Grace of Aralis
“Get up, Crowlin!” Myrrdin hissed. Across the platform, the entire staff of the Instructory, with the sole exception of Crowlin, had been slain by the spell circles that had sprung up without warning, leaving them helpless to fight back. Blood and water alternately pooled on different areas of the platform, and Crowlin, freed from imminent death, blinked sweat out of his eyes, patting out the smoldering sections of his robes.
Crowlin staggered to his feet, shedding his outermost robe. As he did so, an arrow thudded into the platform at his feet; he staggered back, quickly raising his hands and casting the Grace of Aralis. A cocoon of strong winds immediately surrounded him, and the next arrow to come his way was thrown off to the side, diverted by the turbulent winds.
“You must extend the shield spell!” Myrrdin urged as the masked figures on the roofs began targeting all the senior students that hadn’t been killed by spell circles. As the remaining students were brought down by arrows, leaving fewer and fewer survivors, Crowlin picked up his sword, green light filling the runes carved into the blade. Raising it point-down, Crowlin let out a brief plea.
“Aralis, goddess of the winds - hear my cry and give me the strength to protect the innocent!”
Slamming his sword down into the platform, both Crowlin and Myrrdin were thrown back by the violent explosion of wind that ripped through the Courtyard, blasting arrows aside and divesting the trees of their petals and leaves. The powerful whirlwind extended beyond the Courtyard, pulling and grabbing at the ambushers, even yanking one down off the roof and sending him flying to the ground stories below. The other masked attackers drew runes of red light in the air, their bodies seeming to explode in heavy showers of red sparks as their spells took effect.
The Grace of Aralis lasted a minute more, and then the howling whirlwind began to fade, leaving in its wake no more than a dozen and a half survivors amid the carnage of the ambush.