The weather was starting to turn, and for this he was grateful. Even sitting there with the sun beating down on his back, he could feel it was cooler than days passed. Still, his shirt clung to his back, bathed in sweat. It was a ratty old thing, discolored from dust and travel, stained from the hard use of its short lifespan. Morwen had gotten it for him in some market or another a couple months back. It was two sizes too big, but at least he could wear it, and it hadn't had any holes. His sister had done a good job patching up what rips and tears it did accumulate, and when he folded his arms and ran his calloused fingertips along the coarse material of the sleeves, he could feel the rough texture of where she'd mended a hole: here, with a bit of cotton; here a bit of felt; here, even, a small scrap of leather sewn in. He didn't really mind how silly it must have looked. He even kind of liked having all those different materials to touch at, to pick at and fiddle with. Especially during times like these, when all he could do otherwise was sit and wait.
Wait and sit.

So wait and sit he did, arms folded, fingers plucking at the patches in his shirt. If hard-pressed, he wouldn't have been able to say with any real certainty how long it was before he heard the footfalls crunching behind him. They'd picked a good spot, he and his sister: he was seated across a petrified fallen log in a field of things turned stone. There was a lot of grit and gravel surrounding him, making it all but impossible for would-be sneaks to creep up without him hearing.

"Boy." The voice came from behind him, a little to the left. He furrowed his brow, focusing, and thought he could hear the distinct footfalls of another approaching from his right flank. Two, then? Maybe three? He didn't turn to investigate. His hands lowered slowly to the hard material of the log he sat upon, clutching at it lightly.

"Boy," The voice spoke again, a little more harsh. He sounded thirsty to Morgen, like he hadn't had enough to drink maybe all his life, or maybe that he had smoked too much wildweed and it had started to take root and grow in his throat, like older folks always warned would happen if you started smoking that stuff. "What're yeh doin' out here all alone?" Morgen could track the sound of his voice easily enough, and figured the man was circling around him now, coming from behind to stand in front of him. "What's a boy," He continued, and then cut off abruptly. There was a sharp, snort of harsh laughter as he corrected himself: "What's a blind boy doin' out here all by hisself?"

Morgen lifted his head, turning it as if he could see the man. He'd been taught that it was polite to "look" at someone while you were speaking... even if he couldn't really see them. "I'm not alone."

There was a pause. The man in front of Morgen glanced behind him, towards his partner, brows raised inquisitively. The other man only shrugged and began to peer around warily.

"I'm with my sister," Morgen clarified, knowing that this would more than likely make them lower whatever guard they had started to raise. A blind boy and his sister; not much of a threat.

"I see!" The man exclaimed, and suddenly Morgen felt a weight settle down next to him. The man sat beside him, and the boy couldn't help but flinch lightly when he felt the stranger's arm drape over his shoulders. "Well it wouldn't be right'a us to leave yeh here all by yehself while yer waitin', now, would it?"

It wasn't wildweed this man smoked; Morgen could smell the distinct, sickly-sweet scent of devilroot, and he did his best not to gag. He turned his head away and suppressed a shudder. Everyone said that stuff would turn your gums green and make your teeth fall out, and even if that weren't true, the smell alone made him wonder why anyone would ever wanna chew or smoke that rot.

"Aye, might be we could have a little fun with the sister," This was a new voice, and Morgen assumed it was the man who had been on his other side. More footfalls, the grinding sound of pebbles and sand beneath a boot. Now the second man was in front of him, but he didn't sit down.

"Oh, think we could have plenty'a fun with this one here, too," The man who smelled of devilroot chuckled humorlessly, giving Morgen a slight shake, arm still draped over his shoulders.



Sit and wait.

Morwen was about to call of the con. She was doing her best to keep herself in the shade of one stoned log not far from her brother's position. Still, the heat reached her and her Frankenstein dress stuck to her tiny frame, providing little comfort. It was too small. It, too, was a collection of patchwork, the hem lengthened by a variety of cloths to uphold some form of modesty. She sleeves had been ripped from the shoulders to allow better movement, and the material had been reused elsewhere on the dress, mending rips. Whatever good fabric she found, she saved for Morgen.

Just a little longer....

They had perfected this routine after months of use. Morgen, dressed in his rags, would sit alone, acting as bait. Morwen would lurk in hiding, ready to act. Eventually someone would show, and eventually the twins would get to eat again. They never stayed in one spot longer than two hours; either someone would show, or they wouldn't, and the siblings would move on, if only to make some distance.

Morwen learned that there were two kinds of people who would approach her blind brother on the side of the road: those who genuinely wished to aid the boy, kind-hearted folk, and those who sought to take advantage of the situation; beasts who thought they were at the top of the food chain. The latter was far more common than the former. The two men who set upon her brother were of the latter variety.

The girl shifted a bit from her hiding spot, snatching up the weapon she'd stowed in a dirty niche at the base of the log she hid by. It was an aluminum bat, dents riddling the length of it. The handle was wrapped together tightly with rubber and leather, the knob a pale yellow cloth. Morwen double-checked the knob to insure the rune was still there, written carefully in charcoal from the previous night's fire. The spell would last three minutes... more than enough time.

The twin rose, bat in hand. She lifted it to the standing of the pair, a grimace on her face. They were both hideous. The pair looked as if they'd been baking in the sun for far too long: their hair was sun-bleached, and even their eyes seemed faded from the harsh light. The one standing was a gangly thing, twisted and gnarled from a hard life spent in the Wastelands. The other, in stark contrast, looked almost bloated. It was the larger of the two who had his arm around her brother. Her eyes narrowed at this, but she remained focused on her primary target, the one who still stood. He was more of a threat; he'd be able to reach her sooner.

"Drop whatever provisions you have and leave." Her voice sounded small, hoarse from thirst. "Do this, and I will let you live."

