"Battle at the Beach"

Log Date:
	11/16/99

Log Cast:
	Jenean, Nandin, Richard, Fabien, Oriane, Westly, Koralland, Nox,
Raijin, RunningMouth, Horrible Sea Beast, Sabrienna, Diana, Riva, Cepheus,
Caius, Altair, Jasmine, Alcander, Khalid, Reny, Theron, Lyranthe, Uneri,
Pericles (NPC emitted by Diana), Ianthe

Log Intro:
	The city of Haven has been swept over with chaos as of late,
between the magical storms that have flattened every mage in sight and the
upheaval of the earth beneath everyone's feet. Mages have died; many have
been injured or even killed by the flares of magic gone out of control.
Many more have fallen prey to the earthquake that's rattled the city,
though by far the heaviest toll has been taken in Bordertown, where the
buildings do not have the guarantee of stone-mages to restore them... or
the wealth to guarantee more prosaic masons to keep them standing. 
	But Haven isn't safe yet. Whether by magic or the disgruntled tremors
of the earth, something has arisen out of the depths and come on a rampage
towards the city's shores. And for once, given enough warning to arrange 
a defense force against the great sea creature closing in fast upon their
home, the various races of Haven band together to fight at one another's
sides rather than against each other. Even the God-King himself is to be
roused by this threat to Haven.
	And in the midst of it, a Mongrel trader of dubious reputation 
allows himself to do something heroic for once, especially when a friend
is on the line....

*===========================< In Character Time >==========================*
             Time of day:  Night (Dawnside)
          Date on Aether:  Monday, July 29, 3905.
           Year on Earth:  1505 A.D. 
       Phase of the Moon:  New
                  Season:  Summer
                 Weather:  Pouring Rain
             Temperature:  Comfortable
*==========================================================================*

Jenean nods to you. "Think we got the docks cleared."

Nandin travels in from the main docks to the east.
Nandin has arrived.
Nandin walks down the winding path towards the beach.
Nandin has left.

Richard would rather be anywhere but here; the man's never been overly fond of 
  the water, and there are two children deeply anxious about his welfare. But 
  nevertheless he's armed himself, and as he comes sprinting towards the beach 
  he catches sight of Jenean, nodding sharply as he passes. "Good!"

You walk down the winding path towards the beach.
Beach - Haven
     Soft sands from years of gentle ocean currents greet the feet of those 
  who explore the expanse of beach that leads from the streets of Haven to the 
  edges of ocean. The hushed roar of the waves can be heard, a lulling sound 
  to the attentive ear. The sand stretches out for about a quarter of a mile 
  and allows for plenty of space for pursuits of leisure. Depending upon the 
  time, you may be graced by the awe-striking sunset, the peaceful glow of the 
  moon, or the comforting rays of the midday sun. Several ocean birds fly 
  overhead as if frolicking around and playing in the air, occasionally 
  swooping down towards the ocean surface to retrieve a tasty morsel.
     The ocean itself seems to be calm and relaxing near the shore for several 
  hundred feet before the sands slope harshly and drop. There, the water is 
  safe only for experienced swimmers and boaters. There is a small path that 
  leads towards the town that is paved with sand and lined on either side by 
  flowers.
Contents:
Nandin
Horrible Sea Beast
Cepheus
Oriane
RunningMouth(#1891PAXJOcem)
Riva
Nox
Caius
Diana
Sabrienna
Obvious exits:
Path to the City <N>  Haven Bay <SE>

Fabien walks down the winding path from Haven and steps onto the beach.
Fabien has arrived.

Though her wings are still raw and tired, Oriane cuts through the night sky, 
  nearly invisible amongst the white winged Empyreans that converge towards 
  the beach and the word that the beast is finally within reach of Haven. 
  Though there would be several to chide her severely for coming here, the 
  dark winged girl has come anyway. No matter how frightening, it needs to be 
  seen with ones own eyes.

Westly approaches the beach from the open sea.
Westly has arrived.

Koralland walks down the winding path from Haven and steps onto the beach.
Koralland has arrived.

Westly runs in, carrying his lute in one hand and his leather case in the 
  other. He looks around with great interest.

A Varati with a trident? Now there's a thing. A few of the older may recognise 
  the ex-gladiator Fabien, arriving at a jog.

Nox glides in slow circles high in the sky, apart from the others, watching 
  the gathering beneath him. The pouring rain doesn't make it easier for him, 
  yet the deep night sky completely swallows up his dark form. A dark frown is 
  set on his face as his violet eyes wander back and fro, scanning the area. A 
  long spear with a hooked, polished point is held in one hand, always ready 
  to thrust.

Raijin approaches the beach from the open sea.
Raijin has arrived.

Fabien has left.

As the stars fade from the sky and the hint of dawn is hidden from view by the 
  clouds and rain, groups of Atlanteans begin to rise from the sea, some 
  running down the path from Haven proper. They assemble the frame of the 
  simple machines that fires harpoons in a well practiced manner. Near the 
  lapping waves, some Sentries drag odd assemblages of shaped coral and 
  leather and mount it to an Orca whale and some of his aquatic companions, 
  Each harness is loaded with a long heavy lance.

Trump, trump, trump. Down the length of the beach runs RunningMouth, Herald 
  Extrodinare, a short sylvan man who makes the clothing of clowns look 
  reasonable. Panting heavily, he comes to a stop at in the sand, the grainy 
  grains skattering over his orange shoes. (The type with the curly elf ends, 
  of course.) For once, he isn't talking, Thank the gods. Just don't expect it 
  to continue.

Richard would rather be anywhere but here; he's never been overly fond of the 
  water, and there are two small children desperate about his welfare in the 
  midst of the chaos that has gripped the city as of late. But still... most 
  men don't have a chance at fighting magic. Even fewer can stand against the 
  upheaval of the very earth. But _this_ might, just _might_, be a danger that 
  the combined strength of determined men and a few hardy women can turn away 
  from an already beleagured city. Combat is not Richard's forte, and he knows 
  it. And thus he sweeps a sharp blue stare around the beach, to find someone 
  in charge and volunteer himself to be sent where he'll do the most good.

Horrible Sea Beast
Horrible. Horrifying. Imagination is hardly able to compass the form of the 
  beast in front of you. Not one but two massive heads sprout from a sinuous 
  body, each supported on a thick but unbelievable mobile and long neck. Jaws 
  that could snap a horse in two without a thought are ringed around with 
  jagged teeth like that of a shark, rows upon rows layering into the depths 
  of each maw. Eyes that look too small and too beady to see properly glare 
  malevolently about, clearly able to see with cunning accuracy despite their 
  appearance.
The body itself is scaled from snout to flippered tail, the glimering, 
  miniature shields coated with some sort of thick slime that stinks with an 
  acrid stench. It drips and does not mix with the water, instead floating on 
  it like some sort of scum that burns and causes anything it touches to hiss 
  and smoke. Of all the eerie aspects of the beast, the lack of sound it makes 
  is the most frightening, its roar hardly more than a percussive hiss of 
  released air.

One head rises and scans the beach, the mouth opening monsterously wide to 
  emit a horrific hiss like the sound of water falling on a blazing fire. But 
  then.. that is when the horror goes even further. Breaking the waves and 
  throwing water in every direction, a second head rises and echos the first 
  in eerie perfection. Water swells before it, rushing in a larger wave than 
  should be possible towards the beach as it enters the shallows.

Sabrienna was drawn down to the docks earlier by rumors of such a monster. So 
  it has come. Her dagger in hand, she slowly follows the crowd to the beach, 
  dodging the others who have ran away in fear. Something hurries her steps - 
  perhaps the disturbing thought that her home may be destroyed. She will do 
  what she can to prevent *that*.

Westly stays as far away from the crowd as possible without separating himself 
  from the interesting parties. He desperately searches through his leather 
  case, finally pulling out several items--notably some parchment and 
  charcoal, and a letter opener--and starts marking on them, glancing 
  occasionally at the goings-on.

Lares bless the night and those who can hide deeply within it. The darkling 
  Optio glides on in, barely visible aside from the occassional glean from her 
  gladius. She is trailed by five more of her bowmen, all ready and willing to 
  see for themselves this engulphing beast terroizing the shores. Diana barks 
  out an order as they all fall into line behind her, drawing their bows from 
  the sling upon their backs.

Fabien has arrived.

Riva surveys the heads rising from the ocean and first tries something simple. 
  Her words accompany the thought messages she sends. "Try first to ask it to 
  leave, then to order. Think the pressure of the dark depths-home- to it. I 
  there is no response, then aim for the eyes. The rest looks thickly armored."

Running toward the line of soldiers and warriors of all races Nandin makes his 
  way forward to assit

In the nighttime sky overhead wheel a formation of Praetorian spearmen...the 
  dim light catching on a breastplate here, or a spearpoint there...It is 
  clear that these are veterans...the arrival of the aquatic nightmare does 
  not so much as knock a single solider of of 'step' with his fellows...The 
  spearmen are armed as suits the task..so they hope, each man forsaking his 
  light javelin in favor of a heavy two-handed spear. The Optio remains upon 
  the beach, among the archers, and so it is the senior Ceterion who raises 
  his deep voice to order "Wheel about! Ready for charge sinister." time 
  enough to charge once the thing is unable to retreat quickly back into the 
  waves...
Word travelled quickly and the Praetorians are used to mobilizing quickly. 
  Though they're a small unit, the Gryphon handlers hold a certain respect and 
  fear all their own. Through the rain, it's the sharp cry of one gryphon then 
  another that approaches from the eastern quarter of the city.
Shadows in the darkness, the winged forms of about half a dozen Empyrean's 
  dive-downward from the night's dense clouds. Battered by pooring rain, the 
  small group of Empyrean troups lands silently on the high dunes that form 
  the border between the beech and the treeline. Dressed in dark clothes, 
  little can be seen of their activities. A close look would show that one of 
  the men is Legate Cepheus Tritonides, a heavy long bow carried in one arm. A 
  tiny flame alights amidst the men, covered carefully so it might not be 
  visible from beyond a reasonable distance.

As soon as he had been notified, Raijin ran down to the beach in record time. 
  At least, record time for this old man. Skidding to a stop at a reasonable 
  distance, he beholds the Sea Beast with a gaping mouth. Behind him trail 
  several grey-robed figures, Elementalists, and they are sent off in 
  different directions by the Seneschal to do what they can. If anything. He 
  himself begins to stride forward, for a better view.

