Zizzy was startled awake by a notification as the dim, predawn light began to brighten the single small window of her tiny apartment. As groggy and grumpy as she was, she simply dismissed the notification without even bothering to check as the peals of the temple bells announced the arrival of dawn. The sleepy fugue state persisted as she flopped herself out of her bed and stumbled her way over to the washbasin in the chill morning air. Stormbreak Isle may have been located closer to the warm tropics than not, but the northern trade winds kept the harbor city and capital of the island province much cooler than most would have expected. Her small domicile also happened to be located on the windward face of the high terraced cliffs that made up Stormbreak’s Upper District.

The cold winds had chilled her apartment, infiltrating with greater effect once her fire had finally died. She hurriedly broke the ice in the basin to wash herself as quickly as she could. The brisk wash was certainly effective, and by the time the rising sun finally began to peek over the bay she was fully awake. “Cheap or not,” she admitted out loud as she gazed out the window, “you can’t beat the view, not for a king’s ransom.”

Doffing her warm woolen nightgown, she finished her morning ablutions with a haste driven by the chilled air, proceeding to quickly don the utilitarian uniform which was her standard attire for most days. Plain, high quality undergarments, followed by the perfectly creased grey trousers, and then a simple linen shirt. A matching grey tunic slid over her shirt, and over this she buckled a utilitarian leather belt filled with tools befitting her rank as a Constable under the aegis of the Stormbreak Wardens.

After lacing up her well-worn, lovingly maintained and polished boots and tucking her braided golden hair under the shallow-billed hat, she finally donned the oiled leather coat hanging on the hook next to her apartment’s door. With a reverence that showed in her every mannerism, she plucked her badge and personal seal of office from the small desk next to her bed. The personalized enchantment, attuned to recognize her own mana-signature upon touch, pulsed with a gentle thrum as she gently pressed the badge to the left breast panel of her tunic. She felt the entire uniform settle around her as the enchanted set was completed. Low level standardized enchantments made specifically for the Wardens and their auxiliary police units they may be, yet Zizzy was immensely proud to have earned the right to wear them.

She checked herself over in the small mirror above her washstand one last time, satisfied with what she saw. Then, she turned and opened her narrow apartment door, and Constable Zizzy of Stormbreak City stepped out onto the street. The sunlight glittered across the bay in the newborn morning, illuminating a sprawling coastal city that wound around the edge of the water. Lowtown was the largest district of the city by far, stretching for miles around the steeper shores with docks and floating pavilions stretching out into the water to a massive shipping port that sat directly in the waters. The Merchant’s District rose up on magically-hewn stone pillars and arches to facilitate ships with deeper keels, the larger vessels unable to dock directly to the city’s arching stretch of piers. Access to the district itself was a stone bridge wide enough for five or six wagons abreast to trundle across it, but high enough that smaller vessels could pass under its arches in all but the highest of tides.

The port city never slept, of course, and Zizzy could just make out the methodical rise and fall of the massive wooden gantries and their stone counterweights as they worked steadily to load and unload the ponderous merchant vessels. Fishing sloops and other smaller craft were able to bully their way closer to shore, vying for the better docking positions closer to the markets and Lowtown’s warehouses.

As she looked out at the distant ocean entrance to Stormbreak Bay, she was treated to the somewhat rare sight of a Swiftwater Guild courier vessel racing into the harbor on approach from the sea. Its path curved into the bay in a smooth arc as its mana-powered nacelles shifted on their outriggers to keep the craft steady at speed. The Swiftwater Guild was notoriously secretive about its ships’ designs, but the power of the enchantments was evident. Foamy plumes of sea-water kicked up behind it as the Wavecutter skimmed into the harbor with the natural arrogance of the rare and exotic.

Zizzy did not bother with the Mana-Lift elevator station on her apartment’s terraced level, instead continuing past the lift station to one of the many steep stairways cut deep into the stone cliffside. For a few silver, the lift could have taken her all the way down to Lowtown, or any of several stops in between, but she was not going that far on this Sabenday morning. The last day of the week was a day of reflection at the temple, and the traditions of the City Watch allowed their members to observe such things as long as no pressing matters required their attentions.