The twisted man turned, somewhat surprised at her sudden appearance. He eyed the little thing, her face beat red from the sun. "Well, looks like we found the sister. What'a you think yer gonna do with that?" He snorted, looking at the bat. It was ugly, certainly, but didn't look terribly frightening n the small girl's hands.

"I can bring you to your knees without swinging it," She hissed, voice dripping with venom.

The man only shook his head, obviously not feeling threatened, and stepped towards her slowly. Morwen forced herself not to flinch at each approaching footstep. She'd done this enough, made these threats enough, that she no longer trembled in such situations. The gangly man reached out and wrapped his spindly fingers around the bat with ease. "Oh, yeah?" He grinned, and it somehow made him look even more horrific, twisting his face as he looked down at her over his hawked nose.

Morwen whispered something that might have been a prayer. Three minutes. More than enough time...

The withered man had actually started to laugh, thinking she had indeed been praying, but it was a short-lived sound. His laughter mutated rapidly into a shriek of pain as electricity pulsated through the bat. He fell to his knees, holding his fried hand up for incredulous inspection. As he struggled to comprehend what had just happened to him, Morwen stepped up onto a nearby chunk of petrified wood to give herself more leverage. She brought her electrified bat down on the felled man, between his neck and collarbone. This time, his scream was accompanied by a sickening crunching sound. The scream devolved into a whistling gurgle when the bat came down for a second time, across his head. When it beat into him for a third time, square in the face, he ceased all noise entirely.

Two minutes, twenty-five seconds. Still time.

"Hands off him." She didn't even need to make this command, as the man who'd been uncomfortably close to her brother was already on his feet, on the move. She readied her bat, aiming for his distended belly, straining, sweating. The man gasped and jerked, winded, and electricity from the bat pulsed through him. Her next blow was aimed for his knee, and there was a very audible snapping sound as the bone shattered. The man succumbed to his own weight, howling in pain, and he quickly went the way of his partner, screaming turned to gasping and choking and then to silence. Once, twice. Three times she beat on him with the bat, until the aluminum sides were coated in blood.

One minute, thirty seconds. She looked to her brother. "You okay?"



Throughout the vicious beating of the men, Morgen remained seated on his log, his hands clutching at the stony bark, nails clawing at the hard material. He didn't think he'd ever get used to those sounds. There would always be something chilling about hearing bones crunch, or the wet sound Morwen's bat made when it began beating at truly dead, bloodied flesh. No matter how hungry he was whenever they played this 'game', he always lost his appetite by the end of it. He gave an involuntary shudder and closed his worthless eyes, escaping.

Now he could see. It was shades of grey, and he was lower to the ground than he'd be as a man, but he could see. The grass was brittle and dry, scratchy against his belly as he skulked about. He felt his ears swiveling like radar dishes, the kinds you could see on really old towers who hadn't yet succumb to scavenging or the elements. The smells were overwhelming. Dust and sweat and blood and ozone; a storm wasn't far off, good, maybe it would cool things down even more, maybe they could collect some water tonight if they didn't reach the outpost before dusk.

It didn't turn out to be much of an escape: the sounds of Morwen beating the men so savagely was even more clear now, with his new ears. The smell of blood was overwhelming, and he felt himself starting to salivate. His host was hungry too, he guessed. Even dogs had to eat, and she hadn't been getting much more than the twins.

He slinked forward, ears pricking at the sound the dry grasses made as they whispered across his belly. He knew he didn't really want to see what the men looked like, not now with their faces all caved in, blood pooling around them... but he was also a fifteen year old boy, and fifteen year old boys were very often at the mercy of their own curiosity. As he began to creep closer, his ear twitched back, catching the sound of unfamiliar footsteps. He paused, sinking lower to the ground. Amber eyes watched as a stranger crept from the petrified forest, a wicked, curved blade clutched in his right hand. Maybe he was with the other two men, maybe he wasn't. His skin was red and peeling, indicating a long stretch in the Wastelands, not unlike the other two. He moved with a practiced heel-to-toe step, minimizing sound as he approached Morwen from behind. It took Morgen a moment to realize that Morwen wasn't going to turn around in time, too preoccupied with her brother's well being.

"You okay?" He heard these through ears that weren't his own, and knew she would assume he had shifted out when he didn't respond. His borrowed body began to tense beneath him, and then he was off, bounding at a speed his human legs would never be able to match, launching from the earth with enough force to kick up a spray of dust and pebbles as paws left the ground. The large, black dog was on top of the man in seconds, before he was even within three yards of Morwen, jaws locking around the stranger's throat...

As his teeth sunk into flesh, Morgen fled from the dog. His sight was gone once more, and he still sat hunched on the log he'd remained on throughout the entire attack. He licked his dry lips slowly, feeling as though the salty, coppery taste of blood was still on his tongue. He drew one hand up, wiping his mouth on the back of it. "Ye-eaah... I'm okay."

It was almost worse, listening to the sounds of a beast mauling a man, and so he called the dog over to him with a wavering voice. "Spot! S-Spot! Come!" The black dog, who had grown accustomed over the last several months to being overtaken by the Astral conduit, padded away from the dying man she had just mutilated. Her tongue flicked out to lick droplets of blood from her whiskers, and her matted, bushy tail wagged in content. She rested her large head on the boy's lap and stared up at him with gold-ringed eyes. Morgen smiled lightly at the familiar weight across his legs, and ruffled her thick fur.

"Did they have anything good on 'em?"



Both Morwen and the sun-baked man gasped as Spot leaped. The former turned around, bat rising, only to lower it again when she realized Spot had it covered. It was a gruesome sight and Morwen turned away quickly. This didn't spare her the sounds of teeth on tender flesh cutting off a choked scream. The girl quickly looked to Morgen, giving a soft sigh as she saw that he was no longer in in the dog. Morgen would not be a killer.

Morwen covered her mouth with her free hand as she looked at her bat. The cloth on the knob was now burned, the magic having eaten away at the flimsy material. At least it had done its job. She mentally cursed herself for lowering her guard as she studied the further-dented, bloodied tool. The bat would be left behind.

