lucetilogs | Zompania Draft - Draftees and Reinforcements, mid-day 4-early 7

[Richard is nearing the end of his rope. He's exhausted and aching, his vision completely gone by now due to the frequency with which he's been using Twila's magic (not that he knows this is the cause) and his energy reserves running dangerously low without any real chance for him to rest and recover. The almost non-stop casting has taken it out of him to the point where he's just desperately drawing on whatever he's got left in an attempt to keep going.

Eventually he resorts to hit and run tactics, casting a few spells and then just ducking into buildings in an attempt to buy himself a few minutes of rest. In a way, it's probably a good thing that he doesn't have the time to stop and think about just how many people he's killed. He'd be in a far worse mental state if he did.

He can't let himself think about that, not now. He needs to keep himself together the way a king should.]

[The whole city is one giant knot of frayed ropes now, isn't it? Raven is among them, still fighting largely in the skies, trying to keep the cultists from either taking wing, or descending on unsuspecting draftees. When a purposeful gust of wind catches her, the brunt of the spell shearing past to also miss the cultist with a spear she's busy trying to blast away, she looks for the source of the magic. If she could, she'd glare.

Below her a man stumbles around the battlefield. Well, okay, several men do, they're all down to their last reserves, but this one catches her attention because he's running - and he stops to use magic again and then run some more. And he's about to get hemmed in by cultists and their shift hunter pets on foot.

Without another thought she banks her turn and dives, heading for him as he nears a half-collapsed building. She's aiming to land in front of him, before he can disappear into there. It's not safe. It will become a prison.]

[Frayed but not snapped just yet-- Richard has too much self-possession to let himself fall that far even in the most pressing of circumstances. This may not be Windor, and he may not be king here, but he still feels a certain duty to maintain control and do his best to stay calm and keep fighting.

But that's getting more and more difficult now that he can no longer even see where he's aiming his spells. Retreating eventually becomes inevitable, whether he wants to or not.

He just hopes that he's running in the direction of a building...

His mad dash comes to a sudden and unexpected halt when he collides with something surprisingly soft and yielding with enough force to send him stumbling a few steps backwards. Instinctively, his hand moves to the hilt of his sword as he prepares himself to attack if this strange obstacle proves to be a foe.]

Don't attack me.

[If he tries, she doesn't think she can hold him off without hurting him or herself. Raven looks around quickly, still unable to see some of the enemies she spotted closing in.]

You're going to be trapped if you stay here.

Who are you?

[He takes another step back, and though he makes no move to draw his sword, he doesn't release his grip on the hilt yet either. She's still a stranger to him; until he feels reassured that he can trust her, he's going to remain on alert.]

Raven.

[The simple answer is all they have time for.]

The soldiers are coming for you. Get on.

[The way he's glaring at her, she really can't tell there's a problem.]

Where are they?

[It's a strange question to ask and he knows it. It's also a question that he needs an answer to if he's going to be able to fight against them at all.]

I need to know where to cast my spells.