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after all of you are dressed drakon takes you to the council of Hothmalor.
You are lead into a big room in the center there is a huge table with men and women of all the good races. A old man sits in a bigger chair than the rest of the consoleGreetings greetings I am Norros Vanridge head counsel men of Hothmalor I foretold of great things of you and great things are about to happen. He tells everyone the story of Malindor. But the kingdom needs help before the Malindor comes.
Daiyanissa looked suspiciously at the man, "So...What exactly do you need us to do?" Her brow raised
Before the Council meeting....
Watching Neshi try to don the Travellers clothes, Daiyanissa held her hand up to cover her mouth as she chuckled. 'Poor man.. maybe I should try to help...' She couldn't help the grin on her face as he continued, to shy to suggest how to put them on in actuality.
((OOC: Did i misunderstand? Did Neshi take off the new clothes and put on his old ones? I must have read it incorrectly))
She picked at the kilt, smiled and shook her head.
Her smile vanished however, when she took a closer look at him. She noticed that his face was void of colour, his eyes wide and searching hers for comfort, or a little understanding. She immediately regretted her laughter, her face filled with remorse upon realizing what this man must be going through. Allowing him to lead her out of the room, she looked at him and asked, "What's going on? What happened with the bed? Why do you say it's cursed?" She stopped him before they descended the stairs, and faced him, lifting her hand to feel his forehead, and then ran her fingers over his hair while searching his eyes to find out how to comfort him. They were still wide, shocked at all of the changes that happened in the last 24 hours. "I don't know what I did to you, but don't worry, everything will be fine.." Her hand rested on his neck as she tried to smile to give him the courage he so sorely needed, she rested her cheek on his while she gave him a brief hug for comfort,"It's ok", her voice but a whisper floating past his ear, "It's ok".
Shocked at herself for her behavior,she left him standing at the top of the staircase and walked down to speak with the messenger. "Duty, one thing I can always count on," she thought grimly.
She was silent on the way to the Council meeting, in wonder of her companions' reactions to the everyday things that she was used to...
"And why do you care if we have what it takes to save the world? As I pointed out earlier, we're hardly the paradigm of heroism and I'm sure this place has a decent sized army that could wipe out that Malindor guy in an instant, to say nothing of a few goblins. I'll help fight the goblins they surely have something worth taking but why are we so important?"
"Oft 'tis, that the greatest empires were founded on rumors, suspicion and fear", Neshi declares, his grey eyes boldly locking Norros Vanridge's gaze. "But then, my lord Horus-Re, the mighty Son of the Scion of the Sun would not have sent me to this strange time and this strange place unless it was truly of grave importance"
He then spits onto his palm and grazes it with the edge of his dagger. Unflinching, he waits for the blood to flow and then he smears in on the blade of his sword. "The signs from heaven have been too numerous and wondrous to not be believed. Thou hast mine bond so long as no wickedness or corruption or deception come from thee and thine"
By fire and flame! I pray to ye, Horakhe and Ankhutar-Sekhma, I pray that true and right is this, mine pledge.
And then, suddenly, something clicks into place in Neshi's memory, something ancient and terrible. Hoping against hope, he asks with a suddenly-dry mouth, "Milord Vanridge, didst thou say, 'Malindor'?"
He repeats, "'Malindor'---didst thou say 'Malindor'?"
Hey, you. Yes, you. Come on. SMILE.
<---Also? Thanks be to the radiant Ms Strawberries.
((OOC: I sincerely apologize if this may have “stepped on the GM’s toes”. Sir De-trick, please PM me if I have gone too far with subplot recap and summon exposition))
Neshi’s jaw is set in a grim line as he gathers himself up. “Back when I was but a boy, my homeland’s Northern reaches were hard pressed against hordes of fiends and undead under the command of a ruler, dark and great. His name was Malindor and his power was vast and terrible”
He pauses, letting the words sink in. “And then, all of a sudden, his dread armies withered away for it seemed that his hand was withdrawn. Upon Mulhorand, my homeland’s hour of need, Malindor’s might simply disappeared and we routed what little was left of his once-glorious hosts”
A thin smile of patriotic pride tugs at the edges of his lips but the tidings of terror that he bears are too great for the memory of past glory to overcome. “Our greatest diviners were not able to see what caused Malindor’s downfall, but they foretold that, let pass a thousand years and Malindor shall once more arise in might, far greater and more terrible than ever before”
His teeth ground together as he continued, “They prophesied that he would usher in a new world order--- one of death and decay, despair and doom. Doom!”
