"The Doom of Lycenae"

Log Date:
	1/21/99

Log Cast:
	Khalid Atar, the God-King
	Hashim, Warlord of Clan Sarazen (NPC)
	Thalia, an Empyrean captive
	Faanshi, a shudra of Clan Sarazen
	Ulima, a wise-woman of Clan Sarazen (NPC)
	Kiera, Favored of Khalid Atar
	Maimun, a Varati wyvern rider (NPC)
	Aurora, a wingless Empyrean
	Assorted scouts, sentries, warriors, Warlords, Agni-Haidar, and
	  Atarvani of the Varati hosts (NPC)
	Assorted citizens of Lycenae (NPC)

Log Intro:
	The riding of Clan Sarazen to war has proven a journey of wonders
for the young shudra who dwells under the thumb of the Warlord Hashim.
It is wonder enough that she has been permitted to see the wide word beyond
the Sarazen vara -- but now that she is within the mighty encampments
of the Varati hosts, somewhere in the territory of the Empyre, she has
discovered a wonder that has driven almost all else from her thoughts.
	There is another halfbreed in the camp. One with wings. One who
has the favor of none other than Khalid Atar himself, and who wishes to
take her to Haven with her.
	The enormity of her discovery has shaken Faanshi immensely, but 
little does she know that she hasn't seen anything yet...

----------
It has been days since Khalid has been seen by the vast majority of 
  the grand army. Relegating himself mostly to his own command tent, the 
  God-King of the Varati has taken a majority of his meals in private and is 
  apparently consumed with his own thoughts on the events that are to unfold 
  this day. Only Kiera and Thalia have been allowed in to see him and even 
  then, it has been rare.

It is early morning and the sun has only begun to rise, breaking through the 
  stormy clouds that have threatened the horizon for nearly a week now. Pinks 
  and purples mix with subtle reds in an awe-inspiring scene that is played 
  out in the heavens above. Khalid seems to be taken by the beauty of this 
  chilly, winter morning as he kneels before his large ebony blade, which has 
  been stabbed into the icey grounds. Soft words are murmured by the God-King 
  in a private prayer of sorts, perhaps.

Days, too, since the warriors of Clan Sarazen have been summoned to 
  patrol, and even longer since any sign of impending combat. But on this 
  morning, when the hues of dawn set the stormclouds aflame, Sarazen rouses as 
  it has each morning. They gather to be led in morning prayers, and then 
  their drills commence. Their sentries are alert, awaiting the first sign of 
  news that their status is about to be altered. In the heart of Sarazen's 
  sector of the camp, Warlord Hashim stalks in nervous, restless wakefulness, 
  smelling change in the frost-clear air, muttering his own prayers over and 
  over under his breath... and keeping his eyes away from the skyborne 
  panorama of fire and light.

Thalia emerges from a tent, escorted by one of the Agni-Haidar--as she 
  always is. The early morning sun falls upon blonde hair in disarray, setting 
  the colour on fire and matching the gold tones which are awakening the sky. 
  She has yet to shrug off her slumber completely, a kind of sleepy 
  befuddlement ruling over her expression. After rubbing at her eyes with the 
  back of her fingers, she blinks a few times and pulls her wrap in about her 
  more tightly. It's cold. The icey fingers of dawn strip away the reminants 
  of the dreams and freezes her breath as she releases it from her lungs.

In the background, there is a loud snarl as the Wyvern Queen 
  restlessly paws at the frozen ground with sharp, huge talons. Stone and 
  earth are equally torn apart under her not so gentle caresses, as she waits 
  with little patience. She smells the strife in the air, the coming of 
  battle. The coming of something great and terrible. And with another toss of 
  her majestic head, she gazes towards her master in anticipation.

Still kneeling before his ebon blade, Khalid murmurs softly, "Today, father, I 
  envoke such magics that have not seen the light of day on this earth for 
  over four centuries. Forgive me for what I must do and understand why I do 
  it. It is not for the Varati, alone. Nor for the Empyre. It is for a world 
  that teeters on the edge of the abyss and if I fail, all will be consumed in 
  darkness. Once more, I am called to be the Destroyer, if I am to save the 
  whole." Large blue eyes, wracked with emotion, gaze upwards to that heavy, 
  golden sun which has only begun to awaken this morning. Slowly, he pushes 
  himself up as flakes of snow fall from his black pants. Mightnight wings 
  stretch and spread, eclipsing the sunrise for a moment , as he brings 
  himself to his full stature.

Within the heart of Sarazen's encampment, a shabbily clad figure tries 
  to wriggle her way through a loose seam in the back of the Warlord's tent -- 
  only to be caught by an aged but unyielding hand, pinioned by bright black 
  eyes. "Where are you going, child?" "Ulima--!" Caught on her second attempt 
  to sneak out into the encampment, Faanshi turns red beneath her veils. 
  Questioned, she confesses her desire to see the dawn again... but not, quite 
  yet, the other wonder she has seen, the halfbreed, the one with wings and 
  pointed ears. Her lined face still and pensive with an inner musing, the 
  wise-woman allows the girl to accompany her to the front of the tent, and 
  the two peek out into the morning. "Ushas is awake today, my child," Ulima 
  whispers. "And so is her son. You and I... we should keep within until this 
  morning passes."

The halfbreed in question - the one with the pointy ears - is 
  miserable again. If she never sees another snowflake in her life... That 
  will be too soon. Kiera stands huddled, unhappy, under the tarp erected for 
  her small comfort, near a fire - but not over it - and she eyes the Wyvern 
  queen with patented distrust. A light breeze washes over the scene, merrily 
  scattering the falling snow, dancing with the uprising smoke and seeping 
  through cracks and holes in tents and armour alike, to bring a chill of 
  alertness to those within.

Grey eyes glance about as a faint crease makes its way across Thalia's 
  brow. There is something in the air. Electricity. Anticipation. A collective 
  breath being held. A slight shiver courses through her form, shaking at the 
  wings which are pinned close to her body and stirring the feathers there. 
  That wrap of hers gets pulled in even more tightly but it doesn't help. She 
  is guided along her course, the soft crush of snow underfoot, and slowly 
  cuts a path toward Khalid. The wind is her companion, playing about her and 
  toying with the fabrics of her clothing. Dance, dance. She comes to a stop a 
  bit aways from the God-King, watching him with a combination of gentle 
  curiousity and nervous dread. His words are too soft for her ears and that's 
  just as well. So, she waits.

