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((Mirima, I think that would be great! ))

Her bonds cut, Rook struggled to her feet, sucking in a sharp breath as she put weight on her injured leg. When Mirima shoved the bag into her hands and then the knife, the ranger gripped the hilt of the blade tightly.

How they were going to survive in the sandstorm if they could get beyond the camp was still an unknown, but Grey and Mirima obviously thought the witch was more dangerous. So they had to try and apparently there was no time to create a better plan. With the chains still binding Grey, he wouldn't be able to do much to assist her. "Iarve, can I lean on you? I won't get far trying to walk on my own..."

“If u give me cookies today.” But she Let Rook lean on her “My arms still hurt.”

Vessa sprung the tent-flaps aside her limber entrance, suddenly stood in sand trod hard and flat. Outside, the storm made a pandemonium of the landscape, howling against a wall of fire that refused the very entity of nature.

"Ah-ah-ah. The little piglets are being too crafty for their own good," Vessa rebuked over the murmured tumult of captives leaving. She bared her teeth in wake of her words and confidence carved her pantherine figure into the midst of them, spear leveling in a sweeping warning, eventually to snap it's aim unto Iavre and Mirima. "I come on behalf of Jadis, songstress," spoke the wicked witchling, twisting her lips into a smile askance for crude implications. With a sneer to punctuate diplomacy, her cadence spilled into serrated verse, each word transmogrified with jagged intent. "I will not be denied."

Grey heard the tent flap open, turned to see the witchling's spear raised high and aimed at Iavre and Mirima, felt the dreadful pull at his soul in Vessa's presence, and hesitated for a split second. Then he threw himself forward, swinging his chained arms towards Vessa's face. He may not have been able to use telekinesis but he hoped the chains would at least leave a bruise.

"This is for what your black-eyed, thorn-faced master did to me!" he screamed and lunged.

“Was that the candy witch?” Iavre asked like it was a good question on this moment “That’s Cool , I a, Finally to meet her I mean I wanna see the candy house.” She laughed

Even Rook, with no magic abilities of her own, could not help but feel a sudden chill as Vessa entered the tent. There was certainly nothing reminiscent of candy about her. "Let's..." she began to whisper urgently to Iarve, pointing at the exit Mirima had cut into the back of the tent for them.

But then Grey surprised her by attacking the witchling. His own attack prompted her to action and she let go of Iarve and hobbled to the side as fast as her injured leg would take her, trying to get behind the Vessa with the knife gripped tightly in her hand.

The huntress swiveled startled by the ferocity displayed by the captive, the recoil of her combat-honed reflexes jolting through a physique at once both nimble and wearied. Thus was she served a glancing blow to the side of her face, impact askew of intention by unknown sums. The dusken whip of her mane fluttered as she struck a dazed hand from her spear's grip, floundering as her limbs numbed –fist closing on the chain as her head ricocheted from the impact. The spear's heavy pole canted bluntly into Grey's side as Jadis' disciple fell, dragging the man down with her for the anchor of his chain a fixture in her grip now and her snarl every bit as fierce as his howl.

Going down, the devil aimed her soft-shod foot into his gut, released the spear in favor of ascertaining a grip high on his arm and used the momentum of the fall to roll herself ontop of him. Success would straddle her across his waist, blood dripping in his face as she pinned him with the base of her hips and sought to plunge his hands overhead, pinning them by his shackles to free a hand for the dagger at her waist...

Iavre looked a bit confused and later with horror “5his is not fun!” She screamed panicking ,”I wanna go .” “I wanna go now Okay!” She sit down on the ground and start crying

Mirima continues her song with a mischievously stubborn grin as she retains eye contact with the witchling. Her eyes briefly glance down toward the spearhead, and she begins to beckon to the woman to go ahead and use it when Grey suddenly strikes. In an instant both he and the witch are on the ground in front of her.


Ayelle suddenly awakes from something of a trance when the commotion first begins. She has a certain knowledge of all that's taken place since she first landed in the bandit camp and was taken captive.

When the spear falls to the side, she quickly grabs at it and presses into the mind of the witchling the image and voice of Jadis saying, "Calm, my child, it was the bandits that I wanted..."


Mirima reaches down to Iavre and gently squeezes the girl's shoulder. She still continues her song - hoping to draw the ring of flames both higher and tighter to the center of their makeshift camp. She focuses as much as she can on the control of the other two; as soon as she notices any resistance of their trying to settle the flames, she changes her tune to amplify those efforts and perhaps put them out for good.