She took the stairs down to the next tier, smells of baked goods and hot beverages leading her onwards. One of the smaller upper markets sat in a naturally occuring gap in the cliffs, not directly facing the tradewinds that made her tiny apartment just barely affordable on her modest pay. Everything was more expensive the higher you went in Stormbreak City, even the street vendors’ goods. But her routine on this day of the week was well known, and a familiar shopkeeper paused from arranging her trays as Zizzy approached.

“Don’t even reach fer that coin pouch, Const’ble,” quipped the young woman as she placed two steaming breakfast pastries on waxed parchment and folded them with a well-practiced motion of her hands. “Ma never accepted your coin before, an’ if she heard I did she’d thrash me proper with that rollin’ pin, an you know it!”

“Every week I try to pay, and every week you refuse, just like your mother always did when she ran the shop.” Zizzy grinned as she put her coins away. “I’m glad to hear she can still swing that rolling pin. You tell her I asked about her, Kellen.” Zizzy scooped up the wrapped pastries and tucked them into a pocket to keep the drizzling mist that was constant at this elevation from getting to them. Departing the baker’s stand with a wave, she threaded her way through the avenue that was slowly getting more and more busy as the daylight warmed the stone-paved streets.

Traveling a route long since committed to memory, Zizzy's footsteps soon led her out from the shadow of the stone walls lining either side of the street. Hightown was Stormbreak’s true heart of commerce and law, nestled out of the reach of most of the ocean’s often-inclement weather. Guild halls, various banks and offices, and many exclusive shops and other establishments sprawled out from the grounds of Storm Break. It was a low-slung, broad stone building, a seven-sided monstrosity boasting a massive double spire at each of the seven corners. The spires rose up like giant slender tuning forks over a thousand paces high to tower over even the central peak of the island’s mountainous interior.

As Zizzy made her way down the main boulevard, one of the western facing tower-forks began to glow at the base, just above where the spire split in two. Glowing energy, wider than Zizzy was tall, rose up the pair of tines with a golden spark bridging the gap between. It crawled upwards like a god giving a Jacob’s Ladder demonstration. When the massive spark reached the tip of the fork, the sky flashed for a brief instant as the arc leapt westward over the ocean. There should have been thunder, but Zizzy knew the enchantments around the Storm Breaker Central Array kept the locals in the region from being deafened by its discharge.

Before she travelled all the way to the governmental section of the building that sat just in front of Storm Break, Zizzy turned once again to head up a slightly smaller cul-de-sac known as Temple Gardens. Stormbreak’s Temple was a modest affair, as were most. Called the Temple of Guidance by some; the Temple of Prophecy by others, Zizzy preferred the older name for it: the Temple of Reflection.

Dedicated to no specific deity, it was instead part of the loosely associated temples and groups that bent spiritual knee to the undeniable authority of the [Oracle]. People were free to pray at the various shrines to this or that god within the Temple, as the Custodian of Stories played no favorites. A woman who could topple empires with a word in the right ear, or crown a beggar king with a simple message, many feared the [Oracle]. But all respected her Mantle, regardless of their own personal faiths.

Sabenday was not so much a holy day but rather the traditional weekly event when the Temple gave out a larger charity meal than the daily bread, along with allowing petitioners to request personal divinations from the various prophetic or priest-type classes that served the [Oracle]. A sermon was typically given in the morning, and this was the reason Zizzy had made her way so far out of her usual patrol district.

At the arched front entrance to the outer Temple Gardens, the city’s grey paving cobblestones gave way to smooth, pale marble tiles. Setting foot on the first one, Zizzy counted exactly thirty-three stones as she walked, stopping six squares from the temple steps. She stood there for a few moments as others passed to her left and right, coming and going from the Temple itself. Squaring her shoulders, she slowly held up her right hand and reached forward over the line between her stone and the next.

As her hand crossed the invisible threshold, she was wracked with intense pain. It was a sensation like she had dipped it into impossibly cold ice water at first, that deepened into a frigid burn the longer she persisted. The skin of her hand began to degrade after a few short moments, drying and cracking with an even more intense hurt. With a resigned, unsurprised sigh, she withdrew her hand, the damage beginning to heal almost as fast as it had been inflicted.

Zizzy turned to her left and paced around to the side of the temple, her expression somewhere between forlorn and hopeful. Less than a third of the way around the temple proper was a stone bench under a canvas awning, sitting close enough to the threshold that one could just hear the low droning of one or another of the priests getting long-winded with his sermon. The tall, narrow windows were too high to allow sight into the main atrium, but the acoustics let enough of the sound carry outside that she could sit on the bench and meditate while the susurrating murmur calmed her soul.

