Abianarin holds a hand up, her palm an implacable wall. The woman’s pyre, now a mighty blaze, blackening the gate of the dome, bursts with grey and green before it’s suddenly extinguished.

The woman bears pointed teeth and snarls at the group, darts at them with unnatural speed.

Shyan gets her shield in front of the form but the feral woman knocks her aside.

Abia splits a moment in time, and manages to get her staff under the woman’s feet, tripping her. She pins the creature’s neck with her boot.