Let's be war buddies...

[initiates]

Date & Time: 18th, beginning at 2100 hours, through to the 20th.
Location: All around Exsilium.
Characters: Everyone!
Summary: The United Earth decides Exsilium had obviously not learned its lesson back in October, and does another round of humble-making bombing for those impertinent exiles. OOC info can be found here.
Warnings: Violence, death, general gloom and doom.

The warning had gone out approximately two hours before the bombing began, broadcast to any available receptor on the island: UE aggressions incoming, bombs expected; please proceed to Catacombs immediately. It repeats over and over, right up until the first bomb, aimed at the Hold itself, silences the signal.

The air is thick with smoke and worse. Every one to two hours another bomb shakes the island. Buildings crumble and shatter, but the focus is on the Hold and the native hospital. Initiative employees, some sick as anyone else, are steadfast in their escorting natives and transports alike into the underground catacombs. For two days the bombs continue ceaselessly, dropped by their cloaked and invisible carriers overhead.

The United Earth is nothing if not thorough.

Comments

SECOND OPTION IS OPEN!

[lexiconning]

[CLOSED TO ADRA | catacombs entrance]

[ 'four blocks, 2 gates' She keeps it playing over in her head, holds onto that information. The entire trek is fuzzy, but she makes it there in (mostly) one piece.

When she sees the various people at the entrance, glances at her broken arm, and recalls suddenly that it needs to be healed, she grimaces, and darts away from anyone unfamiliar that comes near. Her good arm keeps the other pinned to her side, keeping it from swinging and making things any worse, plus her temple is bleeding pretty badly and there's much more blood on her shirt and pants but... that part isn't hers.

A thought comes: Where is that one doctor she met? The one who gave her something warm to drink. A blanket... If she has to see a doctor, she thinks, it should be Adrasteius. ]


[OPEN TO ALL!! | later in catacombs]

[ Syllona's found herself a nice, dark and quiet wall to sit against and she's decided she doesn't want to leave the spot. Or well, maybe she decided that a few hours ago, she's not good with time. Keeping track of it requires remembering unwelcome things, and something very recent especially threatens to drag up more.

If you happen by, she doesn't react. No sudden start, or hello. In fact, she looks perfectly calm, now. Her veil is even folded neatly at her side, though there's still dried blood on the rest of her, unfortunately. She sits with her legs crossed, a little notebook and pencil in hand. She's writing circles with dotted, curving letters neatly inside and layered, some broken by lines connecting one circle to the next.

For those sensitive to magic, they might sense a little spark of something when the lines connect. ]

[miscreant]

What are you doing?

[Seviilia's approach hadn't been quiet -- it was difficult to be quiet when you were in full plate armor, after all. She has a friend with her as well, a corpse by the looks of things, peering with glowing yellow eyes at the sitting woman from behind her legs.

Her runeaxes are in her hands and there's some dried blood on her armor, none of which appears to be her's at first glance. She remembers this woman -- but more importantly, she picked up the hint of something when she rounded the corner.]

Would you not be more useful assisting those on the surface?

[lexiconning]

[ Syllona slowly raises her head to look, her eyes widen a notch -- this person again, and there's a frightening thing behind her -- but that's the most shock she can muster up just now. ]

Wouldn't you be, too? [ Spoken softly, but there's a distinct lack of hesitance from the last time they met. The pencil is still going, broad strokes creating more of that feeling but otherwise looking like normal, simple lines and circles. ]

[miscreant]

Perhaps, if I cared to assist.

[Its an annoying prickling. She was not nearly as magic sensitive in death as she was in life, the craving having since been replaced for something much darker, but it was enough to catch her attention.]

But you didn't answer my first question.

[lexiconning]

Writing...drawing. [ She gives her a look out of the corner of her eyes; puzzled, defensive. ]

Were you killing people?

[miscreant]

Is that all?

[Maybe she was killing people in the chaos...maybe not. She pauses to glance down at her armor like she hadn't noticed the blood there and shakes her head.]

There's quite a lot of corpses out there to wade through to get to safety. My kind does not tend to do well when heat is involved.

[lexiconning]

[ Liar, she thinks. But it's strange, on any other day she'd be bolting away from this conversation by now, but... Today, her fear feels detached. Too much work to conjure up. She looks away, down at the floor.]

And what... what counts as your 'kind'?

[miscreant]

Perhaps you have met Commander Deathweaver. Or Commander Thassarian?

[Her answer has layers, but she'll simplify it for the sake of saving time.]