Koralland enters the beach area with a dark frown on his features, his routine 
  falls in behind him as he heads toward the surf, not close enough to move 
  ahead of the warriors yet. His eyes catching Riva and he begins to move in 
  that direction, wishing he gad brought his wife with him.

Ooooooo! There's the sea monster thingey! Grabbing his overly ornate bow from 
  his back, RunningMouth gets an arrow too. A pink one. It's the best collor 
  for arrows, you know. You'll never loose 'em like RunningMouth did often 
  before he painted them all that color. Sticking the arrow in the notch 
  thinger on the bow, he pulls back, and aims for the head, waiting for the 
  ord.. Er, aiming for the head would indicate there was one head. But there 
  are two. Moving his bow back and forth confusedly, RunningMouth seems a wee 
  bit unsure.

Telepathy to all the area>> Riva thinks, "Even through the crowd, the combined 
  effort of the telepathic people seeps, not aimed at anything but the 
  monstrous beast, still a small impression of what they are doing leaks 
  through. *Leave, Home, go home,* and images of swimming away."

While the majority of the Korallion guard, joined with the others who have 
  come to their aid, prepare to battle the beast that plagues the city, a few 
  herd the embassay's residents from their quarters and into the city across 
  the long brige. Frightened servants and civilians make for the land, some 
  foolishly dive into the water, hoping that they might each the beach before 
  the creature takes notice.

Nox's body trembles lightly at the sight of the second head appearing out of 
  the water, yet his wings don't flicker. Shifting them to an arc, he lets 
  himself carry closer towards the water ledge, yet still remains high in the 
  sky. Eyes flicker between Riva and her people and the approaching monster.

The first assault arrives on the beach, and it is not from the side of the 
  Havenites. The wave pushed ahead of the beast crashes onto the shore, 
  boiling up the sands and swamping them with a good two to three feet of 
  water--difficult to keep one's footing in, especially with the force of it 
  pounding up and then sucking back down towards the ocean.

It doesn't take long for Richard to find himself a place amidst a bedraggled 
  but determined cadre of armed Mongrels, one of which clearly recognizes him 
  -- and bellows, "Heya, Rook, th' bow I promised!" The weapon is thrust into 
  Richard's hands, a sturdy thing of Empyrean make, and he takes it without 
  batting an eye. Just in time -- for there's the beast now. The Mongrel in 
  the lead of this band then barks an order to his compatriots, and all of 
  them, Richard included, prepare themselves to fire when they get the word 
  from the seasoned veterans organizing the forces up and down the beach. None 
  of them fire yet -- but from the looks of them, all of them are expecting to 
  have to. After what Haven's been through this past week, it'd be Tyche's own 
  kiss of fortune if the thing actually turned around and went home.

Wings not moving quite as much as they should, Oriane still remains aloft in 
  the air. Dark eyes widen as she watches in fear as one head rises from the 
  dark depths only to be followed by yet another, "By the Kronian..." Glancing 
  towards the dark clouds above and the even dimmer promise of dawn, the girl 
  swallows and tries to keep herself calm to help.

Sabrienna stops as she reaches the last lines of the many who stand on the 
  beach to stop the beast. Her eyes, used to the night, scan the faces to find 
  anyone she knows, but soon the gaze turns to the sea and at the form... 
  forms beginning to raise from the water. "Gads," she breaths, and forces 
  herself to step further onward.

His heart racing Nandin prepares for the worst, If this beast attacks it will 
  be a massive charge if not we will be lucky what will it be.

Fabien just waits: nothing he can do with a trident at this range. Strong legs 
  brace against the undertow from the beast's bowwave, face set.

Paying an interested, or perhaps bemused, glance at Richard and his mongrel 
  corps, Westly pulls out a small letter-opener sized knife and a leather 
  sling from his case, hoping he won't need them. "Just in case things get 
  rowdy," he promises lowly. However he ends up sticking his weapons in his 
  belt and reaching for his case again, this time pulling out a set of drums. 
  No novice to them, he begings playing a little ditty that is not quite a war 
  march, but is close, but more uplifting. Now and again he switches to play 
  with one hand, continuing his notes thoughtfully.

A few of those servants fleeing the Korallion are the first to be pulled with 
  the wave's fury. Some are thrown to the beach while others are dragged back 
  under with the force of the retreating waves undertow. A few screams reach 
  the beach from those trapped in the water, the stirred up silt clogging 
  their gills while others refuse to look back for fear they will be pulled 
  under into the tumbling ocean.

Nandin draws his blade and stands ready to fight if the need arives.

Hoping for a peaceful resolution is a fine, if futile pursuit in the eyes of 
  most soliders. The airborne Praetors, and the Golden winged Ceterion who 
  stands senior among them, are aloft, desite the heavy rain...an unpleasasnt 
  and wearing task, but one well worthwhile...the rain will impair the 
  missiles of thier fellows, but over the rain, Caius bellows, "After the 
  first volley, we dive!" Arranged in a staggered line, the Praetors grip 
  thier weapons tighter, and wheeel once more...If they are unsettled by this 
  monster, none of these soliders betray it...or perhaps the rain simply hides 
  such a reaction.

Exchanging her gladius for her bow, Diana slips the sword back into its 
  sheath. The five behind her await her orders, eyes fixed not upon the beast 
  but their commanding officer. These are men trained to look death in the eye 
  and proudly for their Empyre -- they are not about to let this *creature* 
  deter them from their duty. The darkling's eyes wash over her men: one, two, 
  three, four, five... wait a moment she is missing one. Her eyes narrow and 
  she is just about to let out a holler as the sixth soars in a lit torch in 
  each hand. Giving a nad he falls into place beside the rest and awaits 
  command.

The first scream rises from the waiting wave, a Sylvan man, bow in hand with 
  an easy stance is swept back by the wave, stumbling to one knee and as he 
  rises, a tongue of scum from the beast slicks to his clothing. It starts to 
  smoke and deteriorate almost immediatly and the man drops his bow, screaming 
  with a high, painful sound. Under the disolving clothing his skin bubbles up 
  in blisters as he falls and flails for the shore through the waves.

Gathered in a thick cluster that slowly parts as the beach is near, a portion 
  of the Hounds arriving on the scene take up post near the back stretches of 
  the beach to assist those opting to flee from proximity of the waters, while 
  the remaining majority rush up to join the front lines of crowds, carrying 
  swords, spears, or bows. Weapons sway in tight-fisted grasps as water 
  lurches beneath their feet, a few men loosing their footing to be pressed 
  roughly backward with the force.

One mouth opens to hiss loudly again, the sound like the tearing tumble of a 
  waterfall. The other's echo is cut short as it dips its head into the water 
  with stunning speed to snap an Atlantean out of it. With a flip, the man is 
  tossed into the air, mouth wide with a silent scream and then he disappears 
  down the beast's gullet. The progress has brought it into the shallows and 
  the sinuous thing now wriggles in towards the shore.

While it might be the smallest of blessings at the worst of times, the rain 
  begins to lessen and fade. Almost as if being forced, the heavy clouds above 
  start to break up and allow the glimmer of star and moonlight to break 
  through. What most don't notice is the intense look of concentration on 
  Oriane's face. Unable to keep aloft any longer, she settles on a rocky 
  outcropping that she /hopes/ is a safe distance away.

Upon seeing the wave crash against the beach and onwards, Raijin quickens his 
  pace, going as close as he dares. He goes down to his knees more than once. 
  There's certainly little he can do, though there's no reason why he can't 
  try at least. Coming to a stop some smaller distance away, he turns his 
  concentration to the waves of water around the area, to push them back in 
  hopes of making footing a bit easier.

Westly snaps his fingers and puts away his drums and notes for the time being, 
  leaping to his feet to prepare to fight or flee--hopefully the latter option 
  will be available. Instead he pulls out a whistle and begins playing very 
  active, climactic music, but there is no fear in his eyes. Westly has no 
  intention of dying for these people;.

Instead of waiting in front of it, Nox choses a different strategy. With a few 
  strikes of his broad wings, he flies over the beast's heads, to hover over 
  the tail side of it. The heavy lance is gripped with both hand now and the 
  wings flutter a few times anxiously, to the dark Empyrean to keep his aloft, 
  dangerous position, eyes never leaving the swaying body of the monstrosity.

Altair walks down the winding path from Haven and steps onto the beach.
Altair has arrived.

The actions from the dunes come and go in a matter of seconds, the Praetorian 
  archers atop the sandy hills moving through the battle motions like their 
  training dictates. Dots of flame spread one by one along the crest of the 
  hill, their motion steady and sure. The line of fire briefly alights on the 
  dunes, seven distinct flames ablazen in the darkness. Fueled by something 
  other then just wood, the flames lurch suddenly into the air, accompanied by 
  the words "FIRE" and the sound of the firm release of a half-dozen 
  long-bows. The arrow's arc is smooth and straight, the Legate having managed 
  to poach a few of the best archers the Praetorian's have to offer in Haven. 
  Their graceful path carves a path in the darkness, one that leads towards 
  the beast.

The head.. the one that's not chewing and swollowing that is, looks up and 
  then -stretches- towards Nox, snapping at the beast flying so near. The 
  teeth miss by inches.

>Twang< Ssss. ARRGGG <-- From the Beast. Those are the sounds you would hear 
  if RunnningMouth had purposely loosed an arrow, it flew straight, and hit 
  the beast. As it is, his hand slips, the bright pink arrow goes to the 
  ground, and the beast is still just fine and horrifying. Darn, the herald 
  moves to drawn another arrow from his quiver.

Water draws back from the sands once more, heading Raijin's force. It draws 
  back further and further yet, revealing limp strands of seawead colapsed 
  without the water to support it. Yet around the base of the beast, the water 
  remains stubborn, swirling around it sluggishly and trailing off only about 
  three feet from its skin.

"Gods," breathes the Mongrel in the lead of Richard's band -- no, no hope 
  indeed of this creature going away just because it was asked nicely. The 
  grizzled old Mongrel's just caught sight of that poor Sylvan, and he snaps 
  out an order to his men, "Half of ye, prepare to fire an' aim for the 
  middle, under the Emps and over everyone else! The rest of ye, cover yer 
  faces an' your hands! On three now -- one! Two! Three!" Ten Mongrel men aim 
  in under the airborne Praetorians, while the rest of the cadre, Richard 
  among them, hastily pull on gauntlets and tie anything around their faces 
  they have handy.

Jasmine walks down the winding path from Haven and steps onto the beach.
Jasmine has arrived.

