It's okay. This is okay. This is expected.

Okay, maybe not entirely expected - after all, who goes into a stable expecting a freaky phantom ghost horse thing. But the scribe seems to have it under control and, screaming notwithstanding, appears to be riding it as you'd expect of any other animal.

Lucky ghost horse even got ear scratches.

That said, Kalaya was expecting that this mission would have to shed the veil of stealth at some point. For one, she's never been that great at sneaking around and, secondly, stealing horses was always going to put them on a timer. This whole scenario just meant that they were ahead of schedule!

Kalaya kicks open the stable doors, signalling to Fengye to follow her, before crossing the remaining distance to the broken gates at speed. When the scribe's voice starts to fade, Kalaya steps in with her own and, screaming, charges through into the unknown.

And if this means she happens to draw the first volley of fire away from Fengye, then that's just a bonus.

[Defy disaster 6 + 1 + 2 + 1* = 10 - Kalaya is willing to sacrifice her safety to get them into the dungeons faster than the defenders can react. Gallant Rescue activates and grants a string on Fengye. *Fengye spends a string to give Kalaya a bonus +1]

"I will never let a weaker person fight their own battles." An oath was sworn, and that is binding.

Piripiri dives off of Han's shoulder after Azazuka as she tumbles, knives flipping out, not in the awkward clutch of a maid but a trained, steady grasp. She feels the world slow to adrenaline-soaked heartbeats as she falls, giving her time to not come up with a plan, but select the sequence. The student is in danger. There is a large snake. Kill it.

Flip and land on your feet, bouncing low into the undergrowth that seems to cushion her even as it resists the viper. Surge upward, knife the underbelly, one wound, two wounds. Kick aside brass demon-serpent to stop upward momentum, jungle plants bending as if in a wind from the force of her intent, and ignore the brass bastard as it flies outside of her tunnel vision. Far enough away and she doesn't care. Seven left. Flip knives point-down. The largest snake, bleeding twice over under it's mossy, spirit-touched scales, lunges. No way out other than down, and she throws herself to the ground, trusting her body weight to (inelegantly, but effectively) kill the smallest one and surprise to keep her from being bitten, roll to the side, pierce the head of one nonmagical but likely poisonous snake that was getting close to Azazuka and getting ideas, and kick yourself up to standing again. Throw knife to the eye of the large one, replace with spare from boot as it hits more from luck than judgement, stomp another, small but vicious. Three left and with no demon to drive them forward right here, the only one still interested is the very, very angry spirit-touched viper. It hisses and she circles in snake-stance, four fangs facing off.

Rolled a 4+2 on defy disaster. Gain a point of tradition, finally, from self-sacrifice following a commandment, and pay to squeak that up to a 7. Anybody paying attention knows she's a daughter of dragons.

Okay. Okay! Okay. There was always a gear switch she had to make when it was time to turn from horse as big cutie, isn't she the sweetest? to pre-eminent weapon of warfare, engine of destruction upon the battlefield. She had expected it to be an easier switch to flip when it came to nightmare demon horses from the scream dimension, and yet!

She needed bells. She'd thought to pack tea but not bells. Where could she find bells in this part of the world? She didn't have her bow either, or a proper sword, but she had an umbrella and she had her two firewands and those all added up to hopefully not embarrassing herself when it came time to fight the contents of a castle's demon army.

And she was... doing that. She was riding a demon horse to fight a demon army at the side of a beautiful knight and it was like a whole sequence of inexpressible wishes and cravings had abruptly come true. She wasn't wearing the mask but she still felt the energy of the sapphire trance all about her and, not for the first time, she wondered when she'd started dreaming.

Piri!

Circle in the dark. The light that had once embraced you has gone out or fled. Track your foe by the glint of their eyes and the shine of their fangs. Every moment of stillness you steal away must be paid back in full. Watch, for it will soon come time to collect. One moment of explosive precision, and the battle will be over. Do not blink. Do not be caught slow.

Then a Han-shaped comet strikes foot-first into the serpent and it goes flying into the night in a jumbled heap, hissing the serpent equivalent of oaths only suitable for a fourth-born to know.

And there you are, holding what are unmistakably knives, coiled under the weight of violent anticipation, now facing down the slack-jawed comet. She has many more teeth than a serpent. In case you were curious. “What.” She barks. “The hell was that?!”

There are a lot of snakes. Giri doesn't even have a good metaphor for a wave. She didn't visit the ocean much, it was far away from the mountains and dangerous, Dominion vessels and pirate vessels. Later she was just busy. Maybe this was an avalanche of snakes then. If it was an avalanche, you waited it out, found a safe place, let the dust settle, tried to move past it. You had to be careful, an avalanche might stop and leave everything still loose, more motion could set it off again, so it was better to find a way around it and past it.

The jungle's so hot, and sweat is beading on Giriel's forehead and around her arms. It's tense work catching the demon snakes. She could have made herself an island, but that wasn't good enough. No, it wasn't even just her and Uusha, there was a whole party, scattered now. And Han and the waitress, Piripiri was it, and that noblewoman? And that little priestess, where'd she get off to? A bead of sweat drips off Giriel's forehead and plops against a long frond of a fern as she steps forward, her vine lasso ready for the next snake. Everybody always wanted a witch's services. Knowing about things made you so valuable, you'd think they'd be more respectful.