The twin felt uneasy, and as the adrenaline from the fight began to fade, the older twin found herself trembling and weak. She dropped the bat and crossed her arms, closing her eyes in an attempt to pull herself together. After a time, she approached her brother and took stock of the situation.

Three dead bodies, all near unrecognizable by the duo's carnage. Morwen wrinkled her nose at the sharp scent of blood, mixed with the stronger, putrid smell of waste. She hated that smell. "Well... first off, we got a knife," She stepped carefully over the bodies to approach the third man, retrieving his curved blade. "Won't be needing this for long, but it'll be good just in case." She moved towards the others then, eyes diverted away from what was left of their faces. She looted the withered man first, pocketing the coins she found with marked haste, as if fearful they might vanish straight from her fingertips if she wasn't quick about it. It was only a handful, but they'd gotten by on less before. As she further investigated his belongings, she was curious to find that he seemed to have been an avid reader... though a quick glimpse of his reading material revealed that the literature contained more pictures than words, and said pictures were rather crude on all manners. She tossed the magazine over her shoulder, wanting nothing to do with it.

"They're wearing decent enough clothing. This one has leather on him." Morwen quickly tugged off the gangly man's vest. "And the other one has drugs. We could sell that. Maybe even bring some coin back to Mom and Dad!"

The bloated man had the more worthwhile stuff. A small pouch of devilroot, something that always sold well and quickly, to the right people. As she continued to rummage through his things, she let out a pleased gasp. "Ah! They also have a map!" Her fingers traced over the frail, stained paper, gauging their location. "...Looks like we're close to an outpost. It must have popped up after we left home."

Morwen rose from her crouched position, careful to avoid getting more blood on her dress. She wound her way through the bodies again to rejoin her brother once more, stowing their new ill-gotten goods in his backpack. The coins she kept in her pocket. Morwen then leaned down to scratch Spot behind the ears, though she need not lean far as the large dog's head came up to her chest. "We're gonna make sure we feed you well tonight."

The elder of the twins took her younger brother's hand, tugging on it to encourage him to stand. "If we hurry, we can make it to the outpost before dark." She looked back to Spot. "Did you sense any rain in the area?"



"Smelled it," Morgen said as he stood. His hands slipped up to the straps of his backpack, adjusting the weight. Spot looked up at the pair adoringly, that look only dogs could give, and then padded out ahead of them. "Maybe it'll hold off 'til we get there."

Hold off it did. As the sun began to set over the western horizon, those still fortunate enough to be capable of sight were robbed of their sunset as dark clouds rolled in to obscure the view. Thunder roared threateningly in the distance, just as the twins managed to make it through the gates of the outpost.

Truly, they weren't much of 'gates'. The entire outpost was encircled with a shoddy fence made of the petrified wood from the nearby stone forests. Whether intentional or not, the tops of the logs making up the fence were all jagged, sharp, as if to ward off intruders. Even so, the four gates allowing access to the trading post were opened and barely guarded. There were no weapon checks, no pat-downs for "illegal" substances; they were far away enough from Eden to not have to worry about the law, and far enough away from the main roads of travel in the Wastelands to have to worry about gang assaults or turf wars. This was, like so many other outposts scattered throughout the Wastelands, a simple market. A shoddy inn had been constructed just off the main street, and travelers from all corners of the map had set up their stalls in dirty field that passed for the market square, peddling all sorts of goods, from dried herbs to knives and cured meats. One man even even advertised the selling of mutant meat, and on display, a rope around its scrawny neck, was an ill fawn, with two extra legs dangling from its belly, limp and withered. Morgen crowded close to his sister, and Spot close to him. She seemed to know that he needed her comfort, and so the large dog never strayed, always remaining brushed against his legs, reassuring him that she was there. He typically didn't like it when they came to these sorts of places. The people were loud, the smells were awful and strong and if he wasn't careful, he was bound to get bowled over by someone in a hurry.

Morwen wiped away a bead of sweat from her forehead, her other hand holding Morgen’s. The air was heavy with the prospect of rain. The market itself swarmed around the two, adding to the intoxicating heat of the storm. Morwen took a slow breath, it ending in a harsh cough as dirt was kicked up from the travelers ahead of her. She reached over and wiped the sweat from her brother’s forehead as well.

While the twins moved swiftly to the Inn at the end of the rode. Morwen paused to stare into a particular stand. Clothing aligned the rickety wooden walls, they were bright, clean, and stood out in the dusty market. Morwen let out a soft sigh, “Morgen, we…” She looked to her brother, “I think we can afford new clothing. And a hot dinner. We have to look good for our parents.” She squeezed his hand again, grinning a bit now. The chance to get new clothing, it made Morwen’s heart raced a moment. She moved quickly away, other expenses needed to be handle.

Morwen kept her head down, only to glance up when a sign caught her attention. A circle with an M painted in read, and a harsh “x” was carved into it all.The twin swallowed hard, the red of the sign didn’t quite look like paint. She squeezed her brother's hand tightly “Keep your head down.” She whispered softly, “Close your eyes. It’s one of those towns.”

The market ended abruptly, a small barely kept courtyard is what signified the Inn was near. The inn, was a glorified wooden shake. Made of a combination of petrified wood and actually lumber, it looked like it would fall apart in a good bit of wind. Morwen raised an eyebrow. She lead the two inside.

Morgen kept his head low, not needing to be told twice. While more often than not he wasn't given the time of day (literally and figuratively speaking) by people they encountered, the risk was always there. While one would need to be close enough to kiss him to notice the odd limbal rings in his wasted eyes, all it took was one person to recognize that they were unnatural, scribed by the skilled and merciless hands of an enchanter, marking him as a conduit. He closed his eyes, allowing Morwen to assist him in meandering through the market. All the conversations seemed to roll into one murmuring, nonsensical noise. The only sounds he really picked up on where the occasional exclamation of shock or disgust when someone got to close to Spot, or noticed her skulking through the crowds. Lots of people liked dogs, he knew, but Spot was big and bullish and unwavering. She didn't flinch away from people, remaining steadfast at Morgen's side.

