2019.01.19 - The Siege of Rowanwood: 3

**Emitter:** Myrtle Snow

*Directly following the announcement that the world was not what they remembered, our heroes must fend off an attack by unsettling, twisted creatures. This takes place at the same time as 2019.01.19 - The Siege of Rowanwood: 2.*

January 1st, Year Unknown; Midday

Rowanwood

### Rowanwood House - Front Grounds

*The manor itself is quite formal in style, yet it has a certain off-beat character and overtones of an almost Corinthian flavor. The grounds are enclosed by a wooded perimeter and feature well-manicured lawns and a small, formal rose garden. High bronze gates are wrought in a rose pattern and with the letter "R" formed in the center. A circular gravel drive encloses a small flower garden here in the front, a simple fountain located at its center. A vegetable garden, enclosed by high stone walls, stands on the west side of the house. A formal flower garden occupies the east side.*

*The house itself is tawny gold in color, consisting of a large, three-story central wing with a flat-topped roof and full front porch, supported by six Grecian columns. It expands into smaller, two-story extensions, one to each side. These each have two columns built into their façades, framing large picture windows on the first floor and smaller windows on the second, topped by gabled rooftops. The top of the porch doubles as a balcony for the third floor of the central wing, and the entire rooftop is dotted with small chimneys.*

*An extension wing has been added to the east side of the house, two stories tall, save for a square-based clock tower at the southeast corner. Easily four stories high, the tower features a columned belvedere with a silver dome, topped by a weathervane.*

Myrtle looks up instantly as the bell rings. Her eyes meet Nessa's, and they seem to communicate volumes unspoken, silently between them. There is an understanding that passes amongst the air there, and her whole expression changes to one of steely resolve. One hand, clad in delicate glove, rests at once upon the shoulder of the white-haired woman seated in front of her.

"It's him," Bubbles abruptly sets her drink down, rising to her feet at once. "Myrtle--"

Myrtle nods and squeezes her friend's shoulder, looking to Quentin and then moving toward the front. It's coming soon. She can feel it. "It's coming!" She calls out.

But it's almost too late. There's the sound of a veritable explosion, and afterwards, in the smoke rising around him, stands a young man who is...expensively-dressed, probably. He has dark golden hair, long and tumbling to his shoulders, though it's not the most flattering style either.

"Give up." He calls out in a flat tone. "There's no way you can win. Or perhaps you haven't noticed the state of the world."

Myrtle keeps near the front of the house, giving him a wide berth and letting the others decide how they're going to engage. "It's almost as bad as your dinner jacket. But at least the world can be saved."

Quentin gets to his feet as quickly as possible when Myrtle looks to him. He may not be in the best fighting shape, but he's going to go down fighting at least, he's determined. He'll pretend it isn't painful when he moves, and that the healing was more effective. He can't show weakness in front of their enemy. Their greatest enemy, possibly, standing before them with every intention of invading and ruining the only place he can still believe in.

He pauses with Bubbles and gives her hand a squeeze. "Go to where the wounded are. Tell Ms. Goode what's happening."

Then Quentin rushes out, behind Myrtle, and once she settles into a place, he steps slightly to the front of her, standing as a kind of shield in the way.

And he tries, and almost succeeds, not to laugh when Myrtle unleashes her brutality on the man. He turns slightly aside, managing to keep it to a smirk after a soft outburst.

As they stride out to meet the enemy--a strange, golden-haired man whom Rey has never met nor heard of--the knight of Faërie reaches into his duster and draws the Blade of Gwrtheyrn. It shines silver in the light, liquid gold light running up and down its blade. "I do not know you, sir," he growls out, "but you come here uninvited and most crudely. I think it no presumption to say--" He brings the blade up with a flourish, finishing, "Begone!" And then the Thrice-Blessed Sword erupts in flame, the knight whipping it around his body, and thrusts it forward as though into the body of a foe, sending a swirling ball of intense flame at the invader.

Corey is on his feet before the third chime, frowning to himself. As Rey heads after Myrtle toward the front doors, Corey is close behind. Outside, he whips out a foot-long length of wood, tipped at both ends in silver, and holds it at his right side. "This is it?" he asks, looking skeptically at the blond-haired man. "This is what all the fuss is about?" He lets out a sigh, then sets about flicking his wand a bit at his side. More people begin to emerge from the house, tall, muscular men with brutish faces and long, flashing swords. Corey himself hangs back, letting the macho army march past him, all glaring at the interloper.