Blood runs down the hilt of his sword from his scored palm as he clutches it in a white-knuckled grip. He unconsciously wipes it clean on his tunic before he hefts it high. The morning sunlight scintillates on the curved blade. “Behold! I am Neshi of Nimlot’s Nome, former Captain of the Guard, veteran of the Battle of Efer-nim and the last Templar Lightbringer of the Sanctum of Sekhmet. Malindor is a misbegotten son of Seth the Shadowlord and heir of Apepi the Night-Serpent”
Shaking his sword, Neshi continues, “The path is clear now, but the road is still fraught with storms of searing sand” He sheathes his khopesh and doffs his helm, baring his scars for all to see--- four massive white streaks slash across his dark-skinned face, one nearly gouging his left eye out. “Yea, I was not unscathed from my treacherous travails and, verily, I bear the scars of that awful time of troubles. But I survived.”
He pauses, drawing a deep breath before continuing, “In those Times of Trouble, the people forsook the All-father, Ra. And then Apepi, the Serpent of the Night grew stronger, feeding off the fears and furies of the people. Apepi arose in might and devoured Ra, the Sun-Scarab. Without him, there was no sun, no stars, no day. Without him, the other gods were either swiftly overcome or fled they far afield. For an age of terror and despair, the darkness was unending and the night was eternal. The netherworld opened its maw and the dead arose and ate the living. Fiends flocked in the black skies, flocked like vultures over a dying man”
Neshi gathers himself once more and slowly spins around, addressing both the Council and his companions. He gathers his courage and even shows a hint of a nostalgic smile, recalling the few times that he’d delivered a sermon to acolytes and travelers at the Sanctum. “But then, there were those faithful few, who hung on to the old gods of Light and persevered despite the tribulation of the Time of Troubles. Lo! A savior arose from the marshes of the South, yea, from beyond the Wastes of Wesat’ta. He was born of the Lotus, Horus-Re, the Falcon-Lord who defends the world with his Wings of Salvation. He roused gods dead and slumbering alike and led the rebellion against Seth and Apepi”
Neshi gasps and bites his lips. Uncapping his waterskin, he takes a sip and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand before continuing. “It was then that I… died. I know not how I died but it was in a great searing light, a mighty fire…”
He looks at his audience once more and with heaving chest continues his tale. “Well, methought I had died.” He stomps on the floor for emphasis. “But I awoke but yester-morn… I awoke to find my beloved Sanctum naught but a sea of bleached bones, shards of stone and crock… and a sea of red sand… I awoke in a sea of sand and shards!”
He points a quivering finger at the Council and nigh shouts, “Thy messenger came to me and bid me come here… but midway on our journey here, he betrayed me and left me to die in a desert! It was the hand of my god that plucked me from the sea of sand and placed me here in thy city most fair. And now here we are…”
Neshi turns once more around and about, addressing all and meeting the gazes of his companions, his eyes lingering on Daiyanissa’s. “The path is clear but the road is still shrouded in storm and shadow. We must sally forth as champions of Light and Goodness and lay low the minions of Malindor and mayhap that king of fiends himself. We must sally forth and once more with sacred swords slay Seth’s servants of Shadow! Methinks… nigh a thousand years have passed and the day of doom that has been foretold is nigh, when day shall once more be darkened and dread shall fill the hearts of men. We must sally forth lest doom and damnation take us all… we must sally forth and strike at the heart of darkness… and slay once more the Malice of Malindor!”
With the final syllable, Neshi tries to stand at attention but fails for he had put too much effort into his speech. He walks wearily over to the nearest pillar and indulges himself by slumping against it, drained.
Hey, you. Yes, you. Come on. SMILE.
<---Also? Thanks be to the radiant Ms Strawberries.
Wow.....Just... wow... I was caught up in that speech myself, I applaude you and your Writing skills, i applaude you!
Daiyanissa Looked at Neshi's worn out body, slumped against the pillar, shocked at all that she had just heard. The sheer evil of what had happened to him had incensed her paladin senses. She was angry, her eyes flashing with a murderous glare, from blue to white, she tried to calm herself in front of the council, taking a deep breath to halt her need to scream.