Trembling and fretful, Oriane still remains calm as her fingers tighten into 
  the edges of her raindampened chimere. She's no warrior and she knows that 
  anything she does directly to the beast will make it harder for those around 
  it to fight. So she focuses on the skies above. Steadily, her other senses 
  work the air...
And the rain is gone.

Cold blue eyes are turned toewards the clearing sky overhead...Thank the Lares 
  for small blessings. Looking back to the shore below, Caius notes the 
  launched volleys of missiles, and in time with the others of his squad, 
  raises his spear in brief (and likely unseen) salute to the commanding 
  officers who stand upon the beach...His resonant voice sounds the dive with 
  a shouted battle cry, "Ave Glorius!" and the formation tucks its wings as 
  one, and dives...half a dozen spearpoints of honed Empyrean steel. No spoken 
  order was given to aim at the thing's eyes and gills, should such organs 
  exist...it is simply understood.

Slowly turning to face the beast and slipping her own bow from its sling upon 
  her shoulder, Diana begins to take level. With a stern call she commands her 
  men, "Bowmen, arm yourselves. Castor -- ignite!" On command as if drilled to 
  second nature each of the five bowmen under the darkling woman's command 
  draw forth an arrow. Though these are different from most, their tips 
  covered in an oil based gauze as well. Castor glides by, touching a torch to 
  each before finally lighting the Optio's own. "On my words -- ready...."

Nox' wings strike stronger and quicker to quickly gain height above the beast 
  as the man stabs with the point of his lance towards the sea-hydra's head, 
  aiming for the eye.

Praetorian arrows arc. Praetorian arrows fall in a graceful flood of fire like 
  lightning called down on the beast's body. Each arrow strikes and bounces 
  off, but the slime ignites. With a scream of agony, the beast thrashes and 
  the waters around it surge to put out the flames and then subside, splashing 
  around it once more.

Satisfaction gleams momentarily in Raijin's eyes, only to be replaced by 
  intrigue as he studies the water which refuses to leave the beast. It has to 
  have some control over Elementalism. This is the only explanation he can 
  think of. He continues his efforts to keep the main area clear of too much 
  water, once more going down on his knees to begin conserving physical energy.

The Ambassador's personal guard place themselves ahead of Koralland as his 
  consentration focuses on the creature. He begins to move forward, the guards 
  working to cut through other formations ahead of him, the Korallions 
  yielding to the Amaris Guards enough to make room for the passage. The 
  Amaris unit moves as close as possible to the head of the line. As the 
  knoweldge that his wife has reached him Koralland turns to face her through 
  the crowds.

Westly's eyes gleam at the battle. His music continually reaches new 
  crescendos, amplifying the tension of the moments of each small bit of 
  battle, each weapon, each man. He seems to be one of the few people who are 
  enjoying this, but his stomach queaves just a little, reminding him that 
  there are circumstances. This is not a story...

Riva stands thigh deep in water and adjusts her position to brace, to hold 
  setady. It takes a bit of footwork to keep from being washed from her feet. 
  As the beast does not seem to respond, below the waves in the rear section 
  can be seen the whales with their lances ready to attack, circling and 
  building speed.

Assembled harpoon frames groan as they are cocked and the heavy spears they 
  cast are laid in place. The Atlanteans in the boats slowly battle the 
  thrashing waves to try to gain a position of helpfulness. 

"Unless one of you senses some response, we dare not delay further while it 
  gathers its strength to move inland. A group effort, all as one if we can, 
  Ready? May our Gods protect us. Begin!"

A few daring Atlanteans risk their own lives to dive back into the water to 
  drag out those landdwellers who have been pulled under by the wave's impact. 
  One by one sputtering warrior sna d foolish onlookers are dragged across the 
  beach to a location of relative safety and tended by the mostly silent 
  Atlanteans.

"Fire!" Diana bellows out from her place in the sky, letting loose another 
  shower of flamed arrows upon the creature. No sooner do they expel each 
  arrow than they begin to load once again, lighting and waiting the next 
  command.

Fabien is enjoying this: at least that savage smile will be familiar to 
  regulars at the COliseum not so long back. He hefts the heavy steel-barbed 
  trident, shifting his weight, waiting.
Throughing his cloak to the ground, this 7' tall Varati chenches his blade 
  tightly and reades for the impendig charge.

Altair walks down the winding path back to Haven.
Altair has left.

The gryphon mounted Praetorians arrive, keeping their wings in tight so that 
  their beasts can fly unimpeded. Even such mighty, proud beasts as the 
  gryphons, though, balk at attacking this creature from the sea. Several 
  scream in protest and try and veer away from the direction their handlers 
  are trying to get them to go in.

Feet steadying and planting against the soft sands, the Hounds that carry 
  lances draw them up over their shoulders slowly, balancing the length of the 
  lances for a moment before volleying them forward. In a whispered arc of 
  wood and metal, the gleaming points stream towards the body of the hideous 
  creature. The line of men and women behind this busy themselves with 
  readying their bows and taking aim. Grim concentration aligns the faces of 
  many within the group, cast darker by the dusky hints that linger in the sky.

Another line of fire spreads across the dunes, Cepheus squinting into the 
  darkness with care. "One more.... FIRE!" Another line of flaming arrows arc 
  into the rainless air, the line of Empyrean archers disappearing into the 
  woods behind them as soon as their arrows take flight. It seems they have 
  other plans to work with among the evening's seige.

Alcander soars in from the skies above.
Alcander has arrived.

First one, then a second flaming volley strike the thing...and next, a volley 
  of a heavier sort is aimed at the thrashing beast: The Praetorian spearmen 
  dive...faster and faster, with ever-growing force, the half dozen men 
  charge...Sinister he had said...to the left. And so it is the thing's left 
  head which is targeted by this strike...From his place at the center of the 
  line, Caius aims his weapon at the bulbous orb of the monster's 'eye' as do 
  his fellows.

Sabrienna has stayed to the sand. She has run behind the multitude of troops 
  and found some fairly safe places to pull the injured and dead when they 
  start to fall - and if she can get to them. Even purebloods do not deserve 
  to be eaten, she thinks ruefully. So behind the lines she stays, for now.

"Ye Dorty Best ya! Wes Gunna Git Ya!" Yep, if you guessed that it was 
  RunningMouth who shouted that, you were right. The new arrow is stuck in 
  it's correct place on the bow. Back he pulls his arm. >Twa.. Frpt! That 
  sound is, of course, the cheap bowstring snapping. Letting out a string of 
  obsceneties like "Gosh!" and "Gee Golly Rats!" RunningMouth tosses the bow 
  at the sand. Except it's too springy. The flexible wood bends, and then 
  forcibly unbends, sending the bow right back at the herald, where it's tip 
  hits him right on the forhead. "Oof." He says as he falls over.

A wave from the beast's motions rises dangerously close to the top of the 
  outcropping that Oriane stands on. Stepping back for a fearful second, the 
  darkling girl's wide eyes move from the sky that's cleared of rain and cloud 
  to refocus on the beast. For a moment, she's struck frozen by scholarly 
  wonder, "Only in stories..."

While his physical health is not what it should be (and thank you *so* much, 
  Drusus!), Alcander arrives with spear in hand, the sort one may toss. He was 
  a champion javelin thrower, remember... In any event, he hovers above the 
  beach and stares at the water, mumbling something like, "Sweet Apollo's 
  Chariot, that's uglier than my late mother-in-law."

Khalid walks down the winding path from Haven and steps onto the beach.
Khalid has arrived.

Riva moves closer into the water angling her trident, too distant to attack 
  the beast but close enough to view it closer than she wishes. She faces the 
  waves and the wales attempt an attack from the rear, swiming in close with 
  the intent to ram and drive the spears in the harness into the beast, the 
  harness then to break away and free them to swim to safety. 

First the TWANG and THUMP of one harpoon released is heard, apparently aimed 
  toward the first head while a second and then a third joins in with their 
  own distinctive sounds. All three of the missiles are aimed at the head and 
  before waiting to see if they have any effect or not, reload begins.

Altair walks down the winding path from Haven and steps onto the beach.
Altair has arrived.

"Oi, but mum, I wanna slep a wee bit more." Comes quietly by the currently 
  downed RunningMouth. Yes, he's a casualty of battle, well, or, something 
  like that. A near-almost-but-not-really casualty of battle. Oh, wait, since 
  it was his own bow springing up after he cast it down that hurt him, maybe 
  it's not of battle persay. Technicalities, all of it!

Dropping to one knee at the sight of the god-king ,Nandin is ready to follow 
  Khalid to the death.

Reny walks down the winding path from Haven and steps onto the beach.
Reny has arrived.

Trust a Varati to be late for the party. Still, it's better late than never... 
  The nightsky is thick with rain and cloud, pitch of the skydome matte about 
  a solitary flaming figure - never mind, two figures. One white-winged, one 
  black winged. The God-King, afire with red and orange light, circles the 
  beach, eyes searching the seas in study of the great cthonian beast.

Westly writes frantically. "Mmm, this is so good... I'll have a dozen poems 
  and half an epic before the day is done!" he squeals aloud.

The arrows are shrugged off once again, the waters rising the snuff the flames 
  they spark in the beast's nasty slime. Even the lighter and the mis-cast 
  spears bounce off, but the heavy once and those with particular aim 
  penetrate enough to stick, making the beast writhe. It's heads whip out of 
  the way with preturnatural speed and each dips down to snatch one of the 
  unwarry from the beach, shredding it and spraying the onlookers with 
  droplets of its own slime and blood.

"On my mark men..." The darkling Optio draws back upon her string, her eyes 
  narrowing as she concentrates her aim hard upon one of the eyes. She mutters 
  a soft prayer beneath her breath, 'By the goddess of the graiae, Cynthia 
  desert me not.' Taking precise aim, "Fire!" Another shower of arrows sail 
  from the skies towards the creature, the optio's aim having seared towards 
  one of the eyes.

Wings beating steadily, unlike his heart, Alcander makes a closer run toward 
  the beast. He is not going to get in the way of a wave of Praetorians, since 
  he's allergic to spearheads, and he's less likely to place himself between 
  the monster and the Varati God-King: who wants to be Empyrean Flambe' thanks 
  to Khalid? "His hide is too dense for such an assault!" he calls helpfully 
  to the hapless archers. "Have you not anything thicker, can you not aim for 
  the eyes?"

Coming in as escort and wingman is a lone Commander Chryseis. How he got 
  there, no one is quite sure, though time will likely explain the tale. He 
  stays with Khalid, never one to shy away from a battle. Just 
  characteristically late, is all.