“I don’t even need my divination gifts to know when you get here, Zizzy,” a gruff but friendly voice said off to her left. “You’re like clockwork; every week, same exact time, with almost no deviation unless you have Warden’s business to attend to.”

A portly, kind-faced older man leaning on a cane shuffled into view, dropping to the bench beside her with a groan that gave proof to his age and status. Eventually Vitality simply ceased to be as effective, providing less and less regeneration and health recovery later in life. “I swear,” gently chided the man. “I have seen clocks that don’t keep time as well as you do, Ziz.”

“It’s not like a Diviner or a Prophet needs clocks anyway, Janim.” Zizzy greeted her old friend with a smile and dug out the breakfast pastries. “Besides, I know you only talk to me because I bribe you with sweets, ever since the others stopped letting you sneak them out of the kitchens. I shouldn’t, but you’d probably try to reach Kellen’s stall for them if I didn’t show up.”

“Pshaw!” the old man gusted. “I’d never bother limping that far. I’d bribe a supplicant or one of the dishwashers. I may be too old for an Augury Ritual, but I can still give advice about money and love. Don’t even need my talents for that, it’s all just age and experience.”

Zizzy elbowed him gently in the ribs as they both chewed on the sweet pastries, her being careful of crumbs while he fully enjoyed the rare treat and left evidence down the front of his robes. While they enjoyed their breakfast in silence, the sky flashed three times in rapid succession with searing golden light.

“They’ve been at it all week, ever since the Purple Night,” said Zizzy, as her companion produced a clay jar and two simple cups from somewhere within his robes with a flourish. Handing her a cup, he poured a smooth dark liquid for each of them and set the now-empty jug down next to the bench. Wiping his mouth with a corner of his robe in a distinctly un-priestly manner, he held his cup up, and he looked at her expectantly.

Zizzy cocked an eyebrow at him but couldn’t maintain her serious composure for more than a few heartbeats. She waved her fingers over each cup with a small expenditure of mana and a soft affectionate laugh. With the chocolate beverage now steaming gently, Janim took a few sips to wash the last of his pastry down before speaking again.

“The Storm Breakers don’t consult with the temple, but even we can feel the storm to the west. Whatever happened on the Purple Night disturbed the wind and mana currents all the way out over the Western Sea.” The retired [Dreamsight Diviner] sipped his chocolate thoughtfully and then continued. “All of us here dreamed of the Burning Woman that night, Ziz. I can't be sure, but I strongly feel that every single Talent and Touched on the continent did. And then the [Oracle]’s announcement of Worldwalkers coming through right after word of the Deskren Raid on Possibility. If I thought my heart could take it I would do an Augury tonight!”

“You better not, old man!” Zizzy snapped. “I did not pull a pack of brats out of that burning warehouse just so you could start ending your own stories before their time!” Her grip, freshly white-knuckled in consternation, caused the cup to quiver gently. Janim patted her knee in conciliation.

“Don’t worry, Constable. I’d need a bigger reason than dreams and uncertainty to put my aching bones through that, these days. Peace! Stop looking at me like that!”

Zizzy kept up her scolding look as she silently sipped at her chocolate, enjoying her friend’s mild discomfort just a tiny bit more than was probably appropriate. The sky flashed again, interrupting their moment of amusement with a grim reminder.

“They must be wearing even the auxiliaries out to constantly fire the array, Janim. I’ve never seen the Storm Breakers have to work so hard, not in all my years in the city.”

“Worse, Constable. They’ve had to start calling up the old contracts, conscripting mages and wizards and their students from the Academies and from Stormbreak College. There’s whispers that they may have to fire the entire Master Array, all seven circles and Storm Break itself. That hasn’t been done in…” Janim wandered off in thought. “At least two centuries. No one living has ever even seen the Array at full power. They’d have to evacuate parts of the city too; people have built over the old Runic Lines, it’s been that long.”

“Have the other Dreamers not been able to offer guidance?”

“They can’t, although they would never admit it. Looking anywhere near a mana storm is madness, even with the smallest ones. Trying any sort of divination about one this large could bleed over into a shared nightmare. With the dozens of precognitive classers at the temple that would spread out, trapping innocent people as well as whoever did the looking.”

