Floodwaters.

[Carnath-Emory]

Picture Myrken Wood's weather not as an isolated phenomenon, but as a small portion of a far greater whole. Picture the world's weather as a great tapestry woven with a single, fluctuating thread: snip at it just once, and the entire picture changes. This is what the mage had done, a fortnight before, and there had been changes in plentitude; lightning had showered incessantly from black clouds, the sun had burned furiously in a sky become aterial red, everything had been wrong. But in time, these energies had petered out and dissipated, and the town has begun to recover; the Guard has contributed some help, and Lt. Kilborn has comforted the dead -- and even Councilor O'Cynen had done what he could. Things had calmed, had returned almost to normal.


They call it Devil's Ridge for a reason, that eleven mile stretch of mountainous land, and not entirely the superstitious sort. It is the source of what very few floods Myrkentown has suffered in past decades, for now and then the runoff from melting snow -- such a pretty sight during the winter months -- becomes greater than the land can easily bear. It attracts rainfall, does the Ridge, and -- they say -- harbours strange creatures, and few are the farmers that wouldn't be happier were it wiped from the face of Myrken Wood, for when it comes to rain, there sometimes exists too much of a good thing.

This is one of those times.

The mage had swept the clouds from the sky, close to a month ago; he had reached upwards with a mighty, invisible hand, and pushed rainfall and clouds alike quite clear of the Broken Dagger -- and, indeed, Myrkentown as a whole. They had eventually found a home at the Ridge, cornered there by mountains that could not be passed, and had settled, now and then scattering a bit of their load upon the lower portions of the range, but growing steadily pregnant with more of it as time had passed. A great deal of time, as it had happened; weeks, in fact, and when finally the pressure of the rainwater they contained became too much, it was a vast torrent that they released upon the ground far below.

The earth was defeated, its capacity to swallow thirstily at the rain overwhelmed by the sheer quantity of the stuff; it gathered there, a thin sheet of silver upon the ground that grew, and spread, and grew some more -- and the first warnings came from the few farmers with land near the spot. They'd fled, some of them, and others had been caught along with their livestock but still, it might not have been so bad, might have been more an irritation than a disaster; the water must cover some nineteen miles before it can reach the town proper, after all. But the land of Myrken Wood is generous with its water; the Silver Lake near Broken Dagger Inn had swelled with the copious rain, but more dangerously so had the Freign River, a scant three miles south of Myrkentown. Swelled, overflowed -- and ultimately was met by what had begun as an insignificant flood indeed. It was a match made in hell itself; the waters mingled, deepened and continued onwards to the lake, and with each inch taken, with each mile of land covered, the great tide gathered momentum.

By the time it's come within sight of Myrkentown's outskirts, it's no longer a silver sea but a muddy brown one, churning violently with the speed it's gathered; there is no beauty here, but only filth and destruction, limbs and sometimes entire trees caught in the flow, and here and there are bodies as well.

The flood brings with it but a single mercy: that its approach is heralded by a great roar, one which survivors might much later describe as that of the very earth splitting wide.

[Tyralor]

Panic was not something typical of the guardsman, but there is little to naught anyone can do against natural disasters.

Some warning had been evident. The raising of the waters in the lake and river. Sufficient enough that it might have been noticed and watched if nothing else. Another worry of concern that knotted at the back of a mind cluttered with countless others.

Lieutenant Kilborn stood on the edge of the wall, as the waters struck the fortifications. Riders had been dispatched but a mere minute before, gallopping their steeds through town with what warning could be given. He'd not even had time to select any specific men. Simply scream the order and have them off towards Myrken Wood. Even now, their screams were echoing back to him. "Flood! Get to high ground. Flood!"

Perhaps he had saved a few people. Perhaps not. He'd had little time but to react, and was grateful for the scant minute he had been provided. The men at the graveyard were possibly more fortunate. The graveyard itself was upon a slope. They could seek higher ground before they were overwhelmed.

