Epilogue: Light's Hope Chapel

At the top of the stairs floats what looks like a cocoon, a familiar face visible at the top...

Oliver pushes away from Apophan and, with what last of his energy he has, bolts up the stairs.
Oliver says: Senkha!

Senkha is not breathing.

Ariadine stands below the cocoon. She looks exhausted but forces a sneer at the two men approaching.

Oliver is a blighted mess of a rotting corpse. He's barely recognizeable. He steps forward and swings at Ariadine. This is not time for nonsense, it is time for punches to the face.

Ariadine stumbles back. Okay, was not expecting a face pawnch so early in the game. "Are you insane?!" She shrieks hysterically. Shadows circle her feet and begin to form a half hearted shield. Damn Ollie, you scurreh.

Nialos moves forward, also swinging for Ariadine. "Shut. Up."

Senkha's head lolls to the side of its own accord. Blood trickles from her mouth.

Oliver drops to his knees, ignoring her shadows and cradling Senkha in his arms. "Y'could say so, yes."

Ariadine's shield sputters and collapses under the angry old man fist.
Ariadine crumples in a heap of KO'd shadowbrat.

Senkha's head falls forward onto Oliver's shoulder; up close, it's clear that she's cocooned in a combination of shadow and fel magic.

Oliver lifts Senkha's head with a hand. "No, no- no, no, no-" He kisses her cheek. The flesh burns from the blight trailing from his lips, and he's begun to shudder. "No, no- Come on, no-"
Oliver looks up. "Ah'm gettin' her out 'a here. Nialos, Ah'm gettin' her-"

Nialos looks around, desperately, and finally begins to conjure a Death Gate.

Oliver lifts her in his arms and staggers through the Gate- they'd find themselves in Acherus, though he'd quickly get her to Light's Hope.

Nialos follows suit, sighing heavily. "Just... Just another day."
Nialos also takes Ariadine.

[they reach Light's Hope Chapel]

Senkha is still not breathing, still wrapped in her cocoon of shadow and fel magic. Her face is badly bruised and her shape, under the cocoon, is somehow...off.

Senkha has been flown down from Acherus, with some thinly-veiled disdain from its inhabitants, to Light's Hope. Oliver explains to the medics the situation as best as he can manage, and the mages set to work on unbinding her.

Nialos stands there. Impassively.

As the mages unbind her, the extent of Senkha's wounds becomes more apparent: both legs are badly twisted and broken, and her entire right side is covered with burns, both shadow and natural.

Nialos looks his daughter over, eye narrowed and lips drawn into a tight line. He glances up at Oliver, barely able to contain his grief now.

Macglynn collapses nearby as the cocoon falls. She has help. He doesn't need to be on his feet anymore. He rests on his side, and whispers as the medics set in on her injuries. "Please. Please. Please."

The medics work hardest on simply trying to get Senkha breathing again. It takes a few minutes, but they manage to find a pulse, and eventually begin forcing air into her system through complicated tubing. Bindings are wrapped around her burns.

Nialos' eye drifts all around the chapel's interior, brows furrowed as he struggles to maintain some resemblance of calm.

Macglynn seems past calm, past angry, past insane, and straight into calm again. One hand shakingly reaches out to touch her as the medics move away to gather supplies, and remains there until he's yelled at to remove it.
Macglynn whispers: Can you hear me? I love you. Can you hear me?

Senkha suddenly shrieks inhumanly, her body going rigid. The medics turn her on her side; one remarks, "She's seizing," in about the same tone one would say "it's raining."
To Macglynn: A spark.

Nialos stiffens at the shriek, and soon, a hand comes up to obscure his face. "Pull through, pull through..." He quietly repeats this over and over again.

Macglynn is dragged away by the medics. He's a deadweight. Black streaks on the marble floor under him. It's an effort, but they need him out of the way. He doesn't have the energy to struggle. Just looks at her.

The seizure ends relatively quickly; when it's over, Senkha is breathing again. The medics get to work trying to set her legs and mend her broken bones. They work at a lightning pace.

Nialos slowly moves away from the scene, determined not to get in the way. He takes a seat close to Oliver.

Macglynn whispers: I need you. I love you. Please. Please don't die. Please. I love you.

To Macglynn: The spark has become a steady flame. Weak, but steady. The sense of something trying to push through.

Macglynn closes his eyes and allows himself to sag against the wall. He also allows himself to weep, or as close as undead can come to it. "Please. Ah need you back. Please."

Nialos' voice is hoarse (for a Death Knight), his gaze stern. "She'll make it, Oliver. She's strong. She'll make it."

It may take a few minutes or it may take hours, but eventually, the medics step away from Senkha's form. She's covered in bandages and swollen, but her faint pulse is steady, as is her breathing. The chief medic approaches Oliver and Nialos, his expression grim. "She's stable. For now."

Nialos grunts, rolling his eye. "That's assuring." He sighs, however, and nods. "... Thanks."

The medic continues, almost deadpan. "I can't say when or if she'll recover completely. Her injuries are extensive and the infection is more severe than it at first appeared. We're also limited...the amount of shadow magic forced on her system has made her intolerant of the Light until said shadow magic is purged."

Macglynn says: Wh- what about other. Healing. Methods.

Nialos grumbles quietly to himself, before throwing a hand up. "What about nature magic? Isn't there-" He catches hismelf. "Isn't there anything, anything at all..."

The medic frowns slightly. "Other forms of magic could help, yes. Our medics here aren't trained in those forms, however, and our druid team is away on a mission to the Plagued Woods right now."

Macglynn says: Well fuck me sidew- *he coughs again, more black spilling onto the marble. It's more solid this time! Yay?*
Macglynn says: Can we move 'er?

The medic's frown deepens, and he shakes his head. "For her sake, it would be better to wait until we can construct braces for her legs. And...I should warn you that she will likely never walk properly again."

Macglynn snarls and tries to push himself up again. "SHE. CAN'T. DIE." He's far too torn up to actually stand, though, and just falls over onto his side, cheek in a pool of his own "blood". "She can't-"

Nialos says: Oliver. Calm. Down.
Nialos pinches his brow. "Lame legs? Fine. She'll make do. Will you -watch her-?" He glares up at the medic.

Macglynn doesn't try sitting back up, apparently having given up on the prospect.

For a moment, the guards move towards Oliver as if to retrain him, but the chief medic raises a hand to them and they fall back. "She won't die. Not tonight at least. For your sake, I'd recommend getting your own injuries looked at. We'll watch her through the night. You're welcome to return. We may have her more stable by morning, and you can move her then."

Macglynn says: Burn 'em shut fer all Ah care. Ah ain't leavin' her.

Nialos roughly places a hand on Oliver, quickly funneling a healing stream of bloody magic into the poor sod. "Here. Stop bleeding all over their flooring. Won't be good for her, too."
Nialos says: Last thing she needs in this state is a helping of Blight.

A few of the medics make irritated or disgusted sounds, though the chief medic's voice remains compassionate. "If you are going to stay, it's better for her if you get yourself cleaned up." He nods at Nialos.

Macglynn looks ready to suggest they just spray him with a hose if they want him cleaned up so bad, but instead nods, cheek still pressed on the floor. There's a lot of pain in his eyes.

The medic extends a (gloved) hand to Oliver in an attempt to help him up. "We'll do all we can to save her, sir."

To Macglynn: --h--h...e..r--e.

Macglynn reaches up to take the man's hand. He stumbles a bit once he's righted, and looks at Senkha. He smiles.
Macglynn whispers: I am too.

To Macglynn: All goes silent again, save for that steady flame.