you know that even should the air fill with poison or some other bane you, she, and Dany will be safe. A fresh breeze wafts through the chamber, driving out the scent of corruption. Distantly you feel Lya's hand upon your changing flesh. a ward against vitriol, not the strongest but the swiftest and farthest reaching. The priests barely scramble out of the way even as the seal in Dany's hand gives a single pure chime from the power she forces through it in her haste. With arcane quickness the case bearers chance toward the ghostly glow of the altar, as one carrying a battering ram to the walls of an embattled city. "Get it to the altar!" you shout at the minotaurs, your next words a blessing upon all present.
You pay them no mind, fingers already tightening about the cold ivory of the ancient spell-focus. The very air seems to grow laden around you as the whispers in the dark become louder, more insistent like the buzzing of gnats upon a carcass, building to some obscene crescendo. Twenty-Third Day of the Eleventh Month 292 AC
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