A lonesome six riders to warn the town of their impending destruction. Six riders Lieutenant Kilborn didn't quite expect to see again. They'd been on training manuevers within the grounds themselves. They were learning, but they were far from excellent riders. The honest truth was, horses could not truly, outrun the wall of muddy water that had struck. It would be up to the inventiveness of their riders, and their courage, what happened to them.

And for now, his knuckles whitened, as he gripped the edge of the wall. Water was already seeping through the barricade. Slowly, but that would increase in time. Orders needed to be issued. Thank the gods for the extra men. Perhaps there were sufficient that they could shore up and control the breaches this way.

Turning, he set out to do what he could, to protect the gaol, and the headquarters themselves. This time, he needed to worry about his own skin first.

[Rattrap]

"Dammit! Get the sandbags! NOW!"

Thomas waded through the water, coming from the direction of the lake. A damnable mess - he was soaked up to his shins. He had yelled at another pair of equally momentous guards. What a wonderful thing, this! At least the lightning was sparse. Well, the horsemen had done well in alerting a good portion of the town. Now it was for those that they didn't...

The captain's first thought had been that it would not be quite so bad - if it continued as it did, it would lay waste to Myrkenwood. But not necessarily to its denizens. Surely, nothing other than the ocean swallowing the earth itself could cover all the high points, the hills - after all, a flood that reached one of the higher areas in Myrkenwood would have to be covering the multitudes of square miles in all directions of it, and there wasn't a chance in hell of that. His favorite saying had been 'come hell or high water' - well, they both had just visited Myrkenwood. He hadn't buckled yet, to boot.

The lower parts of town would be gone, and quick. He grabbed whoever he could, leading them through the sections of town closest to the lake and river, evacuating as fast as they were able - door to door in some cases, hauling away the elderly or disabled like sacks of potatoes. Sometimes it was the only way to be done. Second stories would naturally sound like a good place to stay, so long as the ground floor wasn't simply swept away.

Ah. A thought. The Gaol. There were people locked up there, of course - and Daniels couldn't just let them drown. But, on the other hand, he couldn't just let them out. Hopefully the two had been listening when he had ordered for the sand bags - perhaps they could fortify at least one building in Myrkenwood. The captain sent another three guards away from evacuating with the orders to barricade the Gaol as well as possible.

Come hell or high water.

Well. If they survived this, the subsequent challenge should be to slay the Devil himself.

[Tyralor]

"It's already flooded"

He didn't really have time for the three men that the Corporal had sent towards him. Not, anyways, if they were going to be around informing him of what he should be doing, and what he shouldn't be doing.

"Go back and tell tell Thomas that the lower level flooded before we could get any of the murderers out. All four of them are dead. Rest of them are holed up in the offices here, under guard."

Water was washing around his own ankles already. The water itself wasn't so unpleasant, as the dirt that it'd picked up and was rapidly turning to mud. He was fairly certain one of his boots was down under there somewhere. The other, he'd at least saved and stored in his office, which was not, thankfully, on the ground floor.

"All -three- of you better not be going back to inform the man. It only takes one mouth to deliver a message. You two, go help shore up the northern wall."

The worse thing about having this region flooded, is that it had so recently been constructed, which meant, by and large, that the muddy water had merged with soft ground. Now everything, was a positive death trap for footwear.

With mud sucking at his shins and knees, he stalked around further, doing what he could to ensure that the food and storage units hadn't been overwhelmed either. The damnable flood had probably washed away all the grain in the field. It might be a rather unpleasant summer.

"And ask Thomas to check on the barges that were on the lake. They probably all got sunk with the wall of water, but it's something to look into. Might need them to rescue some of the bloody tenants from their roofs."

Water sloshed as he sloshed off to lend a hand where he could.

[Kylerryth]

It was the distant roar that confirmed his fears.

However, that was jumping ahead in his thoughts -- that was ignoring the rest of what was going through the channeler's head at this time, and that could not be done because those things were just as important as the flood he knew was approaching.