A gloved hand comes to wind itself tightly around the hilt of the ebon 
  blade as Khalid yanks it free of the snow and ice. Slipping it into his sash 
  once more, he turns towards Thalia and approaches with steady, determined 
  steps. Blue eyes search the Empyrean woman's face once he is within striking 
  distance as he says quietly, "Do not judge me on what you see today, for 
  what I do, I do for a reason beyond the obvious." His great wings flap once 
  more, agitated and ready, perhaps. "I have precious little time. The other 
  nations will not watch on the sidelines forever. Eventually they will also 
  take sides, against the Varati or the Empyre. Or for their own advantages. 
  And no matter what they do, it damages of their actions will have 
  consequences ten-fold of what I must do this day. Time is something we do 
  not have and the it is paid with a hefty price. A price in blood. The blood 
  of all our people."

As a young girl of Clan Sarazen draws unconsciously closer to her 
  heart-mother and teacher, unnerved by the older woman's unvoiced implication 
  that on this morning the presence of the Son of the Dawn is to be avoided 
  rather than sought out, the warriors of Sarazen... and of other waking clans 
  across the gigantic encampment... prepare themselves. Weapons clash in 
  practice drills, their noise a rhythmic dissonance all across the tents of 
  the Varati Clans. Shudra hasten back and forth, blinking sleep from drowsy 
  eyes in their rush to fetch and carry, to get gear into the hands of those 
  who demand it. The Agni-Haidar, their black-clad presences a dark 
  counterpoint to the vividly hued banners of the Clans, begin to lift their 
  gazes to the dawn, for they, too, sense something building with the birthing 
  of this day.

Kiera could, of course, use the breeze to harass the Wyvern Queen, to 
  pass the time. Then again... Kiera glances over, spies the black wings of 
  her God-King, and sighs. Khalid-Atar probably wouldn't like that. Now, upon 
  further inspection of that entity, Kiera also realizes that Something is Up. 
  Her gaze sweeps over Thalia, then scans the rest of the immediate area, 
  before drifting back to the Amir-Al, where it settles comfortably, 
  unblinkingly. All considerations of Wyvern Queen harassment drift away, as 
  Kiera may now Watch.

Thalia draws in a deep breath, the cold air stinging her both inside 
  and out. The blood of all our people. What kind of day will this be? Her 
  eyes remain on the God-King's face for a long, silent moment before she 
  turns them out to the rolling lands beyond. Tents, soldiers, steeds, weapons 
  ... everywhere she looks, the preparations for war. Sadness sweeps over her 
  features and she drops her head slightly, shaking it a bit and setting her 
  locks into a soft sway. "Don't do this," she pleads quietly, although she 
  knows it is all for naught. "There must be other ways." Another shiver slips 
  through her soul and her mind wanders to the thought: Do all such days begin 
  like this? So quiet and pure. Simple. The woman finds Khalid's face once 
  more, a desperate helplessness riding her features which cannot be comforted.

A dark speck appears in the midst of the overcast sky. It is far away 
  yet, and difficult to discern. A bird, perhaps. But no, it is too big to be 
  a bird. A Praetorian scout? That is another possibility, and those 
  sharp-eyed Varati who've been instructed to keep watch for scouts might 
  notice this far-off shape, and frown, and study it. A few might touch their 
  bowstrings -- especially when it becomes clear that the shape is headed 
  directly for the Varati army. But by then, its unique shape has grown 
  familiar. It is a wyvern -- a queen -- and it is descending toward the camp.

"There is no more time. Each day I wait, the war rages on. Each day I 
  wait, more die. It must end and must end soon. I must show the Empyre I will 
  do anything to end this war and that they cannot stand against the might of 
  the Varati kingdom. That even if they sacrifice thousands of lives to save 
  their precious seats on the Aegis or the crown on the boy-Empyror, that I 
  will be victorious. And that I will come for -them-." Khalid speaks these 
  words to Thalia in impassioned, fierce tones that are carried on the winds 
  of this cool, bitter morning. As those infrequent rays of light shine down 
  on the pair he says, "Kalypso has failed. As have the others. I can no 
  longer put my faith in any other save myself. I must do this terrible deed, 
  so that others may live." He does not wait to hear what Thalia might say in 
  response; perhaps he cannot stand the pain that he knows is within her 
  heart. Regardless, with a quick scan of the camp, he spies Kiera and makes 
  swiftly towards his Clanmate.

Oh! Kiera startles as fate changes her from being the Watcher to the 
  Watched, and Watched by such a one who Watches her. She shifts her wings, 
  her eyes widening somewhat and her head tilting in that distinctly avian 
  gesture of closer examination, of attentiveness. Still, she watches Khalid, 
  and a light breeze swirls around him, like an unseen welcome, a pleasant 
  greeting. Kiera studies the God-King's face until he is within ten paces of 
  her, then she drops her gaze, hoods her features to a respectful neutral. 
  Only the gentle wind continues to caress his feathers, his cloak and hair. 
  Thus absorbed, Kiera misses the speck in the sky, the approach of another 
  Wyvern Queen.

The airborne queen senses another -- smells it, spies it, and issues a 
  challenge. Its high-pitched, grating call is as distinct as its shape -- 
  like steel against slate, and those who hadn't noticed its approach do so 
  now, wincing as they gaze upward. Broad, leathery wings beat the air as the 
  queen circles. It holds two riders, and the more skilled of them steers the 
  beast away from the king's mount. The queens would fight to the death if 
  they could, and today is not the day for such a battle.

"A Queen?" 

"A second Queen, my Lord!" 

"Nayaka, it descends upon the camp!" 

"Ready yourselves, but stand fast." The sentries nearest to the heart 
  of the camp spy the passengers upon the descending creature, and then, 
  swiftly, the word spreads across the camp. Warriors and those who lead them 
  remain in readiness. Rumors do not fly, at least not among the Warlords. But 
  the rank and file, and the shudra and women who tend the gear and the lesser 
  beasts, send their whispers flying from mouth to ear.

Screeching her own challenge, Khalid's Queen seems ready to take to 
  the air for battle. -She- is the mistress of this domain and none shall 
  contest her mastery of all that she surveys. Quickly, her own handlers move 
  to intercept the ferocious beast and in moments, they manage to get her 
  under control, though not without some injuries. One man nurses a bleeding 
  hand, while another rubs at his back after being tossed aside.

Sparing a momentary glance at the ensuing chaos, Khalid's expression softens 
  slightly as he spies the second Queen. He mutters something to himself, 
  before finally closing in on Kiera. "Little hawk, you must ride with me this 
  day. We will approach the enemy and closely. Shield me from their weapons, 
  for I shall be distracted."

