Shadow at the temple – Chapter 12

For Eyren, the seconds ahead of a battle are ever ones of storming sensations and uncertain anticipations. She does have her training which has steeled her better than most for how one deals with the nervousness and the doubt in the face of death, but one can never be 100% clear on how one’s body will respond, which she knows all too well. There have been moments where she’s stumbled at the last breath, or taken a risk when she really should’ve stepped back and calculated her options. Reevaluation isn’t commonly an alternative you might get in those scenarios, however, and she’s had to adapt towards making her preparations at a decent length beforehand. This is her whole case for setting her mind along the lines of combat right now, for it’s bound to occur. She can feel Mannaze’s eerie breath blowing down her neck.

As she had foreseen, that aura of the Shadow Herd has magnified in its intensity the closer they got towards the bottom, which activated Eyren’s Woerdinn abilities and her grey-whitened irises. Having snuck down a set of stairs into a dark tunnel, her and Malkiz’s path ultimately led up to a thick wooden door layered with iron enhancements. To their mild marvel, it was unlocked and the outlook for uncovering the truth was getting better.
What they reach currently is a form of base, evidently populated by no less than several people and the second that she and Malkiz set their feet on the floor within, they takes in the voices of these individuals. Foremost of these, though, is a man that they’ve attended to earlier and that they can ID on the spot – Ozdemir, the self-elected honcho of this overpious lot. His inflection as is could not be characterized as the charismatic albeit zealous figure that Eyren had encountered in that one backstreet upon arrival, for she in exchange would call him aggravated and perhaps a tad rambly. He’s not fully chastising people, but sounding displeased with an unknown topic. Ascertaining a handful more sentences, she registers that he feels that their results are insufficient. Using what? The Herdbrand?

The room which the trio eventually tracks them down to is a storage room far inside, a fairly dark affair, only lit up by a number of candles along the walls. Within are perhaps half a dozen people, plus Ozdemir, everyone dressed in beige robes or cloaks, with necklaces or amulets about their necks which exhibit a form of ten-sided symbol. They don’t appear to be chanting or praying per se, but listening to Ozdemir’s instructions for what must be achieved upon the next stage of the assessment they’re providing.
None of them are what really shoots enlightenment into the skulls of the incoming pair, though, nor what alarms them at the highest order. The one thing which can manage that is the two-meter tall cage against the far wall, ostensibly crafted from steel or iron, holding a singular shadowy figure – a Herdbrand. And it is unmistakable at that, with the gleaming glyphs covering its twisting shape, the otherwise formless surfaces, and the surreal, unnatural noises that ooze out of some unseen orifice. At the moment, the beast is lying upon the floor, all but growling at its captors. It would be tough to portray what the zealots are doing as ‘performing experiments’, for their setup isn’t exactly professional in its exterior, but it is very presumably something along those lines. At hand, they have a hodgepodge of barrels, metallic instruments, vials and other glass containers, some of which consist of substances and fluids that Eyren can’t fully compartmentalize. One is quite blatantly blood, but there are furthermore one with dark blue, one with green and one with more of a whiteish fluids, the totality of which Eyren isn’t confident whether it’s been concocted or extracted from something. The foremost gripping and startling discovery is that they make out the remnants of one Shadow Herd glyph sitting upon a shelf against a wall. Did they…rip that off one of the beasts? Or potentially kill one?

Malkiz tilts towards his compatriot and whispers in Goetejul.
“You are the one more polished in these types of matters. Is this…a common event?”

Eyren glances at him with explicit disbelief.
“…you gotta be kidding, right?”

“So it’s a no, then.”

“I’ve literally never seen anything like it. Dunno what they figure they’re achieving with this, but it’s…weird as Hel.”

Narrowing his vision, Malkiz dips his head in consensus.
“I cannot tell what this entails either, but…it’s indisputably worrisome.”

“Got that right.”

“I believe we cannot endorse it to go on. We must interfere, in some capacity.”

“Sure. You want us to just…assault them, though? Wouldn’t it be more rational to grill ’em to begin with?”

