As the Resistance surged into Cyrene to secure a foothold, a second actor had other ideas. Clad in all the supplies and protective garb she could muster, her task was no small one. Charged with setting free the run of a river long entrapped within the earth beneath the Vashnars, the woman had only a single opportunity to blast such a hole into the heart of the flow's source: a grotto long hidden before the gates of Cyrene.

Stepping into the phase between planes, she slinked unseen throughout Tide-wreathed streets, her goal clear in her mind. Soon she arrived, and as a goblinoid rider emerged from the amaranthine mass to thwart her efforts, the device she had acquired was set in place and lit, runes glowering upon its surface.

The Vashnar Mountains felt the aftermath, the terrible explosion shaking loose a great tumble of ice and sleet, burying many an unfortunate creature in its passage. The earth bellowed its protest as tremendous force prised it loose from its thousand-year rest, the river held behind granted glorious freedom once again.

A childish voice arose, the unhinged lilt of the Muurn spirit proclaiming happily: "The candy lady did it! Now I can kill everyone, right?"

The Lethal Weapon turned from her defense of the suddenly-besieged First of Six, and frowned. The rest of her line was occupied, the potency of this incursion unexpected. To her kin did she request direction, but none could respond.

"Instabilities identified as Muurn'ukhia and Shuun'eludiela. Commencing removal."

The Bairn Muurn squealed with glee. The azure-limned eyes of the formerly nameless spirit blinked incredulously.

"Ooooh, she gave you a name!"

Shuun'eludiela. The Snow's Tears.

As his icy waters surged forth along what was once Cliffside Road, Shuun'eludiela smiled. Hailqas'an appeared from nowhere before the rejoined river spirits, her scythe raised in deadly intent. These two interlopers would be subject to immediate processing.

With cold regard, the spirit of Shuun'eludiela blasted Hailqas'an into a shower of frozen shards, sending her headlong into the Halls of Death.

Gleefully, the Muurn spirit clapped her hands, and fulfilled her end of the terrible bargain:

"Wake up! Wake up! It's time to feed! Make the mountains bleed!"

And so, the waters of the Muurn rose in response to her call, slamming into the Tide-wreathed streets of Cyrene in a ten-foot tall wave.

The enthralled guardsmen never stood a chance. Consigned one by one to her chill waters, their bodies descended to rest in her lakebed for now and the rest of eternity, their terrible vigil finally over at last.

The assault could now truly begin.

Penned by My hand on the 11th of Scarlatan, in the year 800 AF.