She shuddered at the thought. The risks were bad enough when they only affected the person seeking the visions. Dragging random bystanders into it was an even more unpleasant thought.

“One thing all of us with foresight abilities agree on though, Zizzy.” The priest had a solemn look that clashed with his usual friendly-gruff persona as he spoke. “If the Storm Breakers can’t break this storm, say goodbye to the island and half the coast. It’ll scour inland across the Golden Meadows and won’t stop ‘til it hits the Wildwall Mountains. It won't be so bad over land for the people at first. But there would be no harvests this year, and on top of that there would be so much wild mana permeating the soil. Nothing would grow right for two or three years. At a minimum, mind you.”

“None of the reports at the office have even hinted at it being that bad, Janim. But that’s not surprising; the Wardens couldn’t handle an evacuation even if they tried to call one.” Zizzy sat back and sipped her chocolate somberly.

“Indeed,” sighed the old priest. “Best us islanders can hope for is to shelter in the interior, but there is nowhere near enough room under Storm Break’s shield enchantments for everyone.”

“What about the academies? I know they all have protective spells…”

“I really don’t think it will come to that, Ziz. While all our dreams certainly seem dire, they always end with a hopeful note none of us can see clearly. I have faith and will wait it out, like always.” He finished off his sugary drink and relieved Zizzy of her empty cup as well. “And on that note, I’m afraid your habitual Sabenday meditation is about to be cut short…”

The huggably large priest leveraged himself to his feet with a groan and both hands on his cane, then smiled back down at Zizzy. “I do believe that young messenger is about to arrive with your summons to appear before the Lord-Commander. I’m sure you’ll have important work to do if they’re calling for you this early today.”

While his age might have prevented the retired priest from performing the more demanding rituals of his class type, his natural prescience proved to still be in effect as a city runner darted around the corner of the temple. A youth that Zizzy did not recognize stood for a moment, panting to catch his breath. After a brief recovery, the boy dug through his satchel of missives. The accuracy of Priest Janim’s predictions was borne out once more as the boy handed her a simple grey card of thick parchment with the Stormbreak Isle crest on one side and the Lord-Commander’s seal on the other. The card was blank save for the single word “Urgent,” indicating that her presence was required immediately.

Even though she did not recognize the boy, he apparently knew her, even if only by reputation. Her habits and her soft spot for children were well-known, and he grinned as she tossed him a silver coin and a piece of soft candy she dug out of her coat pocket before darting off towards his next destination.

Briskly returning to her feet, Zizzy brushed the few traces of breakfast pastry from her uniform and made her way quickly back the way she had originally come to the temple. She had no idea what she had been summoned for, but given her history of employment and unique skillset, the list was fairly comprehensive. She was very good at her job, and frequent summonses to help in districts other than her normal Lowtown beat were not unusual in the slightest.

She set a pace just this side of unseemly, and most pedestrians on the street cleared the way for the uniform, if not her personally. Magical things permeated the island society, which meant magically inclined people, including criminals. And that meant appropriately swift and magically talented law enforcement was necessary. Few people were willing to to risk the ire of anyone in the service of the Stormbreak Wardens when it was so obvious they were on official business.

With a nod to Kellen, the baker’s daughter, Zizzy made her way back out through the gap in the cliffs that was Upper Market Row. WIth another right-hand turn, she continued eastward along the street overlooking the harbor. She was already on the right terraced level, so she skipped both mana-lifts between her and her destination. Another curve around the edge of the cliff revealed what looked like half of a tower, split vertically and stuck into the cliff face as if a giant’s hand had pushed it into clay.

Storm’s Hold was the headquarters of the Stormbreak Wardens, and it had offices and entrances on each of the city’s different elevation districts. Its foundations were sunk deep below the waves, while its upper floors towered above all else save Storm Break itself.

Noisy taprooms and quiet back alleys alike held tales of hundreds of underground floors to match the ones above, but Zizzy knew the truth of the dungeons was nowhere near so dramatic. Its actual dungeons weren’t even below sea level; they just did not have windows to the outside, and air was vented in through ducts that caught the ocean’s constant winds and kept the whole tower from suffering stagnant air.

Ducking into a side entrance in order to avoid the the lines of various civilians and functionaries going about their business, she felt her badge pulse on her chest as the security enchantments lining the archway verified her access. The private entrances would treat unauthorized persons as hostile and the results, while not demonstrated often, were neither pretty nor easy to clean up.