Malkiz’s tail swishes left and right and he pats her arm whilst glaring at the people in the room.
“Absolutely. Should this be just one element of a larger operation, we have to determine the extent of it.”

“You lead, and I’ll match your actions.”

Taking them out of the shadows, Malkiz opens his mouth in the middle of one of Ozdemir’s sentences, vocalizing now in Ahteron.
“This is quite the arrangement for one who claims to serve the purposes of the Shades of Creation. I do wonder what your ‘flock’ might say of being exposed to this image.”

Ozdemir and his entourage of disciples, or whatever they might be, wince out of the shock that they experience and flourish about to face the dimness from which the two commence out of.
“Who goes there?!”, the leader yells.

“Merely two parties rather concerned with witnessing madness transpiring right under the very noses of the leaders to one of Shaim Xil’s largest cities.”

It’s clear that the mind of the extremist boss works at a rather high pace as he scans this unforeseen twosome invading his base, but as he recognizes neither, his hostility does not wash off.
“Who are you? Do you not realize this is private property?!”

“Sure it is”, Eyren agrees, fetching her sword from the belt and qualifying her shield to get slid onto her wrist. “Not your property, though.”

“That…that is irrelevant! It does not in any sense belong to you either and therefore I must insist that you-“

“I’m conflicted as to whether the Chairman of the North River Freight Services would appreciate that you exploit their facilities to engage in rituals”, utters Malkiz, his voice stinging with smugness. “My guess is that he would not, as you might presume.”

Ozdemir has difficulties finding words for a worthy retort and after stuttering for a measure of seconds, he snorts and crosses his arms.
“And who might you be, then? Hired lackeys of the company?”

“Merely intrigued parties, that’s all. Albeit ones who are keenly aware that you dabble in things which are rather unwise.”

Ozdemir furrows his eyes, despite that Malkiz can discern that his lip shivers a touch – a nervous twitch or one out of some form of twisted excitement?
“What unwise things?! Stop speaking indirectly.”

“You believe we cannot recognize a Herdbrand when we see one?”, asks Eyren without pausing. “And are you guys really dissecting them? I tend to choose killing them instead, but to each their own.

Ozdemir huffs at them.
“What would you buffoons know of these elements? I wield the tools of the divine to draw out the greatest of powers and uplift my brethren.”

Eyren is a little lost on this phrasing.
“…draw out? What in Hel does that imply?”

Malkiz, on the other hand, maintains his target painted on him.
“The divine? You trust that these devices that you’ve imprinted on abominations are the implements of the gods?”

“No, you cretin!”, he roars at them. “The being who stands before you, the creature you demean as a ‘monster’ is far beyond your measure, past your simple and limited intellect.”

Eyren’s grip on her blade is stiffening.
“What are you on about?”

Ozdemir sets his arms behind his back and gradually paces nearer to the cage, and there’s a spark to his gaze.
“The Shadow Herd, the Black Star, the fallen rock of the heavens – it is no mere trap, no disease that the world has borne and have to wither in, but an enhancement. The ‘monsters’ are not monsters, but beings chosen as the instrument of the divine; a glimpse of the Shades tossed down unto the earth.” His voice is growing louder, better zealous and certain, disregarding his earlier hesitation. He needs not hold back anymore. “An extension of the Shades rises among us and these creatures arrived long ago to test humanity. Their mission ever was and is to raise us up, to amend us for greater trials. Some have viewed their devastation and kill count as a manner of great tragedy, but this was a backwards and unknowing perspective, birthed from heedless and unsophisticated minds. Humanity could not glean what the Shades were attempting to achieve and thus deemed it a catastrophe, when more appropriately, it was a reckoning – a REBIRTH!”, he exclaims in his exaltation. “If each of you would simply unlid your eyes to the Shades’ authentic intentions, you would see that we who do this follow Their tune and guidance, we walk in the light of Their will. The tests we fulfill in this hall and the results we acquire from them will be proof of a future that shall transform humanity into its next phase of better adhering to our genuine purpose on this world.”

