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The Eager Edges report & Windswept Blades report victory in the farming fields. They've seen off the last Windsworn and secured the area. They're moving towards the banner at speed.
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Facsimilie bursts out over the rock and soars through the air to land with a graceful roll on the building below. As he kips up and moves to the side, something slams into him - in a curl smoke, far away, an Operative gives a little grin. Was she... aiming for the arm? Icons, it hurts. Feet pound up the stairs as Facsimilie clenches his teeth and stems the bleeding. Being shot is never fun. But this look like a survivable wound. Played merry hell with his plans to hide though.
Throwing up the hatch to the roof, a man throws a knife at his feet. Huh.
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Markhan rallies everyone around the standard and the troopers there stand tall amidst a rain of arrows and incoming spears, the medium shields and good positioning contriving to keep the worst of all the horror at bay. Being on ELEVATED POSITIONS - As Icarus can be sure of now, thinking about it, provides a few subtle boons, though they won't turn the tide of a significant conflict.
The troopers take heart and cheer as Markhan belts out a few inspiring words. They cheer louder when by sheer accident he contrives to clonk a Windsworn on the head with a rock.
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The Blue Rats lock shields and hold steady, and from beyond the smoke, suddenly, screams from the burning. Well, don't look a gift horse in the mouth - they exploit the distraction to take down one of their attackers. Wicklighter, patching up a bowman, gives him a check. They're good to go on, which they do - returning arrows with remarkable precision. Though most thud into the cover across the distant fields a seeking volley of arrows strike out. The Coldeyes. They'v taken the time to aim and breathe and steady themselves and that attack is telling. Wounded archers begin dribbling away from the hostile Windsworn.
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The western advance comes to a screeching, screaming, tumulteous halt as the Iconotheurges among us finally - finally - reveal that they have absolutely not one single shred of respect for dignity, humanity, limits or other peoples sense of integrity. Rather than be blown apart in some twisted nightmare ritual that combines Weaving personal attributes *with* an Invocation - literally heresy - the troopers scream, dive for cover or turn on Luz, beating him to the ground and disarming him of his needle. He could resist, but he has offloaded most of his strength and fierceness to the people around him.
The Icons, grand and high, consider such enormous hubris to be amusing. Imagine that: A little mortal speck that thinks to twist his own capabilties and then intermingle them with an Icon's strange strength. Bemused, delighted, and attentive to the world, Karathiel's shadow passes briefly over the area in a gust of intense wind.
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>... Respone Phase, hold a little.
