25 July 1074

The group wake up and head out to get breakfast. The group figure out each other’s ages, then talk actual business on getting to Erban faster than the army (do they know lol). They let Enzo stay, and grab their carriage (they bought two horses and a carriage lol) while Bianca and Adonis hide out as earth genasi / air genasi duo. They enter Foglia Verde and pretty soon come across the dead D’Roccan soldiers lol. I wonder who could have done this (insert character sheet when you make it), Sirvyr sees a blue will-o-wisp and Amon sees an owl. Gives it a deep bow, bro is happy with this you’re cool.
The group find Erban in flames, and the Beluae bodies are piling up. Helio and his crew are on their way out.

A thousand lifetimes pass by in the moments it takes for your horses to make one step, then the next. The updraft carries smoke, like hands grasping out, gripping your eyes, your nose, filling everything. The world itself seems to try and crawl away from the destruction, crying out in crackles and whirls while remaining deathly silent. Everything moves, twirling as the firestorm rages, and yet remains perfectly contained at the same time. Here, the stench of death has the decency to hide itself under layers of burnt wood, leaves and the unmistakable feeling of dread as what is left in the wake of the road is not, is never human forms, but scorched into the ground things that could be human, but not quite. An arm, five fingers, imprinted on the ground in deep mauve, and yet it leads to something much larger. More arms than a humanoid, more fuel to burn than a humanoid, and yet, when compared with the soldiers marching their way across the streets, they are less than human entirely, stains left where something living once was.
Your chest heaves, as ashen grey souls seep through the trachea, across to bronchioles, diffuse the distance and hide in flaring, red blood. You exhale as much as you can, expelling them back to their fate. Rejecting them, trapping them back in a microcosm of the world. Destroying itself, fueling itself with its citizens. The stream of fire billows into the sky, wafts of dark smoke reaching further, higher, blowing a final breath of air to your system. Reminding you to breathe, while you still can. While you still have to.
The world moves on. Every second of what has happened plays before you, and as hundreds of steps pound down onto the earth you’re taken away from finding out what is to come. The soldiers are picture perfect copies of all those found in the forest- thicker leather armour, small amounts of metal in joints and squishy parts (that still beat with blood), airways covered with buckle shields (that still breathe) and long, flowing fabrics with the symbol of somewhere far from here. Their coifs hide their identities, each eye locked onto your own never to be known. What expression do they make? Is it one of fear, of desperation, or are they somewhere deep in their mind, only going through the motions?
What expression, as the telltale hoofbeats of Helio and a trained, obedient set of machines make their way forward, do you make?
His is surprise. Quickly hidden, masked as the world spins round you, slightly warping his figure. The air blows his air, though it remains exactly where he has meant for it to be. He smiles, almost sheepishly, and gives a small nod. You are given liberty to speak.