As usual, Kiera forgets the various social niceties, and she looks up 
  sharply, fully in the face of Khalid with her wide eyes gone even wider. 
  This task seems even more daunting than the near-battle that just occured, 
  this honor rivaling those two others Khalid has given Kiera. She draws a 
  breath, then straightens unconciously, half-mantling her wings in a proud 
  gesture. "I will serve you," she speaks, lips curving up slightly, "With all 
  my life." Those eight words, before Kiera bows her head again and closers 
  her wings, "Khalid-Atar." The name is clipped in Kiera's odd almost-Sylvan 
  accent, with her own peculiar Graisha twist to it, but it is as Kiera has 
  always spoken the God-King's name, except softer and with considerable 
  pleasure.

Space clears below the second queen as the spectators -- some anxious 
  and apprehensive at having two wyvern queens in such close proximity -- make 
  way. Those massive wings beat the air and send up plumes of snow from the 
  ground, forcing the watchers back even further as they struggle to keep 
  clothing and veils in order. By now, the two riders are easily visible. The 
  first is a dark-clad Varati, stoic of form and stern of feature. He is 
  preoccupied with keeping his mount under control. The second, seated behind 
  him, is smaller, feminine, and distinctly non-Varati. She is dressed like 
  one, but her 'leyang' has slipped free. Her hair is golden.

Maimun, the rider, coaxes the queen to rest on the frozen ground, and he keeps 
  tight hold of the reins while his 'passenger' dismounts.

Those words cannot help but bring a smile to Khalid's own worried 
  lips. For a moment, the concerns, the doubts, the risks are all forgotten. 
  He gazes down at Kiera, sharing a private moment, as reflections of old 
  conversations and old heroes are remembered. Placing a gloved hand on 
  Kiera's shoulder, he squeezes tightly as he murmurs, "Thank you. With all my 
  heart. As do -our- people." His blue eyes flicker towards the second Queen, 
  waiting for its passengers to disembark, before speaking once more to the 
  half-breed, "You do yourself honor. You do the memory of Vinita honor. And 
  you do me honor." And then the mask is upon him as explains, "Yet, I shall 
  be invoking great fires at the end of this day. Will you be able to master 
  your fears, or will you have to retreat the field?"

Fire. Fire fire fire fire fire. Brief horror escapes Kiera's 
  expression, to lighten the hues of her eyes to a momentary light amber, 
  before she shuts those eyes entirely and draws a ragged breath. Khalid, 
  through that hand on his shoulder, will feel Kiera's body shudder with the 
  notion. Another breath, no smooother than the first, then a third, before 
  Kiera can open her eyes again to meet Khalid's. "With all of my life." 
  Kiera's normally quiet voice is weaker still; with the inescapable 
  conclusion that she likely will die this day. "If I run, I would have you 
  kill me." The halfbreed's jaw twitches as she speaks this, or asks this in 
  her own way, but her gaze remains steady on Khalid Atar.

Maimun does not dismount; he knows that the queens will be unruly as 
  long as they can see and smell one another, so the instant the slender, 
  fair-skinned woman is on the ground, he urges is steed back into the air. He 
  makes some salute to Khalid -- perhaps unnoticed -- before wheeling the 
  queen back toward the rear of the army. 

His former 'passenger' stands where she is, heedless of murmurs that had 
  rippled through the onlookers at her appearance, and heedless of the winds 
  that the queen's wings had roused, which disturb her leyang even further. 
  She simply remains in place, and her eyes are on the God-King and his 
  hawk-winged companion.

Filled with joy at the sheer strength and conviction of his young, but 
  already world-weary Clanmate, Khalid speaks, "You shall never come to harm 
  at my hand, little hawk. I have eternal faith in you." His gloved fingers 
  squeeze once more, tightly, at Kiera's shoulder. Then dipping into a bow of 
  sorts, he places a kiss on the half-breeds brow as he murmurs, "No matter 
  what shall come of this day, know that you are dear to me. A daughter of my 
  heart. Wait for me by the Queen." He says no more to the girl he has come to 
  cherish as his own over these last few years, for no more can be said. 
  Twisting on a heel, as black boots crush packed ice, he searches the crowd 
  until Aurora is found. And with quick steps, he begins to move in her 
  direction.

The second queen has moved. The word spreads, relayed from scout to 
  scout, and occasionally amongst the tents that fringe the heart of the vast 
  encampment there are jockeyings for position, subtle contentions for the 
  best positions to view the doings of the Amir-al, his Favored, and the one 
  who has arrived. Some of the watchers are sent sharply on their way by their 
  masters, reminded with stinging swiftness that their assigned duties do not 
  include gawking at their betters. But several scouts remain, some in the 
  garb of the Agni-Haidar, some in the colors of the Clans, for the 
  anticipation in the air has not diminished. Each scout retains the surety 
  that they will have something of vital importance to relay soon, and each is 
  on the alert to be off and running with the news to their commanders.

Only slowly does Kiera follow Khalid's orders. She returns to Watching 
  him, tracking him to Aurora. And Aurora's presence has its effect on Kiera; 
  her face cracks into a small smile. Likewise eddying breezes come up to meet 
  that woman and slide about her in a brief, playful greeting before Kiera 
  turns away, trudges toward that hated Wyvern Queen.

A breath is drawn in and held for a moment as Aurora watches the 
  god-king's approach. Her expression shows nothing -- not the adulation that 
  shines in so many of his people's eyes, nor challenge as some might expect, 
  given her Empyreal features. She merely watches, looking neither to the left 
  nor right, where she might encounter the curious gazes of the onlookers. 
  When he has drawn closer, she speaks, and her tone is low and quiet, yet 
  with a peculiar, musical quality that seems unique to many Empyreans. There 
  is also a slight accent to her words, of no known origin. "I have done what 
  you asked of me."

Apparently the Queen dislikes Kiera just as much as the half-breed 
  dislikes her. The gaping maw of the tyrant beast opens to reveal rows of 
  jagged, horrific teeth as the 'little hawk' approaches. From the gleam of 
  her black eyes, it would appear that she is considering the value of making 
  this newest rider into a snack. But for the moment, she desists in further 
  displays of her dominance, prefering to gain what little warmth she can from 
  the sun.