"Hmm," Tachi says, thoughtfully. "That jacket does look pretty bad." Without warning, he's no longer in front of the enemy, but behind him. "Looks even worse from back here, there really is no saving it!" He's also holding his sword now. It's nothing too impressive, but he certainly knows how to use it. He moves to stab the enemy right through the back, if it hits it'll end up going right through his heart.

Merek comes with the others outside, and he draws a sword which he keeps with him, and looks to the assailants that have come. He looks back as people come from the house, more than should be in there. "Huh," he says, then he chants some words of Enochian, and he opens his palm and a blast of fire issues forth to roll forward.

Florence arrives from the north: Entry Hall.

"Wrong. We can always win." Cordy had had a vision about this guy, and he was needed. Angel comes leaping down out of nowhere, the great sword Caladbolg comes shimmering out, rainbow arc and all. He's on mission. "The world's in a mess, yeah. But ya know? If nothing we do matters, all that matters is what we do. And today? We choose to fight."

No dialogue from Jacob. But he does strip. Literally, on the way out to the front, he starts yanking off clothes, letting them fall where they may, until he's naked, kicking out of his shoes, and then leaping out the front door--one hell of a leap--to land outside on the lawn on all fours, now in the form of a massive, brownish-furred direwolf. He bares his fangs, snarling, and lopes over to stand between the invader and Myrtle, clearly ready to dive in and try to tear off a chunk... at least, once there aren't fireballs flying. He's pissed, not stupid.

Jacob Black phases to his wolf form.

Florence had understood like nothing off the talk earlier in earnest, the stuff said pretty much at clash with what she knew about reality - or thought to be true. Nobody but her was magical, right? But now people claimed stuff, talked stuff like it was a daydream. A rather dangerous one apparently, and how was she supposed to help at all? She wasn't a fighter. In utter confusion she sees the people file out, turn and change in front of her eyes, drawing weapons and... feels rather missmatched. What was she supposed to do? Was it smart to charge the one guy that appeared at the gates? She followed the crowd outside, eying the situation warily, but much more than standing at the door of the house she didn't do yet, her eyes eying the one bad boy over at the gate. "Who, by the name of god, are you?"

Even as the violence erupts on the side of the defenders, so it does on the side of the invader. The gates blasted open behind the blond man, smoke billowing, a group of *creatures* charges in after him. They're... husks, of what were once humans, werewolves, vampires? Whatever they were, they aren't now. They're twisted remnants, soulless and bereft of anything resembling life--or even unlife. They look like they should be barely shambling, but instead they're fast, charging in with a horrifying, unified sound like a cross between a howl and a scream of pain. They brandish claws, fangs, swords--whatever they may have--and sweep in like a tide of death toward the line of defenders.

A shape that might have once been a wolf charges toward Myrtle, where Jacob stands in the way.

A trio of ghoulish things that might resemble fish-people heave themselves at Quentin, burbling what might be a twisted spell.

A swarm of tiny... were they pixies, once? ...things darts toward Rey and Corey, buzzing with a wet, sickly sound.

A shadowy figure in the tatters of a kimono steps from the smoke, then charges at Tachi, drawing a sword as it goes, clearly intending to try to take him down in one stroke.

Merek finds himself facing a robed figure, trailing frost from its shriveled fingertips, which counters his blade of flame with a blast of frost.

What looks like a literal herd of desiccated former cats charges toward Florence, howling and wheezing horribly.

Angel, for the moment, is left free to move, but that can't last long.

"Tacky." Myrtle manages somehow to look severely disdainful at the twisted powerhouse before all of them. But she's watching carefully, gauging their enemy's strength. Sure, he has plenty of...zombies? A zombie army? Cultists? They're something twisted and forbidden, that should not be. What that means to him, though, she's intent on finding out.

And when both Merek and Rey attack with fire, it has a terrible effect on the unfortunate things around him. The young man's face seems to flash to a burnt, skeletal appearance, but it's just the blink of an eye and it's gone. He wears only a superior sneer, looking down upon those assembled against him. To Florence's question, he just chuckles, adjusting his cuffs. "Don't go name-dropping, as if you think it'll scare me."

