She was an unceasing, enduring blade, sprinting in a malicious, vicious, unrepentant haze, drowned and drenched in the searing, abhorrent fusion of loathing, contempt, and outright panic. Her fox tails whipped behind her in a blue-tipped cataclysm, brandishing, branching, and brutally seizing snow and frost beneath her claws, entangled in the embroiled fervor of a ferocious beast, too lacquered, too enameled, with bloodlust to do anything but rage, fume, and seethe. How dare they the Lilliputian monster declared, raw and rancorous, driving endless persistence amidst the newfound rime, traipsing closer and closer to her destination as she grew ever more incensed, stoked the finer columns and sentiments of her malevolence. How could they take her? What had she done to deserve it?

What had started as a journey of selfless munitions, a mender and her beast clambering across the frozen outcrops, destined to coat a battlefield in angelic raptures, in songs of chaos and mending, ended in another murky throng of chaos altogether. Her sweet, sweet Lena, hoping to lend her assistance in any way she could, felled by an inky behemoth, throwing out herbs at their feet, casting out paralytic, seizing vapors; had Imogen not been quick, light, rapid, and swift, she too would have succumbed to the agonizing tremors – instead, she’d watched and commanded as the seraph’s flame flickered, thrown like a stone to the ground, overcome and overwrought by the potency of dangerous, poisonous nectars.

Then, Imogen had been on the move.

There was no other destination but the Basin. She couldn’t drive her bellows and fire into the Falls without distracting their kin from the battlefield, even if they managed to see or hear her in the pitfalls, pendulums, and gallows, there would be no sense in embarking and funneling chaos into chaos. She’d simply have to climb the embankments, the summits, the peaks, and valleys, to raise the alarm to those who hadn’t been asked to join the frontlines. So the kitsune did, in brilliant, everlasting fortitude, for she’d followed the Songbird up and down the fortifications, the ramparts, so many times before, coaxing, dancing, meandering until they laughed and chimed, echoing belles of the snow and ice – and all she fixated, riveted upon now, was entering the grounds as a blazing maelstrom of rancor and wrath, racing past the metal sentinels, the crisp, lush taste of Orangemoon. She wasn’t sure of how many had stayed behind in the wake of frigid temperatures, in the vestiges of autumn’s ambrosia, but her first thoughts were of Roland and his surreptitious values, all the beloved sentiments the Time Mender held for him; she blistered and consumed all over again. Like a savage, potent messenger of disaster, the ivory vixen made her way into the deepest regions of the wide-open valley, into the first flickering petals of snow, and released her augured, siren call of treachery, an earth-shattering howl, a piercing, puncturing clamor, unwinding, uncurling, uncoiling it on ferocious peals of smoke and ash, desperate for attention, for notice, for observation, from those still lingering in their frigid halls.

Wouldn’t they come for one of their own? For a creature who loved, cherished, and adored every single monster, heathen, and infidel?

[@[Roland] @[Ulrik] Imogen coming into the Basin to inform Lena has been captured. Feel free to post if you want the info. ;D]