Heeding the summons, Zizzy went right past her own small but paper-strewn office, turning back towards the main space of the lobby and stepping around busy clerks and Wardens and Patrol Watchmen going about their respective tasks. As she walked she could not help but overhear snippets of conversation, in low and worried tones, from the other people working at desks or standing in the halls.

“Another one at Southpeak Village?”

“We don’t know. It looks like the same one that hit Shepherd’s Craig and the Western Glenn.”

She didn’t recognize the whisperers, but the entire office area seemed nervous and apprehensive. More hushed conversation drifted past her as she walked, but the remainder fell below the level of her hearing. Dismissing further consideration, she passed through the administrative section of the Wardens and went up the shallow steps to the Lord-Commander’s private offices.

“I’m sorry, Ziz; you can’t go in!” A young and rather flustered secretary stood up from the desk near the heavy double-doors of the office, holding up her hands in a conciliatory gesture. “He requested-”

Zizzy held up her summons card with the Lord-Commander’s Seal stamped on it. “He requested my presence immediately, Megyn, and I know full well that you don’t keep the Lord-Commander waiting.”

Megyn sat back down at her desk, looking rather flustered as the Constable stepped around her with a soothing wave of her hands. “Don’t worry; I’ll take the heat if he’s upset, Megyn. He’s not so gruff as he pretends once you get to know him”

Zizzy pushed open the heavy double doors to reveal a middle-aged man with graying temples sitting behind a desk even more cluttered than her own. The Lord-Commander of the Stormbreak Wardens cared much more for results than appearances. What held his attention was a formal envelope sitting on the center of the sprawl of papers, quill pens, and inkwells that scattered across his workspace.

The Lord-Commander did not even look up as he waved at one of the simple but sturdy chairs in front of the desk. The document his eyes never left was a plain envelope of thick, soft parchment with an unmistakable pearlescent sheen of mana embossed into the very fibers. Zizzy drew a sharp breath; despite this being one of the few times she’d ever laid eyes on it, she instantly knew what that stationery meant.

“I thought the [Oracle] was missing since the Deskren raid, presumed taken and collared!?”

“Indeed, that was the assumption until now,” the man said, in a deep, gravelly tone. “But this is one Seal that cannot be faked, not even with [Divine] assistance.” He stared down at the enchanted seal that had held the envelope closed, the image of a half-lidded eye seeming to flicker between open and closed as if the wax-like metal were alive. “I know you have seen the Seal before, but this is the first to arrive during my own tenure behind this desk. And I’ve long been among those who believe this chair should be yours. You have twice the years in the wardens as me or anyone else.”

“Don’t give me that, Terrick. You earned it, and I wouldn’t take the job even if the Council would stand for me in the seat. Are you going to keep being mysterious or are you going to tell me what the [Oracle] wants?”

“It’s not what she wants. She almost never makes requests, you know that better than I.” Terrick, the man, finally showed through the mask of the Lord-Commander as he rubbed his face with one tired hand and leaned back in his chair. “You’re aware of the killings that started in the southern villages on the Isle?”

“Only what the gossip lines have said around my district. You know Hightown loves the drama more than the truth, though, and I’ve been busier than usual since the Purple Night got everyone skittish.”

He pulled a stack of sketches, colored and detailed with the expert touch of a very skilled [Mana-Scribe], and passed it to her before continuing. “Nine victims so far. None during the Purple Night, but they start the night after. Two classless shepard’s boys out in the central hills with their family’s flocks. The next, a young girl from Southpeak Village. But then, whoever it is got Circle-Master Gallern of the Southpeak Array Overseers.”

Zizzy had been going more and more pale as she flipped through the sketches of obscenely desecrated bodies. Her experienced eye informed her that the victims had been kept alive to suffer until the very end. “These wounds, the tearing-- it looks like a ritual, but there’s no circle, no spell array. Like someone’s doing it just to hurt them.” Her voice was stiff and clinical as she relied on years of experience to keep a measure of detachment, and yet she could not help her sudden shiver of revulsion.

“That was the conclusion Southpeak’s Constable came to as well, and he didn’t wait to request official assistance. We sent a forensic mage team; they found strange mana signatures all over the crime scene. They couldn’t identify them, except that the magic involved was neither summoning nor soul magic. Worse is what they did not find.” The Lord-Commander had an expression of cold fury in his eyes as he continued, “They were completely drained of magic. While alive. And then mutilated. In the cases of the women and girls, raped. Only after that were they permitted to die. The [Oracle]’s message is merely confirmation.”

