented. She takes her time, tilting her head as she goes in an attempt to catch a miraculous sliver of crystal unstained or warped by the ages, and slowly making her way sunwise to take in what she can of all four galleries.
Despite her efforts, willing herself not to rush, Alaïs can't, in the end, shake off the feeling of just how hostile the Cairn is to intruders, and it's doubtful she'd so much as remember a cantrip before she takes another moment to ground herself. As best as she can under the circumstances, at least.
She turns her attention to the sighing column of air in the middle of the room. A teasing prickle runs down the back of her neck, and another breeze from out of nowhere tugs at a lock at her nape, as if to encourage her.
As Edrukk and Broccan carefully inspect the bridges, Alais, Seeker and whoever else share their clear interest make their way to the galleries. By inscriptions on the sides of each, Alais gets the impression that the gallery to the southwest is "first", proceeding clockwise to end at the one to the southeast.
The sculpting on the walls appears very crude from a distance. Figures are blurred and distorted behind double-panes of crystal, and it’s impossible to tell what the images are meant to represent. But as Alais draws near, valves breathe forth a smoky sheet of steam between the two panes to cover the entire wall. As the steam eddies and plays about the rough carvings, the glass glinting and bending the light that meets it, distinct impressions become apparent on the walls.
These images shift, bend, and come alive--moving pictures in the mist.
The first image depicts several human figures with shaven heads relaxing upon an idyllic beach. They sit together on the rocks and use glass knives to carve designs or set small gemstones into their wooden staves. As the light twists and refracts, dark, twisted shapes appear on the ocean horizon. As the shapes draw nearer, they are revealed to be a great fleet of ships.
The carvers get up and race into the jungle as the ships draw near to shore.
"Wait," Kata whispers, scooting past the moving images towards Broccan and Eddruk. "Let me go first, and examine the bridge as we go. Lots of potential for traps here. Unsprung. Deadly. Cruel."
"Th' bridge's'sound, 's far's I c'n tell," Broccan replies. "I ca'neh tell'f there's a trap, though."
"The bridge is sound, as far a I can tell. I cannot tell if there's a trap, though."
Broccan stands clear of the bridge, allowing Kata to cross it, if she wishes. If she goes, he gives her three paces, then follows; maintaining a three pace distance from her.
"'old up, th' two o' ye." Edrukk offers Kata a rope to tie about her waist while he belays from the platform.
"Mebbe, lad, ye stay offa th' bridge fer now, aye? Let th' lass do 'er checks so only th' one 's in danger. That, 'r get 'nother rope, mebee."
Broccan nods in acknowledgment of Master Edrukk’s recommendation.
"Thank you," Kata whispers tying the rope around her waist. The elegist takes a deep breath and holds it, counting to three, before pushing it out, along with the worry about what she's preparing to do. Only thing to do now is walk. Stepping onto the bridge, Kata takes another calming breath, and then another with each step, and slowly moves towards the center.
As Edrukk and Broccan carefully inspect the bridges, Alais, Seeker and whoever else share their clear interest make their way to the galleries. By inscriptions on the sides of each, Alais gets the impression that the gallery to the southwest is "first", proceeding clockwise to end at the one to the southeast.
The sculpting on the walls appears very crude from a distance. Figures are blurred and distorted behind double-panes of crystal, and it’s impossible to tell what the images are meant to represent. But as Alais draws near, valves breathe forth a smoky sheet of steam between the two panes to cover the entire wall. As the steam eddies and plays about the rough carvings, the glass glinting and bending the light that meets it, distinct impressions become apparent on the walls.
These images shift, bend, and come alive--moving pictures in the mist.
The first image depicts several human figures with shaven heads relaxing upon an idyllic beach. They sit together on the rocks and use glass knives to carve designs or set small gemstones into their wooden staves. As the light twists and refracts, dark, twisted shapes appear on the ocean horizon. As the shapes draw nearer, they are revealed to be a great fleet of ships.
The carvers get up and race into the jungle as the ships draw near to shore.
Oh, fascinating! Alaïs muses as the first tableau springs to life, or a shadow of it, finding the distraction she’s looking for as part of her wonders how the spectacle works. Some brilliant combination of magic and engineering, she’s sure, the details of which will probably have to wait until the whole cairn is secure.
