Jesvae Spiritwind paused as she crouched in a tree, it’s foliage helping to block the view of her figure from the road. She let out a light sigh as she watched the group of figures approach her position, resisting the urge to shake her head.

The faction that wanted to close the city when, or if, the Merrik died did not have a name, at least not one that they gave themselves. They just considered themselves to be the reasonable party, who worked to make sure that things would be as ready as possible when disaster finally struck. Close The City, leave everyone trapped outside to die except a small list of those who would be allowed in (all nobles, of course), simple as that.

Jesvae considered them to be the worst kind of cowards; they had given up on fighting back against the beasts so thoroughly that they, in good conscience, could talk about the death of two thirds of their entire population as though it was not only inevitable, but in some ways desirable (just to get it over with and move on). They didn’t see themselves as evil (few evil people did, in her experience), they just saw it as returning to their past, hundreds and hundreds of years ago, where they were a people trapped within the mysterious and all-powerful walls of The City.

Nobody had known that the Merrik would grow old back when the decision had been made to leave the city back in antiquity – he aged so slowly that very clear drawn and written records were needed to even detect it. The records of House Spiritwind went back further than any other great house, and their earliest writings speak of the Merrik as a very young man, nearly two thousand years in the past.

The earliest records state that he was the size of a child, but that within a few days he was the size of an adult, so most scholars saw that as some kind of ability to literally grow larger and smaller, not anything to do with age.

Centuries went past, the Merrik didn’t age, the rulers of The City grew complacent, and so they decided to expand into the wilds outside the city. The powerful beasts that had kept them all trapped inside had been gone for longer than living memory, with even the oldest of their people having been born well after the Merrik had cleared them out.

Nothing had changed in generations, after all… and so they started their exploratory missions out from the city, the most adventurous of them leading the way, and the rest was history.

How long could their civilization hold without the Merrik? The cowards in the City thought it was impossible, but Jesvae knew differently; knew, deep in her heart, that if they simply gave up and retreated, it would be the end of them.

While counting the steps of her prey, Jesvae circulated the cold wind of her Cultivation through her pathways, focusing on the group as spikes of ice shot from the ground in front of them, moving to impale them and takes as many out of the fight as possible.

There were brief flashes of light as shielding wards from House Runetail activated, but her spikes overwhelmed all but a few of them. Smirking, Jesvae dropped from the tree, looking at the three uninjured figures. The easiest way to identify the nobles, she had found, was to simply attack all of them; those with the strongest shields would invariably be those who saw themselves as the most important.

“What is the meaning of thisghhhhhAHHh”

The shortest of the three was stopped mid challenge as he started at her with wide eyes, his gaze moving to trace the extremely long spear of ice that extended from Jesvae’s hand and ended up buried deep in his throat.

Jesvae gave them a demure smile as she broke her connecting with the spear of ice, its weight dragging the still gargling nobleman off balance as he fought to stem the flow of blood leaving his throat. She always found it best to start any kind of interaction with a strong statement of power, giving her the momentum to plow through the beasting lies and political beast droppings that other nobles always tried to stall her with. She considered herself to be a woman of patience, but it was the patience of a hunter, eager to wait for her prey. She didn’t see the difference.

Jesvae stalked around the two remaining nobles as the rest of her squad left their hiding spaces, rounding up the guards, her subordinate warrior-healers who practiced the House Silverlight technique doing their best to save as many of the wounded as they could: The Shieldwall wouldn’t guard itself, after all.

It didn’t take long for the first of the nobles (a tall woman with smooth grey skin) to make a move, drawing a dagger while simultaneously throwing out a hand and sending a burst of lighting at Jesvae. Not even bothering to defend, Jesvae let the bolt strike her, the cooling wind that filled her body sapping the heat and energy from the attack before it could even make her shake.

Jesvae frowned, glancing at the other noble… it looked like this would be a boring battle after all, as neither of them seemed particularly advanced in their cultivation techniques.

“Well, well, well, who do we have here?” She asked, still stalking around them in a wide circle. The third noble was still staring at the man dying on the ground with the spear of ice stuck through his throat – unlikely that he had ever seen real combat before.

The attacking squad scattered as the grey skinned woman pointed her dagger at one of Jesvae’s soldiers and reached out to throw a ball of fire at another, which caused the warding shield around the poor man to flash brightly before he yelped in pain, dropping to the ground quickly and rolling to put out the flame.

Jesvae rolled her eyes. What did this fool think, that Jesvae’s soldiers were going to break the most sacred laws of their land and attack a noble? Or that Jesvae cared if a few of them got injured or killed? All that the poor panicked fool was accomplishing, at the moment, was to slow the medical treatment of her own guards. Yes, ice spikes cooled or froze the blood around the wound enough that it slowed blood loss significantly, but many would still perish if the healers couldn’t get to them soon enough.

A spike of ice blossomed from the ground and neatly impaled the grey skinned noble's foot, causing her to scream and fall to the ground in a burst of electricity, further damaging her own soldiers, and Jesvae silently decided to just kill her as well if she didn’t beasting well calm down in the next few seconds. Someone that useless wouldn’t of any help on the Shieldwall anyway.

“You!” Jesvae shouted, moving towards the last standing noble of the group, ignoring the frightened gazes of the guards in her path as she stepped over them. It was very unlikely that any of them would risk attacking her; although she hadn’t identified herself specifically, it should be clear to all at this point that she was a noble of House Spiritwind.

The man looked at her finally, his gaze fearful as he fell to one of his knees. “My Lady Jesvae Spiritwind, I presume.” He bowed his head, as was fitting from a low noble to one of higher position. “Please, may I be allowed to treat my friend?” He gestured to the still thrashing noble with the spear of ice in his throat, the chill of the weapon itself having slowed the blood flow enough that the man was still alive, if barely.

Raising an eyebrow in surprise, Jesvae motioned her assent before stepping back to allow them man room to work. House Silverlight, was he? A noble of House Silverlight was rarely seen outside the city with so few guards. Their cultivation technique was known to be one of the hardest to master, but if he was capable of saving someone who had just had their throat torn open, he may well be worth keeping around.

Jesvae smiled. This trip was turning out to be worth more than she expected, as having a healer of this caliber at her training facility in the mountains would make things a lot easier. Jesvae casually walked over to the still screaming woman who was clutching her leg and sending out occasional bursts of electricity. Already she had killed those few of her guards who were not able to crawl away from her, and Jesvae’s own people were under orders to prioritize their own lives, only moving in to help, or subdue, their opponents when it was safe to do so.

With a distasteful frown, Jesvae stood over her, ignoring the vague tingle she felt in her feet. She then drew her sword and, with a clean motion, struck the mewling noble’s head from her body, drawing a gasp from the House Silverlight healer behind her. Jesvae smiled; it was good for her bargaining position if at least one of the nobles died (one always wanted to be taken seriously), and she felt her mood rising as she took in the scene of her successful ambush.

Now, if only her upcoming meeting with Heller would go this well…