"I know. Now I must ask for more. I know the cost. We bear it both." Those 
  words are Khalid's only answer to Aurora's statements. Fiery blue eyes take 
  in the countenance of the diminutive wingless Empyrean woman as he looms 
  before her. There is no threat in his stance, however, or in his voice. One 
  would have trouble reading his emotions, in fact, though perhaps there is 
  regret. Or resignation. As if in anticipation for what is to come, his 
  glorious black wings unfurl once more to catch the winds.

Unseen by the Queen's master, Kiera returns, tit-for-tat the Wyvern's 
  expression. On her, however, it's much less dramatic - only a drawing back 
  of her lips, showing of her ineffective canines and a decisive /hiss/, 
  rather like that of a peeved hawk than Kiera's current form. Never-the-less, 
  the halfbreed halts quite far enough from her soon-to-be-mount to launch a 
  serious offensive tactic or two, if the Queen really decides to take Kiera 
  to task.

Whatever the 'cost' is, it must weigh just as heavily on Aurora's 
  shoulders as on Khalid's. Her clear grey eyes close for a moment, and her 
  brow wrinkles as if the images she sees beneath those closed lids pain her. 
  "This is necessary?" come her soft words -- just those three.

"I would not do it if it were not." Khalid speaks those words as if 
  that was all that had to be said on the matter. As if there was some level 
  of implicit trust between the two that would convince an Empyrean woman to 
  aid the God-King of her people's sworn enemies.

The Wyvern Queen hisses again, at Kiera, at licks her chops with a 
  long, serpentine tongue. Yet, there are no more threats issued to the 
  graisha as she waits for her master.

Aurora's eyes open, and while she had noticed Kiera earlier, and 
  caught that small smile, and felt the welcoming breeze, she cannot tear her 
  gaze away from Khalid. Her fair-skinned face is paler still. Her throat 
  works, and after drawing in a labored breath, she whispers, "I... can't. I 
  cannot watch. Once, perhaps. But not now." Swallowing, she lowers her eyes 
  to the ground, and there is a kind of resignation in the slump of her 
  shoulders as well, to match Khalid's. But most of all, her stance is 
  defeated, and she couldn't raise her eyes to him if she tried.

"I understand." The words are kind, gentle and forgiving. There is no 
  disappointment in his voice, only deep understanding. Khalid's right hand 
  slides upwards to cup Aurora's cheek as he murmurs, "I won't ask this of 
  you. Kiera will be my shield and my sword, if I should need either. Stay in 
  my tent and await me. We will...need to talk after this is deed is done." 
  Once again, black wings flutter in nervous anticipation.

Likewise, the Graisha studies the Wyvern with a once-more impassive 
  expresion. Only she is considering the size of a rotisserie, and what 
  spices, if any, might soften the flesh of a Queen over hot coals. Even Kiera 
  probably couldn't eat Wyvern meat raw. Those leathery wings - must be good 
  for something, though they provide no feathers. Maybe... Permanent arches in 
  Kiera's favorite spot in the garden of Atesh-Gah. Rain-proof hide to shelter 
  those infrequent guests who may visit Kiera there.... And what could be made 
  of Wyvern bones, of those mightly talons? --To all others, of course, Kiera 
  appears as immobile, as mute and as deaf as some have guessed her to be. And 
  it's a good thing that Wyverns cannot read minds.

A fair, slender hand raises and dares to touch the dusky skin of the 
  God-King. Aurora folds her hand over his for an instant, where he touches 
  her cheek. Moisture slides from beneath her lashes and trails down to wet 
  Khalid's fingertips, and Aurora whispers, "Be merciful." If there is more 
  she wishes to say, she cannot find the words.

"I will spare those I can." Khalid has no tears, or perhaps he has already 
  shed them. Yet, blue eyes are full and round, deep with the emotion that 
  fills him at this very moment. Angrily, his black wings extend to their full 
  height and width, shielding the pair for a few spare seconds. And in that 
  time, the God-King of the Varati takes the opportunity to plant a gentle 
  kiss on the cheek of the tiny woman he towers over. A kiss to steal away 
  the tears. And then he is gone, his wings furled once more and his back 
  turned to her. "I will see you soon," are his parting words as he marches 
  towards the Queen. His stoic mask is in place and fierce determination 
  fills his fiery blue eyes. 

No sooner has Khalid left Aurora then Kiera's breeze is with her again. Just a
  little something more than ambient air-movement, just a silent whisper of
  unseen movement against her hair and cheek. When Khalid nears her, Kiera's
  breeze stutters, pulls back. Uneasy farewell to the Teacher. Kiera still
  stares at the Queen.

Aurora watches him go and folds her arms around herself, cold outside 
  of the shelter of those ebon wings. Despite his reassurances, more tears 
  trail after the first, and even those gentle breezes meant to console do not 
  ease the pain from her expression. She stands in the same spot, mute and 
  still as stone, and she watches Khalid Atar and Kiera approach the Queen. 
  She will watch until they have mounted and flown away, and she will continue 
  to watch, long after the Queen is no more than a speck in the sky. And she 
  will pray.

"We ride to Lycenae. And where we ride, flames shall follow, little 
  hawk." A small sack has been attached to the saddle of the Wyvern Queen by 
  the handlers. It apparently carries a few objects. With a growled command, 
  Khalid forces the Queen to steady herself, so that she may be mounted. 
  Launching himself onto the back of the monstrous beast, the God-King settles 
  down into a comfortable position as he picks up the reins with gloved hands. 
  "Remember this day, little hawk. And when you have learned to the letters of 
  our people, write of what you see today. Write so that none shall forget; so 
  that I shall not be called to do this again."

First she has to deal with fire, and now she's supposed to learn to 
  write and become some sort of historian. Kiera mentally shunts Khalid's 
  command to the back of her mind, in the 'If I Live' pile, right next to 
  'Find a Mate', 'Never Look At Snow Again', and 'Get Drisana Her Feathers'. 
  She mounts the Queen with a weary familiarity; she'd done this a few times, 
  recently. And Kiera pulls her wings in tightly, curled against the flanks of 
  the big beast. Those talons of hers dig into the Queen's harness, and Kiera 
  automatically calls forth a wind which will both help the Queen launch into 
  the air, and keep Kiera herself astride.

Pressing his heels into the sides of the Queen, Khalid urges her 
  upwards. Snarling, the Queen tosses back her head and screams another cry to 
  war. A cry of joy for finally being allowed to fly. A cry in anticipation of 
  battle, destruction and mayhem. Massive, leathery wings beat once, twice and 
  a third time as the beast takes to the air with remarkable grace and poise. 
  Soon, she is high in the heavens and bearing down upon the poor city of 
  Lycenae.