It’s difficult for her to place what she’s seeing: understandably, given the age of the Cairn, but it doesn’t help that she’s dividing her attention between what she’s looking at, the techniques involved in producing such art, and the associations that it wakes in her.
Given the statues of – Shimye-Migalle, was it? and the Twelve Magic Warriors – in the lower levels, what she can make out of the style of the figures’ gear, and the forest, she’d guess she’s looking at a scene from ancient Garund’s history. One with uncomfortable echoes of the darkest times of her own people’s past, as she considers the circumstances that lead to a fleet being greeted with flight into the forest rather than families rushing to shore to meet friends and relations returning home.
She watches the tableau play out, soaking in as much detail as she can, mulling it over as she moves on to the next gallery.
Briar quickly taps Kata with a blessing. ”A touch a’ luck for ya.”
She then turns her attention to Alais. ”So, uh, what exactly do you see?”
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Alais moves to the next gallery, which likewise comes to life.
This image depicts a pitched battle between two groups of humans--one great army clad in metal armor, wielding swords and spears and riding towering warhorses, the other wearing colorful robes and dyed furs, brandishing staves and hurling beams of many-colored light to destroy their attackers. Several men and women on the second side wear animal masks, and these are etched with special prominence, most notably a tall man in a heron mask who wields a strange obsidian ring. As an armored knight charges for him, a pitch black sphere flies at the behest of a handsome unmasked man wielding a talisman, and the knight instantly vanishes when the sphere touches him. The talisman-wielder is identical to the figure on the sarcophagus downstairs.
At first, the battle appears to be close-fought. Then a vast shadow passes overhead. The cavaliers seem to shrink in fear as the magicians cheer.
Having found no signs of a trap, Kata steps onto the bridge. As her boot lands on the dusty stone, her ears pop.
The dust billows and swirls around her like a little whirlwind. A breeze billows from the pillar, rustling people's hair and making Seeker flap quickly to recover balance.
Shapes begin to emerge within the pillar of winds. At first, they're just abstract patterns, but they find more and more solidity as the seconds go by.
"Thieves and marauders. By my name Glory, I shall slay them."
"Vultures and trespassers. By my name Shame, I shall punish them."
"Questants and roustabouts. By my name Memory, I shall test them."
Briar feels out of her depth, and not for the first time, when she looks upon the pictures. All this ancient history, and she has never had time for the past. She only recently started trying to read up on the subject, hoping to get clues as to what is valuable here, and there is just so much of it. Big battles, treaties, alliances, borders shifting, governments. And while she knows logically it is all important, it just does not feel important to her. That tension between logic and feeling is particularly strong now. What is this place, really? What are these images trying to communicate other than just some people fighting some other people in another time and place? Her eyes linger on the heron mask, as she has learned to become especially aware of birds. If, as she tested Seeker with, there is some organization with bird-themed members, and it is connected to this place, then maybe it connects to the heron? It is perhaps a stretch, but she can hold onto that thought and test it against what else she learns. And she does not exactly have a legion of leads at the moment. ”Who is the one with the heron mask? That ring he has looks a bit special, were you to ask me.” She asks the question openly and casually for anyone to answer.
Briar quickly taps Kata with a blessing. ”A touch a’ luck for ya.”
She then turns her attention to Alais. ”So, uh, what exactly do you see?”
“I’m not entirely sure,” Alaïs admits, making sure to project her voice as she moves to the next gallery, eyes flicking back to take in a last few details from the first. “It’s been a while since I’ve read any history of this far west at all seriously, and then, as to parts south… Mm. The paths of our cousins that way and our own still meet less frequently than they once did.”
She shakes her head. “In any case, I think we’re seeing a memorial of an invasion. Here? Elsewhere? Targeting the people who built this cairn, as far as I can guess, but I’d have to think about it a bit more to be sure.”
Scattered bits of lore start to fit into place with the second scene, in which battle is joined, and one of the villains of the piece is … banished? Vanished, certainly. It doesn’t look how I would imagine any spell I know about, though.
“Ah, yes! I’m afraid I was misremembering, misled by the half-dozen we saw down below, but I’d guess the masked figures are either some of the Ten Magic Warriors, or their followers. Perhaps the Shory, repelling their Avistani foes?”
”Who is the one with the heron mask? That ring he has looks a bit special, were you to ask me.”