"IS THIS WHAT WE ARE FIGHTING AGAINST? YOU PLAN TO SEND US OFF TO FIGHT THIS?" She took another deep breath, "And just thought to tell us little bits and pieces, you know, Those little adventurers don't need to know anything, just send them off to do errands..." She sneered, and turned away to go check on Neshi, walking a few steps and turning her head to face them again. "I'll do it, but only because so much evil sickens me, not, i remind you, because you demanded I do so. Tell my comrades the location of the Hobgoblins and what you plan for us there, Im going to check on Neshi, and make sure he's all right." She turned and walked purposefully towards the exhausted warrior, kneeling down to hand him his waterskin. She gives him a softer look, but continues to glare at the council.
"Well... You better!" Martin exclaims, picking up on the tone of anger in Daiyanissa's voice. "We'll need everything we can get to battle a force that great." Martin pauses, brows furrowed. "I suppose the hobgoblins are connected to Malindor, which means they're an incredible danger to everyone. I guess I feel better about the mission now, though a more sensible part of me feels worse."
Martin walks over to Neshi, a bit fearful of the slumped figure. "Are you all right?"
"He should be fine, Martin, I just gave him a drink. I think he might need some fresh air though. I'll take him outside and check everything out. Would you help me help him to his feet?" She asked
Martin obliged her request and assisted Neshi to a standing position.
"Thanks, i'll take it from here. Could you see if you can get anything else out of that Council?" She asked as she turned Neshi aroud towards the door.
Walking out of the Council's depressing hall, Daiyanissa leads Neshi outside for fresh air. Calling her horse over with a whistle, she goes digging through the saddlebags for something. Chatting away about trivialities to take his mind away from the seriousness inside, she pulls out a little Vial of what looks to be water. She looks at it, handling it gently. Her features soften as she holds it up to the sun, Showing Neshi that it was more than just water. It sparkled, clearer than the sky itself, so clean and pure that the Gods themselves could not wish for it any other way. She brought it down and handed it to him, resting it in his hands.
His questioning look told her everything she needed to know.
"This was blessed by the Lord Torm, The Loyal Fury, himself. His light gives one strength, it gives one a feeling of calm, and it helped me through a hard time in my life. I think that you need it now. I know HE is not one of your Gods, I know you do not worship him. But I do, and He will look over you in your time of need." She smiled as he took the vial, and turned it over to inspect it. "I promise, nothing will happen with this, it is just a personal talisman that I pass to you."
She turned and packed up her horse. "You might want to get your things ready, it looks like we will be leaving shortly." With that her face turned blank again and she lead her horse to a patch of grass. 'Looks like we are going to have fun...'
"What, exactly, can you spare? Not yet could I speak for the rest of my newly acquainted comrades, but I'm sure they could use some finely-crafted equipment." Martin looks away, lips pursed. Well, I should at least ask. He looks back up with a smile, "And maybe... we could take a look at any magical treasuries and stockpiles?"
"I second Martin's question. After all, If we are supposed to fight this magical menace we will need equally magic weaponry. Crossbows and swords don't exactly cut it against a world destroying evil creature.
(OOC: I dropped the accent, since I've rethought this character a bit.)
The steel-clad warrior slowly began to pick himself up from the gutter.
Intense pain resounded throughout his body. He could feel each muscle, for they cried out in agony. He could feel each joint, for they protested loudly as he rose. His head... Oh, his head was throbbing, pounding out a primitive rhythm as the blood surged through his body, awakening more and more pain with each cycle. His throat burned with the intensity of a thousand noonday suns and, as he swallowed, he choked at the pain. As he attempted to push himself to his feet in his staggered state, his arms locked up and he toppled down again. Unfortunately, he didn't fall backwards, instead diving headfirst into the gutter.
He took the opportunity to sample the olfactory excellence of the gutter. Well, not out of choice. But, his face was covered in the muck now, so he figured he might as well figure out what was on it. Luckily, he seemed to have not ended up in a latrine, instead seeming to be wallowing in market waste. Pig's blood was quite a bit preferable to human offal, he decided. Still, he didn't feel much like swimming in a mixture of market byproduct and rainwater gone rancid, so he rolled himself out of the gutter. He again attempted to lift himself off the ground. "Attempted", since he did not succeed on his second try. Nor on his third, fourth, or fifth. Finally, after around two minutes of struggle, he was upright; although, just barely.