Eyren has heard a lot of drivel spouted by small-minded and eccentric creatures in her life, but this man takes the prize for the highest degree of passion for it.
“That’s a huge bunch of nonsense from someone who’s trying to talk himself out of being a spy from Vaarnetii.”

“Couldn’t have said it better myself”, Malkiz concedes. Henceforth, she aims her words at Ozdemir. “If you’re attempting to deviate us from our knowledge of your true master, you’re falling short by quite a bit.”

The headliner for these cultists peer at him not with any level of guilt or hesitation, but befuddlement.
“My what? What folly is this coming out of your useless mouth?”

“We know who you are, Ozdemir, and we’ve tracked down proof of that you gain your orders and resources directly from Vaarnetii through Custodian Khaider. You may feel free to disown this fact, but you might experience some issues in laboring to convince us, when we’ve already read the evidence.”

The cult leader scans the two invaders for a moment, and shortly, Eyren does nearly get the sense that they may have put him in a tough spot, a leak that he may have to regret in the long run, but it is too short. Soon following this, Ozdemir rather throws his head back and cackles; a mocking and lofty sound of one who supposedly ‘knows better’.
“Oh, you direct and vapid little creatures. You think I obey and commit to all of these acts merely to appease some old troglodyte over in a land filled with heretics and disingenuous ‘prophets’? No no no…you’ve not misunderstood my commitments alone, but entirely misjudged how far his power reaches. Khaider is nothing, an unimportant albeit elitist bureaucrat, one who cares solely for political gain and his own positions in the rankings of the Temple. He and his like-minded are not what I aspire to whatsoever, nor what I stand by. They are merely a means to an end.”

“And what end is that?”, asks Eyren.

“Heh. You’re quite hungry for that information, aren’t you? To see what we’ve been scheming all this time.”

“Well, you do appear awfully stoked to relay every dirty little detail of this game of yours, so why not go right ahead?”, challenges Malkiz.

Ozdemir puffs out air and starts pacing to the side.
“You are all fated to perish by the thunderous will of the Shades regardless, and thus I can’t imagine what you could achieve even should you know the truth. And who knows? If logic allows, you may even see it my way.
What we’re aiming for in this lab is simple and efficient – we seek to further my research, to perfect it, and definitively prove the will of the Shades of Creation.”

Malkiz plaits his arms by his chest and concentrates with a frown.
“And you’re saying you are the one who knows this favor of theirs?”

“I am saying it is there for all to see, completely and utterly visible, but the greater part of the population ignores it! They prefer to luxuriate rather in their ignorance and imbecility than to acknowledge that none of us are living as we ought to, by the will of the Shades. We have indulged overlong in sin and shame, but no longer! The world shall know its flaws, shall see its mistakes for what they are and submit to the rightful place of humankind!”

Hearing his rambling and shouting, the two partners are cottoning onto that this man is not faking his fanaticism, and he may in actuality believe that what he’s hurling himself into is the right way for everyone. Malkiz clenches one of his fists and speaks to Eyren in Goetejul.
“This man…has taken leave of his senses. I don’t perceive any notion that we can leave him alive. He has to be disposed of.”

Eyren bobs her head lightly and responds in a tone of roughly the same level.
“I don’t disagree with you. Any preferred angle to hit ’em from?”

“If I distract him by taking myself to the other side, you can-“

They should be so lucky as to have room to plot, for Ozdemir no longer stands willing to wait. He backtracks towards the cage with the monster and cranes one of his hands.
“You presume I’ll simply remain here and let you two scheme to your hearts’ content?! That we would permit intruders leave without repercussions?! I will not abide you to nullify the greatness of the Shades which I aim to accomplish! No heathens can be brooked to survive!”

They see him pushing one of his hands closer to the door of the cage and the duo’s eyes expand.
“Whoa!”, exclaims Eyren. “Are you nuts? You can’t go releasing that monster into this room! It’s going to go haywire and kill all of you!”

Out of the blue, Ozdemir’s visage deadens, and his tone sinks to a more prudent and calmer demeanor, but his zealotry does not.
“They will complete the intended work of the Shades; nothing more, nothing less.”