First and foremost, there was Ariane. Coran's frustration -- and yes, he admitted to himself, there was a bit of anger as well -- had not dulled since their last meeting. The woman was so bullheaded! When she had refused Healing, his initial desire had been to shake her by the shoulders and scream the vilest obscenities. Coran had done no such thing, of course; he had restrained himself, merely leaned forward and argued with her. A man Ariane knew -- Jason Heldenbrand; Coran did not know his name, though -- had acted as spectator, disturbingly silent except for muttering a few words here and there that sounded like the strange, coarse language Ariane herself used. Her native tongue, Coran knew; he knew, on the other hand, not a single word of it.

Eventually Alexander Kanashia, the former Captain of the Guard, had appeared. Coran did not know that man beyond his name, and only that because a woman in the streets of Myrkentown had once been talking about him, about his white hair and how pretty it was. Coran had found all these extra people unbearable -- it had been difficult enough speaking to her with Heldenbrand present, especially about so delicate a subject ... but Ariane had had no such qualms, in fact seemed to share a mutual hatred -- yes, hatred, that was all it could have been -- for magic and those who practiced it with the grizzled soldier. It was this that drove Coran away: he realized, at that moment, that he was an outsider. There was no chance, no possibly way for him to fit in with these people; they would never fully accept him, and it was on account of something he'd had absolutely no control over. The fact that they did not know that -- that he had not chosen to channel, that it was essentially forced onto him -- never occurred to him; their refusal to view him beyond what he could do was repellent and hurtful. It was when Coran realized that that he left without a word; it was then that Coran had, for a time, simply vanished.

And then, related to that scene but not past a superficial mode, was Aeri.

Coran had feelings for Aeri. He knew this. He denied it vehemently, but he knew the truth. The elven healer had shown him kindness where others had had aught but scorn or veiled courtesy; she had had soft hands that were unafraid to touch him, and eyes that shone with a caring light. Admittedly, Aeri was also absolutely gorgeous -- her silver hair, violet eyes, flawless and symmetrical features, all that and more -- it made her physically appealing -- but that was not what attracted him, at least not totally. Her strange benevolence; her highly individual personality; the inherent strength he could sense in her; and so much more, so much, those were her captivating aspects. There was an amazing depth to the woman, and Coran knew he would never be able to fathom all of it, would be lucky if he could comprehend a fraction of Aeri’s complexity.

The final thing, however, belonged to the voice. Which now had a name.

You really ought to be doing something about this weather, it had chided a day or two ago. It had only been raining then, albeit torrentially.

Why don’t you? Coran had asked. In his mind, of course. He was alone, but even when alone it felt extremely odd talking to the voice aloud.

That’s a fantastic suggestion! the voice cried. Why didn’t I think of that before?

And then Coran had felt the greatest shock he had ever experienced in his life: the voice had reached for saidin.

For a moment the voice had held on, had actually grasped the male half of the True Source and had been about to channel … but Coran had wrestled it down, forced the voice to relinquish its hold on the Source; he had seized it from the voice, and now that he was in control he addressed the voice once more.

What the hell were you trying to do, you flaming idiot? Coran had asked coldly, for while he held saidin there was no other way -- the Void shielded him from the influence of feelings and emotions. Coran could not experience the worry and fear that webbed across the Void, but he was all too aware of them.

I was going to stop this rain and the flood that will most likely follow it, the voice replied just as coldly. And my name is not ‘you flaming idiot’. My name is Aeron.

So the voice wasn’t simply ‘the voice’ anymore – it was now Aeron.

But those were all the most recent transpirations for the channeler as of late. They all had their place in his mind, but the one that came to mind now involved the voice – or, more specifically, what Aeron had said. I was going to stop this rain and the flood that will most likely it follow it.