Kiera finds shelter against the broad back and the unfamiliar wings of 
  another, the God-King. Her own brown-speckled wings press against his, thus 
  limiting Kiera's view of anything around her. "When we are wherever I am to 
  protect you, Khalid-Atar," Kiera calls forward against the blast that is 
  made by the Queen's speed, "I will fly away from the Wyvern. I cannot see, 
  here, to protect you. Unless I am in front."

"This is fine," calls back Khalid against the cold, biting winds that 
  tug at both hair and skin. His black mane whirls around his face and back in 
  the frigid airs that assault the pair of riders. "Our scouts have reported 
  that the Praetorian Guard has already abandoned the city, but beware for 
  archers, nonetheless. There might be some, still." The Queen soars towards 
  her target, as fangs are bared. There is murder in her eyes and hunger in 
  her heart. "I shall make a declaration to the city. And toss down scrolls 
  upon their streets, so that they may read my words. We shall give them a 
  half day to flee. I would not kill women and children, if I may avoid it."

And on the ground, the startled scouts hasten to relay the news to 
  their commanders. Several other sentries have already taken up their 
  designated places, ready to relay the news of what is to come. Among the 
  tents of Clan Sarazen, Hashim stands a tall and forbidding figure, his 
  countenance impassive as he stares off at the distant city. Within his tent, 
  the wise-woman Ulima bids Faanshi keep silent -- for neither of them dares 
  to attract the attention of their Warlord. But Ulima's eyes, too, linger in 
  the direction of Lycenae for all that she cannot quite _see_ the place, even 
  the spires of its tallest structures, from her vantage point. "Pray with me, 
  my heart-daughter," are the only words she utters to the girl who keeps her 
  company.

This information is absorbed in clinical silence, digested during many 
  beats of the Wyvern's wings, before Kiera calls back, "It is OK, if they see 
  me? This time I do not hide, Khalid-Atar?" Kiera's eyes simply remain shut, 
  she seeks the warmth of his body. He can anticipate her speech by feeling 
  her draw breath, her jaws separate to speak. "And do I kill them or only 
  take them down." That last might well be intentionally vague. Taking them 
  down could have so many lovely possibilities.

"You may kill any who dares strike at me." Those words are not vague. 
  Khalid's intentions are not kind this day and many will surely die. "All 
  soldiers in the city are fated to die. As are all nobles and officials. We 
  spare only the common folk. It is the soldiers who wage this war and it is 
  the nobles who order them. They shall pay the price." Even as he speaks, the 
  Queen begins her descent upon Lycenae. Its buildings are clearly visible, as 
  are the panicked citizens within. They have heard word of the approaching 
  army and have been fleeing for days now. "Fly, Kiera and be seen. For this 
  is your day, as well. You will not hide."

In distant and half-deserted Lycenae, chaos reigns. The eyes of Varati 
  scouts have seen truly: the Praetorian Guard has fled, but not only those 
  elite warriors. Many more souls in their hundreds and thousands are fleeing 
  the city, on foot, by wing. Only two sentences are on the lips of the 
  citizens who race as swiftly as they can to escape their doomed home. "The 
  Varati are coming!" is the more widespread. But uttered by the more panicked 
  are the words "The God-King is coming!" By the time the wyvern Queen appears 
  in the skies overhead, the truth of these statements is all too clear. Chaos 
  is lent strength by burgeoning terror.

Now Kiera's delight matches that of the Queen. She waits only a few 
  moments longer, until the Queen is nearly upon the city, for Kiera knows her 
  speed does not match the Wyvern's. Then the halfbreed launches from the 
  Queen's back, spreading her own wings to catch the air. That for a moment, 
  to get her bearings, before Kiera tilts herself and the winds lend her 
  speed. She follows the Amir-Al, her gaze intent upon that which occurs below 
  and above, around him. Hawk's eyes bless Kiera with marvelous long-range 
  daytime sight, the only concession for her hopeless night-blindness. Hawk's 
  wings are broader than the Empyreans, catch drafts and eddies and ride them 
  easily. Hawk's coloring, however, strike Kiera as a start contrast to the 
  blue sky above. She will be seen.

"People of Lycenae, hear me!" Those words are shouted towards the city 
  below, as Khalid brings the Wyvern Queen into a dangerously close position 
  to the city. If there are indeed archers, they have a clear and easy view of 
  him. "On this day, you have been judged! You have been judged for the 
  -failure- to end this war. You have been judged for your inaction, for your 
  apathy, for your pledge to an Empyror and Aegis that is corrupt! And you 
  shall pay!" The Queen appears to agree with this sentiment, for she tosses 
  her head back and roars again, another challenge.

The dark-winged Son of the Dawn draws all eyes skyward, and his voice, 
  descending like thunder, adds to the mounting panic. The Praetorian Guard 
  has fled. But on the ground are some few last desperate souls who have 
  seized up weapons, bent on defending their homeland and themselves, and who 
  send volleys of arrows into the air in reflexive, terror-stricken reaction 
  to the God upon his mighty winged steed.

Archers, yes. Kiera also seeks any who might be, like she, a mage. Any 
  who might use magic to disarm her God, if that could be done, or to distract 
  him,m as he has suggested. Vigilant, Kiera sweeps to the sides of the 
  Wyvern, but watches, with steady survey, all directions. The Empyreans 
  usually dress their mages in clothes that mark them as different, and, even 
  if they do not, Kiera suspects that those who would present a threat are 
  those who appear calm, collected, in the face of his wrath. All mages are 
  trained in will. So it is these, as well as the possible martial foes, that 
  Kiera seeks. The arrows are seen, inexpertly plied, and swept away with a 
  slashing gust of wind. The halfbreen then focuses on the attackers. One by 
  one, an unseen funnel of wind which could, in other instances, bouy them 
  safely aloft, reaches to catch them within it's strength, whirl them at the 
  mercy of its' vortex and, in the process, snap the studry bones that hold 
  wings up from the shoulders that bear them, so they sag helplessly upon 
  once-proud Empyreans. Slaves, or thsoe without wings, are plucked up to a 
  height from which a fall will kill them, and dropped. No time, this takes. 
  Bones shatter instantly and bodies are droped, one or two at a time.

Entrusting his safety -entirely- to Kiera, Khalid continues to circle 
  around the city at a low altitude. He screams out to the populace below, "It 
  is -your- responsibility. Who do you pledge to? An Empyror? An Aegis? No, it 
  is the -Empyre- that should command your devotion. And this Empyre is 
  -sick-, sick with a disease that eats at its heart. And that disease is your 
  Aegis. Remove it and save your Empyre before it is too late!" Even as he 
  speaks, the God-King begins to remove scrolls from that sack, tossing them 
  towards the ground.