"Get that mutt outta here!" It was the first clear words that rang out across the room to them as they made their way into the inn. Morgen gathered that the common room must have been mostly empty, as the shouting didn't seem to interrupt much discussion. "We're a establishment, not a feckin' kennel!"

"Sorry missus!" Morgan said hastily and lifted a hand to Spot's head. His brow knit as he tightened his grip on Morwen's arm, briefly shifting to the beast to visualize for the dog, images of where to go, to wait. Spot was retreating back out the door before it even had a chance to fully close behind them, and Morgen worried for her safety. She was big, lots of good meat on her for a desperate man... and simple sport to beat and kill, for the cruel man. Nothing he could fret over now; she was on her way out, and he hoped she would either hunker down around the building side somewhere, out of sight, or make her way clear of the outpost, away from those who might wish her harm simply for the sake of harm. He always felt naked when the dog wasn't near, defenseless, and he edged closer to Morwen.

The inn was single-story, a large common area sprawled out in front of them from the only entryway. There were two windows along the side walls, covered crudely with ratty curtains that flickered with the occasional breeze. A short hall stretched out just to the right of the bar with seven doors, presumably leading to seven rooms available for patronage.

The woman behind the bar who had snapped at them upon entry was eyeing them as if she expected trouble. And why not? Two kids like that were bound to be up to no good. Likely pickpockets, either ducking in to avoid a pursuer or looking to steal something from her. She was old, but it was a fair bet that she looked much older than she truly was. Her dark hair was streaked with strands of dull grey, piled into a haphazard bun atop her head, and while her eyes were sharp, a brilliant shade of ice blue, the flesh around them was heavily wrinkled, likely from too much time spent in the sun, squinting against it. Her skin was darkened, splotched with spots that were even darker, mottling her features. Perhaps she had spent much of her youth working at inhospitable crops in the wastelands; perhaps she did still.

"If ye ain't got coin for a room, git back out there. Ain't desp'rate enough to be servin' no kids any moonshine."

Morwen jumped at the immediate shouting, she gulped, letting Morgen talk a moment. She scanned the room, hunching her shoulders and gripping the edges of her dress. She took a shuddering breath, reaching a hand into her a sewn pocket slowly and producing a coin purse. It was frankensteined like her dress, various patterns and fabrics tied together with a ratty piece of thread-bare rope. Only this time, there was a color theme. She had seem to taking a liking to the color green. All the fabrics ha da splash of the verdant degree to it.

She held onto Morgen as she moved closer, only he could feel that she was trembling. It’s always this way with the first interaction in a new outpost. The innkeepers were normally the gossip of the outposts, the ones who know the regulars and the wary of newcomers. They already made a commotion. If the Miraclum was truly following them. This innkeeper could remember them, the black dog, the patchworked outfits. They stood out too much. The short walk to the counter was filled with heart-pounding, worst-case scenarios. Torture, recapture, death, those were just some of the scenes going on in her head.

A clink of her coin purse on the desk ended those thoughts, at least for now. Morwen looked up to the aging innkeeper. The twins eyes were a little too big for her sunken face, hair wild and frizzed from her days in the elements and lips chapped. She huffed, “Do you have vacancy?” Her voice did not waiver, but only spoke loud enough for the innkeeper to hear. She gripped tightly to her brother’s hand.

Morgen kept pace with his sister easily enough, hoping his own... somewhat confident movements would lend her some courage. He knew that she was afraid of being memorable, she was always afraid of that. In the beginning, when they had first run away, he had been the one fearful, always asking his sister what if they got caught, what if they found them? As the days turned to weeks, and weeks to months, and months into almost two years, he had slowly but surely lost that fear. The Miraculum were a large group, and surely they didn't have the time for a couple of kids who happened to bail late one night. They likely had runaways fairly often, and he doubted they cared enough to spend the time or resources on tracking down every last deserter. It was the Bloodhounds that worried him more, and their notorious reputation for being rather merciless. They wouldn't see a couple of kids; they'd see targets for elimination. He took some solace in the fact that the hunters tended to target real threats: mutations in the Wastelands, cells of the Miraculum, Enchanters or Conduits who were actually wreaking havoc. All he and his sister wanted was to get back home.

The barkeep narrowed her eyes down at Morwen; apparently even the sight of coin did not lessen her suspicion. "Whar'd ye steal this from, then?" It must have been a rhetorical question, because one hand darted out with rattlesnake speed to snatch up the coinpurse. She dumped the contents carelessly on the counter top and scrutinized the cores. "Three fer a room," She said, matter-of-fact, and pinned three of the poorly-milled coins down with ink-stained fingertips. She didn't replace the rest of the coins in the pouch, leaving that to Morwen... but at least, hard as the woman seemed, she wasn't about to rip off a couple of kids. She was honest.

Morgen gave his sister's hand a reassuring squeeze. His eyes were open again, but his head was still bowed, sightless gaze downcast. They'd get away from this old buzzard and into a nice room. Even if it wasn't really all that nice, any room was nicer than having to spend another night out in the Wastelands.

A small wave of relief came over the older twin. Only three coins, compared to the last inn this was a steal. No over charging for the dog, or having s brother, or some version of an age charge. An honest inn so close to home, that was a good sign. Was trade finally good again? Did the money their parents got from selling her and her brother get them to survive the oncoming winter? Maybe they were at the market right now!

Morwen kept her face passive, she hurriedly scooped the remaining cores into her bag. She took the key, "Thank you." She bowed her head to the elder inn keeper.