Coran was one of the only people to be out and about today. Most people -- people who considered themselves in possession of sense -- had locked themselves indoors, possibly gathered round a flickering hearth or a table covered in food or simply conversing. Those bits of solace were treasured, and due to recent events doubly so. As if in timely reminder, a heavy gust of wind brought the smell of woodsmoke and burning flesh to Coran. He couldn't do anything to get rid of the smells, but the rain was a different matter -- the general lack of people made him more comfortable with channeling openly, thus he did. It was a basic weave: the rain fell on him, but it slid away as if encountering an invisible layer around Coran, making it look like diminutive waves were cascading over him. It was quite a disturbing sight, especially to those whose fear extended to things they could not comprehend. And confirming this was a man who saw Coran walking down Main Road -- the east to west route -- and then promptly turned and ran the other way, his booted feet splashing and spraying mud. Coran had only stared after him. Hurt, however, flickered at the edges of the Void. He went on walking, meaning to visit the Edificum again.

The roar grew louder. It was already more than audible -- saidin enhanced his hearing considerably, and the volume of the roar told Coran that the disturbance was only a mile or so away. But that distance was closing fast; the sound was growing ever louder, and only a couple minutes later Coran could hear it crashing against the wall, huge and powerful; the fortifications groaned in response, but they held.

The flood? Coran suddenly thought. Alarm, bright and sparkling, flared around the Void. It was already here.

The flood, the voice -- not Aeron, it was the voice, damn it! -- whispered.

And then, out of nowhere, the voice screamed: You've got to do something or we're all going to die!

Thunder. No, not thunder -- hooves. Coran pivoted and found himself gazing at a man on horseback, a man in the uniform of the Order of Straka. The man was standing in his stirrups, bellowing at the top of his lungs and whipping his horse so hard that the beast must be nearly frothing mad. "FLOOD! GET TO HIGH GROUND! FLOOD! GET TO HIGH GROUND! FLOOD!" the man roared, continuing down the road without even seeming to notice Coran.

The flood, he thought.

The flood, Aeron echoed, agreeing.

Coran ran.

[Kylerryth]

He did not run away, like any person with sense would. Oh, no, not at all. Coran ran down Main Road's westerly way, toward the source of the now almost deafening roar. He was not terribly far from the edge of the town proper, but the muddy street made sure footing a chancy proposition at best and thus the going was slow. When he remembered that he was holding saidin, however, Coran simply Traveled -- that is, he created a gateway in front of him and leapt through it -- and he appeared immediately at Myrkentown's edge, a hundred or so feet from the wall itself. The gateway closed soundlessly behind him; the wall ahead of him groaned again, straining to remain standing.

"Hold," Coran whispered. Fear crackled all over the Void. Light above, let the wall hold. Light, let it hold. He mentally repeated that mantra over and over, even while he heard the horrified screams and distraught shouts of men and women and children behind him, further down the road.

"Hold," Coran whispered. The wall creaked; he could see water seeping through its seams. People screamed; people fled. He remained steadfast.

"Hold!" Coran whispered. If he had been able to convey emotion or feeling with his voice or in any other way, the word would have been tinged with urgency and fear, bordering on terror.

"Hol--"

A reverberating explosion rolled over Myrkentown as the western wall fell. It had been able to withstand no more: wood and uprooted stone burst apart, mingling with the sundry corpses, trees, rocks and myriad other things that already inhabited the flood's seemingly endless depths. It was not a terrible yet awesome sight -- this was a liquid nightmare, ugly and brown and utterly destructive, the brunt of nature's wrath. Coran could not believe what he was seeing, and shock nearly overwhelmed the Void, shattered it -- thankfully, he held on. And thankfully, he channeled.

The flood had rolled across the land with terrifying speed when it had begun. Now that it had been held back for awhile it rolled forth even faster, muddy waters churning white froth as they devoured the ground hungrily. Coran flung out his hands -- an entirely unnecessary gesture, but it somehow seemed fitting -- and from them he saw cables of Air fly out, utterly enormous flows that immediately began weaving themselves. The weave which kept the rain off of him was forgotten; Coran was already soaked through and through, his long ruddy hair plastered to his scalp and neck. He ignored both rain and hair; he focused on channeling and on the flood.