Eyren and Malkiz both choose to make a move in order to halt his madness and hinder a catastrophe from taking place in this entire hideout, but he is not alone in his mania for where the Shades stand and therefore his disciples all rally around him and try to suspend their enemies’ advance.
“Get out of the way!”, Eyren calls. “You’ll risk every life in this building!”

There is no initial response from them, whilst Ozdemir endeavors to unchain the door of the cage and free his trapped beasts, but then one of them mumbles.
“The Shades’ will be done…” A few words that start off as something mundane and a mere summary of what their leader is rambling about, but soon gets modified into a mantra that each of them repeat over and over.

“Keep them back, my brethren!”, Ozdemir calls. “I shall petition this embodiment of the Shades’ indignation for its guidance.”

“Guidance?”, wonders Eyren. “The only ‘advice’ you’ll get is a swift downfall! For you and your toadies!”

The subordinates he keeps do not stand down either, but continue their chanting, gradually amplifying in volume and fervor.
“The Shades’ will be done…the Shades’ will be done…the Shades’ will be done!”

Sliding a hand to the hilt of his zhao, Malkiz’s brow hardens when he gets closer.
“If you will not get out of our way…” One of Ozdemir’s puppets behaves as if he’s intending to attack Malkiz, but the agent’s posture and expeditiousness far transcends this one, flowing so hurriedly that his wielding and slicing of the man’s arm can scarcely be traced. In a second, this fellow then lies on the ground, shouting in agony.

Noting this opportunity and how it startles the remainder to retreat, Eyren gets her sword up.
“If you see what’s good for you, then I suggest you back off. Now.”

Since none of them showcase as heavy faith and certainty in this whole ordeal as their leader, they grab their companion from the ground and incontinently flee out towards the door which the pair got in through. Malkiz, on the other hand, aims skeptically at them still.
“Is this wise?”, he wonders in Goetejul. “They have been inside for a time, close to the beast’s presence…what if they are infected and spread it across the city?”

Eyren shakes her head.
“Can’t be completely sold on it, of course, but I got a good feeling none of them are.”

“We will leave that task to the Chairman, then. I believe we have more substantial ventures to take care of first”, he goes, brow stiffened once more, directing straightway at the cage.

Having treaded up to the cage after retrieving the key, Ozdemir is the sole individual not wavering in his focus, neither cowering nor recoiling, he bows in obeisance for the beast as its hatch has been unlocked. With Eyren and Malkiz hurrying up to it, the latter gets to scan the creation which he’s only ever beheld from a sizable range in earlier days.
From the northerner’s perspective, this being is absolutely not the largest specimen she’s remarked, not by a long shot, although she would judge it to be at least on par with the one she and Razz dueled by the farm. At the adjacency of the cult leader, the beast rises and does not hold back, thundering out of its unnatural vocal system, casting a noise that comes off better like a distorted mix of a horn, a roar and wood cracking. The sound itself rumbles over the room, suspending Malkiz’s pace and making him jolt reflexively.

Meanwhile, Ozdemir drops to his knees and levels his hands over his chest in an orison.
“Oh mighty vision of the Shades, their glorious and unrelenting fury! We welcome you to these halls and bid you bestow us with your blessing! Let us shed our mortal shells, let us rise to the heavens, let us receive your tremendous and ascending gifts, that we may-“

These are his last words, for the beast in shadow form advances on him. When it moves, Eyren can’t help distinguishing that it partially hobbles, as if whatever tests they’ve conducted on it may have partway dented its capabilities. In this moment, on the other hand, it smashes into him with what is supposedly open jaws and digs some form of fangs into his hide. Although it doesn’t quite tear him apart in a jiffy, it does shake him about like a dog would a toy and thereafter casts him straight up into the air…and ingests his plunging form. And that’s the last they see or hear out of Ozdemir, it would appear.

“Did it just…devour him?”, asks Malkiz.

“Uh, yeah. It did seem like that.”

“Is this…a common occurrence, in your experience?”