The door creaked loudly as it was pushed open. The room was basic. A bed, a desk, a chair and a small opening in the wall that could be called a window. Morwen dropped her things and tested out the bed. It was a shoddy four post bed, the mattress a flimsy sack filled with hay and the pillow was missing. There was a thin blanket folded on top. Morwen giggled. She let go of Morgen's hand and flopped on top of the bed.

She rolled to her back to stare at the rickety ceiling. "Morgen." The twin sat up quickly, "Morgen we're almost home!" She giggled again, "Just one more day, then, bam. I can finally show you what Mom's flower garden looks like!"

Morgen smiled as he listened to his sister flop about on what must have been the bed in the room. He took a few careful steps away from her, one hand extended to feel for the wall. Hands hard and scarred from a lifetime of discovering the world by touch brushed lightly against the stony wood wall and he began to pace about the length of the room, with the walls as his guide, determining how big it was.

"Forget the garden," He turned his head a little in her direction. "I can't wait to see what mom'n dad look like. What Micah and Mordred and Myles and Maaria and baby Maddy look like. I guess maybe she isn't really a baby anymore though..." It occurred to him that their parents might have even had another child while they were away, and this excited him, too. He loved being a big brother; the more the merry, right?

His hands felt a sudden absence in the wall, and a stale breeze fell across his face as he turned to the "window". There were no curtains here, but on either side of the window were poorly-crafted shutters so that patrons might close themselves off from the sounds and smells of the market beyond. Morgen stood at the window for a while, relishing the breeze, the noises and scents he caught wafting their way. The market would be winding down soon, he knew; the sun would be setting, and the storm still loomed, threatening to strike, in the distance. Rain would come overnight.

“Oh! Oh right!” Morwen sat up and tapped her forehead, “Sorry, I...I didn’t even consider that. Sorry.” She rose from the bed to stand by her brother.

The air was still sticky. Morwen could almost feel the electricity in the air, the rain would come in a matter of hours. The elder twin looked to her brother, the shabby clothes, the dirtied hair and face. She then caught her reflection in the mirror, she looked much of the same, her hair longer and knotted from days of mistreatment. Morwen knew Mom and Dad raised them better than this. “We have a few cores left.” She stated, “Let's go to the market before it closes, get some of those end of the day deals. New outfits, a brush, some soap. We have to look presentable.”

A quick pat to her side confirmed that she still had the pouch. She grabbed Morgen’s hand, heading quickly to the market. It had been a long time since Morwen was this excited. She and her brother beelined it to the stall with the clothing earlier. They still had the dresses up. Colorful ones, printed ones, long and short ones. Morwen bite her lower lip in excitement. “Morgen...Morgen. Should we match? Should we choose similar colors? There’s so many choices.” She said in a hushed whisper, "I like the red flowered one. You could wear red...or...um-"

“Pick quickly. We’re closing soon.” The man snapped as he interrupted Morwen's babbling. He was younger then the inn keeper, but his eyes were shrewd. He eyed the two filthy twins. Clearly already agitated with the last minute customers. Morwen nodding quickly. “R-Right.” She looked to her brother expectantly.

Morgen frowned lightly at her insistence, but he wouldn't argue with her; he rarely did. If she wanted to get dressed up for their parents, he guessed he didn't have any real good reason to say otherwise. Maybe he cared less about how they looked since this is how they had /always/ looked, to him. He'd never seen Morwen with washed, combed hair, or himself without the dirt smudging his face. The first time he ever saw anything was shortly after their escape from the Miraculum, when he'd seen through his sister's eyes. They'd been starving and ratty then, and maybe it was because he'd never seen before, but he didn't really understand what the big deal was.

His shoulders hunched up when they returned to the streets, as if to ward off prying eyes and loud noises from all around. He kept his head down, obediently following in Morwen's footsteps, led along like a mule at the end of a rope. When she stopped, he paused beside her, waiting as she browsed the clothing. He could almost feel the shopkeep's impatience before the man even spoke. The boy shifted uncomfortable on his feet, head bowed. An awkward silence lapsed between them before he realized she was waiting for his response. His brow furrowed as he tried to recall the different colors Morwen had shown him on the rare occasions he peeked through her eyes.

"Um... well. I guess I kinda like green..." He shook his head, then, and shrugged. "Just pick somethin' nice if you're gonna... I wanna go back to inside. I'm hungry." She could worry over clothes all she wanted; Morgen would worry about the food, what half-decent meal maybe they'd get tonight. It'd been two days since their last meal, a two-headed snake whose head had been crushed beneath a stone. The meat had tasted rotten, but they hadn't gotten sick, and it had given them enough energy to make it this far. He gave his sister's hand a brief squeeze, realizing he might have sounded a bit short with her.

There was a rumble of thunder in the distance. Morwen gripped her coin purse tightly. "O-Oh. Right...Sorry. I'll...I'll be quick." She returned the squeeze of her hand.

She bit her lower lips, the flower dress was beautiful. There was a matching shirt as well. She reached up and felt the fabric, it was a light airy material. The dress and shirt were cool to the touch and felt soft. It felt expensive, unnecessary. Morgen wouldn't be able to see it anyways. There were matching pants and shirts near by. These were colorless, unflattering, but sturdy garments. Meant for those that work outdoors. The man grumbled, "Are you going to stare all day, or pick something?" He snarled.

"Sorry..." Morwen moved and picked the sturdier outfits. They would last longer and be more useful in the long run. She paid quickly, having more then enough for food at the inn. She placed the outfits in Morgen's bag. "We can just take a bath and such tomorrow, at home. Lets...Lets get some food." She led Morgen away, "Besides, we can even give the rest to Mom and Dad!"

There was a crack of lightening. Morwen sped up to get to the inn in time. Shoppers and storekeepers alike hurried away to the safety of their own homes. Morwen kept her head up this time. Their parents sold wood, they would be in a market like this to sell their goods. Yet, she didn't recognize one. Maybe they had a good day and packed up early! Morwen grinned, tomorrow, tomorrow this journey will be over.