But the wolf-thing does give Myrtle some concern, even if she doesn't show it. Still, she's sure that the young man with the stripping and the huge fluffy wolf form can handle it at least long enough for Quentin to figure out something.

"His name's Michael." Quentin calls to Florence, wincing at the fire taking out some of those things. It's not pleasant to look at this enemy, apparently. Not pleasant to be near him for the witch, who is looking a bit older somehow than he did only minutes before. It's in his eyes, his face, the way he stands.

The wolf shape is enough to concern him, but the fish-people definitely aren't something that he needs in his life right now. He starts at once to chant a spell, and then he crouches, touching his hand to the ground and hoping that it's enough to send some rock up and intercept the creatures coming so close, so quickly.

Rey steps in front of Corey, his blade a whirl of fire and light, and he mutters a phrase in some long-dead language. The trail of fire begins to whip around them like a dancer's ribbon, trailing from the tip of his sword, until a mostly spherical barrier stands between them and the... things. With some room to maneuver, he begins to last the tip of the fiery trail out, intending to scorch the things from the air, one by one if he must. "Don't let these things touch you," he barks to the others. "They're--pure corruption! They should not be!"

Tachi shouts something in Japanese, a war cry of some sort. He leaps into the air so fast the shadowy figure has no chance to strike him. He aims a well placed, hard kick at the figure's face before landing behind him, however the kick is executed mid spin which means he's facing the figure's back once he lands, attempting to decapitate the figure in one move.

Merek watches as his fire magic is matched, and he takes a moment to consider. He looks at his sword and seems to consider, then he charges forward as he calls upon his magic and a blue flame appears upon the weapon. He then engages the foe with melee combat, while he tries to call up flames to shield him.

Angel doesn't have an opponent yet...but if these guys are corruption, then HIS corruption...isn't in himself at the moment, is it? It's very possibly out THERE somewhere. Does that mean Angelus is a husk like these things and he's waiting to bring him out as a trump card? Or is something else going on? Regardless, it looks he's been elected to head straight for the boss fight. Rushing in, closing to melee...Caladbolg's arc carves a rainbow...but it's actually a feint. The enemy commander is probably a competent warrior, and it's foolish to assume otherwise.

Jacob dives at the wolf-thing, his every sense offended by its existence. His jaws flash, and he tears into it as best he can. He doesn't try to evade it, instead going purely for attack and throwing every bit of his strength into forward momentum. He's hoping to hurt it or, at the very least, to drive it back and give the witches more room to move. He should probably be afraid--it would make sense--but that just doesn't seem to be in him at all right now.

Flo's eyes widen as the monsters charge, break the gate, shaking the head. "Fast zombies?" she utters to herself, her mind jogging to try to get what she sees up to what she did understand. The horribly disfigured kittens close in on her and for precious moments she stands there seemingly frozen, doing nothing. What could she do? She wasn't a fighter!

Her mind raced as the *things* closed the gap, hissed at her without saying anything... and the best thing she could come up with was the cursed fight and flight insinct. Fight or run? Take flight where? Pick up the fight? It's as if combat-paralysis hit her, but then her body quivers, her jaws open and she roars back at the cats.

Not a human roar, not a lion's roar, it's an angered bear roaring back at the cat things and their bad-boy no-name (or Michael?) commander(?). It's a jaw full of jagged, triangular canines that roars with the capacity of an a literal Mama Bear before Florence's hands, unskilled but fueld by pure primordial rage, come down in a swipe. No, not *her* hands but furred paws with a pair of five several inch long talons, swinging in a surprisingly fast arc, cutting the air, and everything that might be unlucky enough to be caught between them.

Quentin's trick with the earth scatters the fish people like tenpins, disrupting whatever spell the had a mind to cast, and buys him some room to move. For the moment, he's in an eye of the storm.

Rey's trick works as well, knocking the flyers from the sky and sending them, burning, to the ground. However, the horde is still coming, and a pair of once-vampires leap at him, brandishing a sword and an axe, respectively, as they try to lop off a head, an arm... whatever they can get, heedless of any danger.

