The Fire Rises: Attack on Tylmerande

[Storm Veritas]

The entire battle came and went in a massive wave; the momentum of the Brotherhood finally overwhelming the forces of Tylermande. In spite of the large numbers coming through in at the trio, Storm, Shinsou and Hayate were brazen, brutal, and effective. The waves of men were initially cut through, and Shinsou’s fantastic assault stopped the largest throng with his savage dark pulse attack, also festering with electricity.

When the smoke cleared from the massive blast, Storm eyed the warzone, dashing back and forth with terrible little leaps, driving daggers under the chins of downed and dying enemies in the echo of chaos. There was no reason to let them suffer further; these were brave strangers that would have made fine pawns for him in another lifetime. Worse, if not finished some would likely recover to some degree, with a flourish for the dramatic and some damned fool idea to attack the trio.

As smoke rose in a great chimney from the space where the battle had erupted, the inroads of Brotherhood soldiers arrived, slashing and cleaning and killing on cue. Looking at Hayate and Shinsou aiding in the finalization of the first wave of Tylermandians, a pang of jealousy tore at Storm. Shinsou had incorporated a new element into the fray, or so it seemed.

Electricity?! Trying to work my f*cking corner, Shin? And when does the power end?

Vaan Osiris was a great warrior and better friend, but the prideful Veritas couldn’t help but sneer at the notion that another special had more raw power. To direct such energy along an electrical impulse seemed an almost direct line to show how utterly replaceable the aging wizard had become.

Covered in rock dust, the three warriors cleared their brows as they marched up from the cinder stones, only a bolt in Shinsou and sweat lines about the necks, arms, and chests of the men proving the trio’s humanity. As the Telgradian explained his theory of low time, he was taken by a vision that distracted him distinctly. As Shinsou seemed to stare off into the sea towards Raiera, the elder wizard noticed a small band of horse-backed idiots barking orders at them.

These assholes have -got- to be shitting me.

No sooner than one of them had mentioned “diplomatic discussions” did Storm unseat the first damned fool by the very essence of her metal armor. Hoisting the armor high above the beautiful auburn steed with merely the raise of his hand, Veritas scowled and closed his fingers slightly, crushing the armor gently around the chest of the woman he’d later learn to call “Maverick”. The once bold eyes of the rider grew wild, shocked, and completely unaware. It seemed preposterous that people would attack any group including Storm Veritas with metal armor; the electromancer aimed to reprove his worth with a show of strength.

“I’m not sure you and yours are in a position to demand a gods-damned thing! Lions don’t concern themselves with the affairs of sheep; I’m not sure if you’ve noticed the blood-stained wool about you.” Storm’s voice boomed with sinister intent and anger.

“Storm – let her go.” Shinsou the eternal killer of fun beckoned him with resignation. Whatever the vision had been which captured the full attention of Vaan Osiris had either left him or granted him vision with this; the confidence and knowledge behind his friends voice was ultimately not to be doubted.

Still sneering, Storm turned his eyes from the gasping imbecile to Shinsou, still holding his dusted arm lightly in the air with frustration. Opening his hand with a flick, he released his hold, allowing Maverick to crash to the earth in a heap, likely spraining an ankle in the process. Despite the inevitable pain, there was relief, as the metal about his torso stress-relieved, a tinging sound as it tinged back into its normal shape and ceasing the slow strangle.

“These assholes friends of yours? A little late for litigation, no!?” Storm was tired, frustrated, and was generally wont to believe diplomacy was for people not risking their lives in combat. To the victors go the spoils was more his ideology in matters of battle. That there were only ten or so travelers in the small pack seemed like stilted odds, as though another shoe remained to drop.

Shinsou returned his look with a bit of fear. His eyes shot about the field, looking for an unseen enemy. The lack of relaxation given the situation lended serious cause for concern in Storm. “No…” his voice trailed as he continued to scan about. “More friends of a friend.”

Something was coming, and Storm had missed it.