Briar’s next question gives another piece a welcome nudge: “I don’t think it’s Artophanx’s Architect, and the unmasked fellow is our friend from the sarcophagus and the lanterns, but Black Heron was carved on the dais with the shattered mirror in the antechambers…”
Before Alaïs can ramble on much further with her speculations, her attention is caught by the wind that responds to Kata’s advance towards the central space of the chamber, and the voices it carries. The elf lady’s eyebrows raise arch in mingled alarm and bafflement as her mind struggles to pivot from artistic appreciation to something more hazardous.
The whispered recriminations echo those she heard upon first entering the cairn, and the hissing, sullen anger is beginning to be rather trying.
“Names? Glory, Shame, and Memory?” In her surprise, she repeats the gist of what the voices demand out loud, before, catching herself, switching to a murmur as she tries to think of what they actually want. “I like the sound of testing rather more than I do slaying or punishment, if one must choose.”
He calls out, his beard blowing in the strong winds, "Lass, 'r ye still fine?"
Kata pulls her booted foot back, a quick retreat from the bridge, fear crawling over her skin alongside the blast of wind. "What? Ed? Ears ringing. You hear it?"
Hefting her spear, a poem of encouragement springs to mind.
"Stern Daughter of the Lady of Graves!
O Duty! if that name thou love
Who art a light to guide, a rod
To check the erring, and reprove--"
Broccan holds his position, but keeps his hands near his weapons, ready to draw them at the first sign of trouble.
Alais moves to the next gallery as she speculates aloud. But just as the new scene animates, a roar of wind rises behind her. She turns to see, as the others do, three ancient suits of ceramic armor gliding gracefully from the pillar of air, twin longswords gripped in their hands. Red silk ribbon plumes billow from their helmets. They raise their swords and adopt battle stances.
Edrukk is definitely not intending to fight a walking suit of armor in a windstorm standing on a bridge over a bottomless pit.
"Keepin' me feet 'n th' ground, thank ye. Come t' me if'n ye want t' talk."
He whispers a prayer and re-grips his axe and shield.
Divine Favor, +2 luck bonus to attack and damage
Broccan sets himself on his toes, knees slightly bent, ready to dodge and spring out of the way if the armored beings attack.
"Kata, get behine me'n Edrukk. I dun'nah thin'k'm frien'ly."
"Kata, get behind me and Edrukk. I do not think they are friendly."
Alaïs has seen enough theatre to appreciate both a dramatic entrance and the time it gives for the stubborn to prepare. In an attempt to quell the fearful doubt that rises in her at the imposing spectacle, she tries to gather her scurrying thoughts. She really needs to get a more convenient, one-handed weapon that can shatter plate when she can, given how much she relies on her shield, for one. Then, what are these things? Armoured spectres, or some sort of construct?
She half-remembers gleanings from listening in on her brothers’ lessons, about the other forces abroad in the world, not merely good and evil, but indifferent law and careless change, and something wakes in her.
“And there was the Clockwork Gate,
and the serried, steel,
grim host of Order…”
As she improvises, other whispers reach her inward ear: she can hardly think that the number of floating panoplies can be a coincidence, and she spares a moment to glance back at the relief of that ancient battle, which allows a desperate attempt to avoid battle to spill from her lips
A language that she shouldn’t know as well as this flows from her, carrying the names of those commemorated in the lower levels of the cairn, hoping that something in them will give the summoned guardians pause.
Alaïs draws upon all her dignity in a way that is, honestly, probably rather obnoxiously self-assured, if whatever's in the floating armour is even able to understand articulate speech. Her uncertainty as to that doesn't help the situation any, and as she tries to stare the things down, she wonders if she'll have to throw herself into a sprint back to the others.
The beings seem to stare hard at Alaïs Thalanassa. They respond in order--first the one she calls "Memory" , then "Shame" , then "Glory" . To everyone else, the words she and they use sound like the wind rushing through leaves and reeds, tearing trees from the soil, moaning across the entrances to ancient caverns and rattling the shutters of old houses.
"There are no inheritors, least of all among those who abandoned this world in cowardice. Did your ancestors witness Shory's rise? Did they witness its Fall? Or did they hide on a distant world and wait for the dust to settle and the rumbling to cease?"