“I mean, I’ve seen people deforming into Herdbrand before, suffice it to say, but nothing that would…end up like this. And I-“

Ahead of any meaningful intellections exiting her mouth, the beast anterior to them elevates its head, or whatever cluster of it this could be, and projects a roar with such potency and vigorousness that it’s like a gust smacks into their faces. Malkiz stumbles back and has to do a roll on the ground, whereas Eyren falls to her knees.
In amidst their faltering, when the beast has quieted down, they observe a rattle where the beast stood, followed by a groan. This develops into a snap, and then multiple more. Pulling up their eyes, they stare at a sudden and unforeseen vision – the beast is transforming, turning a corner from the previous shape which Eyren judged as bear-like, into a heavier and tremendously taller one. It rises to stand and lurch on two legs, ascending what has to be four or five meters at the very least, not unlike a human, except the arms with attending claws of it dangle twice as long. The cacophony which it exudes is not so close to a distorted growl, but precisely as they’d caught earlier, more like a twisted groan.

“What…in all the world…is that?”, wonders Malkiz.

“…wish I could tell you”, goes Eyren.

“Has it become…humanlike?”

Gripping her sword tighter, a flashback hits Eyren to an older event in her life, several years ago.
“No, I don’t think so, but…remember that many humans get converted into these creatures. Usually it takes a while, but I do recall having seen a much faster process once upon a time happen right next to where I was fighting with a number of Rittmark. It was…kinda surreal.”

Malkiz’s eyes expand in shock at that.
“Wait, so…you’re saying Ozdemir…”, he goes, but doesn’t finish his thought.

The altered Ozdemir beast, nonetheless, doesn’t plan to let them think on this overmuch and abruptly lumbers at them, swinging its arms around, and all but knocks a pillar to the ground, catapulting a bunch of tables and barrels away, which forces the duo to dodge.
“No time to figure this one out, Mal! We gotta take it out!”

“I’m…uncertain”, admits Malkiz. “I will gladly profess that combat designs…are not my greatest proficiency. And I have never fought a Herdbrand, to say the least.”

“Just follow my lead.” Slapping her weapon along the top of her shield, she diverts sideways, in order to draw its attention towards her. “C’mon then, arshye-bu! Come after me, if you’ve got the guts!” This taunt gets a swing issuing from the beast, which Eyren dodges out of, hacks with her blade along its arm and then kicks at its leg. With her boosted reservoirs when she’s inflicted with the Woerdinn, the beast practically topples, but keeps itself vertical by crashing into an adjacent wall.

After she angers the humanoid beast with this misdeed, it issues a feral cry at her, one that’s lower and less bestial than is prevalent from most Herbrand, rooted in her voyages against them, but nevertheless one that stirs the ground to rumble beneath her. To her, it sounds practically like a twisted battle shout which warriors of the north might proclaim. As its arm is catapulted at her, however, Eyren has already contrived an out for herself and rolls backwards, skillfully and briskly enough for it to barely overshoot her. To take advantage of the defensive maneuver and the monster’s slight exposure, Eyren lashes with her blade against it, getting the fiend to let out a discontent roar, but other than that she views no rupture upon it. That’s one of the snares with these creatures, that their lack of an outward visage or palpable figure makes them exactly as hard to distinguish any afflictions from.

“Can these things be cut or not?”, asks Malkiz.

“Try and find out!”

The spy’s initial strike is not a terribly meaningful one, for trying to chop into this creature doesn’t produce a multitude of auditory responses and as with all Herd monsters, it’s not fully as if cutting into flesh either, but like striking a vigorously viscous liquid, even if there is some feedback to one’s actions. And just as predicted, Malkiz doesn’t truly find himself satisfied with any of the three incisions which he enterprises. What’s even less encouraging is how the Herdbrand retorts by forming another limb of a sort, an arm which is launches outwards from one of its sides and rams it into Malkiz’s gut with enough energy that he’s heaved backwards and down to the floor, feeling how his ribs and back ache with the tenacity behind that smack.

“Mal!”, shouts Eyren, but grits her teeth and endeavors to tackle their opponent.