Tachi's graceful counter works perfectly, but his counter-blow is met by a counter of its own, as the shadowy figure, perhaps some kind of twisted remnant of an oni, matches him stroke for stroke. It dips a hand into its kimono, then flings some kind of noxious powder toward his face, trying to blind him--or worse.

Merek's sword is met by a blade of pure ice, but Merek's blade shatters it. Unfortunately, each shard of ice begins to erupt and grow, shooting out spikes and trying to encase him in a jagged, frozen prison.

Jacob's drive works, pushing back the wolf, but there's a sickly, thin wail of a howl, echoed by a dozen others, and Jacob soon finds himself surrounded by a whole pack of zombie-wolves, all leaping at him with rending, tearing teeth and claws.

Flo's mighty swipe completely overpowers the cat-things, not so much knocking them aside as shattering them. It looks like she might have an opening to advance, at least as long as nothing worse shows up...

Of course, Angel's attack is a feint, and it doesn't look like Michael expected any different. He doesn't directly react, though, and there's no further explosion like there had been to start all of this off. Even in such a sacred place as Rowanwood, here stands the Enemy, the evil one foretold. He just laughs again, standing as if it were a walk in the park for him, pleasantly surrounded by nature.

But before Angel really is given a chance for even another feint, much less an advance, a much too fast figure appears, and she's like a dead zone for most senses outside of the mundane five. She's middle-aged and styled in a severe motif, with an equally severe look to her; dark makeup only adds to this striking appearance. Perhaps her most unsettling attribute is the smile on her face, so completely self-confident. And she's not slowing down, and she appears to be making a line for Angel and Quentin, looking to both of them very specifically.

"It's time to finish what we started, boy," she calls to Quentin, but she's not there yet. Clearly, she aims to go through Angel on the way. "Bring it!" She raises her voice, shouting in a deep tone. "HAIL SATAN!!"

Myrtle, still appalled by questionable choices in fashion and unappealing odds, nonetheless decides that prioritizing threats is necessary for the moment. She raises a hand in front of her, lifting two fingers and touching them to her lips, quietly beginning to speak the syllables of an ancient language. These things are not so strong that a spell of banishment and purification can't at least affect them, weaken them maybe, and then who knows what Jacob can do? That's what she can do, and that's what she intends to accomplish.

Okay, Quentin thinks to himself. The fish people are knocked away, their magic disrupted. That gives him some breathing space, and he waves to Florence. If she can close the distance between them and they can bring together more of their forces, perhaps they'll be able to turn the tide before it gets really nasty.

But then he immediately regrets it when the woman appears. She's coming closer, and all of his allies are in danger. But he's not going to let her even reach the door of Rowanwood. He'll die before he lets that happen. This far, and no farther! He strides towards the woman intently.

Rey moves into a whirl. It's not spinning like a top, more moving like a fluid dance. Step, turn, step, and his blade flashes around him in a deadly arc, still trailing its whip of flame. If the vampires are still at all vulnerable to fire, they may well be dusted. If not, he'll be left open for whatever attack they press, but he's intent to take the heat off of Corey, as well as to reach Quentin's side and present a united front against the manic newcomer. "Satan?" he snorts. "Gods and monsters, must evil always be so endlessly *gauche*?"

Tachi curses in Japanese before he closes his eyes, blowing hard to try and force the powder back into the figure's own face. Fortunately he's able to fight without vision, relying purely on his sense of hearing and smell, though the latter is being impared a little bit by this awful corrupted stuff. But he did receive special training in case of a situation where he couldn't see. He tries to kill the thing again, trying to feint an attack. He's able to easily dodge his opponent's attacks thanks to being able to hear where its blade is, but he does know o this new foe, and he's determined to end this thing as fast as possible and help out the others. However, this doesn't make him become sloppy, in fact it makes him even more precise and deadly.

Merek looks at the ice as he breaks the foe's blade, and he decides to shift his hand to call upon flames with his chant to melt the ice which came fom the sword. He focuses upon his magic and uses an incantation so he can transport to behind him with a slash of his weapon.

The faint howl of a wolf sounds from near Rowanwood House - Rear Grounds, The Vale.