“[Mage-Eater],” whispered Zizzy. She now knew why she alone had been summoned... No mage-type class could face one, especially if whoever it was had already become powerful enough to take a Circle-Master like Gallern. The woman had maintained and powered the Southpeak Lesser Array with perfect diligence for a decade. A sudden horrible thought struck Zizzy.

“The Array! He’s targeting Storm Breakers!”

“Yes,” came Terrick’s blunt reply. “Since Gallern he has stuck exclusively to Breakers and obvious mages. And with the Mana-Storm being this bad, we need all of them, Ziz. I had already planned to send you after him, but the [Oracle] beat me to it.”

“I’ll go, of course, but I don’t know why the [Oracle] would send a message requesting me, personally.”

“It’s not a message about you, Zizzy; it’s a message to you. Care of the Lord-Commander of the Stormbreak Wardens. It reads as follows:”

“Constable Zizzy, or rather Ix’zizzixtrim the Succubus. Unlike most of your kind, you have spent the eighty-seven years since your summoning in faithful service to Stormbreak Isle -- and by extension, all of mankind. Your unique skillset and racial traits will be necessary to stop The Defiler, the monstrous killer that now plagues the island. He is a [Worldwalker], and will become dangerous very quickly by his otherworldly nature. You are immune to a [Mage-Eater]’s draining skills by yours. You have little time; he will continue to slay Storm Breakers until there are no longer enough to fire the Array and break the World-Storm. For the first time in the history of Anfealt, a demon shall bear the [Seal of the Oracle], and may all who block her path be struck from the Hall of Stories.

Constable Zizzy, be as swift and merciless as only someone of your nature can be, and may your Story be Remembered.”

The Lord-Commander held out the [Seal] sent by the [Oracle], a simple coin-sized representation of the mysterious eye. As Zizzy held her hand out in a daze, unable to respond, the man placed the Seal on the back of her hand where it stuck a moment before melting into her skin with a gentle hiss.

“Your orders, Constable, are as follows: Proceed at once to Southpeak Village and track this piece of dragonshit directly. You have honored your oaths to the city and never used your extra-human abilities without permission for the past eighty-four years; that permission is once again granted.” Zizzy shuddered, shoulders relaxing as if a great weight had been lifted from her. “Here is this [Worldwalker]’s Writ of Execution.”

As the Lord-Commander reached into a drawer of his desk to withdraw a slender, sealed scroll, inky-black wings of silken midnight made material unfurled from her back. As he extended it across the desk, a scaly, spade-tipped tail snaked out of a long-disused fold in her trousers. As she took it in hand, a lazy, satisfied grin spread across her features.

As Terrick's brown eyes met Zizzy's glacial blues, that color melted away, yielding to an inhuman shade of reddish gold.

"Do what you have to, Ziz," the Lord-Commander continued quietly, formality giving way to warmth. "Feed if you must; you have my authority as well as the [Oracle]'s." He rubbed his face, and for a moment, he looked as old as he was. "Nature of his crimes aside, he's threatening the Storm Breakers' ability to defend the mainland from the Mana-Storms.

The warmth in his tone was as fleeting as the appearance of age. "You have your orders, Constable. If there are no questions, dismissed."

Zizzy turned on her heel with a grace that had not been present before, and the raw predatory intent that radiated from her as she left his office made itself known even before eyes began to turn and widen. She did not stop to enjoy the attention that dropping into her deeper nature caused her to crave, however. I have my orders, after all, she thought.

Wings stretching and flexing in anticipation, Zizzy strode directly down the central dais and past the gawking women and defenseless, drooling men. She had not been allowed off the leash of her oaths in over two decades, and the eagerness of her inner nature was palpable in the air around her.

Stepping outside the central doors, Zizzy did not turn down the street to approach the mana-lifts around the cliffs. She instead walked straight ahead to where the raised stone barriers with their linked chains gave a modicum of safety to the pedestrians. Stepping up onto one such barrier, she did not even pause to admire the view before letting herself fall forward, diving into the rushing updraft and falling hundreds of feet before letting her wings snap outwards. With a haunting laugh that left observers below shivering for minutes after her passing, Ix’zizzixtrim the succubus winged her way south.