"You are not inheritors. You are mendicants. So beg with your steel, and prove yourselves worthy."
Memory raises its blades and sweeps in to strike.
Venelle races forward, an arrow already nocked. "Ms. Vervain, behind me, if you please!" She fires at the nearest wind warrior.
The arrow narrowly slips past the warrior's attempted parry only to ping off its ceramic armor.
Memory glides straight for Kata, pulling up at the last second to clang its longswords together, creating a blast of discordant sound. Broccan feels the ringing in his ears, too, now, piercing and painful, and the tiles on the wall behind him shatter. The ceramic armor of the being rattles and trembles, and it seems to shudder, as if this attack taxed it in some way.
"Thou who art victory and law--"
Kata's ode is cut short but the clanging of the creature's longswords, the shattering of the tiles behind her and Broccan. Kata's cloakhood blows back, the wiry elegist wobbles in place as if rocked by a boxer's punch. Blinking, Kata raises her spear, finds her voice again, and stabs at the longsword-wielding figure.
"When empty terrors overawe;
From vain temptations dost set free;
And calm’st the weary strife of frail humanity!"
Even as she makes her appeal – or boast, rather, to be a bit more honest – Alaïs catches a glimpse of what’s under that armour. Some sort of elemental, she thinks, and, as they start to rebuke her, and unusually talkative at that, compared to someone like Artophanx.
On the one hand, she’s very curious, but on the other, her hackles raise at Shame’s accusation in particular, though she does admit there’s much that she needs to learn about the long centuries between Earthfall and her people’s Return. Cowardice, indeed! Is that what we call having actual plans to save one’s people from world-spanning disasters? Or is that - civilization?
As it becomes clear that the three guardians will not be satisfied with her gleanings so far, and the inspiration she’s been chasing shifts from verse to bitter invective, an eerie breeze starts to rise around her, carrying angry whispers of Elven of its own, borne on wisps of silvery-grey mist.
Memory swings his blades to parry Kata's spear away, nearly cutting head from haft.
Shame turns and seems to regard Alais.
It dives for the elf, raising its longswords to slash across her chest.
Glory looks between the targets available, then raises its blade toward Venelle, salutes her, and charges. Venelle ducks just under a swing meant for her neck.
Briar curses as Alaïs gets smacked with a solid hit. She reaches out with her shadow magic to try to bind the only foe within her range.
Broccan sees Alaïs alone on the other side of the room, fighting for her life.
He decides that if one of them is going to help Alaïs, the priest can't reach the elf as quickly as he can.
"Stand wi' Kat," he says quickly to Edrukk. "I'm gone'eh help Miss'laïs."
With that, he sprints around the edge of the room towards the embattled elf. He comes to a stop beside her, presenting himself as another target for the strange, flying warrior.
"Back up, lass, get 'way from th' edge 'n make 't come t' us."
Glory struggles against the binding. Its armor parts and re-forms, struggling to twist free, but its shadows far below surge up to entangle it. It rattles in seeming frustration.
Alaïs has reason to regret bandying words as she provokes a charging slash that nearly cracks her ribcage open. The ghostly chorus that seems to have sprung up around her isn’t helping: she’s gotten almost used to the cairn’s sinister whispers, but this is new, even if it seems to be friendly, for now.
<“Stand firm, strong branch of battle!”>
<“Sage of war, you will not fall this day.”>
As she hears Broccan run up to help her, and sees the effects of Briar’s spell taking hold, a curl of Alaïs’ whispering mist unfurls to lash out at the elemental doing its best to cut her in half.
She doesn't linger to see if it connects, but takes a hasty step out of the spirit's reach as it's snared by its own shadow.
"I'll follow your lead, Broccan," she nods, waiting to see if the plan is to fall back to a consolidated position, or if he'll take a swing first.
For now, she takes a moment to prepare more of her own magic, calling more power into her voice before drawing her sword. <“Not yet, o Guiding Hand, not yet.”>
Alais's blade is parried with utmost grace. The party's attacks seem to be hard-pressing the wind warriors but these creatures are just a little too fast.
Cornered, Venelle rips away her green cloak and attempts to wrap it around the wind warrior's head. Glory only slashes the cloak into tatters, and she seems to visibly hold in several curses.