Rain fell heavy right as the twins got into the inn. Morwen sat her brother down. "We'll get dressed tomorrow, we can eat food now." She looked around, "Smell anything good?"

The door to the tavern banged shut behind Johannes, bouncing off the rickety doorframe twice before settling shut. The old tavern-keeper hollered something out at the noise, but he ignored it. His cores were good and she was in no position to turn away business. Belly full of hard bread and a stew of questionable contents, he was satisfied enough to go about his business. He hated most outpost food, but not as much as he hated anything he could scrub up out of the Wasteland. He didn’t trust the water at the tavern – he’d have to boil some up on his own before refilling his canteens.

“Damn nosey broad.” Johannes muttered under his breath as he adjusted his backpack and trudged toward the market. A replenishing of supplies was in order. First aid supplies, sturdy sewing thread, more rope, boot laces, tarp, socks, ammo reloading supplies….

He ticked off the long list in his head as he approached the stalls, eyes narrowed against sun and stranger alike. Whenever he was in outposts like this, he kept his hood down and coat buttoned half-closed. No good could come out of some Wasteland mutant getting the jitters – or worse, some pickpocketing scumbag reaching where he shouldn’t and pulling out surprises that weren’t his.

After some wandering, Johannes found a stall with a box of mismatched boot laces. He started picking through them, matching up length and width while disregarding color, when he heard a nearby merchant snarl out:

“Are you going to stare all day, or pick something?”

Johannes glanced over his shoulder, trying to keep his attention on the scene on the down-low. The merchant’s attention seemed to be focused on two ratty looking kids – and by the way the young boy hung his head and stood there unresponsive, he was torn between suspecting retardation or foul play.

Tossing the merchant a core for a handful of boot laces that were quickly stuffed away in his pack, Johannes kept his eyes on the children as he continued to shop, just in case they tried stealing something. In all his years of experience, he had quickly learned to not give anyone any pity due to their age – a child is just as likely to rip you off as an adult.

Johannes frowned as the children scurried off toward the tavern like rats fleeing water. That was where he was sleeping tonight, damn it, and he didn’t want to share it with ragtag rugrats. He took his time getting the rest of his supplies from the market. He couldn’t find a decent tarp – a waterproof one – so he skipped out on that. His was starting to fray on one edge but it would hold out for a while longer. Getting gunpowder proved to be the most difficult and he ended up haggling the price down to prevent getting ripped off. That particular merchant – a short, fat man with a bad case of eczema on his arms and face – earned himself a scowl once his back was turned.

Raindrops had started to fall as Johannes slipped into the tavern, his entrance much more quiet than his exit. He hated staying here, but he was waiting to meet up with his new partner. He’d been given a name and a vague description, but that was it. Narrowing his eyes as they adjusted to the dim lighting, he scanned the tavern common room for the scribe.

Tapping his fingers lightly on the table Ezra could not fight off the bored expression that overtook his young face. Tied up dark hair still managed to hang messily in his face and give him an overall look of someone who really had no cares at that moment.

Though the expression he wore was far from honest. He was just glad to be out of that stuffy academy and the city. He’d take lawless wastes over the stifling atmosphere of Eden anyday. He dressed simply, in loose comfortable clothing, looking no part the prodigal scribe he was rumored to be. The only hint to that lay inside the beat-up looking satchel that rested at his hip.

Light brown eyes scanned over the crowd as he tried to pick out the Hunter he was to be assigned to. Johnny.. Jagger… Hell he couldn’t remember. Ruffles his hair further, thinking maybe he should have been paying attention.. But those instructors liked to hear themselves talk and all that he could recall was a faint hum in his ear as they went on and on. Drops his forehead to the table with a light thunk, drawing in looks from those around around him.

“Shit.”

Ezra flopped back fully into his chair before he continued to look over the patrons, tossing a brief glance towards the ragtag twins that scurried in before looking towards the door as it once more admitted another patron. Tips to the side to get a better look, the man seemed to be scanning the tavern for something.. Or someone. He definitely seemed to stand out in comparison to those who seemed to be going in and out of this place.. He was likely exactly who Ezra was looking for. Yet he waited, not moving from his chair… He wanted to be sure.. Though how? Even he had no clue. Maybe the Hunter got a description of him as well.. Ezra hoped like hell at least he listened.

Morgen stumbled a bit to keep up with his sister, even with their hands linked. He never liked running; there was always a chance to plow into some unforeseen obstacle, even if you were being led about. He chewed at his bottom lip and squeezed his eyes shut instinctual, hoping that Morwen wouldn't have him trip over some uneven surface in the hardpan road. Throughout their lives, she'd gotten good at leading him, but there were always those rare instances when she forgot that she had to pay attention to every aspect of the terrain, and got him tripped up.

Fortunately, this wasn't one of those times. They made it inside just before the rain began to pelt the roof. It became immediately evident that this inn was not waterproof. The old woman behind the bar snapped at one of her barmaids, who quickly ran to fetch a couple buckets. These were placed strategically in a few places of the common room to catch the rainwater that fell in.

Morgen sat where his sister placed him. He reached for the arms of the chair, only to discover he had none. He squirmed, shifting uncomfortably, and opted to rest his hands in his lap instead. "Nothin' ever really smells good in these places--" He began, unaware that the old woman was walking right behind him, bucket in hand.

"Then don't eat!" She snapped bitterly in his direction, causing the boy to grimace and sink down some in his chair. His face flushed with embarrassment. "Um..." He started again, quietly, so that only his sister would hear. "...Whatever they got is good, probably. I mean it can't be no worse than that snake we had to eat." He paused, then and added tentatively, even more quiet: "...Can we let Spot in tonight? It's raining..."

Morwen clamped her mouth shut as the inn keeper walked by, keeping her eyes down casted as well. Once the women was out of earshot, she gave a quick chuckle. "You're as red as a tomato." She muttered leaning forward, a grin on her face. "And yes, we can." Her voice was quiet as well, "Through the window."