That the God-King of the Varati seems to have the winds at his command 
  surprises no one -- or at any rate, is questioned by no one, for the vast 
  majority of those in the ground wail in fear at the vortex that lashes out 
  of nowhere to seize and shatter the hapless archers. A few more panicked 
  arrows are launched skyward, but these swiftly fall away to nothing as the 
  hurled scrolls plummet to the streets. Most have expected fire and death, 
  and thus are shocked into numb gaping at the falling parchments. Only the 
  very bravest... and among those left in Lycenae, this now means very 
  little... dare to begin to pick up the scrolls, to open them, to see what 
  Khalid Atar has decreed.

The halfbreed ignores the decent of the scrolls, neither hastening nor 
  spreading their fall as they swirl away from the Queen's beating wings. 
  Kiera, features taut with concentration, now scries the distance horizen for 
  those who might approach parallel to the Khalid.

"To the Praetorian Guard, I say this: You shall have -no- mercy from 
  the Varati until you do away with your cruel masters. I will not accept that 
  you were 'only following orders'! The world shall not accept this! I have 
  seen a thousand atrocities done in the name of orders! Your vows are to no 
  Empyror or Aegis. Your pledge is to the Empyre! End this war and tear down 
  the thrones of your would-be kings in their safe halls! Only then shall we 
  have peace!" Khalid, who rarely speaks about a murmur, is now issuing his 
  decrees and statements with the full strength of powerful lungs. And those 
  words carry to the citizens of Lycenae, even in their panicked state. More 
  scrolls fall to the stone-paved streets -- they carry the same message as 
  his speech.

There, a man atop a building braces himself to send shafts from a 
  heavy longbow. Kiera slants through the scrolls, dips under the Wyvern's 
  claws, and angles herself closer to the bowman, so she can see him clearly. 
  Clearly she sees him snapped off that building, wings cruely wrenched, so he 
  cannot save himself from the fall. His bow, now cracked with the impact of 
  the ground, lies useless. Kiera impassively scans again, under the outspread 
  reach of her own wings.

Reactions flare up across the half-abandoned city. Despair wells up in 
  the hearts of the Empyreans on the ground -- are they to relay this message, 
  then, to the Guard which has deserted them? Will the God-King let them 
  leave, to relay it? And worst of all, might he be right? Many fall to their 
  knees, clutching at one another in their terror, and many more seek shelter 
  from the wind-wielding companion that flies at the side of Khalid Atar, 
  spotted by the sharpest eyes, comprehended by none, for none know what to 
  make of the figure save that it calls down winds in Vengeance.

"I shall also not spare -any- city official or government official of 
  the Empyre! Your crimes are as terrible as that of the Aegis, for you are 
  willing pawns in their games and manipulations. Lords who issue those 
  commands to an unknowing people. As with all soldiers of this city, you 
  -will- die with this city! Bring this message to all, so that they may hear 
  my fury and know it will not end until this war is finished and the corrupt 
  have been removed from their golden seats!" These words stream down upon 
  Lycenae as Khalid issues proclamation after proclamation. Still, he is 
  protected by his loyal adopted daughter as he rides atop the might Queen. 
  She, however, seems restless and appears to desire combat herself. She looks 
  balefully at Kiera, for a moment, as if jealous of the half-breed's 
  opportunity to kill.

This time, Kiera misses her longtime foe's vicious intent. The 'breed 
  focuses narrowly only upon her task, and she revels in it. Long practice 
  enables her to fly effortlessly, yet wield her magic with willful thought, 
  and that magic courses with the sharp speed of the air it drives.

Some of the last, the most desperate of the remaining soldiers rally 
  together their wits out of the shards in which their fear had pounded them. 
  Powerful as the God-King of the Varati might be, who is _he_ to issue 
  demands to the people of the Empyre? To claim supremacy over their own Gods? 
  Arrows, hastily seized and nocked to longbows, sing skyward. One extremely 
  brave -- or extremely foolhardy -- individual launches herself into the air 
  with eyes streaming tears of despair and fury. Mortal fury, puny in 
  comparison to the wrath of a deity, but fury enough to lend her swiftness to 
  her ascent and accuracy to her aim.

"And finally, to the mongrels of the Empyre, I say this: It is -your- 
  time! It is your time to break the chains that bind you. This Empyre has 
  more -mongrels- in it than -Empyreans-! Yet, most of you are no more than 
  slaves or servants at best! You have no seat on the Aegis, you have no say! 
  You are used as fodder for their armies and beasts of burden in their 
  fields! This is your time! Break free from your shackles and forge your 
  -own- nation! No mongrel will be harmed, as long as they do not take arms up 
  against the Varati! You are not our enemy, do not make us such!" These final 
  words are screamed down to the terrorized population of the Empyrean city as 
  Khalid makes yet another dive atop the powerful Queen. More scrolls are 
  dispersed among the citizens of the besieged city.

Oh bad scene. He's going down and the arrows are coming up and that 
  damn Wyvern is faster than Kiera. The halfbreed slams her wings toward her, 
  follows the queen in her dive and reaches forth with her wind. In an instant 
  she sees that too many arrows come, from too many directions, that Kiera can 
  safely remove them all, without risking the Khalid. So..... A whipping blast 
  drives upward, lifting with strong and steady pull, the queen herself, and 
  her divine rider. When Kiera can see, the queen is again on her own, and 
  that wind turns brutal, slamming shafts aside, even rolling Kiera herself 
  with its strength. First problem removed, Kiera then turns to picking off 
  the attackers, with no particular compassion for tears or femininity.

Buffeted by the chaotic winds for a moment, the God-King falls silent 
  so as to allow Kiera to deal with the threat. Then, "You have one-half day 
  to abandon your city. No soldier or government official shall be allowed to 
  leave. I shall kill any who attempts to flee. Only the common citizens and 
  mongrels shall be spared. And the children of all. At the end of that 
  half-day, this city shall be nothing more than a legend!" Bring the Queen up 
  above the very center of the city, Khalid tosses down the last of the 
  scrolls to those who might still be listening to him or watching his 
  actions. "Save your Empyre! Save it from itself! Save it from the little 
  girls, the old men, the war mongers and the puppet masters of the Aegis! 
  Save it from the boy-child who plays at being an Empyror, but has neither 
  the strength nor the will to wear the crown! Save it, so that your people do 
  not fade into the dying sun -- so that they too do not become a legend as 
  this city is fated to be on this day!" With nothing more to say, rider and 
  Queen retreat from the immediate vicinity of the city.