((Sure that sounds good))
I was chained as always and no one even bothered to do something about me.I looked I saw nothing a expect this chain and the pole.I'd struggle and struggle pull myself back and forth.Until it shifted it like it closed to falling down.I'd do it more and more until it fell.I moved a bit to pull the chain down.I look and I look I could do this stealthy or loud.I chose loud I.But the thing on me that could take my powers was still on me.I'd grab the pole and see something as my target.The fire wall.I'd throw the pole at the fire wall breaking it.I did I actually did it,but that made a lot of noise so bandits came charging at me.I was screwed.

“Oh okay .” She sighed “But it’s still not fun!”

“Can we go now and do something fun instead of being here?”

“We could go swimming.” She suggested “In a river , with fish or mermaids .”

Ayelle's telepathy delves into a pit of writhing snakes, so savage the mind of the creature it challenges. The first impression is a mental environment lost of all control, of a sea of insanities as myriad as the streams that consists it's flow. Alas, as the mind of the telepath pierces deeper in search, she finds naught but more hellish suffering. It is a dimension transgressing all reason and rational, countless specks of soul bound suffering to one stem, leashed in torment, trapped in the intricacy of demonology weaved by someone at once inscrutable in meticulous patience and sinister for actions that defy comprehension. And there, at the bottom of the pit of nightmares, a light becomes two, and twin conflagrations materialize hung above all like distant stars. Alas, they are not stars but eyes from a second vantage unfettered by the roiling oceans they watch. They are skewers ransacking the whole of their domain. They are the witch-mother Jadis, the very dark queen watching internal through the eyes of her disciple. The brief surprise that flickers in the hellish portals that constitutes her Sight, suddenly smiles. The ancestor, from across leagues of desert, eyes like blown upon coals for smoulder, smiles with intrigue. It centers around this trespass into it's domains, trapping the intruder with lapping appraisal. And then it advances implacably, a flood that transmogrifies all tides. It batters down opposition as a singular force and leaps wildfire along the astral thread that anchors the one named Ayelle to her own flesh. In the instant that the young slip of a telepath communicates her yoke, she is undone, her mind shredded from the corporeal. Another holds the spear in her stead, swinging eyes that glow for monstrous exuberance, cackle climbing the tent's interior as the thing that inhabits Ayelle rears against reality. It challenges the firmament of the gods, it's very existence a sacrilege to all things holy!

It swivels it's head, the impossible simulacrumed soul of Jadis searing from twin furnaces, it's grin demonic, the spear it wields a catalyst of her power...

Vessa is left the ebb of such portentous transgressions as the antediluvian's departure shrivels a gaping void into manifest within her disciple. It is a momentary stutter though, the huntress of a mind with her mistress but even she who is tempered by the demonology her body is the tapestry of shocked for gaining the full rule of her mental asylum. Her eyes burn of a lesser fire than the witch-mother's as she finds new focus on Grey.

He could see it; he could see her. Grey could almost hear the sound of Jadis's cackle behind Vessa's eyes. His stomach was definitely bruised from the whack of the spear and the kick in the gut, but he had more pressing matters to address.

Grey glared up at the witchling. "Tell me, bug-eyes," he said, "did Jadis plant her dirty mind inside of you? Or are you another one of her filthy followers?"

----

Something was happening in the prisoner's tent. However, that inference didn't strike Sampson as he ran after the escaped dragon man who had thrown a spear at the fire wall.

This guy never learns, he thought as he slipped two knives into his hands.

The other bandits were trying to surround Mystic and Sampson paused to aim a throw for Mystic's legs. He didn't want it to be a fatal wound; that would make it harder to sell these prisoners.

The witchling's gaze turned from Grey to the white-haired elf, then back to Grey. Rook seemed to escape Vessa's attention during her hobbling trip around the perimeter of the tent. The wound to her calf screamed with pain every step, protesting its use, but she only gripped the hilt of Mirima's dagger until her knuckles were white.

Vessa's hand was on the hilt of her own dagger and Grey appeared pinned.

"Or are you another one of her filthy followers?" Rook lunged then, the knife simply aimed at Vessa's torso.