Having plumped down along a couple of tables, Malkiz sighs and mutters something in his native tongue before replying.
“Sometimes I’m made to ponder whether I ought to eschew battlefields altogether…”

Roughly coincidentally with this event, Eyren continues her struggles against the beast. For a moment, she considers whether she’s taken on any bipedal Herdbrand priorly, but this has to be a first even for her. And woefully, she quickly finds herself outperformed. While she is faster and can avoid some of the strikes that it unleashes, trying to block one of those is pretty nearly a totally lost cause, for often it lifts up either one or both fists into the air and slams it right down, akin to a child or an ape throwing a temper tantrum – except, the rupture caused is far deeper and more discernible, since the ground splits open beneath and a slight indentation is produced. On top of this, while this one might not be able to get to the pace of the quadrupedal entities, in small spaces like this, it’s far more hazardous as it can swing its arms wildly, and in light of its ridiculous magnitude, the snag lies not only in getting out of any frontal or back slams, but in all directions, whenever it opts to go after her further.

She would at this stage appear to land in an exposed scene and a dangerous dilemma might take place, but a slight rescue appears from Malkiz. The spy leaps in and cuts at its legs, striking one of the runes on the lower end, which causes it to howl in agony and half-keeling over.
“Nice one, Mal!”

“We need more of those!”, calls Malkiz, the pure adrenaline affecting him to keep going.

But matters don’t fully go as planned and once more, the spy overlooks the mutating nature of these creatures. When next he ascends at a leg, the Ozdemir beast twists its arm to come in from behind him, hammering him from the back so that he flounders forward. Whereas he does his utmost to regain his footing, the beast finishes its attack by ramming a leg into his flank, cracking something inside the spy’s own limb and tosses him along one wall.
“Mal! No!”, calls Eyren and hurls herself at the beast in vengeance.

In the end, Eyren does make her own mistake that catches her in quite a pickle. Trying to constantly sidestep it to reach one of its flanks, in hopes that an opening will present itself, once it tries to grab her the first time, she casts herself forward, which makes her bypass its grip and end up by its back. However, as she triumphantly shears her blade at a horizontal angle across its posterior, or its legs in any case, one of those threatening arches that she’d been worried about does reach her – in what looks like a knee-jerk reaction, its elbow backtracks and hits her straight over the side of her head, roughly below the temple and practically dazes her. Although her Woerdinn gifts permit her to sustain mutilation to an unreal degree, it’s not invincible and tough impacts across her physique can yet very fleetingly affect her stance.

This is how she falters and stumbles to the floor, not dropping her shield or sword per se, but enough to gamble with her defenses to a deadly level. The next thing she knows, she’s caught in the web; or more appropriately, the fingers of the beast, which clutches and easily plucks her upwards. As she reaches roughly its chest height, now several meters above the ground, she comes face to face with this entity. Well, if it had one, that is. Like any number in the Shadow Herd, its profile is flat and unadorned, what amounts to a faceless exterior, and the only association with an expression or facial features are the glyphs which line assorted parts of its body.
At this stage, Eyren is severely capped in strength and mobility, for her arms have landed up underneath the fingers, being crushed against her body and in summary, only her head pokes out from above. As it squeezes her, she can but grit her teeth sharply, even if she will not and virtually cannot scream from the distress that her body undergoes once the digits press in deeper and deeper. At this state, most people would be finished, all of the fighting spirit sucked out of them and their means of making a stand evaporated. This notion only heightens by several degrees as Eyren can both feel and hear the cracking noise of her bones breaking. From that alone, she can ascertain that she will not come out of this with merely a couple of bruises.