Reny finds himself on the beach out of romantic curiosity. A beast. A sea 
  monster at that. How wonderful. He puts his barbidos down on the docks and 
  draws closer, pulling his sword in case he seriously needs it. By why should 
  he? Look at all the Praetorians abounding! Soon, ankles in the water, he 
  joins the fray.

That Mongrel band -- well, they're not all Mongrel, from the look of 'em. Some 
  among them might well be halfbreeds, and there's even a man with the barest 
  stubs of wings sticking out of his back. A motley assortment they are, to be 
  sure, and so are their weapons. Many of them are cutthroats. Many are 
  thieves. But they've all got one thing in common: a fierce attachment to 
  Haven. Like a pack of wolves who usually fight with one another, they've 
  turned as one to face this outside threat. Among them, a black-haired, 
  blue-eyed man known as Richard to some and the Rook to a privileged handful 
  reloads his Empyrean-made bow with a grim determination. It's extremely 
  difficult to rob denizens of a city ravaged by magic storms, earthquake, and 
  now a giant sea beast, even for the best of pickpockets. The arrival of the 
  God-King overhead barely fazes him -- aye, right, well, FINE, O Mighty 
  Khalid, want to impress Richard? Strike yon great beastie dead with a 
  lightning bolt and then maybe you'll impress Richard. In the meantime, he 
  and five of his companions let out started cries at the rain of water and 
  slime that splatters them, scrambling backwards just in time to avoid more 
  than passing damage to the bits of armor and clothing with which they've 
  protected their exposed skin.

Another one bearing black wings stands where she hopes is a safe point. Winds 
  lash around her, wanting to go attack the beast, but held back. Oriane's 
  afraid of hurting someone in her attempt to help. Worrying at her lowerlip, 
  the girl's wings shift with an agitated rustle.

His eyes wild and glossy from the excitement of the moment, Westly runs over 
  to one of the common soldiers, then to another, to anyone who will listen. 
  He speaks at a level just above the fray: "Isn't this great? Can you 
  imagine! A sea beast, like in the tales!" "You know, in ancient times a bard 
  could walk right into a battle and noone'd harm him. He recorded the battle 
  in great epics, but he'd never be harmed by any man with honour. You expect 
  *that* knows that, huh?" Westly gestures at the beast wildly. When he 
  doesn't get a response, he smiles anyway. "No, I don't imagine so." He 
  retreats back a bit, not wanting to get too involved.

A bit of that slime hits RunningMouth, and is more than enough to wake him. 
  Heck, it'd almost wake the dead. Almost. No, most of the dead here would be 
  in a right unpleasant mood if they were awoken, what with being in pieces 
  and all. Jumping up, the Herald steps on a bit of blood and falls over 
  again, face first into the sand. Urg.

Caius's brows lower beneath his helm as the writhing thing thrashes 
  about...incidentally taking itself out of the way of the Praetorian Magna 
  Pilum...Sweeping past the beast, the half dozen soliders of the airborne 
  phalanx climb once again into the inexplicably clear sky..."About wheel!" 
  Calls the golden winged Ceterion...With perfect dicipline, the formation 
  obeys turning a deceptively slow arc to ready a second assault on the 
  thing...The arrival of the most hated thing in all the world has not been 
  noted by Caius.

Theron soars in from the skies above.
Theron has arrived.

Nox' lance penetrates the tough skin of the beast, but he lets loose of the 
  weapon's grip a split second too late. The monster's head snaps out again, 
  away from the dark Empyrean flying overhead, but rips off a chunk of one 
  raven wing with it. Struggling to get away, Nox dives forward, but falls at 
  the same time for some moments, only to awkwardly soar higher again off the 
  side of the enemy.

Right. That's the game it wants to play, mm? Fabien moves to one side a 
  little, so as not to be impeded by anyone else, and steals a quick glance at 
  where the critters slime has hit the sand, just to see what effect it has on 
  *that*. Then back to the beast, white teeth bared in what might generously 
  be called a grin. He sets the trident ready to thrust, feet braced. If it's 
  smart, it might register him as a snack. It might also get i's tongue 
  stapled to its palate.

Reny turns and looks at all the men in uniform. Men in uniform. Yum. He still 
  moves into the water, his attention torn between the dual heads and 
  breastplates.

Alcander's eyes - bloodshot, again, thanks Drusus - fix on Caius and his merry 
  band of soldiers. "They look handsome enough," he remarks to himself, but 
  make a rather nasty snack for yon beast." Wings stroking more deeply, he 
  swings nearer to the creature to have another peek. Not within tooth range, 
  mind. "You are entirely aware that you have yet to wound the thing?" he 
  offers in a helpful bellow to the airborne contingent.

More screams rises as acidic slime spatters those nearby, blisters rising 
  instantly at its touch, cloth rotting away and even metal smoking a bit.

Angry now, and starting to become frustrated, the monster twists. One head 
  reaches up to snap at Nox while the other stretches over the beach, its hiss 
  loud and strong enough to spray all with its noxious breath.

Sometimes beasts are smarter than man. Of the Praetorian gryphon contingent 
  sent to help fight the sea beast, only two of the servitors get their flying 
  beasts to move in and attack at the creature. Claws swipe and beaks snap as 
  tawny wings beat furiously at the air.

Theron flies in, not quite as fast and furious that a younger man might. He is 
  accompanied by Benedict, his aide, surprise. He also comes bearing arrows, 
  and more arrows. The point was made that one wouldn't want to be near the 
  thing and hacking at it.

Sabrienna runs closer trying to figure out how to grab a soldier that has 
  fallen from acid. She grabs a wrist and pulls, back peddling up the beach 
  letting those behind her get out of their way.

From where he kneels in the sand, Raijin begins to sag from his exertion. This 
  simply isn't enough. Time for a change in strategy. He rises to his feet, 
  wobbly, and sends out a telepathic call to the few Water Elementalists that 
  are present - both Delphic and Korallion. Brief moments pass, then the two 
  minute groups focus their attention upon clearing out more of the water. 
  Anything to keep footing clear for the attackers, or push back the beast, or 
  to keep the defenders from being washed away.

Face drawn into a contemptuous sneer, Khalid observes the sea-monster for some 
  time, hovering and circling as a bird of prey over his next meal. Irritation 
  is his body language, forged of ancient impatience and superiority; one hand 
  lifts, pooling fire into an even greater incandescence - a field of 
  super-heated force and anger. Silent as ever, his intaken breath is expelled 
  in a great roar, and he hurls a pillar of flame down into the creature's 
  hide. Just another meal for a godly hawk.

The screams do not go unheeded. After one group of struggling fighters is 
  pulled from the waters, more colorful Atlanteans wade through to aid those 
  burned by the creature's torturous excretion, careful to not touch the slime 
  that burns through metal and fabric while at the same time trying to wash it 
  away, a difficult task when the victims writhe in pain.

With the grace and menace of six raptors, the Praetorian spears are again set 
  in a charge...Diving, diving, with growing force, the squaking of Alcander 
  has not reached thier resolute ears...Again, the large man in the center of 
  this formation couches his great spear and aims his dive at the beast's 
  hideous eye...His and five more besides...

Shrieks from Atlanteans splattered from the acid are so high they make the 
  teeth ache. One drags his companion back further up the beach, enough that 
  those who are bystanders can help and then heads back toward the battle. 

Riva, who to those who do not understand the Atlanteans, might seem to be just 
  standig around, yet it is clear from the change in the aquatic races' attack 
  and from their tight formation that she is very busy indeed. "Together, 
  together" She calls out and heads toward one group just to the left of the 
  beast.

Sobered by the cries of the injured, Westly stops playing and runs over to one 
  of the wounded. Not really knowing what to do, he pulls the soldier away 
  from the beast, and tries to wipe the acid off the tormented man's skin with 
  his cloak, which starts to disintegrate from the acid. He whispers to the 
  man, "It'll be all right in the end, it always is." But he doesn't look 
  entirely convinced.

War on the beast seems inevitable, now for the best. The Ambassador moves his 
  routine from the warriors to ready for the inevitable wounded. The warriors 
  will handle the fight from here, or more likely the Varati 'God-King'. The 
  bolt of flame from Khalid proves and ends it. Koralland moves over to 
  Jasmine ready to depart.

Nox drags out his gladius as his wings strike panicly to get away from the 
  sea-legend come alive. Without looking back, he strikes the blade with both 
  hands over his shoulder, to aim at the snot of the beast. Yet the monster 
  strikes back, crushing a major part of his wings. Black feathers fly through 
  the air as the remaining, half-torn naked wing skin get covered by a 
  greasly, icky looking slime, sending off a sharp smell from the backside of 
  the struggling Empyrean.

Jasmine slips one arm around Koralland's waist, the other firmly around the 
  baby's sling. Her face turns up to him in silent communication, expression 
  intent.

"Bowmen arm yourselves." Once more those under the darkling Optio's command 
  begin to reload their bows for another rain of fire. This time Diana forgoes 
  her own bow and slings it back over her shoulder to draw her gladius 
  instead. She turns to look upon her men, "On my command dive and let loose 
  your launch." Dive? Is the woman insane? As in get close to that oozing bag 
  of blubber and teeth? Still the men make no vocal dispute over the orders, 
  once more lighting up the arrows. The group soars closer before holding 
  their stay. With a deep breath, Diana lets out a shrill cry, "Bowmen, Dive 
  and Fire!" Instinct kicks in as the group of six descend in a swooping 
  fashion to close the distance between the beast and let loose the third 
  assault of flaming arrows.

A strong wave of slime-laced salt water races up towards the band of 
  thieves-turned-warriors, and three of them shriek as their clothing starts 
  to smoke. "Back!" thunders their leader, sharply gesturing for some of their 
  contingent to haul the wounded free of the water. The remaining men, arrows 
  proven useless, go for their next line of defense: crossbows and the few 
  precious hefty spears they've been able to acquire. Richard starts to trade 
  off his bow for a spear -- only to catchh a glimpse of one of those 
  dark-winged figures overhead. It's a bit dark for him to see clearly even 
  with the night lit by countless fires -- but something about one of those 
  Empyreans sends a bolt of recognition shooting through him. Is that Nox up 
  there?