The smile her ink lips wrought held only anger and portents of pain. Spittle flew for her snarling fury. She pinned him by the power of her grinding hips, dagger yanked with a 'shlick' of sound from it's sheathe. Hoisted to it's meridian a mere fraction distanced Grey from it's plunge. Then a gasp left the witchling incredulous and her eyes danced upon Rook afore dwindling to the dagger in her chest. The hilt jutted macabre from her garb. And then she fell backwards and clung to the grip with a hand. Disbelief limned the low wail that rasped from her throat.

Meanwhile the thing that was Ayelle swung the back end of the spear harshly at Rook's skull, a certain arrogance concomitant, half-smirk fraught with mirth twisting at the possessed telepath's lips. As if Vessa's ally cared little to prevent her death but rather sought to swat a fly from it's presence.

“Stop it!” I agree screamed “You are hurting people stop it !”

All her attention on Vessa in those few seconds leading up to her attack on the witchling, Rook failed to really understand what had happened to Ayelle. Failed to even look her way as the knife plunged into Vessa. And so the spear handle caught her hard on the back of the head and she stumbled forward on top of Vessa and Grey in a tangle of limbs. It was the second hard blow to her head in less than a day and the ranger slipped almost immediately back into unconsciousness.

Ayelle had tried to stop her mental communication as soon as she realized what was going on. But it was too late. In an instant there was another mind tearing through her head and body. She watches in disbelief and horror as her own actions are stolen from her and controlled by another. She still sees, though somewhat dimly, through her own eyes, but she has no command over where they turn. Her own hands suddenly deal a blow to another prisoner but not of her own will.

Wrath boils up within her soul - not so much at the actions of her body but at the use of it. Panic sets in for a moment, until she realizes that she can actually perceive what is going on in the mind of the other possessing her body. Being of strong mind and will herself, she awaits any opportunity to fight back against this invasion.

((this is a late, late reply))

Silveris was going to follow Jadis into the prisoners' tent when he felt a sharp stab in his chest that knocked him to his knees, his eyes shut tight with pain as he felt some sort of song, some sort of rhythm that was trying to break his connection with his fire wall.

Marcelle had been focused on the dragon man, who was causing havoc again, when he noticed the fire flickering and Silveris on the ground, although Marcelle was only feeling a slight ache since most of the fire wall was built by Silveris, and he immediately turned towards the prisoners' tent.

"Too much spunk leads to too many nuisances."

Marcelle headed straight for the tent.

Mirima feels the fire dying down. Without being able to see it from inside the tent, she is unsure of exactly how weak it has become. She is in the middle of trying to quench it with the song of a rushing flash flood when a cacophony of sound explodes from the nearby elf. The elf's beautiful inner music disappears only to be replaced by evil, chaotic noise (for it certainly cannot be called "music").

No! No, no, no, no, no. Come on, my sister, where are you? For a dreadful moment that feels like an eternity, Mirima cannot find the elf's song. But then, it faintly resurfaces - weak and full of fear and anger. Mirima breathes a sigh of relief as she realizes all hope is not yet lost. Yes! Fight! She immediately begins to sing Ayelle's soul song to lend the elf strength and calm against the terrific onslaught. But the effort will be immense.

She looks about the tent at their scattered attempts at freedom. It's all been for nought so far, and thing's are only looking worse. Their most pressing issue is that of not being a unit, of working mostly as individuals rather than a team. Perhaps she can help solve that? With a renewed purpose, she continues the elf's song and expertly begins to weave in those of the rest of the prisoners. It's a much more difficult task without the help of her instrument, but she uses her hands and feet upon her own body and the ground to maintain the necessary rhythms to pull it off.

Each captive feels a sudden prick in their soul and then a tug toward the others. After that comes a feeling of unity binding them all together. Once she's accomplished this, she begins to blend in the songs of strong, battle-hardened steeds (having the unintended effect of stirring the remaining horses into restlessness) and great, sturdy trees. The elven Blessing of the Great Oak pours forth on the melody's tide. Her voice crescendoes with each phrase until it can be heard even over the fevered pitch of the wind. The song fills each of her companions with a calm, steady strength and courage and instills awe into the minds of their enemies.

When she has finished with the Blessing, she sinks to her knees with her arms dangling by her side and her head bowed over. The sudden silence is punctuated by her exhausted gasps for air, and she allows her eyelids to droop shut for a few moments.