Angel now has a lesser opponent in front of him. Fast. But he's dealt with faster opponents than himself. And when this sort of thing comes up, it's about precision and skill, using less movements than the opponent to accomplish the same goal. As such, the cuts are now simple, his movements a staccatto of efficiency. Making up for a lack of raw speed with skill. And even so, he's confident he can slay this opponent. Because when it's all on the line, as it appears to be here...he'll come through. He beats the bad guys. It's what he does.

The weakened wolves are just what Jacob needed. His ears prick up, catching the sound of another wolf's howl, and he bares his teeth, lashes out with his claws, and rips into the pack of wolves with the same reckless abandon he showed before. These things have come to threaten his pack, have probably tried to hurt his mate, and they *absolutely must be ended*. So, once again, he plays pure offense, trusting the magic that's aiding them to keep him safe. When there's a moment's break in the action, he too throws back his head and howls.

Jacob Black lets out a bellowing roar of a howl.

Florence is in triple destroyer mode as she charges like the namesake. Ursos arctos arctos, latin and greek for destroyer, three times. A being that instilled fear in so many generations of humans that they had to resort to calling them by fluffy nicknames like *brown one* and *honey eater*, Bear and medved in english and latin respectively. Bears are horrible news, but to Florence, there is only red. The cats destroyed and squished, the next offender is clear: That blonde guy. Chuffing and roaring like the angry fear of humankind, she charges forward, claws biting the floor. Talons nature designed to maim and disembowl other prime predators. Not something second class like housecats or squishy humans or the occasional lion. Nature made bears weapons to deal with *other bears*.

The hybrid of Florence and bear was setting course straight for blondie, teeth and talons bared, as she storms forward with some twenty-odd miles per hour, having fallen to quatruped movement. And she doesn't seem to considering anything between her and Angel's original enemy with anything more than a passing (not so well aimed), devastating strike, should it be needed.

Myrtle's spell seems to strip much of the flesh from the wolves, rendering them much thinner and more fragile-looking than before. At the same moment, there's a pulse of light and flashing lightning from above the house, and the nature around the defenders seems to grow stronger, as though some fresh power had joined it. The air around the defenders seems to shimmer, and they find themselves coated in a kind of aura of protective, restorative energy, as the Vale itself begins to lend them a bit of its power.

Quentin is left to face off against the new threat, but Rey's gambit plays off. The vampire-things are burnt to pieces by his blade, so the fairy knight is able to move to stand beside the witch, facing the woman together.

Tachi's move has mixed results. He, aided by that aura, pushes back the powder, but it doesn't seem to affect his foe. Now, fairly well matched, they trade stroke for stroke--but Tachi, now empowered by natural forces, is gaining an edge. Each time their blades meet, it's as if he's chipping away at the other's shadowy form, knocking off larger and larger pieces of it.

Merek's fiery teleport proves just the right tactic. The remnants of the ice fuse together, but he's no longer there to be affected. His foe, who had been so focused on crushing him, is caught flat-footed and, suddenly, twitches as the flaming sword slashes through his body. The quiet sigh he gives as he fades to nothing but dust sounds, if anything, almost grateful.

Jacob tears through the weakened wolves like so much tissue paper, thanks to Myrtle's help and protected by the Vale's magic. Soon they're falling around him like crumbling bits of ash, nothing but motes dancing around his fury.

Florence, meanwhile, shreds a path through lesser minions on her way toward Michael. They burst into dust and powder before her, mere shadows of the greater foes, but the greatest of them all lies still before her.

The strange woman, dressed in such outmoded style, instead appears ready to correct Angel on his assumption that she is a lesser opponent. Precision and skill certainly help, but whatever this woman is, she's not human. The cuts are efficient, or rather they would be if she were a human or even anything close enough for the blade to do the trick. Instead, they do damage her skin, but she doesn't seem to bleed. Either exsanguinated or, judging by her way of blacking out extrasensory perception, something else not quite so simple.

Caladbolg may be enough to defeat an entire army in the right hands, but whatever this woman is, she might as well be one herself. Unarmed though she is, her expression is one of relish, of delight at the situation. Her eyes open wider, and she continues to step inexorably towards Angel, and with that towards Quentin.

"SATAN BE PRAISED!!" She calls out, and then it's as if her eyes burst into incendiary devices, which trigger a chain reaction that bursts from her head and chest. It sends terrible shrapnel most forcefully in front of her, more than enough to devastate the brave souls meeting the challenge, no matter how tough they might be. The sheer force behind it is surely impossible, but here it is, reality. What's more, it's full of a milky white substance that otherwise has the other qualities of blood...but which absolutely is not human blood.

