Mortals. Give them a little bit of power and a reason to use it, and they all go insane. The scene in the Chamber can only be described as chaos. Not war, certainly. Simply chaos. There would be no winner; only many, many losers. Too many had died already for anyone to win, really. Except those that had simply wanted chaos. They got their wish, and had never cared much about the cost.
Not that this fight was coming to a close. No, the dead were rising, unwilling to miss the fight. There was a traitor in the Valley, and more sneaking off to the other kingdoms to wreck whatever havoc they could. Evrae, for her part, stayed mostly out of it. Her job was to help when needed, and mostly, to destroy what she could.
But sadly, the light magicians felt so inclined to play with the mortals (even those with immorality were mortal, really). But then again, both Prague and Yael lived as mortals do – with families and love and other such nonsense. Even Eight had his own semi-mortal life. Evrae though? She lived like the goddess she pretended to be.
Kimber is the one to finally break, love ripping her heart into pieces.
Fine, she thinks, letting out a sigh. Which is a terrible plan, really, except she’s doing it on purpose. The gust of wind that results from such a large creature’s sigh is tinged with poison and aimed at no one in particular.
She has no idea who it might have hit. There wasn’t enough poison in that breath to kill anyone (at least, she doubts it), but it could slow them down certainly, could even render them useless for the rest of the fight. Perhaps it never really reached any of them at all. She wasn’t actually trying though, so she doesn’t care.
She send a wave of healing to Warship and Lupei, knowing they need it the most, and their wounds are likely beyond the skill of a normal healer. Evrae though is not stretched all that thin, her magic only holding the tree up in the Chamber. She lets the extra trees that she’s grown in the Chamber disappear, so the kingdom returns to normal (though some of the trees in the forest remain ashen or broken).
“Prague, stretched so thin, aren’t you?” The voice calls, not necessarily coming from Evrae, but Prague will know.
“Why don’t you try picking on someone your own size?” Not that Evrae is really dying to fight Prague necessarily. It doesn’t matter all that much to Evrae who wins this unwinnable war. But fighting a magician would be terribly, terribly fun.
Time to play, dear.
from what i've tasted of desire
i hold with those that favor fire