"Lathander, give me some of your vitality, if you could....." he groaned as he stumbled around, his eyes adjusting to daylight. The pounding in his temples was picking up tempo, akin to a slavedriver mercilessly setting a suicidal rhythm for the rowers of a ship. The man thought wryly to himself, "Ah, now that's a beat you can dance to." He refrained, however, from setting some new musical trend, since he figured he'd end up back in that gutter in an instant.
"By Tempus, where in all the hells am I?!", the groggy warrior shouted out.
As if to answer his query, his vision slowly became less blurry and he began to take in his surroundings. He could see a market stall, some sort of fishmonger... Ah, so it wasn't just pig's blood, then. No, wait, the market stall was ahead. To his sides, two buildings loomed over him, thatched roofs and all. Behind him, a city wall. Ah, so this was an alleyway of some sort.
"Flawless victory!" he chuckled to himself, the pain lessening somewhat and his mind beginning to sharpen. A second later, he choked again, the dryness in his throat getting the better of him.
Shielding his eyes against the sun, he stumbled out into the market. Ignoring the myriad of strange looks that he earned from passerby, he sallied forth in search of water. He came to some sort of fountain, one with a statue of a maiden with an amphora pouring water from an unknown source into the pool below. After first rinsing his hands somewhat, he began to drink as much as he could from the man-made waterfall. As the pain in his throat finally subsided, he noticed a cadre of city guards - grim, serious men, clad in scale and leather, spears with wicked tips pointed skyward. They seemed to be marching towards him, most likely because his appearance was causing some noble discomfort. Deciding it wasn't a good idea to spend the next few hours being question by overzealous lawful guardsmen, he shifted his pack on his shoulder and began to run as fast as his stiff frame would allow him.
As his steps became more fluid and his speed increased, some of the muscular kinks and afflicted joints that had been so troublesome earlier subsided in intensity. Instead of the sharp, acute stabbing pain of before, he now felt only the dull, aching pain of tired muscles and day-old bruises. "A tad preferable." he chuckled to himself, his legs pumping quicker and quicker.
He threw open the door to a tavern. Well, to be more accurate, he threw open the door to a tavern, misjudged his ability to brake, and slammed facefirst into the road. Luckily for him, the guards hadn't been particularly intent on pursuit, and seemed to have better things to do than chase the warrior. As he picked himself up and made his way into the tavern, he once again noticed a number of people staring at him. This time, the intent of their stares was different; respectful, cautious, and... fearful? The warrior had no time to contemplate, as the innkeeper, a portly older chap with extremely disheveled hair and a panic look in his eyes, quickly shouted at him to "GET OUT, AND NEVER COME NEAR THIS PLACE AGAIN!"
As the man quickly complied with the livid innkeeper and began to walk slowly down the street, he gathered his wits about him. What had happened in the last few days? Wait, who was he, anyway?
Ahh... Right, this one was easy. He was Yorrick Norhelm, a wandering warrior who, until the events of the past few days, had spent most of his time slaying goblins, kobolds, and other such minor menaces in an effort to protect the towns of an underpopulated region about a weeks travel from here. Where was here, anyway? Ah, right, Hothmalor or something like that. He was here, why, again? Ah, right, some sort of letter... And an old man?
The gears in his mind finally shifted into place, and the full extent of his memories flowed back to him in a torrential downpour of images and audio, the sights and sounds of the recent past. He'd gotten a letter summoning him to Hothmalor and had ended up protecting a caravan headed there, after their guards had been killed by a ravaging goblin horde. They'd encountered some sort of scouting party and, while Yorrick had dispatched them quickly, they hadn't rested at all for fear of ambush. For days, he'd had no sleep, as he tended (with the most basic of battlefield first aid) to the merchant who'd been wounded by the goblin attack that had killed the guards and had kept watch night and day.
They'd arrived at Hothmalor in short order, thanks to the constant travel speed, just as the horses seemed ready to collapse. After dropping off the wounded man at a local temple, he'd helped the other merchant, the old man from his memories, offload the caravan at some place called the "Vomiting Horseshow"... Or something like that. He was informed, after he'd stacked all the crates of alcohol in the backroom of the inn, that they had no more rooms - some strange foreigner had taken the last one; or was it a paladin of Torm? Either way, he'd been out on the streets in a strange city, something that hadn't been much to his liking.