Despite this, Michael's expression changes in an instant. He doesn't seem to take much note of the woman detonating, but he's behind her and at a far enough distance that the impact wouldn't have affected him anyway. Annoyance settles onto his features with Florence's advance, and he turns...and then he's gone, rippled out of the area. Perhaps the howl that cut through the air signified his other forces stopped. Perhaps he simply wasn't up for a direct engagement.

Perhaps he's terrified of bears, and they are secretly his nemesis.

Whatever the explanation, it is not forthcoming. Michael is gone, as suddenly as he came. And all that remains of the woman is a burnt-out husk, melted away in a revolting, sticky mass like the leavings of a huge candle, though it smells nowhere near as pleasing. It smells like burning. Eternal fire.

Myrtle smiles a little when her spell works, but the explosion is enough to send her off her feet. It's an uncommon state; normally she would never let herself be gotten the better of, but this time, it was so unexpected. Oh, she thinks, I'm too old for this. Then she thinks better of it and simply pulls herself up to her feet again, forcing herself to stand stable there. She's a spring chick, compared to Nessa. And if Nessa can do this, Myrtle resolves, she can too. She won't let anyone down. Though she does raise a hand to her head. That explosion hit very hard.

Quentin had intended to fight her! To fight the woman so inhumanly fast and clearly insane and...not human. It's something he must have figured out, though in the midst of a battle was no time to explain to his allies what he figured out about her. Between him and Angel, he was sure they could take her down, maybe even get Michael in the process.

Then everything's exploding, and he can barely get himself shielded decently before he's flung back into a heap. He wasn't recovered enough for this. It just makes him groan, and out of sheer contrariness and anger at his own space being so violated, he insists himself up again. But he only manages to get to hands and knees, and he's sure he's broken some bones. He's lucky to be alive.

One thing about Rey Devoss is, attacks never seem to catch him off-guard. By the time the crazed automaton decides to self-destruct, he's already in motion. His sword ceases to flame, instead pulsing with a shimmering opalescence, and as he swings it 'round, a ward flashes into existence around himself, Quentin, and Corey. The knight takes a knee, sword held aloft, with the shining shield around him and the other two. It may not completely repel the blast, but it's hopefully enough to take the brunt. Quentin, having caught part of the blast himself, surely doesn't need to deal with any more of it than he's already had to, and Rey has sworn to protect Corey, as well--so that is what the knight does.

Tachi is a bit too far from the blast to be affected by it, but he certainly does notice. He seems tired of fighting this shadow thing fairly, so he reaches out, intent on yanking the blade right out of the thing's hand and, if possible, using it against him.

Merek watches as the figure is fading, then he twirls his blue flame sword while he looks to the one protecting the two. Seeing that he does not need to assist there, he instead shifts his attention to Saito, then he holds his hand towards that direction while he speaks an incantation, then he uses the elements of wind to try assisting in swinging that sword to the other's hand.

It is good Angel isn't alive. Because he was in melee range of the exploding woman. Shrapnel cuts and shreds him in several different directions, and one particularly nasty piece of shrapnel blows a big enough hole to see moonlight through. Not for long, his regeneration is already working, but even a vampire suffers quite a bit with a hole of that size in them. Wounded, he rises nonetheless. Some might call it adrenalin...but Angel has none. He isn't alive. Instead, it's something just a little bit more. At least taking the point blank shot surely spared his allies a bit. Kinda like the brave soldier that jumps on a grenade to spare his fellow troops.

Jacob, still in wolf form, looks around wildly, but sees no more foes to face. Did the blast destroy the remaining minions? He scents around, snorts, then looks to Angel in a way that somehow manages to communicate that *he* should look after the others. Then, Jacob is gone, bounding away toward the rear grounds, having heard something that would bring him running no matter what, no matter anything. And he's gone.

Jacob Black exits northeast toward: East Garden.