Assaulted from all sides, the beast screams with a soundless hiss of escaping 
  air, like an angry teakettle on the boil. In the shallows, where Orca and 
  Atlantean assault, the tail thrashes the water to white foam, effectively 
  keeping them at bay. The contingent of diving Empyreans do indeed get a 
  solid strike in, but a strike that causes one head to rear back abruptly, 
  knocking several solidly and besmearing them from head to to in acrid, 
  burning slime. Feathers crisp in and instant, leaving them screaming and 
  falling from the sky. It is the fire that seems to do the most, tho, the 
  pillar boring into the beast's bulky body like some great drill-bit of 
  power, igniting the slime all around it and tearing a hole through its 
  middle. What little water left around it froths upwards around the beast, 
  dousing the flames but by the sound, it has been delt a telling blow.

Slashing at the bease with his blade ,Nandin is injured and shaken yet he 
  still fights on.

Reny watches as his people are burned and the typical rosiness fades from his 
  cheeks. Wings raised, he pushes through the water towards the beast, old 
  sword in hand to do the damage he can. Or cannot.

Alcander has absolutely no desire to involve himself in acrid slime that burns 
  skin and features (and perchance leaves a scar) and thus remains behind the 
  beast as best he can. His spear is still lofted, ready to be flung, but from 
  a distance of some twenty feet he is sceptical about how much damage may be 
  dealt. Ah...that hole opened up in the middle looks good, and as he swoops 
  lower and, sadly, toward the front of the two-headed nightmare, he lets fly 
  with the spear, a mighty throw from the former athlete and Praetorian.

Stagers out of the fight and he falls on the ground near the rear
Nandin leaves the fight

On the sand, another stream of 'obsceneties' fly from RunningMouth, though 
  this time they go up a notch. A carefull listener might even hear the word 
  "Darn." come from him. Woo-boy! It's that slime that his his arm, you see. 
  Well, hit his thick clothing, and burned to his arm. The stream stops of 
  course as soon as he gets a mouth full of sand from his fallen position. 
  Moving back up, he looks around for a way to take on the beast, driven by a 
  powerfull blood rage. And by that, I mean that the red and neon green clad 
  sylvan turns tail and starts staggering away.

Almost cross-eyed to see this flapping thing before it, one head suddenly 
  snaps at Alcander in silent rage. The spear bites deep into ragged flesh.

Riva 's quick shout rings out. "At the wound if you can, aim at the wound" the 
  thump of the Harpoons sounds again as more of the projectiles are hurled 
  toward the Sea Creature. Some are careful only to keep the elevation of the 
  aim not high enough to hit Empyreans or low enough to endanger land troups 
  but that vast area betwen leaves plenty of of room to shower the metal 
  tipped harpoons.

Nandin has left.

Theron makes his way over to his contingent of this crowd. He proffers the 
  ammunition that he's brought to one of the Ceterion. He mutters something 
  quietly to the darkling Optio.

Oblivious of the chaos and dying creature behind him, Nox cannot manage to 
  keep himself up in the air any more. In a cry of agony over his wound, he 
  droops the remaining parts of his wings weakly, then simply crushes into the 
  ocean, quite a way apart the actual fight, with a loud *splash*, then 
  vanishes below the rippled surface.

The screams of falling Praetors are too much, and suddenly Oriane is aloft in 
  the air, catapaulted by the gust of wind that now follows her. The nearest 
  falling soldier, with acid seared wings, suddenly finds himself flying over 
  the waves by power of the wind alone. Far beyond the reach of the waves, 
  he's deposited on the sand. Quickly Oriane flies further up into the air, 
  straining herself to catch as many falling warriors as she can.

Tyche. It _is_ Nox. "Rook," the Mongrel leader bellows, "what're ye doin', 
  man?" Richard, however, doesn't hear him. That's his friend out there, the 
  man who's guarded his back on many a dubious excursion into the Empyrean 
  quarter, and Richard isn't about to let him drown. He breaks ranks with the 
  others, running a short distance away, trying to mark the spot where the 
  darkling went down -- does he have a prayer of reaching him?

Fabien circles, waits - *there*. As the creature's head darts at Alcander, he 
  sports an opportunity, a long thrust with all his considerable strength 
  behint it, wickedly barbed trident aimed for the creature;'s eye.

Into the waves pass two Atlanteans. Gills stay fast shut as they dive into the 
  murky water, keeping gills free of debris and using lungs filled with air 
  only. They seek Nox to assist him to shore if they are successful.

With eyes full of tears, Westly pulls yet another wounded and screaming 
  soldier away from the fray. This time, however, he drops a few of his most 
  precious items, notably his wooden whistle. Though he spits and curses, he 
  does not go back for it, instead feebly dragging the wounded man farther 
  from the combat, and trying to calm the poor soul down.

Under normal circumstances, Alcander could flit out of the way of the beast's 
  snapping head but his body is not quite its normal dexterous self. Twisting 
  hard to avoid the snapping teeth, he lets go a bellow and plummets toward 
  the water. Only the outflung wings and Apollo's graces keep him from 
  becoming a feathery splotch on the water. A near thing.
Finding himself at the sea-beast, he begins hacking at the thick scales along 
  with the others. Hack, twang.

Snorting derisively, Khalid peels back somewhat, rising higher over the beast 
  as he watches the fight below. He glows, surrounded by the light of heaven 
  and the smell of hell; sulphur meets holy aura in a strangely evil mixture, 
  his terrible form lit up gold now. The God-King even laughs once, 
  off-handedly lobbing a large orb of sticky flame down onto the creature's 
  back in the divine interpretation of Napalming a battleship. Unfortunately, 
  his effort is confined mostly to the creature's lower back, perhaps for fear 
  of immolating the other combatants.

Finding himself at the sea-beast he begins hacking atthe thick scales along 
  with the ohters. Hack, twang. Reny's sword breaks in two. He tries to push 
  the shaft into the side.

Three of the six are lost, little more than incenerated pieces of goo thanks 
  to that foul defense slime of the creature. Diana barely has more than a few 
  moments to think and grab hold of her nearest guard before trying to glide 
  off a bit to clean water before crashing into its depths out of control.

Trident points drive deep into one eye and the side of its face, eliciting 
  another scream and a sudden shake of its head that may yet knock another 
  winged creature from the sky.

Well, no need to stop now. Cepheus and his men dash toward the agoniged beast, 
  not seeming to take note of the flames or acidic deluge. Arrows are cocked, 
  their steel heads streaking toward the parts of the beast that have found 
  themselves opened up by Khalid's assault. Cepheus still has the majority of 
  his men left and they are quick to re-inforce the Optio and those around her.

A pale blue skinned Atlantean struggles to pull a Sylvan from the water, the 
  man have crazed with pain fights against the help while screaming for it at 
  the same time. Determination grits the Atlanteans face as he tries to gain a 
  firm hold on the twisting figure while remaining careful of his wounds. In 
  knee deep water, the pair is suddenly assulted with feathers falling from 
  above, followed by a deeply wounded Praetor who sinks them all on impact.

The airborne formation is scattered by the rearing of the beast, the two 
  spearmen to Caius' right are knocked solidly, trying in vain to wing away 
  from they beast before crashing into the shallow surf below...but what is 
  this? A second favor of the Gods...The first...whose stricken wing is all 
  but deplumed by the fierce poisons of this beast...is borne to 
  safety...Wondrous. 
Caius feels the spear in his hands shiver and sunder as the beast rears...a 
  snarl of rage and pain claims his face as the Ceterion pulls himself higher 
  and draws his gladius...and then the flamestrike hits. Buffetted by the wave 
  of heat, the Ceterion's cold eyes are drawn upwards...and there is Khalid. A 
  wordless scream of deep rage is sent at the murderous thing overhead.

RunningMouth walks down the winding path back to Haven.
RunningMouth has left.

Living fire claws its way along the beast's body, crawling over its skin. It 
  ignites on the water around it, flickering fitfully over the thrashing 
  waves. Both heads rise up and scream to the sky, the whole body starting to 
  roll over.

Theron doesn't do that then. Ah well, them's the breaks for showing up to a 
  fight late, no one knows what the heck is going on, other than half of one 
  of his cohors going down in a flaming ball. Well, just have to join in, he 
  loops a quiver around him, then pulls out an arrow to be loaded up.

WInged creature, maybe. But Fabien's not stupid enough to hang on to that 
  trident.. even if he wanted to he'd have difficuly, the way that head's 
  thrashing about. The instant it takes him to decide this, however, does mean 
  he's moving and airborne when he jets go. Plus point, he avoids the worst of 
  the slime. Minus point? He lands on a rocky portion of beach some forty feet 
  away, on one shoulder.

AHA. Alcander isn't suicidal, but that trident in the creature's eye and 
  temple is just what he wants: a projectile that can be used unless he can 
  wrestle the weapon deeper into the puny brain that the godsawful ugly head 
  protects. Inhaling deeply and reminding himself he's a champion fool, the 
  former Praetorian and current dandy dives toward that trident's handle with 
  the intent of grabbing and gouging...then fleeing.

Finally, Westly's visage of calmness breaks. He leaves the small number of 
  wounded he's brought away from the fight and strides further up the coast. 
  Before the mammoth beast, he screams, "You horrible thing! Go away and leave 
  us alone! Don't you see, we just want to live in peace!?" He howls in rage, 
  throwing the contents of his case at the monster; his dagger among them, but 
  also several items of interest like painted stones, a set of bells, and a 
  boot. Finally, coming to his senses, he retreats back to the wounded, and 
  sinks to the ground, defeated.

Alcander didn't mean fleeing, per se. Call it a...strategic withdrawal.

Muttering curses, certain this is going to hurt like nine kinds of hell, 
  Richard risks wrestling a few yards into the waves to see if he can catch 
  sight of the fallen Empyrean. The bolt of fire that blazes down from the 
  God-King overhead momentarily distracts him enough to wonder nervously if 
  the being had heard his prior derisive thought -- but only momentarily. 
  Sucking as much breath as he can hold into his lungs, he then attempts to 
  dive further out into the surf to see if he has even the smallest chance of 
  finding Nox... but as of yet to no avail.

Only dimly aware now of what goes on in the battle, Raijin's eyes are locked 
  to the waters around the beast. There is nothing he can do about that 
  radius, save to keep it confined. To allow that thick slime to spread out 
  all through the water is a horrifying thought. A wordless shout escapes his 
  lips, followed by frantic thoughts to the mages around him. Keep the water 
  held back. Don't let it spread.

Alcander may be suicidal, indeed, if he thinks grabbing the shaft of a trident 
  embedded in a thrashing head is a good idea or an easy task. And the 
  thrashing isn't about to stop. The water around the beast begins to thin, 
  spreading out in a wider, but shallower scum as it loses whatever sort of 
  control it had upon the fluid. It humps against the sand, its entire body 
  convulsing.