...Followed by the dark-winged wing-mage who has silently, stoicly 
  defended him.

Once out of range of immediate range of Lycenae, Khalid speaks to 
  Kiera, "You did well, little hawk." A wry smile breaks his dark demeanor as 
  he murmurs, "That last trick was...interesting. I shall have to remember 
  it." Glancing towards the city, he continues, "We shall patrol the borders 
  for the next few hours. Kill any soldier you see leaving or any who wears 
  the marking of an official. Be...generous. Yes, many soldiers and officials 
  may escape, in guises. We shall let them. I would kill less than I must. 
  Today is a day to make a point, bloodless as possible."

"Together," Kiera asks, glancing back at the city. "Or apart? The 
  walls are large, and the Empyreans fly. That is," she tries to explain, 
  "They may leave in any direction, and there are two of us. Many of them." 
  Kiera played with ant-hills when she was small, like any child. Even despite 
  her superior size and two hands, many ants escaped, when she riled the nest.

"Apart. I shall be fine. I have handled Empyrean arrows more than once 
  in my years." There is faint amusement in Khalid's voice, but it is not 
  reflected in those large, blue eyes of his. "They shall turn to ash before 
  they even leave their bows. I shall take the western half, you will patrol 
  the eastern." Turning the Queen away from Kiera, the God-King begins his 
  vigil over the city.

The last few scrolls delivered, taken into the hands of the remaining 
  citizens of Lycenae, the reactions to them continue to flood the city. Small 
  riots break out as already far-too-frayed tempers snap, and fights erupt 
  over the remaining horses and wagons within Lycenae's boundaries. Many of 
  the common folk seize their opportunity to flee while the fleeing is good, 
  abandoning everything save that which they can carry in hands or on their 
  backs. The remaining few soldiers and officials, as the Khalid predicts, 
  begin to launch each and every frantic ruse that comes to their minds to 
  sneak undetected out of the doomed metropolis.

Buoyed by her own magic, when Kiera's wings tire, she selects a 
  distant spot from which she can, and does, watch for those who leave. She 
  need not approach too closely to determine if they appear to be soldier or 
  civilian, and only a few require Kiera's 'attention'. If the halfbreed is 
  feeling particularly bloodthirsty, this is not clear; her killing is as 
  quick as it can be. The mercy is likely due to pragmatism rather than 
  generosity.

In the hours before the afternoon deadline, Khalid has been forced to 
  kill a few dozen soldiers and officials who have been less than intelligent 
  in their tactics and methods of escape. Yet, he is as merciful as he can be, 
  sparing those that were in doubt. Finally, as the appointed hour approaches, 
  the God-King of the Varati abandons his Queen and takes flight on his own 
  black wings. Gliding on the cold, winter winds, he gazes down on Lycenae as 
  he whispers to himself, "The time of reckoning has come upon us all." Black 
  gloves are removed and tucked into his sash even as his fingertips begin to 
  glow with a fierce, blue and red flames.

Those flames quickly spread over his entire body, though they do not 
  appear to touch or burn Khalid's clothing. It is an aura of flame that 
  surrounds the God-King and that aura spreads in violent blue, orange, red 
  and green flames. Higher and farther, outwards, from his body. Soon the 
  horizon is lit with a second sun -- the child of Ashur Masad takes the form 
  of his father -- not greater or lesser than the one that claims its spot in 
  the heavens, but rather a terrible reflection of the first.

And as that second sun erupts within the sky, the ground itself begins to 
  rumble and shake. Slowly, at first, but steadily as time continues. Fissures 
  begin to crack in the earth and steam pours from the holes. Buildings 
  shudder under the strain.

The appearance of the riderless Wyvern gives Kiera more than a few 
  second's pause. Someone Is Going To Die, until she spots Khalid, flying 
  alone. Kiera eyes that flame, then snaps her attention to the city. So 
  startled is the wind-mage that she forgets to flap, has to then tear herself 
  back to the immediacy of a dire fall, to rescue herself. Then Kiera, 
  together with a last few who had thought to meet the Khalid's attack, begin 
  backwinging away from the city, staring at it in horror.

By now, perhaps a thousand souls, perhaps fifteen hundred, still 
  remain within the walls of the city below. Some of them are sick, wounded, 
  facing their impending doom alone. Some are officials, and of these, some 
  have been locked within their chambers by citizens and slaves desperate to 
  avert the wrath of Khalid Atar by abandoning their leaders. Some others, 
  made of truer stuff, have chosen like the captains of sinking ships to face 
  destruction with the city they've tried to serve. In the surrounding plains, 
  roads out -- and fields, for that matter -- have grown dark with the figures 
  of those who flee. And some have taken to the skies, skimming away with as 
  much speed as a single pair of wings can provide. The last few within range 
  turn as the ground trembles... and they flee with all the more desperation 
  as the earth answers the call of the Son of the Sun and Dawn.

In the camps of the Varati armies, clansmen and clanswomen, Warlords and
  shudra and naraki, all now look to the distant doomed city. Prayers erupt
  spontaneously across the mighty campsite. Soldiers fall down to their knees
  in worshipful reaction to the shadow-sun that has kindled in the sky overhead.

In the tent of Hashim, Ulima wraps her arms around her young healer-charge,
  breathing into Faanshi's coal-black hair, "Holy Mother of Khalid Atar, guard
  us and keep us in the face of the wrath of thy son. Succor those who deserve
  not his vengeance. Holy Mother of Khalid Atar, guard us and keep us..."

On this day, there can be no doubt of his true divinity, for only a 
  God could invoke such powers that Khalid Atar summons at hand. As he hovers 
  above the city, a wrathful sun judging the souls of the condemned, the earth 
  itself gives way to his commands. Larger cracks tear open at the ground and 
  stone, while hot, molten lava springs forth from those gaping holes. These 
  are flatlands...no volcano could possibly exist here. Yet, yet one has been 
  summoned by a creature that has existed beyond the memory and understanding 
  of mortal creatures. Buildings begin to crumble and topple, while smaller 
  structures are slowly engulfed by that fiery lifeblood of the earth. As 
  made-made constructs give away, a new one begins to take its place. The 
  jagged outline of stone tears its way up from the ground in the beginning of 
  what can only be a volcano.