Only seconds had passed, but already the waters had consumed a quarter of the distance. Time, for a moment, seemed to slow.

And then the first weave took effect. He could not encompass the whole flood, of course, but Coran did his best: the flood was abruptly flowing straightly rather than as a wild and spreading mass; to the naked eye there would appear to be a translucent, amorphous gray tunnel stretching from the wall's newfound aperture, granite-hard and nigh impregnable, more than a hundred paces wide and half as high. The water filled it to the top, raging inside; and ever forward it moved. The edges of the broken wall still leaked, mammoth sprays of water erupting now and again when the pressure became too great, and some of the initial water had escaped Coran's tunnel. There was little he could do about it, though, and so he went forward with his hastily made plan. Very hastily made.

Coran was stretching himself very thin. He had been growing with the One Power, had been able to handle more of it and control himself better ... but this was truly testing his endurance -- and, truth be told, pushing his luck. He knew it, but he did not care. Coran channeled again, still weaving the tunnel as the water roared through it rapidly. And a moment later, the largest gateway he had ever created winked into existence, its argentine length rotating until the gateway was a little more than ten paces wide and high; and through it -- if there was anyone to even see through it -- through it would be clear skies and unending ocean. Coran knew the location very well, having visited there for all the wrong reasons ... but right now that wasn't important. Right now, Coran was quickly shrinking the tunnel's mouth so that it would fit against the gateway's; right now, Coran was struggling to maintain both tunnel and gateway; right now, Coran was struggling for his very life. Saidin absolutely sang inside of him, filled his veins with torrents of ice and fire and golden glory; it filled his soul with all the world's swamps and midden heaps. It filled him, and almost to the point of pain, almost to the point where it might burn itself out of him ... or destroy him.

But unlike the wall, the tunnel held; the gateway held. And, most importantly, Coran held. He burned, but he held.

The tunnel emptied the flood into the gateway. Because he couldn't make the two openings touch some of it splashed beyond the gateway's edges, drenching Coran even more and creating gargantuan puddles all around him. It took a long while -- there were basically three rivers pouring into the tunnel, and Coran could not give in even in the slightest, not for a moment, until they had all spent themselves and returned to normal.

When they did -- when the rivers settled, when the rains began to only collect again rather than contribute to the disaster, when the first flood was abated and the threat of a second became imminent -- when they did, Coran let the two weaves dissipate and then released saidin.

And then Coran collapsed and passed out.

[Rattrap]

Doctor David D'Rael frowned at the water creeping up to his boots. Well, that was certainly a surprise. He stepped out of his office to find much of the rest of the building like that. The Edificium had been built to withstand floods; in fact, the original door was supposed not to leak, in case ever a thing should happen. The doc had wondered himself for quite some time why he had planned the building that way - there was some pleasure in knowing he had been right.

Naturally, that water-proof door had been lost sometime ago, graciously replaced by Dhugal with a decent door, but one that certainly didn't hinder the water.

He moved around to the back rooms where people stayed to rest out their sicknesses and injuries. There were a couple people back there, last he checked - Ariane, with her 'guard' of sorts, Jason, and another man who'd been bitten by a mildly venomous snake.

"Come on, folks! We're having a little difficulty here. I think we're going to need to relocate! Jason, if you're still here, would you mind getting Ariane? I think we're going to need to move fast..."

No panic. No worry. The doc spoke as if his suggestion would just be, quite simply, a good idea.

He peeked into the bitten man's room, checking to see if he was conscious. Sure enough - in fact, he was shaking his head at the water that was even then creeping that far back into the building. "Can you walk?" David asked the man.