One golden young Praetorian gets flung back from the rearing beast and begins 
  a fall towards the slimy waters, his twisted wings dooming him to the acid. 
  That is until a gust of wind seems to grab him and fling him somewhat 
  ungently towards the shore. Landing on the sand in a roll, he probably 
  wounds his wing even more, but at least he is alive. Oriane remains in the 
  sky above, using her affinity and plucking who she can from the danger of 
  the acidic waters and tossing them either onto the shore or further away 
  into cleaner waters.

Sabrienna keeps pulling people from the fray. She nearly drops an Atlantean 
  because she is so shocked at the amount of damage the acid has caused. She 
  fortifies herself and pushes on. The surviving Empyreans with their wings 
  nearly all singed off are just as bad - a strange sight almost as bad as the 
  sea-beast itself. her hands are red and raw, dripping with blood, hers and 
  others.

Well, this is certainly a lovely scene, isn't it? Some of the more 
  brave/foolish warriors present have charged into the water like Frenchmen at 
  the Somme; their bodies are now caricatures of what once they were, charred 
  and acid-etched into rictus grins. Their frozen forms snap and splinter as 
  the beast begins to roll, the screams of those few still living buried under 
  the mountain of water-demon.

Riva 's head rears back at the beast extends its head and moves. the 
  Decemvir's feet show some of the effects of splashed acid on them yet no 
  time, no time to feel it now. Another volley of Harpoons flies, half angled 
  to wound, half to heads, and another closely behind as the weapons are 
  reloaded. One of the frames splinters and drives parts of its wooden mount 
  and bracts into those who man it, an accident often happening with such 
  equipment. the whales, ineffective for now because of the debt of the water 
  withdraw to circle, help herd it away if it flees. Sentries use cast weapons 
  and spears that helps keep them away from the beast.

Let's not call it suicidal. Let's call it...selfessly heroic. (A thin line 
  exists between the two, after all.) No, Alcander's fairly certain it will be 
  no simple task to grab onto that trident, but it's lodged so well that 
  assuredly pushing it deeper will help finish this task with greater 
  alacrity. So he's trying his damnedest to catch that trident and, well, 
  shove. Pop goes the monster, if it works.

Having fought since the beginning with the Praetorians, Esper Lyranthe 
  Chryseis takes to the sky after locating more ammunition for the bow she 
  barely understands how to use. At wits end, exhausted days without sleep 
  showing clearly, she manage to place herself out of harm's way until she has 
  reached a desired altitude. Noching arrow to string, she no more gets one 
  steel-tipped shaft out at the beast before a younger Esper locates her. 
  "Chryseis!" The Empyrean cals. "Commander wants you, now!" Pointing to the 
  shimmer-angry glow of the God-King, he removes himself for further combat. 
  With a quick, pointless nod, Lyranthe takes herself quickly to the side of 
  the Varati God and her Commander, wings beatting powerfully against the air.

Nox arrives at the beach, guided by two Atlanteans. He is more drifting the 
  actively swimming, an expression of deep pain set on his features. He's 
  lacking most of his feathers, and some parts of his wings are gone -- cut 
  out by a smooth blade, rather than bitten of or simply crushed. Yet he 
  appears to be free from the slime. Lying in the wet sand, getting hit by the 
  waves, he justs gasps, taking a few deep breaths at the air, before looking 
  around to take in the scene around him.

Rising up onto his feet once more, Westly looks down at the wounded and at 
  their suffering. Finally, he snaps his fingers. Eureka. He runs about the 
  shoreline, gathering the weapons of the dead and wounded, and bringing them 
  back to the spectators, trying to arm them in case the beast comes to land 
  and they must maintain a last-ditch effort. Westly takes a trident for 
  himself, and (in a rather humorous fashion, as he is in bard's gear, after 
  all) valiantly retrieves more of the wounded, awaiting the beast's next 
  action.

Two heads emerge nearly 10 feet off to the side of the beast but definately in 
  the depths. While the darkling Optio may very well have been able to 
  maintain some direction enough to rescue her and one of her unit from the 
  slimey pits of the beast, the impact upon the waters seems to have taken its 
  toll. Pericles struggles to keep the darkling afloat, his arm wrapped around 
  her as he looks around for somewhere safe. He may be a Praetorian and born 
  to fight until the end, but even he is aware that in the waters they may as 
  well be sitting ducks.

Sabrienna moves down the beach to the sight of Nox. "Damn," she mutters and 
  rushes to help him.

The head whips about, too fast to follow and slams directly into Alcander, 
  knocking him aside like so much fluff on the wind. Unfortunately, this also 
  leaves a goodly layer of nasty slime over his body as well. The beast 
  screams again and starts to attempt to retreat into the deeper water.

Uneri walks down the winding path from Haven and steps onto the beach.
Uneri has arrived.

Not an awful lot else the ex-gladiator can do, really. He struggles to a 
  half-sitting position, teeth gritted, dark skin grey with pain. Fabien's 
  left arm hangs, somewhat uselessly, by his side.

It is likely fortunate for Richard that the two Children of Water bring in the 
  fallen Nox before he needs to get too far into the surf -- for even as he 
  struggles out, Richard comes too close for comfort to a few tendrils of that 
  slime. He flails about in the water and bolts back to shore as quickly as he 
  can manage, somehow touched by Tyche's right hand as he does. He's only 
  slightly charred in addition to being soaked as he hastens to Nox as well, a 
  sharp, odd anguished expression twisting his fine-boned features at the 
  sight of what's left of the other man's wings.

As she grows more tired, Oriane wings closer to the beast, trying to rescue 
  those she can, forgetting about herself. Black wings slice through the air 
  over the creature's head when suddenly she realizes her mistake.
        She's too close... much too close.
With a scream born of terror, the girl finds one wing grabbed by one of the 
  heads, barely missing grabbing half her torso.

A momentary glance is favored for Lyranthe, curiosity momentarily appearing as 
  he regards Altair. Who are these mere mortals, that would discard their 
  lives for a God belonging to another race? Though their blood is not Varati, 
  their sense of duty seems well-placed. Turning back to the task at hand, 
  Khalid continues to burn at the creature, a pillar of flame licking into its 
  body and remaining there as the God-King expands it's hellish fury into 
  covering the creature in it's entirety. Red-orange-gold and with the scent 
  of long-lost demons mankind stopped worshipping after they discovered fire 
  of their own, the God-King's wrath lights the beach as though it were 
  daytime once more.

Atlanteans, mostly on the surface and using held breaths rather than gills to 
  dare the slit laden water work to rescue the fallen, Working in a relay, 
  they help guide them ashore further up the beach, some lifting and carrying 
  those who can not walk.

Head over wingfeathers tumbles the Acesian nobleman; the creature's head has 
  batted Alcander as efficiently as a plank whacks a rock in an adolescent's 
  game of stickball. Mercifully (well, one may think), he lost both breath and 
  consciousness in the head's contact with his body, and down toward the water 
  he plunges.

Theron skips whatever he had intended, flapping furiously for the two Praetors 
  in the water, damn anyone who says where his loyalty lies. On the way, he 
  lets fly one of his arrows.

Praetorian arrows arc. Praetorian arrows find their mark, thudding into the 
  eye opposite the trident. One head screams blinded and sinking towards the 
  ground. The other peers at its tasty tidbit, obviously preparing to toss 
  Oriane down.

Caius, wings blackened and smoldering after the force of cursed Khalid's flame 
  bolts, the other remaining menber of his phalanx has fallen out to carry to 
  safety a downed fellow...leaving the azure eyed Caius alone to look above 
  him and note the white winged form of Altair Chryseis beside the cowardly 
  King to the Fire folk....There is no word to capture the rage that this 
  kindles, a painful stroke of his wings brings the Ceterion higher away from 
  the carcass below...but also towards the pair which sneer from above. Eyes 
  are closed as yet another pillar of flame is called down, but when they part 
  once again Caius ignores the pain in his wings, and the heat of the flam and 
  pulls himself higher.

A curse rings from the lips of the rather large target known as Cepheus, the 
  large Empyrean Legate and two of his men some of the few left standing from 
  thier particular position on the beech. His grey eyes watch Diana's fall, 
  only to be blinded a moment later by another blaze of fire from the 
  "God-King" above.

Where flame has seared away scale and skin, arrows penetrate as do the heavier 
  weapons, turning the beast into something more like a porcupine than a slimy 
  sea-monster. Where shafts do not sprout, fire does, burning deeper and 
  deeper into the flesh. The stench is.. increadible.

Reny has noted that the romance is gone from this situation. He is in shock at 
  the sights that are much too much for a fair soul such as he. Well burned, 
  he drops his sword in the water and idly pushes his way to the sands. Even 
  with wet wings, he tries to lift himself, not realizing much of his wings 
  are seared away.

Altair gives Khalid a wide berth as he lobs that fireball at the beast, 
  certainly close enough to attempt at defending the man against any stray 
  arrows that miss the beast. Other than that, he is a silent escort, his 
  reinforcements probably still on their way through the city from the 
  Bastion. Looking down and behind, he sees the rising form of Lyranthe. 
  "Lyra! Take the other wing!" indicating that she guard Khalid's other side. 
  Neither of them know how to effectively fire an arrow, and with other 
  Commanders handling the ground-based assault, there's not much else for them 
  to do. As he sees a someone caught alive in the jaws of the beast, he begins 
  vectoring in her direction, towards that head. She's going to fall or be 
  chomped, and Altair's going to do his damnedest to stop it either way.

The water that washed Nox against the surface is colored red, though that is 
  hardly visible in the depth of the night. Yet the massive wounds on his 
  wings are well visible. Using his remaining strength to pull himself on his 
  feet, giving a crooked, pained smile to those around him. "Get the kids and 
  yourself outta here!" he mutters to Richard as he stumbles towards the dry 
  sand.

As another Empyrean splashes to the water another Atlantean dives into the 
  water to drag him from the watery depths before he is lost for good. The 
  pale skinned Orman drags Alcander from beneath the water, awkwardly trying 
  to handle the water-logged wings as well and finding much difficulty in the 
  task. So much so that he calls, no screams for assistance before the 
  nobleman's body sinks again.

"You think I'd bring the kids anywhere near here?" Richard growls back. "What 
  kinda madman do ye take me for, man?" Even as he speaks, however, he grimly 
  steps in to give the direly wounded darkling an arm to lean on, a shoulder 
  against which to support himself. "Can ye walk on yer own?"