No more, can Kiera fly, nor wield her own magic. So shattered is her 
  concentration, so imbued with pure terror, the mage just barely breaks her 
  own fall with outstretched wings. She cannot stop watching, cannot stop 
  shaking. The effective killer of the last few hours is replaced by a 
  stricken, shivering cold creature who huddles within the ineffective shelter 
  of her own wings, crouched upon the ground like a maimed bird, head up and 
  staring at the city. Or what was a city.

"Great is the vengenance of the Amir-al!" 

"Earth-shaker!"

"Fire-caller!"

"Mighty Khalid Atar!" 

Voices raised in ragged but heartfelt cries resound within the armies of the 
  Varati. The Agni-Haidar gaze upon the terrible flaming shape high overhead 
  with rapt and fathomless devotion, and what Atarvani who are not already 
  engaged in similar abasements lead the clans in impromptu chorused prayers and 
  hosannas.

One Warlord among the many feels far more fear than religious fervor -- the
  mind of Hashim threatening to snap as he wrestles with the knowledge that he
  has crossed blades with a being who can call forth a flaming mountain from
  the very earth.

And that Warlord's two humble servants cling to one another, ignored, forgotten.
  In Ulima's arms, feeling the ground heave and shudder beneath them, Faanshi 
  echoes her venerable teacher's prayers: "Holy Mother of Khalid Atar, guard 
  us and keep us..."

Time seems to have stood still as Khalid Atar, Divine Flame of Heaven, 
  commands creation itself to bend to his will. There is nothing in existence 
  except him and Lycenae. And soon even Lycenae will fall away, to become a 
  testiment to the raw, unbridled power of the God-King. The flames that 
  surround his body are only matched by the ones claiming the city below.

And as the God-King calls forth his powers upon Lycenae, his commands are 
  answered. More buildings topple and collapse, eaten up within that raging 
  lava which spews from the mouth of the volcano. And as tortured souls scream 
  their last pleas, and as the mighty structures of the Empyre dissolve in the 
  face of the wrath of an immortal, the volcano is completed. Nothing is left 
  of Lycenae; there is no Lycenae. Only that angry, horrific symbol of 
  Varati's sheer power and might. Flames and smoke shoot out of the top and 
  black clouds and ash covers everything for miles.

OK, so now the quivering mess of halfbreed who sometimes calls herself 
  Kiera is a soot-covered, coughing and quivering mess of halfbreed, whose 
  eyes tear to protect sensative corneas from sulfur fumes, whose very 
  feathers drop out in a terror-induced molt, who for once wouldn't mind the 
  sight of snow. Anything, to block this vista she cannot stop watching.

As this masterpiece of destruction is completed, the second sun of the 
  heavens is no more. Khalid's flames disappear and his fury seems sated as he 
  assumes a more 'mortal' form. The Queen, anticipating the desires of her 
  master, sweeps down towards him and grimly, covered in soot himself, Khalid 
  swings himself onto the Queen in mid-air. He scours the area for Kiera and 
  after several minutes of searching, spies the girl. Urging the Queen 
  onwards, the God-King's expression is now a mask of pain and sorrow. He 
  shakes his head, once more, at what he has wrought before he turns his back 
  on it entirely.

Ash rains down from the now thickly darkened skies. The refugees who 
  have managed to make it alive out of what was once Lycenae drop in the 
  dubious safety of whatever places they've reached in the surrounding plains, 
  stricken down by their atavistic, mindless fright. _This_ is who Khalid Atar 
  is, that he dares to claim supremacy over their Gods, their Empyre's rulers.

Among the Varati hosts, the massed voices of the worshipful throng 
  send up their continued rapturous praises. The most devout ignore the 
  descending ash, for it is inconsequential in the wake of what the Amir-al 
  has wrought.

Really, the last thing Kiera wants to see is the grinning 'smile' of 
  that Wyvern Queen, uncowed by something she probably didn't understand 
  either. Kiera scuffles her wings toward her, cowls them over her head and 
  just loses herself in her body's last feeble attempts at panic. The God-King 
  will find his Clanmate hidden and retching, tear-streaked and exhuasted from 
  terror.

"Kiera," whispers Khalid as the Queen descends on the position of the 
  half-breed, "It is time for us to leave this place." The Queen has landed 
  beside the hapless Kiera, its powerfully muscled legs itching to push their 
  owner back up into the sky. Even the Queen, even this beast of legend, seems 
  uneasy with all that has happened. The God-King regards Kiera with slitted, 
  blue eyes, hooded in silky lashes and stained with ash. "Come, daughter of 
  my heart."

When her neck will obey her, Kiera will look up, revealing 
  glazed-bright hazel eyes. When Kiera's legs and arms will obey her, they 
  will stiffly, rockingly shove her upright. Her wings act somewhat to balance 
  her, but Kiera's coming is jerky, frozen, slow. She stops by the side of the 
  Queen, staring up at Khalid hollowly.

"Come," echoes Khalid. To punctuate this statement, the God-King 
  offers his hand to his young Clanmate. A gloved hand covered in soot. That 
  same hand that summoned such horrific fires and drew up a volcano where 
  there was only farmlands. A hand of absolute destruction. "We did what we 
  must. Weep for the Empyre, but not its rulers."

A trail of brown feathers, of bronze feathers, of amber-hued and 
  mahogany feathers mark where Kiera cowered, mark as she approaches. Woodenly 
  she gives her hand, will allow herself to be drawn up upon the Wyvern, for 
  Kiera lacks the strength to do even this simple task herself, right now. You 
  might look to helping keep her mounted, as well, Khalid-Atar, or Kiera may 
  not survive the Wyvern's ascent. By all appearances, the halfbreed is in 
  shock.

Understanding his Clanmate's plight, Khalid does indeed clasp his arms 
  around the waist of Kiera, allowing her to sit in front of him this time. 
  Holding the woman-girl tightly to him, the God-King orders the Queen into 
  the sky with a final word of command. There are no words exchange between 
  Kiera and her Warlord. There is nothing more to say this day. The volcano at 
  Lycenae is encompasses all -- words, thoughts and deeds.

Eventually, the soot covered Queen spirals down into the camp of the Varati. 
  Landing in its designated spot, Khalid dismounts slowly, as he tenderly 
  cradles Kiera's form in his arms. Calling out, he instructs one of the 
  higher ranking Atarvani, "Take my Clanmate into your care and see to her, 
  for I cannot this day. Leave me to my thoughts; I will not be bothered by 
  any until my command, save the Empyrean Aurora." And striding forward, to 
  his tent, the last expression seen on Khalid's face is one of utter sadness 
  and pain.

[End log.]