She is not, contrary to normal equations and every consideration of reason, knocked out of this fight. With the curse of the Woerdinn empowering her, plain physical torment and wounds are insufficient to take her apart, at least before her supernatural abilities have run their course. Once the Herd monster endeavors to hike her up and presumably crush her to the floor, Eyren emits a defiant groan.
“Sorry, big guy…I’m not out of the game just yet. I can’t be done with the world until I’ve achieved what is needed of me…”

Granted that this level of deformity she’s endured is in no way to her overall benefit, for one particular matter, it’s somehow an unanticipated boon – with her right arm and wrist having marginally been dislocated, she gets an opening to angle the sword in between the giant’s fingers, push her whole frame straight onto it and poke the tip of the blade right through one arm. As the sword does its job, a weird rumble flies from the giant and the grip it keeps on Eyren is loosened while she’s held aloft, and instead sends her falling smack-dab onto one of its shoulders. She clutches the sword for dear life and purely lets out an exhale as she loses her breath for a moment, before retracting the weapon with her healthier arm. Bending it upwards, she doesn’t hold out for any extensive period and shoves the blade through the closest weak point – it’s throat. Despite that the normal eruption from a person who might bear such a wound would be to gurgle and collapse, this giant does not censor its torment and lets a shriek fly through the air, the earth quivering beneath it. Eyren doesn’t discontinue her attacks either, but pulls out her sword and stabs two extra times. As a result, the walker drops to its knees and then forward. Scarpering to another location, and applying her full strength which is endowed with the supernatural momentum of the Woerdinn she drives her blade at the back of the giant’s head, inducing cracks in the glyph, which breaks the full integrity of the walker too. Similar to other Herd entities, it collapses to the floor and disintegrates, ending up in nothing more than a couple of remnant glyphs.

Having regained his posture to a degree, and taking into consideration that the coast is clear with nothing else in sight, Malkiz careens over to his knight companion who’s prone on the floor.
“Eyren! Are you…are you alright?”

“Yeah, I…” She looks at him. “Could you…help me up to my knees?”

“Of course. Let me give you a hand.” Although he isn’t exactly in a pristine condition himself, Malkiz does permit Eyren to wrap an arm around his shoulders and get pulled onto her knees by employing a foot on the wall too.

The knight remains seated on her knees, one hand clutching the other arm tightly, until she suddenly jerks it and pulls backwards, with an audible ‘pop’ being heard in the room. Eyren exhales with satisfaction.
“Okay, yeah. That did it.”

Malkiz blinks his eyes.
“Did you just…crack your arm into place?”, wonders Malkiz.

“Yeah, it got out of position, so I had to yank it back”, says Eyren. “No biggie.”

Malkiz exhales and rests his head on Eyren’s other shoulder, similarly fatigued by this combat.
“You ought to have notified me. I could’ve helped.”

Eyren smiles and soothingly pats Malkiz’s head.
“No need to fret. It wasn’t that bad. And I’ve done this before anyhow.”

Malkiz raises his head and smiles lightly as she stares into the knight’s eyes.
“You and your crazy lifestyle…”

Their potential for an intimate moment is intruded upon and disrupted by the door opening up, and a squad of armed soldiers have entered the building, likely sent from the Chairman. The one on the front is a familiar figure.
“What is going on in there?!”

“Minhai?”, goes the northerner.

“…what the-…Eyren?! We arrested some zealots who were inside but…what are those things in here?”, she asks and points at the fallen glyphs. “And who’s this guy with you?”

Malkiz is attempting to recover a touch, but it’s hard to really move about accurately, having to both support and be supported by Eyren. He puts on a marginally separate tone, which does disconnect him to a degree from the persona he kept as the noblewoman.
“I am an agent of lady Zarqui, here to infiltrate this sanctum of zealots led by Ozdemir. I believe your Chairman was familiarized with the technicalities of this deal.”

There’s a faint murmur among the troops and Minhai scowls.
“Yes, we…were notified that there was that kind of affair taking place, and Ozdemir was being quite a thorn in our asses, but…that doesn’t fully explain this…mess.”

“Well, as it happens, we stumbled into a rather precarious situation, which factors in a captured Herbrand.” He pokes one foot into a glyph upon the ground. “The testament to which you may glean here. I surmise this is an article best debated with Chairman Sadek directly.”

Widening her eyes, Minhai ascends to it and gets a glimpse. When she believes she’s satisfied, she shakes her head and smiles at Eyren.
“So, guess you still keep your word, eh, jungei?”

The northerner whose body has finally revived sufficiently to carry Malkiz on her own shrugs her shoulders and meets the expression in kind.
“Don’t I always?”