He nodded, and the doctor instructed him to get up, and that they'd be relocating elsewhere. He stood by to offer a support, and more likely than not expedite their escape. Ariane's room was the next one down - he didn't bother checking it. Jason would be there to help her out, or neither would be there at all. Either of those would work out, at the present course in time.

Imagine his surprise to walk out onto the lane, only to find all the water moving in a straight, physics defying line.

"Well, you just don't see that everyday."

* * *

Captain Thomas Daniels continued with the evacuation for some time, up until the guard had returned from the Gaol with word from Lieutenant Kilborn. The captain was relieved to hear he was overseeing things at the Gaol. The barges were another idea, one that he would've capitalized on after getting the others out of the lower homes, up until the point the current up to his knees all of a sudden got unnaturally strong.

So strong, in fact, that it had quite simply pulled the captain's legs out from under him. He fell with a startled cry and started flowing down with the flood - which, when he surfaced, was beginning to look far too high. Then he realized it ended distinctly off to the side - when there was in fact no barrier to end it.

Thomas swam for the abrupt end of water, which was now high enough to easily slip onto the rooftops - which is exactly what the captain did. The sheer oddity of diving out of a wall of water only hit him when he turned to view it on the rooftop.

"What the hell is going on here?"

[Carnath-Emory]

He will not find Ariane in her room, alas, nor even in Phlynn's, where she'd spent some good portion of the night before last. But then, he'll not find Jason, either, which might likely come as some comfort. At the very least, it is two less bodies that the good doctor must be troubled with.

[Rattrap]

The captain watched the impossible river flood away, into the ocean. That had startled Thomas at first - he was looking at the ocean. To the left and to the right were buildings, like there should be - below, there was cobblestone road, like there should be. Then there was, quite simply, the ocean. Torn in the middle of nowhere.

But Daniels couldn't complain. By some freakish account or another, the water was all draining off into the ocean. The flash flood that had Myrkenwood running for high ground was averted. None of the land's recent weather seemed natural; it was only fitting the resolution met that standard.

He climbed down from the roof without the buoyant liquid to carry him anymore, landing on the ground with a light splat. There was still water everywhere, of course. Buildings were ruined. Houses were ruined. But the captain had hope that a far smaller number of lives were lost, if that.

Thomas circled a greater part of Myrkenwood before returning to the Barracks. He made sure that nobody else had been caught in the flood's escape and found themselves stuck somewhere - like say, on a roof. Those that had gone all the way with the rivers were just that - gone. He couldn't do anything to help them.

[Line] [/line]
The captain found that his office was a mess. He expected as much. Paperwork was sloshed all over the floor, the ink smeared and illegible. Much of it was ruined - among them Gad Phuri's letter with the news of the councilor's abduction. Daniels didn't even know about that yet. But while he was gathering up the ruined documents, a private stepped in for a moment, handing him a new letter.

It was from Maggie Mandlor. He remembered his conversation with Aloisius Treadwell and Alexander Kanashia; an order was supposed to go out for her arrest. The reasons for that very arrest were quite serious; this fact allowed Thomas a little surprise at the letter's contents.

"...help in finding Altias or Alex...?"

The captain blinked a few times. Missing?

"What the hell is going on here?"

He rushed out of his office, searching for the nearest guard to fill him in on something he'd apparently missed during the flood.

[Tyralor]

Chance and circumstance were occassionally the strangest partners anyone could have.

He immediately recognized Thomas Daniels. However, with his water soaked attire, the dirt clinging to his face, and the general scowl on his features, apparently the man stood no chance to recognize the Lieutenant. Which was quite possibly, just as well.

"Alexander Kanashia and Altias Bromn, the councillor? They're politicians. Kind of like bad pennies. I'm certain they'll turn up. Now I have a storage room to unbury. Excuse me."

Such was the conversation that escaped between his lips, before he and four other grizzled veterans stepped past Thomas, carting their shovels, and the wheelbarrow beyond him and further into the recesses of the headquarters.