We are death knights.

[lexiconning]

[ A shake of her head, still avoiding eye contact. ]

I-Is that like mercenaries? I've never heard of you.

[miscreant]

[Her eyes are pretty unsettling, she doesn't blame you.]

You likely would not have heard of us if you were not of Azeroth. We are soldiers, returned to life for service in an army of the undead.

[Out comes a very tiny scoff from her.]

Service in the army of the Initiative now, I suppose.

[lexiconning]

Undead. So-- so you're... [ Okay. that draws some fear from her, shoulders tensing. But before it can rattle her any further another thought comes and she lets out a frustrated breath, glaring at some speck of dirt. ]

I should probably be used to dead things by now.

[ More quietly: ] Well, you're all not alone in that then. None of us really... have a choice.

[miscreant]

[The fear causes her to smile almost kindly -- almost. Generating fear eases the clawing curse that is her undeath, so its always nice when she finds those that are easily startled by information alone.]

Dead, yes. I've been dead for several years now.

[She doesn't comment on that last thing. Unwilling military service is a touchy subject.]

[lexiconning]

And somehow... somehow they brought you back. That's a frightening magic.

[ It really is. Death is absolutely horrifying, but to think you could be brought back from something like that.. The idea doesn't sit well with her, mostly because it's difficult to wrap her head around. ]

W-who are you, anyway?

[miscreant]

Powerful and dark magic, yes. I'm but one of thousands.

[Millions, actually, but the death knights were smaller in number.]

You may call me Seviilia.

[lexiconning]

Gods...

[ She looks up finally, really taking in Seviilia's appearance. The thing behind her gets a flinching grimace, but then her attention is firmly back on her face. ]

You look... kind of like some people here. S- sin.... Sin'dorei. Is that your race?

[miscreant]

Ah, perceptive little girl, aren't you?

[Her smile spreads.]

Sin'dorei indeed.

[lexiconning]

[ Gulp. ]

Told you before, I'm smarter than I look... Just does that mean these other death knights are sin'dorei too?

[miscreant]

[He he he.]

Thassarian is human. Sir Deathweaver is sin'dorei.

[lexiconning]

Oh.

[ And then, because this question feels like its become increasingly more important: ] So you and them. You kill often?

[bloodspeaker]

[If not for Catsovi, this doctor would still be lying, breathless, among the rubble. But he's been dragged underground by this point and he's had a little time to recover. As soon as he can manage it, he's up and walking around, looking for people to assist, looking to give away even more of his limited reserves of energy. Syllona is the perfect candidate.

He waves at her once he spots her, and teleports forward, closing the distance between them immediately.]

Thank the Light. Are you okay? Are you injured?

[lexiconning]

[ She starts at the teleporting, blinking widely until that bit of shock passes. Then her eyes are down at the arm she's holding onto, something right where the socket connects is badly fractured.

Her words come out in panicked gasps, and she honestly hopes he can catch all of it. ]

Adrasteius! My arm, and my head. Please. But we have to-- have to get underground because there could be more.

[bloodspeaker]

[Now that he's up close, he can see her injuries clearly. Scowling, he sets a careful, gentle hand on her shoulder. A bubble of shimmering, protective Light encircles her, just as another explosion shakes the ground under the feet. The spell does more than protect, though--it also fills the girl with a surge of energy, enabling her to move much more rapidly than before.]

Come on. We're very close--the entrance is just there. [He gestures some ways down the broken sidewalk--then he takes her hand and starts moving.]

[lexiconning]

[ She cringes and stumbles a bit to hold her footing, noticing the Light and the energy it causes with vague confusion. But she nods all the same, hurrying with him to the opening, her own hand shaking against his. ]

Thank Kodesh you were here...

[bloodspeaker]

[If they weren't presently in the middle of an actual crisis, Adra would have stopped and questioned her on that oath. Kodesh. Some kind of false god, no doubt. But there isn't time to think on it. Adra squeezes Syllona's hand as he navigates through the continuously falling debris, as he avoids the thickest clouds of gas. The shields glowing around their bodies keep them safe, but they won't last forever.]

I'll always be here, should you call for me.

[lexiconning]

[ You can't know that for sure! Is what she thinks. The poisoned air cuts her off with a fit of coughs before it's actually said, however. And that's just as well, especially when he's doing so much to help her...

Something else rumbles the ground and she nearly runs ahead, chancing an anxious look up at him when it passes. They were close, weren't they? ]