Whatever grin Morwen had vanished when she looked to the newest patron. She paled visibly. Though the twins had never seen a Bloodhound, the way this man carried himself was intimidating none the less. Everything the Miraculum told them seemed to fit this man's description. That or he was an outlaw. A buddy of the men they killed earlier today? Morwen didn't know which one was better. She ducked her head low, her dress in her clutches again. "Do not. Open. Your eyes." She hissed softly, soft enough that only her twin could hear. "I'll get us food."

She slipped out of her chair. Her shoulders hunched again as she tried to make herself some small, nonsignificant. It seemed he was looking for something. Or someone. Did he find the bodies? The rune was destroyed, but the bodies still suffered from electrical burns. Was he looking for their killer. Morwen clutched her dress even harder, now at the counter. "T-Two of..um...whatever you have." She muttered, she avoided eye contact with the aging inn keeper again.

Hearing the tavern-keeper snap at someone again, he glanced that direction. The rugrats were sharing a table, eyes downcast like they were in trouble. He wasn't surprised. He also wasn't interested. He had a scribe to find.

Thankfully the tavern wasn't busy, and he spotted the man right away. Much to his dismay, his scribe looked like less of a man and more like a boy. Was he even old enough to be on assignment out here, and out of the academy? There was a sinking feeling in his stomach. More kids. He didn't want to babysit, he wanted to finish this assignment.

Johannes strode over to Ezra's table like he owned the place. His thick soled boots, probably once black but now dusty from travel, clunked against the old wooden floor. Tall, broad-shouldered, and muscled, he no doubt stood out from the rest of the outpost's population simply because he didn't look sickly or starving. In the warmth of the tavern he unbuttoned his hooded brown jacket, revealing underneath a brown leather vest, and under that, a thin cotton shirt. The shirt seemed to have once been grey but now it was just the color of Wasteland dust and sweat.

Inviting himself, Johannes took a seat right next to the scribe. "Ezra." He leaned in close enough to the scribe that he could lower his voice. It was not so much of a question on his part as it was an answer to Ezra's lost look. "You're late. Do you have what you need?" As Johannes leaned close enough, Ezra would be able to see that there was a holster at Johannes' side, concealed by the vest and jacket. A metal-and-wood handle poked out of it - no doubt some kind of firearm.

Ezra lifted his chin of his hand to regard the man as he strode towards his table acting as if he was head of Eden himself. Unable to suppress the rolling of his eyes, Ezra briefly wondered if the man realized he stood out for miles in a place like the Wastes. Yet knowing what he did of the Bloodhounds he went with the fact that the older man likely did not give a damn.

An audible sigh left his lips as the Hunter stepped closer, he could tell this man was going to be a barrel of laughs yet still.. He did admittedly look to be the sort that was reliable, though he was likely lacking in the sense of humor department. ‘Well.. This should go well.’ Swinging himself around in the chair the dim light caught the hairpin, likely giving Johannes solid confirmation that this was indeed Ezra. Though for all his sarcasm, Ezra too, stood out among the people of the Wastes.

Slowly his brows lifted as Johannes helped himself to a seat and made himself comfortable. “One and only. You’re .. eh.. “ ...He still could not recall the Hunter’s name to save his damn life, yet the accusation of him being late quickly snapped up his focus and he frowned. “Late? ‘Course I’m fucking late. The academy just rolled me outta the door like, ‘Surprise, your ass is travelling the damn expansion of the Wastes for your first job’. So yeah.. Sorry I ain’t super punctual. Big damn place, ya know?” Annoyance creeped across his features and he gave a wave of his head. “Yeah.. I got everything.” A part of him felt a small twinge of guilt, it wasn’t … err this guy’s fault that he was tossed out in the Wastes suddenly. Yet he stood by his words and refused to apologize, though light amber eyes flicked to the firearm at Johannes side for a brief moment. Relaxing the agitation in his tone he gave a small motion towards the man before resting his chin once more in the palm of his hand. “Seems like you’re ready too..”

The door was tossed open with such force that the wall it collided with shuddered, threatening to buckle. Whether the wind caught it and helped it along (which was entirely plausible; the rain had begun, and the newcomer's coattail whipped wildly behind him from the winds that accompanied it) or the stranger was simply careless and violent, it was difficult to tell. He strode in as if he owned the place, and the woman behind the bar glowered at him immediately. This didn't necessarily mean much, as she rather glowered at everyone... but one of her serving girls who had been in the middle of drawing the shutters of one of the windows caught sight of him and immediately fled back to the bar, her blue eyes wide with fear.
They recognized this man. He'd been here before.

"Room for one more?" He spoke loudly, as if trying to gather the attention of all present in the room. Morgen furrowed his brow at the voice, and suddenly went pale. He knew that voice. There were those with sight who claimed they never forgot a face; he could say the same, with voices. Why, though?! Here, of all places?

Hard leather boots thumped audibly against the floors as he prowled inside, not even bothering to close the door behind him. He was a tall, lanky man with a head full of dark hair. His eyes were a shade of brown so dark they may as well have been black, and there was an almost playful mirth in them. He couldn't have been any older than thirty-five or so, and his steps were purposeful, confident.

"Not fer yer sort, Bast" The old woman behind the bar spat. Her hand dropped behind the counter, no-doubt to some homemade weapon. She was a good foot and a half shorter than the stranger, and probably had twenty years or so on him, age-wise. Nonetheless, the old bird was ready to defend her property, little as it was.

"Morwen..." The boy spoke quietly, and even with the rain rattling the roof above their heads, he still felt as if everyone could hear him. That was the fear, it was making him paranoid. "We g-gotta go..." It occurred to him that if they bolted for their room, the man would take notice of them... but sitting here, out in the open, he would see them anyhow! At least if they ran, he might spare a disinterested glance, and not think anything more on it...