"Ah. Careful, now, Cattail. We wouldn't want you to be joining your friend, would we?" Seeker takes to the air, and its left eye takes on a fell glow. It fires a beam of yellow light that strikes Kata's enemy square in the chest, the first solid hit anyone has scored on one.
The yellow light swiftly spreads across the surface of Memory like an infection, but the patterns and designs on the wind warrior spark and crackle with electricity, and there is a flash. When the smoke clears, the yellow corruption has been burned away.
Memory advances on Kata, unfazed, and swings its swords in perfect harmony.
Kata stumbles backwards, blood slicking the ground, panic pushing any thought from her mind. Her gore-soaked fingers fumble with her backpack, pulling forth a blood-soaked scroll.
Edrukk calls out, "Now ye done it! Give me strength!" and he attacks the suit of armor.
As Kata backs up, her song echoing in the chamber around everyone, Edrukk darts forward to hack at Memory's hip. His axe draws a long scratch across the surface of the hardened ceramic, but the wind warrior springs back just in time to prevent it from inflicting a more powerful blow.
Meanwhile, as Alais's blood trickles from Shame's sword, strange wisps seem to dance around the blade. A crack appears in the beautiful ceramic of its arm. It glances at its arm, then up at Alais. It adopts a more cautious stance as Broccan moves to intercept.
Shame slashes at Broccan in twin graceful arcs.
Down to the south, Glory strains against the shadows binding it. It glances at the shadow tethers, then at Briar. It says something in Auran to Venelle, takes a single step, and unleashes its deadly grace upon Sweetbrier Vervain.
Briar takes a step back and heals herself, cursing at the damn flying monster.
As the thing strikes Broccan with its sword, the miner attempts to trap the blade between his thickly calloused hands and snap the blade off at the hilt.
Broccan catches one of the warrior's ornate blades between his hands--and realizes in this moment that the blades are not steel at all. They're made of some sort of enhanced porcelain. He exerts his strength, attempting to snap the sword in two, and cracks spiderweb across its surface.
The longsword snaps in half. Shame appears to look upon the broken sword, appearing briefly stunned.
Ladies oughtn’t goggle, not least when they’re fighting for their lives. It must be admitted, however, that Alaïs is tempted, at Glory’s request.
Instead, from behind her guard position, as she keeps one eye on the elemental Briar snared with her spell, the elven aristocrat arches an eyebrow at the one across the chamber.
“Yours seems to want to duel, Briar!” she calls, switching back to Common from the breathy whistling of her bemused elemental speech. “I’m trying to negotiate for keeping it to spells between you two!”
While she’s distracted, Shame tries something, only for Broccan to manage a remarkable feat to thwart it. I’ll have to ask how he manages to be so inventive, she thinks, as she slips around the melee in an attempt to start moving back to support the others.
<“Ha! Caitiff!”> Alaïs hurls at the elemental, switching back to Auran to rebuke Shame, her spell empowering her words to thunder like a hammer blow - but her efforts to make sure she doesn't catch Broccan in the blast leave it going wide as harmlessly as an already passing storm.
Shame's voice grates with consternation. "The jibes you toss across the battlefield like loose clods of dirt are no treaty. But if they were, the cracks in my armor would show them to be a craven lie. Beware this arrogance, mendicant. It is familiar to us, and it is a blade with no hilt you would be wise to cast aside."
Alais's words strike Shame directly, but, seeming to fail to strike a "nerve", only echo harmlessly across the battlefield. Venelle, though, takes advantage of the distraction Alais offers to strike at Glory's back as it turns to retort. True to its word, it doesn't attempt to parry, and her blade chips a large shard off its armor. The shard bounce-rolls off the tiles and into the pit. A second later, everyone hears the shard shatter far below.
"These things are beyond me!" Seeker caws. The magpie-creature flies at the wind-warrior, flapping roughly and trying to get behind it, out of its field of vision. "Shoot it! Stab it! Break it into its--!"
Glory's blade slices right across the underside of Seeker's wing. At first, it seems to have cleaved only feathers. Then red blossoms and spreads across the black. Seeker lets out a horrible shriek, nearly falling right out of the air. The wind warrior regards her impassively.
Memory inclines its head with respect to its new foe as Kata drops behind Edrukk. It lashes out with both blades, but they clash against Edrukk's well-crafted armor.