He'd wandered into a tavern, "The Belching Boar" or something equally vulgar, with the intent to ask for a room. That was the tavern he'd just been kicked out of, now that he thought about it. Then... What had happened?
Images of flying fists and broken tables fluttered through his mind like a hummingbird flitting from nectarous flower to nectarous flower. Ah, a public house brawl. Some misanthropic trogdlyte had brought a woman there, perhaps a lady of the night judging by her clothes and mannerisms, and proceeded to heap verbal and physical abuse upon her. Ah, right, the guy had been some sort of underworld bigwig around here. Yorrick had picked a fight with him, slugged him across the face for the way he was treating the woman. He'd been jumped by some of the guy's minions, while some other patrons leapt to Yorrick's side. Carnage ensued, broken tables and chairs flying through the air. Yorrick had taken a hit from a chair to the back of the head. Ah, that's where that particular sore spot was from. Weapons were brandished, knives and daggers, and the fight became bloody. Eventually, the guards had come along to break it up, and Yorrick, on the ground thanks to the hit from the chair, had slipped away during the confusion. He'd staggered through the city aimlessly, and then passed out in that alleyway thanks to exhaustion and the injuries he'd sustained in the brawl.
"Hmph, good thing nobody took my gear." Yorrick thought, patting the pack affixed to his back. Aside from the injuries and muscular exhaustion, the rest of his earlier pain could probably be attributed to the famous mistake of falling asleep in armor. His recollections satisfying his curiosity about his present state, he turned his attention to the letter that had brought him here in the first place. Council of Hothmalor, right, he'd better find them.
Be it fate or plain luck, Yorrick came across a man bearing the same crest as that messenger from a few days past. "Good sir!" he called out, "Could you tell me whereabouts I could find the Council of Hothmalor?!"
The man eyed him up and down, and then briskly walked by. "Oi, then!" Yorrick shouted to him, "Give a fellow a break!"
"You're standing about a hundred feet from the council hall, idiot!" the man shouted back. "Do you expect to get an audience looking like that?!" he added, but Yorrick had already turned away and was jogging towards a rather imposing building he assumed to be the hall where he was supposed to go.
Outside the building, he came across a strange pair. One was a kind-faced young lady with striking blue eyes, some sort of holy warrior, judging by the divine symbol she openly displayed. The other was some strange-looking man, a foreigner of sorts, seemingly in a bit of emotional distress. Yorrick's eyes were immediately drawn to the strange weapon girded to the man's belt - something Yorrick had never seen in all his encounters with foreign warriors. This man was from far away, most certainly. If Yorrick didn't know better, he'd say that the man was from a different era.
Yorrick pulled out his letter and began to walk towards the pair. "Hail!" he grinned at the duo, "Would you happen to know of the Council of Hothmalor?" he inquired, gesturing towards the letter and seal he held in his hand.
Regrettably, Yorrick had neglected an important detail. He had not looked in the fountain's pool when he had been fetching water for his parched throat. In his mind, he thought he was flashing a disarming smile at the two that would hopefully win him some information. In reality, he looked nothing of the sort. His normally long and flowing blond hair was gnarled, matted, and filled with dirt and grime. His armor was covered in the muck from the gutter and the small amount of blood that had not already been baked on in the sunlight was running down his chest and pooling in the grooves of his weather-worn protective suit. His face was streaked with mud and more blood, his eyes looking wild and his normally clean-shaven face marred with dirt-blackened stubble. With the grin on his face, he looked perhaps more like a demonic warrior of the undead, rather than any friend of those in trouble. He might have even looked like he was about to murder the pair where they stood if they answered the wrong way.
"Yorrick, my name's Yorrick Norhelm." he grinned once more, his hand outstretched.
(OOC: PHEW, I think I'm finally back in the story. Damn internet. And, yes, those two are Daiy and Neshi. Pardon the quality of this, I may have rushed a bit to finally get it done.)
Daiyanissa looked up to the sound of a scratchy male voice, only to see a very disheveled man. He stood tall, with ratted hair that looked to be blond at one time, with blue eyes that spoke of a good nature. He looked to be a man down on his luck.
"Daiyanissa,"She replied, "Paladin of Torm, Protector of the Light."