Leaving a path of destruction, Florencebear roars to the sky as she skids to a halt where moments before Michael had stood, going back to her hind feet. She screams at what is left of the horde, arms stretched wide. It's the bad dream of a camper: a grotesque mixture of human and the most horrible aspects of bear urging them to go. Instincts gone the other way round: where Florence chose bear because of her fight or flight instincts, now she might as well instill this into others by virtue of her choice. And the explosions only makes it worse, as remains scatter and coat her with materiel that better is not identified.

The wavering dome of light over the grounds suddenly grows much stronger, and there's a sudden pulse of invisible force. Even the motes of dust and ash are blown swiftly away, vanishing from view, and just like that... all is still. The minions have been destroyed, their remains banished... and it's so very, very quiet. Except for the howling and such.

A few moments later, Nessa appears at the edge of the roof. She calls down, "They're gone, for the moment. I'll see you all indoors." But she sounds so very, very tired, turning to make her way slowly along the roof, presumably toward a door or other entrance.

Myrtle is over to Quentin as quickly as her legs will carry her, which makes her almost seem to glide. She'll have to rest later, and a great deal of it, but for now she's intent on making sure he can get to his feet and get to the place they have set aside as an infirmary. "Here, you can lean on me. Thank you, my dear knight." There's a smile to Rey, and one to Angel too, since both of them were so instrumental in protecting their own. Who knows what would have happened if they hadn't been there?

"Come," she helps them towards the house. "We'll have a spicy gazpacho andaluz! The perfect antidote to stop the blood and speed up the recovery process."

Quentin is in rough shape, but he'll recover. He can feel his bones knitting together again, his body repairing itself on its own. And despite the added difficulty of applying to him, he will be healed. He knows he will be; he survived this, and he'll meet their foes again, and when he does...

A sharp pain shatters his thought, and he has to lean on Myrtle a little heavily, but he catches himself. "Sorry," he murmurs, voice rough. "That sounds...sure. Let's do that." The suggestion may be unconventional, but he's not going to question it. He barely has presence of mind to conceive of gazpacho.

Rey does get an affectionate gaze when Myrtle thanks him, though. Quentin's a little bit too battered not to stare for slightly too long, then he simply accompanies Myrtle inside.

"Your pardon, Ms. Snow," Rey says, rising. The ward vanishes, and he slides his sword into his coat. "But I suspect it's best if Quentin does not walk just now." With that, he walks over and, not particularly bothering to ask, reaches over to pick Quentin up, bridal style, and carry him into the house. Angel gets a grateful, knowing look--that given to a comrade in arms who has well proved his worth--and Tachi, Merek, and Florence also get respectful nods. Then, he turns his attention back to carrying Quentin inside, and ushering Corey along with them. The knight, it seems, is quite determined to see to his charges.

Tachi nods in respect of Rey as well, not to mention the others. "The battle is one," he says, sheathing his sword. "But the war is anything but. Is everyone else alright?" He asks, clearly concerned for everybody, even above himself. His eyes are back open at this point, no reason to keep them closed when there's nothing to blind him, after all.

Merek looks at his blue flame sword, and he shifts that with a soft twirl, then he sheathes the weapon. He walks to the others while he smooths back his hair, moving to Tachi and patting his shoulder, and making his way to Rey and Quentin, "When we all get inside, let me have a look at him. I've practiced healing magic for a while now, I might be able to assist." He walks with the others to the house as well.

Angel mildly points out, "I'm...going to need some blood." Where exactly it's going to be obtained from is up for grabs, but he's expended a lot of it dealing with the injuries he's suffered. At least there's not a see through hole anymore. Upsides to being dead, he supposes, considering how hard everyone else is having healing. "We're gonna need a plan for exploding disposable adversaries. If they're going to use shrapnel like that, we need to be ready for it, either with wards or shields or something."

Florence grunts as the forces scatter, releasing the bear slowly, the fangs receeding as she shakes herself. Her shirt is intact, but her jeans were torn as she had thrown herself into the fight, her face shifting in a cascade of feelngs, ending with a mix of confusion and feer. "I...." she mutters hefore she stops it and sighs, following the others inside. "Anybody has a fresh shirt for me? This one is S'tanned..."

And so, the heroes have repelled the invaders... for now. The wards and barrier restored, they are safe again for a time, but they have wounded, and they must plan... for whatever foe this Enemy is, certainly it bodes only ill for those whom fate has brought to Rowanwood, the eye in the storm of what was once their world.