#int. w/kell/solandria

[princemordecai]

@kellofstormsea location: Solandria, Astoria notes: holding out at the harbor of a coastal city after being sold out by a darkfriend, maybe their last push before they had to leave for the front? Anyway, let me know if you want me to change anything.

Threads of fire slipped through the air as they wounded over the prince’s hand, palm pressed against his shoulder, Leander cauterized the point where the arrow had pierced his shoulder. A job done out of both haste and necessity as the blood on the simple tunic of Astorian make already began to dry. Simple cotton lined with plain embroidery at the hem, frayed and blackened in places, a pyre had been built at the town’s center as the Vanguard descended upon the harbor town of Solandria.  

“We’ve been betrayed.” Someone within those they shepherded, or one of the connections that they had made. It seemed that it didn’t matter how thoroughly the Agent they worked with had vetted their associate, the Vanguard had finally caught up with them. “Isaura Cressidus is dead.” The Agent of Minerva was older, and skilled in psionics, “They tampered with our wards-” There’d be time enough to figure out how this had come to pass later, for now, what mattered was getting those they could onto the boat and seeing them all to safety. 

Leander scanned the faces of the desperate pilgrims they’d gathered from farms and fields, young and old alike, but all of which were largely untrained. They held trickles of magic where the Olympians were a raging sea. In the distance, Leander heard the cry of the Vanguard as they marched through the streets, if it was Olympians they expected to find here then it was Olympians that the Vanguard would find. This wasn’t how Leander had wanted to see this land off, but it was what he’d expected. His gaze shifted to the pair of Scholars they traveled with, the Healer as well. “Get them on the boats, Kell and I will hold off the Vanguard.” 

[princemordecai]

“Two Olympians against an army? Hardly seems fair.” The quip fell from the corner of his lips as threads of air wound: narrowing the channels where they could be attacked was essential, if the pair were to be overcome it was because they were flanked. Leander could hear them coming from all sides, through the alleys and up the waterways running along the port. The town was old though, its buildings were bricks and mortar and the two had precious time to prepare - time the prince would not see wasted. 

Into the earth, Leander shifted his magic as he turned his hands over the metaphysical strands of earth that wove their way up from the ground below. The Prince was a product of the tower, but he’d spent years training in the cliffs of Blackrock, worked his magic into the natural phenomena of the world to develop a signature that was synonymous to the Lionheart’s signature: creating weaves embedded with a combination of both alteration and destruction magic. 

The ground smoldered as the stones bubbled from the nearest alley, he pushed further as he channeled more of the One Power through him, inflicting his will upon the metaphysical pattern that wove together the fabric of their physical world.  Smoke rose from the streets to meet the ash clouds from the Vanguard above, their fires would bring heat into the air, and sudden evaporation inevitably brought rain. A storm was something else the Olympians could use. 

Molten rock erupted from the alley as one building fell into another, then into the next as the melting stones of homes and shops spilled into the channel - blocking the Vanguard from approaching the Prince from anywhere but the front. The magma seeped forth, curving as the advance was suddenly halted, Leander’s brow was set into a hard line, more than Prince Mordecai, he was also an Olympian: a Warrior of Mars, and one way or another they were leaving this Gods-forsaken land. 

Bolts rang out, but this time he was ready, catching them in a shield of compressed air before he shifted to turn them against the Vanguard, releasing the barbed arrows back into the crowd of religious fanatics.

Kell hadn't felt the sting of betrayal just yet; perhaps it was one of those feelings that needed more time to sink in, marinate in her gut until she grew bitter and resentful. Grief, however, was more present, threatening to tug her heart out of her body. She swallowed it down, locked it back in her ribcage where it thrummed in her chest steadily. This was not the moment to ruminate on such things.

They had been caught unawares, and in the ensuing chaos Leander had garnered a bolt in his shoulder. It appeared that luck had been on their side; Leander's injury appeared the harshest, Kell herself was largely untouched, and the civilians they're shepherding appeared mostly unharmed. She hopes it stays that way. They had given themself a decent amount of space for Leander to calculate and give orders. Somewhere behind them were ships meant to bore the witches to Lysara - home, for all intents and purposes - and it's now certain they'd have to leave in a much more pressing manner than they anticipated.

She kept low, eyes scanning the town before them. The Vanguard was conducting a thorough sweep of the town in their search for them, the chaotic sounds of their ransacking echoed between buildings and alleyways towards them. Kell could see black dendrils of smoke rising into the air, cresting rooftops.

She afforded a glance back towards Leander; she had put some distance between them, staying close enough to hear his orders but far enough that a marksman would have to shoot twice to be rid of them both. She opened her mouth to offer aid, but found him to be triaging his own wound. She quickly returned to scanning the town with her hand on the hilt of her sword, tensed and ready to pounce.

Leander's orders came as no surprise to her. She could hear the Scholars get to work ushering the people away behind them. The Vanguard grew closer, boots thudding the cobblestone street below them. Kell drew her sword in a fluid motion, and offered lowly: "You go right, I go left?"