Somewhere in the scream, a part of Oriane remains possessing a certain logic. 
  Through the pain that shatters through her broken wing, she calls on her 
  affinity, a gift that one certain Empyrean insists marks her as one of the 
  Kronian's chosen. It's unclear exactly what she does, but the air 
  practically crackles with power as the one head that's holding her suddenly 
  collapses inward on itself, as if the skull had been crushed. Mutilated, the 
  dying head thrashes and flings Oriane into the air.

The water is goodness: it washed away some of the slime searing Alcander's 
  body. But, not being Atlantean, the ocean is not the best thing for his 
  lungs, and he coughs feebly while the sea-dwellers convey him to shore. THIS 
  was a fine way to spend a summer's eve....

Koralland goes home.
Koralland has left.

Riva and her group note the growth of shafts now beginning to speckle the hide 
  of beast. There is a pause while they evaluate if it is damaging or just 
  annoying the beast further. "The mouth when it opens, and eyes, look sharp, 
  ready." She speaks briefly but from the rearrangement of equipment, was 
  lengthier in her unheard instructions." To Raijin she speaks. "May healers 
  renew the pain of the wounded? It...screams at us."

Jasmine goes home.
Jasmine has left.

Sabrienna says "Both of you stop arguing and move further up beach." She yells 
  at Richard and Nox, giving both a glare as she moves beyond them to help 
  others further in the water. "Get. Both o' ye."

The length of one neck measures itself on the sand with a resounding, 
  splattering thump, the head at its end a mangled wreck of pulped flesh. The 
  other screams again, sounding like nails drawn over slate. It thrashes 
  blindly, hissing and snapping without direction.

Altair puts Godspeed into his wings, a few feathers flying off as he flaps 
  hard and furious towards the flung Oriane. His arms stretching out in front 
  of him, open palms up, he tries to catch the darkling noble in his arms 
  midflight.

The big gladiator waves a healer away with a growl. "Fabien not dying. Later."

Khalid's fires die suddenly - or rather, die into a more earthly heat, rather 
  than a supernatural heat - as he spies Caius' haggard approach on an 
  updraft. Disbelief and astonishment momentarily course through his body as 
  he watches the Guardsman loft his hobbling way upward. A man would attack a 
  god, when the god is preoccupied with a hell-beast? Maybe Lyranthe and 
  Altair will serve a good purpose after all. Unable to be preoccupied with 
  mortal men, he returns to burning the creature to mere bones, unwilling to 
  deal with Caius at the moment.

Raijin pauses in his incessant efforts to hold back the water from deluging 
  the surf, staring at Riva with a weary glaze to his eyes. "Bring the 
  healers, yes," he replies, lifting his voice loudly enough to be heard. "If 
  they are not already here."

Ianthe soars in from the skies above.
Ianthe has arrived.

A second Atlantean, a speckled-skinned woman, aids the pale Orman to pull 
  Alcander from the water, warily watching the acid that floats nearby, 
  threatening to cover the trio should another wave crash thr beach. With the 
  hands of a second, the Atlanteans are able to get the nobleman to the safelt 
  of the beach where the other injured are being kept and where some healers 
  are already tending the victims.

Pericles tries to keep both he and his commanding officer afloat. He shouts 
  out as he sees the Imperator begining his descent, trying to signal the man 
  the best he can with his unoccupied hand. Meanwhile Diana appears completely 
  unaware of any more of the struggle around her. The praetor tries to wade 
  over to the closest clean shore area but damaged wings and unnatural 
  environments coupled with the weight of another seem to work against the man.

Still unsure as to /why/ she is being asked to play escort to a being that can 
  clearly hold his own, Esper Chryseis can only nod. Bow slung and quiver 
  tucked away, she takes up the spear that she has carried since the night 
  before, preparing to fling it. Altair was quicker than she, else the 
  Empyrean would have been in his place. A slanted glance is cast at the 
  Varati God-King, noting his attention -- and groaning inwardly. "CAIUS!" She 
  yells. "YOU WILL NOT ATTEMPT THIS!" With a snarl, she flies down at the 
  Praetor, her spear a warning.

Slime burns, purified by intense flame. But not all is gone instantly. The 
  water boils, taking the slime with it into a misty cloud of noxious fumes. 
  Where the fumes meet flesh, eye and lung, they burn horribly. Where they 
  touch flame, they burn worse, igniting into fireballs that explode with 
  concussive force and boil upwards.

Westly rushes over to Alcander, his looted trident in hand. "Are you sorely 
  injured? Is that acid still on you? Are you fit to fight? There are weapons 
  if you can hold one," he babbles.

Barely conscious as her body is flung through the air, Oriane knows that she 
  could stop this descent.. should stop this descent. But somehow, her mind is 
  too tired and numb at this point. Several trickles of blood stain her dark 
  feathers an even darker shade as she's caught in an awkward position by 
  Altair.

Ah, how much Alcander would enjoy watching the demise of the creature and the 
  rescue of Oriane (yes, a darkling, but one with great legs)...yet, as he is 
  dragged by the Orman and bespeckled creature, he does little beyond hack and 
  try to keep his eyes open. He'll say thanks later, assuredly. Right now, 
  most of his clothing - ack, his tailor will slay him! - is fried away, and 
  his left arm is positioned in a fashion that no arm should be placed. And to 
  Westly he can but glare and, with hoarse, harsh sarcasm hiss wearily, 
  "Apollo protect the idiots of mixed breeding. Go away, lad."

Reny has his own lining of slime around him from his nearness to the beast. It 
  catches flame and therefore so does he. Even the little bit of it that had 
  clung does a great deal of damage and the smoke burns through the boys 
  lungs, his screams cutting short.

Theron attempts to help the pair stuck in the water as best he can until some 
  Atlanteans can get to the pair, if nothing else, he acts as marker for them, 
  and for other bigger things. Or rather, he did. Being so close, with the 
  force of the fireballs, even if not near him, bowls him over again and 
  again. Benedict, who, up until this point, had been more cautious, does his 
  best to help Pericles and Diana.

Flesh burns away. Bones incandesse. The beast screams again, only to recieve a 
  mouthful of Atlantean spears for it's trouble. Choking on bone and steel, 
  the second head slowly topples to the sand. The beast continues to writhe 
  and thrash in its death-throes, but without the deadly purpose of earlier.

Only seconds after the Seneschal had replied to Riva, various white-robed 
  figures and plain-clothed Atlanteans emerge into full-view. Their efforts 
  had previously been confined to higher, safer ground, but now with the 
  battle coming to its end, they emerge to take back the more seriously 
  wounded.

Damn. Explosions that aren't under Khalid's control. He halts his fires once 
  again, dropping backwards into a dive that takes him mere feet over the 
  heads of the archers and officers. "Pull your men back!" he cries, voice 
  booming across the beach as his flame-streaked form captures the attention 
  of Empyrean, Sylvan and Atlantean alike. "Pull your men back, damn you!" 
  Obviously they don't have the presence of mind to retreat when explosions 
  start going off in the first place, and damned if Khalid is about to stop so 
  ground troops can be heroes - and martyrs.

Glaring at Alcander, Westly turns his back to the man after hearing his words. 
  Striding away, he spits on the ground. He mumbles, "there are idiots of all 
  breeding, I've found."

Bits of ash, which once held the auric hue of Caius' now sootstained and 
  smoldering wings, drift free with each pained stroke...Lyranthe's bellow 
  catches his attention, and the angry azure eyes of the Guardsman settle upon 
  the other who would stand beside the Varati King...sword in his left hand, 
  and blood upon his right, the Ceterion growls, "Traitor..." Prepared to 
  recieve her charge, and content to return his attention to the ebon winged 
  demon later.

Fabien drags himself away as best he can, with one arm, and apparently not 
  *entirely* fully functional legs.

Alcander would throw a shell at one of the three Westlys departing if he could 
  lift a finger to do it. Nah. Not worth the trouble. The inside of his 
  eyelids are so much more fascinating, and ye GODS, that creature stinks. And 
  he thought it smelled bad on the -outside-.

Nox takes a more firm stance at the side, standing on his own without the help 
  of Richard. Merely his wings seem a shattered remainder of what they used to 
  be. A single throwing dagger is held into the ground as his violet eyes 
  still look up to the struggle in the air and water, reflecting the firey 
  explosions. "Hold on, we'll deal with it later," he mutters distractedly to 
  Sabrienna and Richard, "This is not over yet."

Sabrienna holds onto a young Sylvan, almost protecting the body in the way she 
  hovers over the fallen body. Her gaze is fixated on the burning beast, high 
  in the Haven sky over the morning waters. She closes her eyes to block the 
  image and turns away from the sylvan. With tired legs, she goes to find 
  others.

Westly forgets his unpleasant encounter and strides over to the first wounded 
  person he sees, Fabien. He says as calmly as he can muster: "You're wounded, 
  will you let me help you?"

Wreathed in wings as stormy as her demeanor, the Esper flings her staff away 
  in mid-flight, hopefully hitting the creature. Sword is drawn with a soft 
  purr, glinting in the firelight. "No more I than you, Ceterion," she 
  trumpets. "You seek to destroy the one who saves us? Destroy me /first/ 
  FOOL." Words hissed through clentched teeth, she wraps both hands around the 
  hilt of her three foot blade, eyes blazing with the God-King's fire.

Scattering out of the way of the head mindlessness thrashing and snapping. 
  Sentries, fewer in number than before, some having become tasty snacks, some 
  smothered in the silt, some crushed in the thrashing of the beast of 
  nightmares and legends regroup. Cast tridents join the harpoons in a barage 
  on the beast.

Not exactly trying to have a leisurely chat with Nox, Richard shoots Sabrienna 
  a hot sapphirine glare -- but that's all the attention he spares the Mongrel 
  woman. Most of his focus is on his friend, and the rest on the havoc 
  surrounding the mighty beast. All too aware by now that there's little he 
  can do against the creature, Richard is more than content to insure that the 
  wounded get out of the way. But he's not moving till Nox is dealt with. 
  "There's naught else we can do, damn ye," he growls very lowly, so that no 
  one else but Nox can hear. "Cynara offered to help me, I know she can help 
  you!"

A large sword flickers in the faint night atmosphere, accompanied by severl 
  others to its right. Cepheus begining a dash toward the writhing beast, 
  perhaps one of the dumbest things he has attempted to date. Still, he is now 
  in his native environment, and he clearly intends to make use of the sword 
  in his hand. The base of the beast's neck is his target, something that is 
  probably moving the least. Towards it he leaps into the air, assisted by his 
  wings, steel glistening beneith him as he makes a stab for the spine.