Detecting no evil, she looked him strait in the eye and directed him behind her.
"There, but you are going to have to wait, they are in a meeting right now." She turned her blank stare at the stranger, suspicious of what he needed with the council. "But I am betting you are here for the same reason as I. You have a summons?" She raised an eyebrow with a hint of a grin, and extended her hand, waiting for the parchment.
Looking a little shocked, he gave her his parchment of summons.
"Yeah, looks like your with us." she gave a silent sigh, "One of two options, go and get yourself cleaned up, as we leave shortly for the outskirts of the city, or get in there and make yourself known to the council, as they are providing you all horses and other equipment. I suggest you go introduce yourself, Tell them I sent you in and not to worry."
She sent the disheveled man away into the hall she was so eager to escape from, and returned to brushing her horse.
"We'll take whatever you can provide." Martin steps turns around, addressing the council back turned: "I just hope your empire can afford the costs of surviving an undead onslaught while still... running smoothly." He winks to his compatriots.
Waiting patiently for the rest of the group to exit the hall, Daiyanissa tried to focus her attentions on anything but Neshi. She was confused about what was going on inside her, urges to comfort and shield from the evils of society. She allowed herself a peek at him, feeling warm and tingly when she caught his eye.
She didn't know why she was trying to fight it, or what she was trying to fight. But Paladins never had time for personal relationships, that was the first lesson in Duty, first year of Paladin training. She never understood why they pushed that so far into their minds until now. She realized what a distraction caring for another person's wellbeing could be, and what if something happened? What if She lost that special friend while they were out looking for the Evil Being? She never dealt that well with losing, and she never dealt well with death. She knew that when she took her vows to become a Paladin. But losing someone important? She shook her head to get the disturbing thoughts out of her head.
((OOC: WARNING! FORESHADOWING! ))
'...You are meant to be here, at this time for him...It is my will...' a deep, throaty, Ethereal sounding voice whispered in her ear. A female voice, she sounded wise, she sounded like she was ready to give up on something she had never thought would die.
'Who was that?', Daiy wondered.
'I am you....I am who you were a thousand years ago....... Do not push him away......he has many things to teach you....'
Daiyanissa shook her head to send away the voice. It sounded to familiar, it sounded to haunted...It sounded...sad. She couldn't get the thought of the voice out of her head. She wondered what had happened, many situations played in her mind, making her eyes moist with sadness.
A single tear danced upon her cheek, glistening in the sunlight.
Turning to tie up her horse, Daiyanissa started to walk away, lost in her own thoughts....
Martin reads over his newfound treasures. "These will definitely come in handy." Martin delicately places the scrolls in his pack and whispers into his shirt pocket, "You stay scared, because we're going to be in real danger now." For a moment, Martin's heart sinks. "I hope we don't end up like the thief."
((Er, was there a post in front of mine?))
Last edited by ByeLindgren : 06-29-2007 at 11:30 PM.
((OOC: And what of the Necklace? what of the necklace...))
Daiyanissa pockets the gold for a rainy day. She swings herself up onto her Warhorse, Sir Micheal, and rides up in front of the group. "If I may make a suggestion... Should any of you slow down, get into the cart. Save your strength for the battles to come. I will stay up front, and warn you of anything that I might see."
She looked over the group, not very impressed with what she had to work with, she began to explain, "If we are attacked, As i will be out front, I will be picked out first, so get into your positions. Don't worry, I can handle a few Hobgoblins. What I cannot handle is incompetence. So keeping that in mind, I want you all to ready your weapons and be aware of anything unusual."
Guiding her horse closer to Neshi, she spoke as her rank, not as Daiyanissa. "Neshi, keep an eye out. I realize this Land is all new to you, so I will try to explain things as we go along. In the event of a fight, I am sure you can handle yourself." She gave him a quick smile. "BUT, even the most experienced Fighter can be caught unawares." She backed up and addressed the group as a whole again,"So we must stick together! I will not lose any of you to a selfish act in battle! If a comrade falls, or needs help, get the hell over there. When fighting against evil, they cannot break our bonds of valor and good if we stick together!" She yelled passionately, throwing a closed fist into the air.
Finishing her speech she started to turn Sir Micheal to go to the front, her plump lips set in a thin line,"...and I will make sure of that." she stated evenly in a controlled and confident voice.