"I love it when you play hard to get, Rali," Bast purred towards the barkeep. He was smiling, but there was nothing friendly about that smile. It didn't quite reach his eyes. Even with that smile plastered on his face, he was eyeing the old woman like he was picturing what her insides would look like on the outside. She must have sensed this as well, because her eyes narrowed... yet she still did not whip out whatever weapon she had under the counter. "But come, now..." He continued, lifting his left hand to turn a ring on his right middle finger about. The stone in the ring was rather big, almost gaudy... and inscribed upon its facets were intricate runes. "You know I only stop in to see if anyone wants to make a bit of coin. Take on a... once in a lifetime opportunity..." His eyes scanned those present in the common room, a curious cursory examination. His eyes narrowed briefly towards Johannes and Ezra; they were interesting, certainly out of place... perhaps not good candidates. He almost skipped over Morgen and Morwen entirely, but something caught his eyes, recognition, and his attention snapped back to them. Perhaps it would be his downfall that his focus was aimed towards the kids, and not the potentially dangerous hunter in the room. He hadn't even really considered the idea that the man at the other table was a hunter; this recruiter was far too used to being the big fish in the little pond, the feared one.

"Aren't you two far from home?" Morgen had placed his hands on the table, starting to stand, but the sudden query, aimed in their direction, froze him. They'd been spotted. The stranger gave a short laugh, then. "Your real home, I mean. That hole-in-the-wall we rescued you from was hardly a home at all. Why, of all the places in Ogden, would you be trying to get back there?!"

It was just their bad luck. Any old Miraculum out of the Wastelands could have walked in here and skimmed right over the twins. So why did the one who came strolling in here have to be the same man that had 'recruited' them from their home in the first place? He stepped up behind Morgen, placing a hand on the boy's shoulder to push down, encouraging him to sit again. Morgen did so with little resistance, unsure of what else to do. Should he skinwalk? Should he get Spot?

"You leave them kids alone now!" Rali snapped from behind the counter. She drew her weapon out now, and it was almost pitiful in the face of the Miraculum Enchanter: a piece of genuine lumber -- not the petrified wood so abundant in these parts -- with rusted nails sticking out in all directions of the compass on one end. "They're payin' customers!" She'd never admit it, but she also didn't want to see any kid hassled by his likes. She had seven of her own, though three died in their youth and the rest were grown and gone, scattered to the winds.

"Take one step from behind the counter, Rali, and I'll burn this whole place down. Petrified or not... I can assure you, it will burn." His hand remained on Morgen's shoulder, but now his eyes flickered to Morwen. He gave her a sweet smile. "Hello again, sweetheart..."

[s][/Morwen half stood from her table. She was on the way to order some food. Like everyone in the inn she turned to look at the newcomer. The twin felt her knees go weak. She almost collapsed back into the chair, staring at the table.

How.

Why? Why /him/.

She heard her brother, but didn't quite registered the words. The hypothetical scenarios from earlier dominated her mind. But now it as with the Miraculum. With Bast. Her heart raced at the thought of him and the attention he gave her. They were all unwanted, the flattery, the gifts, the compliments, and worse the touches. Morwen wrapped her arms Around her stomach, she felt sick. She felt powerless.

She was snapped from her thoughts, a glimmer of hope rushing through her. The hunter and the scribe. They would help. They had to help. That's what they do. Morwen would play dumb. Bast didn't know Morgen could skinwalk, he didn't know about the hunter. Morwen could do more magic now, there was a chance. Play dumb.

She jumped when Bast walked over. She gripped her side more, hunching over. Sweetheart. He said it just like he did before. Morwen felt tears gathering in the corner, her skin paled. Remember the hunter. He will help.

Slowly, Morwen raised her head to look at Bast. She didn't look him in the eyes. His nose would do. "G-g-Go a-away." She croaked in a hushed whisper, tears still in her eyes, "W-We a-are home." Her voice sounded weak, hoarse. Her terror leaked into her voice. She gulped, drawing herself as far away from Bast in her seat.

Johannes hated everything about every Wasteland outpost he had ever visited. The rooms were too hot. The food was too bland. The drink too bitter. The bathwater too cold. The people too crude.

But most of all, he hated the Miraculum.

They had a special rotten vibe, those sorts of mages. He could never put his finger on what caused it, but it sure as hell was strong with this one. Bast, they called him. Short for bastard, probably.

Johannes kept his eyes on Bast and his hands on the table at first, observing. The cocky little bastard ignored him like he was a lampshade. Just the way he liked it. He was almost content to watch a moment longer until he approached the young kids.

Not just any bastard, but a sick bastard too.

Johannes leaned over to Ezra and dropped his voice to a barely audible whisper. "Stay here." He ordered, then slid out of his seat.

Unlike before when he had entered, Johannes kept his steps light and impossibly silent as he approached Bast from behind. Getting close enough to speak to the scumbag in a low voice - that damn smell, it was awful this close - he murmured to Bast.

"Best be removin' your hands from that kid now."

His voice was firm, steady, and cold, yet it had a drawl to it. It was an order, not a request.

Ezra glanced up as the door open, his brow pulling into a furrow as he caught Johannes’ expression towards the man standing there. Confusion worked across his features and he didn’t seem to understand what the big deal was until his eyes landed upon the man’s face.

The youth was unable to suppress the shudder that ran down his spine, this man was eerie.. Seeming to wear a putrid veil around him and proudly it seemed too. Miraculum. The color drained from Ezra’s face as his hand suddenly went to his bicep, though he quickly turned his face towards the table to hide his look of fear as Johannes leaned to whisper to him. No fight.. No snarking. Just a softly whispered, “Okay.”

Though he mostly kept his face angled towards the table his light brown eyes followed the Hunter towards where the mage stood, intimidating the two kids who sat there. His heart plummeted into his stomach as Johannes approached. Shit, he was not prepared to go up against an agent of the Miraculum.