One more form joins the ranks of Empyreans attacking from above, to little 
  effect. Ianthe swoops at the beast, a grim expression visible to those she 
  passes as she hurls a wickedly sharp spear at the creature with strength and 
  accuracy. Smoke stings her eyes as she beats her wings, retreating at the 
  shouts of the God King and the various others as she readies another spear, 
  hovering back and far enough way to be out of range of the monster's head.

Altair is sent into a semi-dive at the awkward airborn capture of the wildly 
  flung body that is Oriane. Wings spreading full, becoming stationary for 
  glide, he pulls away from the beast as he makes corrections and regains 
  flying control. He has absolutely no idea what is going on back with Khalid, 
  Lyranthe and Caius. Only that he has captured a darkling now identified as 
  Oriane in his arms. "Shhhh, you'll be alright," he says in an attempt to 
  calm her. Shifting her load, one hand supports her at the shoulders while 
  the other is placed under her legs.

Stinking flesh heaves, twitches and finally.. subsides. The bulk of it 
  continues to burn, casting not only flames but more fumes and tiny 
  explosions into the sky. From some wounds, it bleeds a thick, black ichor 
  that stains the sand an inky hue.

Uneri grimly moves as one of the number of Atlanteans, seeking to pull fallen 
  fighters out of harms way while keeping out of harm's way herself. On the 
  whole, she has been successful, though the noxious fumes are beginning to 
  get to her.

Dark eyes focus on Westly. "Fabien... will live without help." A grimace. 
  "Fabien suggest you go find someone who will not."

The fallen praetorian bowman finally manages to make his way over to Benedict, 
  as he climbs from the waters and drags the unconscious form of the Optio 
  with him. Not really wanting to wait around and become further targets for 
  either the beast or those who oppose it -- Pericles scoops up his darkling 
  commander into his arms and begins to carry her away from the center of 
  activity. She is breathing so it is a good thing, but breathing helps little 
  if they are caught in the crossfire.

The choking, vile stench of the burning creature does not go unnoticed to the 
  Water mages. Raijin holds a damp, long sleeve up to his nose and mouth, 
  indicating the others should do the same. It will be some time yet before 
  they can leave. Even after the beast is dead, cleanup remains.

Reny's body rests on the sands. Water lapping at his legs and over the stubs 
  of those that were once his wings.

Westly chuckles in spite of the horrendous scene. "I'm not a healer, just a 
  silly poet." He slaps the injured man on the back, not too hard, but hard 
  enough to smart, and his grin shows he obviously didn't intend for it to 
  hurt. Seeing the beast fall, he lets up a cheer.

Barely conscious, Oriane doesn't even see Altair as he catches her and shifts 
  her into a less awkward position. One wing hangs obviously broken and 
  bleeding while her face is dangerously pale. The darkling girl continues to 
  mutter softly and incoherently, talking to visions only in her head.

"Your men are dying in flame and slime! Hold your infantry. Ranged weapons 
  only!" Khalid bellows, taking to the skies again as he catalyzes a heavy 
  'thump' followed by a concussion wave, along the beast's spine. If flame 
  alone cannot kill the creature - at least not without charring everyone 
  below - flame and a shockwave ought to be at least somewhat more effective. 
  Several more airburst-style explosions erupt away from the main forces.

A halfbreed notes with exasperation, putting his hand over his mouth, "Be good 
  if the God-King could fry that thing into a big splotch on the beach so we 
  don't have to shovel it away..."

Figures skitter here and there among the wounded. Some, but very few, are able 
  to get back up and walk away after a moment's touch. Others require being 
  dragged back to safer ground. Yet the Healers, both Delphic and 
  non-affiliated both, continue their work. Shouts are thrown back and forth, 
  instructions given, cries for help.

Ow. Gods but that hurt. Fabien's good arm almost reaches out to educate Westly 
  into *why* you don't slap people on the back when they have a separated 
  shoulder and worse. But he settles for a hiss of indrawn breath and tenses.

Alcander is not crying for help; that would not be dignified. He does, 
  however, keep his voice low and remark rather coolly, between gritted teeth, 
  about the parentage of the sea creature and the absolute idiocy of the 
  Acesian nobleman who thought to fight it. That's what those of lower social 
  orders are for, after all...

Ianthe's wings beat as she shoves her last spear back into the quiver upon her 
  back, eyes darting back and forth along the carnage of the beach before 
  sweeping down to land in the grue-tainted waves and begin helping the 
  injured from the scene as best she's able.

Riva moving slowly from the area, the Decemvir looks toward her men, moe 
  silent orders flow forth as the efficiency of the group is maintained. Her 
  head lifts and she nods to Kahlid who echoes her earlier orders, some 
  clearly not hearing her or not willing to accept hers. Motley crew with too 
  many captains would seem to be the tone of the battle, still all in all they 
  seem to blend in whole hearted, single minded effort. Haven belongs to all, 
  all fight to protect her.

Theron recovers himself, some distance away, barely singed feathers. He's 
  rather embarrassed about his lack of doing much, he starts yelling in 
  conjunction with Khalid, towards his Guards, "Away! Away!" Either way, an 
  Empyrean placed in the path of a shockwave is still going to be hurt. Can't 
  do much if you're trying to regain your wings.

Nox watches the end of the sea-creature's movement with a nod of satisfaction, 
  then hunches over. His dagger is placed back in his belt, and, with a futile 
  gesture and tears in his slanted eyes, he smoothens the remains of his 
  wings. "She will," is his only answer to Richard. "Don't worry, she will!" 
  Slow steps turn away from the location of the Praetor gatherings, heading 
  back towards the city.

Jaw clenched with determination, Caius drives himself forward with a precise 
  stroke of his dirtied, soot marked, but still majestic wings...Readied for 
  the mid air combat he has been trained for, the Praetor swoops in suddenly, 
  Slashing hard, not at the Hound, but at her weapon...if not for that two 
  handed grip, she should find it lost already...Unrelenting, the Praetor 
  moves in with his free hand striking hard at the Hound's wrist...

I could almost faint. This is so good. Being a live is so good, Westly thinks. 
  Childlike glee comes over him once more. Turning to Fabien, he speaks 
  swiftly, almost unpunctuated: "That was great! Did you see that thing go 
  down, wow! I'm so inspired I could write three epics! Say, you were great 
  too! You warriors are something else! Going up against that big thing... 
  say, tell me how you feel? I assure you, I'll include you in my 
  soon-to-be-famous epic of this day," he concludes, nodding emphatically.

Well. It seems that the creature is already dead, despite the last fitful 
  shudders it gave. Khalid needs not burn anything else. Folding his arms as 
  he lands on the beach's edge, he exhales a deep, tired breath. Too many 
  people dead - crushed, acid-eaten, burned alive when they got too close to 
  the fires. He stands there, immobile in mind and body, as he watches the 
  dead and wounded get carted off to safety. Likely, he'll burn the body where 
  it lies, but not when there are still people nearby.

While injured are sill being taken further up the beach, some find the grizzly 
  task of retrieving lifeless bodies from the water, though is is handled are 
  carefully as any of the living injured. Death captured all; Empyrean, 
  Varati, Sylvan, Atlantean and mongrel all cound their losses as does the sea 
  creatures who's bloddy carcass remains a vicious reminder of the battle.

Jolted by the shock of blade against blade, Lyranthe's wingbeats falter only 
  for a moment. With a loud cry, she wings back, eyes intent on the Ceterion. 
  "Why must you do this? He has saved us /all/ Praetor! You are to stubborn to 
  realize this -- and more Varati in nature than you could EVER see!" Insult 
  after insult is hurled at the man, for the Esper is far more intent upon 
  distracting him than actually fighting. "Brave you may be, and hard you may 
  have fought, but what hope have you, I ask?" Spinning about, she removes one 
  hand from the blade, slashing the air in front of him with a charged 
  overhand strike.

Theron makes note of Benedict and the two he helps, then looks over the 
  battlefield to espy where his other soldiers are. His Legate is there, 
  others on the beach being healed... and there, there is one of his 
  Ceterions. Fighting with a Hound. Theron launches himself towards this 
  spectacle. Last thing, he needs is this broadcast for the whole beach to 
  see. As he flies, he roars out, "Caius!" tossing out his usual formality.

That one good arm find Westly's throat, huge fingers wrapped less gently then 
  is entirely comfortable around it. He tugs the mongrel closer. "Fabien. 
  Think. You. Talk. Too. Much."

Riva says "Study it while you can." she calls out verbally "learn its weapons, 
  gather the slime, see if we can find counter, have a record of what worked 
  and what did not for those who will follow us." She then speaks to Khalid 
  "Legends only speak of one, yet somehow I doubt it is alone. Knowing the 
  enemy is wise, yes?" the spat between Hound and Empyrean above she watches 
  out the tail of her eyes."

Alcander has no interest in Caius, in Lyranthe (aside from the obvious allure 
  she has), and sinks against the sands. Better to face the moment blissfully 
  unaware of his injuries and his ruined attire than to await someone to fix 
  his slimed wing, shoulder, and chest.

Altair pulls Oriane's wing in as close as he can, trying to take good care of 
  the damaged flesh and bone. He circles about, to head northeast and to the 
  Healers stationed there. Trying again to give Khalid a wide berth, he takes 
  note of the in-air battle ensuing between Caius and his cousin. Eyes flare, 
  but there's not much he can do about it. He's going to have Caius' head on a 
  silver platter before he's done, though. Slowly descending for the sandy 
  beach, he tries to calm both Oriane and himself now. "Everything's going to 
  be just fine," he says as softly as he can despite his anger.

Relieved at last to see Nox removing himself from the scene... and hopefully 
  to seek out the help of the healer they both know... Richard blows out a 
  breath and shoots Nox a short, sharp nod. And since the man can move under 
  his own power, Richard lets him go. There's a pride factor at work here that 
  Richard knows all too well, after all. And so he moves off to help some of 
  the rest of his wounded compatriots leave the scene; few, if any, of the 
  Mongrel riffraff who had banded together to join with the defense forces 
  seek out healers. These men, too, have a pride factor at work -- not to 
  mention a strong suspicion that the healers wouldn't help them anyway. In 
  ones and twos they begin to vanish off into the night. Richard, supporting a 
  wiry little cutpurse too dazed to walk on his own, is among them.

[End log.]