Clarkson's screams of pure horror broke Elena out of her daze, out of the flashes of roaring fire and freezing ice. Immediately she acted, drawing in deep lungfuls of air within seconds, each breath deeper than the first until her chest felt like it was about to burst under the pressure. Her lips parted, allowing some of the air to escape as she spoke the familiar arcane words that focused and condensed the energy. The fear and rage that twisted her features melted out of her expression, leaving Elena appearing serene and at peace. A rush of holy vitality flowed through her body like water, pouring from her bones to her lungs like a drowning man rushing towards air. The rats in Elena's immediate vicinity sprang backwards as if scorched with fire as her very body began to glow with a piercingly clean white light. Finally, Elena relieved her lungs of their burden in one great rush; the air in the street filled with a refreshing light. One by one the rats screamed out as the light scorched their fur, their screams accompanied by the relieved shouts of the men around her. At least, the men who were minimally chewed on.
Holding on to her earlier peace Elena's gaze passed over them. She took a ready stance with her sword, holding it in preparation for another attack as she studied her surroundings. Five men dead. And… Elena flinched as she inadvertently locked eyes with a familiar face. Clarkson. His body laid unmoving on the flagstones, half-eaten by the very same pack of rats that was now scrabbling away from the holy light she heaved out with every breath. For a moment her thoughts blanked again and she half-expected the older man's remaining eye to wink at her cheerfully, to stand up and explain that it was all some goofy prank he had thought up to cheer her up.
But despite her hopes, Clarkson's body still laid there like a discarded mannequin from home thrown in a dumpster.
Another pulse of air coming from the abandoned inn distracted Elena from the rapid downwards spiral of her thoughts and she stared towards it with an almost visible air of rage. The inn was important. Anyone could tell her that. And, as Clarkson's corpse appeared in the corner of her eye, Elena resolved to herself to have a little… talk with whoever was in there. Her last handful of soldiers formed up at her flanks, still nervously eyeing the clumps of writhing rats and shuffling guardsmen. Elena shivered as she stepped closer to the building, and she frowned as each deep breath took more and more energy to take. Beside her a soldier stumbled over nothing, his back bent as if he was carrying a great weight. His fellows rushed to support him, but Elena motioned for them to stop.
"Enough." She told them, giving the rats around them a death glare as they started to edge forwards. "You'll be of no use here."
The soldiers started to protest, unwilling to be left behind by their only beacon of hope, but Elena raised her hand. "Give me some torches." The soldiers, albeit confused, quickly offered up the crappy standard issue torches. Without delay Elena gently breathed onto the guttering and spitting flames on the end, the mist from her breath covering the fire and twisting it into a silvery color.
"Take these and search out Adrian. The torches should keep the rats off you. If you can't find him, go to the government offices and request backup."
The soldiers nodded hesitantly at her. Elena tried to smile in response, already guessing what they were thinking. "Yeah. I know. But I've got to deal with whatever's in the inn. Can't you feel it? The cold? What feels like an invisible weight pressing down on us?" As soon as she finished her sentence Elena swung around to face the inn, sporting a grim smile as she heard her men dashing towards their horses.
Man. I really hope the rats haven't gotten the horses yet. She realized with a start. Help might be a bit farther away than she liked. Nevertheless, she pressed on, taking the time to cover herself with magic as a preemptive measure.
After all, she had learned that caution was sometimes needed. Even for a hero.
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
Inside the inn on the second floor, Tim pressed his hands to his head as he observed the battle in the streets. It was over a bit quicker than he had imagined, but a little bought time was still some bought time. And, Tim reasoned, it was nice amount too. According to Philbert the ripples were a sign that both of the sites were up and running, working together to form what was essentially a beacon. A lighthouse, drawing something much greater than anything he had ever seen before. Tim shuddered. Even just thinking about it sent a wave of migraine-induced nausea roaring through his fragile noggin. Thinking about what was coming, about the whispers that trickled into his ears like a roaring ocean through a small crack, naught but a paper-thin dam to prevent it all from raging towards him in a flood of, well, everything.
It was quite an unpleasant sensation, and very much unlike anything he had ever experienced before, and it really was not the right moment for it. Of course, Tim reasoned, that dealing with something as arcane as the rat king would obviously come with its price, but as he watched Elena ward off the rats with a burst of magic and begin walking towards his makeshift fortress, he did admit that it would be beneficial to have a clear head right now.
Tim's heartbeat quickened as the sigil in the middle of the mess of chalk he had drawn out on the floor began to glow and the whispers intensified. A terrible pressure bore down on his shoulders, making Tim groan with the effort of staying standing. One by one the whispers became clearer and clearer, but somehow as the words took shape in his mind, Tim felt like the meanings of those words became further and further away from his grasp, like a man desperately clawing for frayed strands of rope as he fell off a cliff into a bottomless void.
The door to the inn crashed open and the first of Tim's traps activated with the crunch of glass bottles, but the half-elf ignored it as his heartbeat quickened again, becoming so loud that it pounded through his ears like the drums of an entire army. A shout of anger, along with the sound of his remaining canisters of sarin gas crunching open followed, but Tim simply stared at the runes in the floor. A wet feeling began to travel down his cheeks, and Tim absentmindedly wiped the blood dripping gently from his eyes.
It was almost here, he realized. With every second that passed, with every armored footstep that charged up the staircase. He looked up.
It saw him.
And Tim stared back with joyful wonder and revulsed horror.