Well, Uusha had been at least. She breathed, once twice and snared another snake. Had that been shame on the knight's face when she came back down? No way she was embarrassed at the thought of Giriel's touch, but maybe...she'd at least realized she overreacted. That was probably it. But still, but still, she was cute when she...when she glanced her eyes down like that, and her face forgot about its scowl. And those strong muscles.

It made Giri want to do something more. And she could. She could! She hadn't tested it yet but, she'd been thinking about how they'd gone through the hells and, well that wasn't the only way to travel, there was the astral and the elsewhere where the rakshasa came from as well. If she managed the trick right, she could move them through faster.

She just needed a minute here. She wanted to show Uusha and the others and getting Han to his little priestess sooner, that would be good too. Haven't you ever imagined that you'd see an avalanche and just be able to pop! right to the other side of it and look down from above it? Well, the snakes were coming from somewhere and that meant they were going the right way, so she just had to speed things up a little bit.

There was a flash in the dark, moonlight gleaming off knives. Both girls had come off Han's shoulders and, that was the waitress wasn't it? Explained a lot about how she'd gotten out of a demon castle in the first place. She didn't have Giri's training, but her store of magic was quite a bit stronger, moving like that. You could tell, she was someone who had reserves and a lot more even than she was letting on here. Well, that made for a couple of dragons in the group. All the better really. Maybe Han would like her.

Giri stepped around the snakes and she pulled her sword out and started dancing with it. She waved it in the air, undulating her hips, sweat trickling down her face now. Every few steps, she let the sword lower and drag a line along the ground. That was the key to making the travel quick, she thought. Carve out the route and make the motion first. She thought it should be a dance, it just felt right that it should be a dance and with magic that was half the game: symbolism and power. Lean into the motion, exert the effort, and cut the route through the earth and then she could move them somewhere else that would take it and speed them along. Uusha would probably think her a fool even if it worked though. Not like Peregrine with her mind going at warp speed just making things happen. No, Giri was the one who took her time. She'd never get Uusha that way though, not when the Dominion was here already, not when Uusha wanted her to commit to something Giri didn't believe. Not when she was already marked for Red Wolf for that matter. She didn't want to think too hard about that conflict at all. So she danced, her feet stepping carefully as her sword swung up and over her head and then down again to cut another line in the earth as snakes broke around her.

Just a little longer now.

[Giri is setting up for an astral dance. She is also smitten with Uusha, who gets a string on her. The what will Uusha dislike is in the body post.]

Kalaya!

As Piripiri could have told you, beneath Kingeater Castle is a labyrinth of old passages. The rotten smell of roses is thick enough to choke you down here, and it is lightless. Close by, too close by, is the sound of Hell’s revelry: just behind a door, on the other side of a wall— but so, too, there is the sound of barked orders, and the clash of swords. Hell is martial in nature, in some of its seasons.

Up there, you broke through some of the dolls effortlessly, knocking them aside with your sword, letting Fengye trample them, and oh! It was thrilling! But down here, you don’t have to worry about being chased (yet) or fighting for your life (yet).

All you have to do is follow Fengye, one hand on the disturbance in the air that is her horse, and hold one hand over your face to avoid retching at the thick, intolerable smell of dead roses all around.

Can it be that Ven is down here, too? Can you even fight her in the oppressive dark? Can you hope to protect two priestesses and yourself, here in the dark where danger could come from any direction?

***

Fengye!

The dream part of that was over faster than it could even properly begin. A burst through, a charge, the discharge of firewands, and then Kalaya kicked open a cellar door and the demon horse almost flowed down the steps. (It’s quite possible it doesn’t have hooves. It has something else?) And now you’re down here, in the aforementioned dark, with the aforementioned smell of charnel roses all about.

The horse is the one actually leading you, and you have to hope that it’s leading you to someplace good, and not someplace like its home. The home that is so very, very close down here.

a-click-a-click-a-click. You hear the sound in the distance, now close, now far, as if it flows through the walls. a-click-a-click-a-click. Like hail falling on the tiles of a roof.

And four winds birthed the Mother of Loss, and one was the grinding-wind, and one was the brilliant-wind, and one was the promise-wind, and one was the arrow-wind. And of these only the arrow-wind will kill, with a thousand darts, or with the arrows of Yes and No, or with a long knife, as she chooses.

That’s as clear an omen as any as to who the horse belongs to. Kalmanka, the Arrow-Wind. She can be ten thousand arrows, or she can be a needle; she can be a black wolf, a silver swan, or a woman wearing a scale-coat of arrowheads. If Ven has called upon her, she is digging herself very deep in debt.

But worst of all is that Kalmanka holds the arrows of Yes and No in her quiver-soul, with which she may inflame passions or shatter them. No sorcerer may command her to use the one without accepting that she will also use the other as she wills, and often to their doom. She could turn Kalaya into a sobbing berserker, or leave you with nothing but cold ash where your regard for her was.

Zhaojun alone could face her and hope for victory. You? Never.

***

Piripiri!

You’re not fast enough.

Which is to say, there’s never enough time to do everything! A snake’s working its way up the highlander’s body, unnoticed, while you focus on carving out space around Azazuka, who’s trying desperately to catch her breath so she can try and help. And when the witch finishes her spell, well, you won’t have time to get away from Uusha. She’ll be on you.

But you set out to protect Azazuka, and that’s what’s important. Well done! Truly a triumph of the Dominion’s way.

***

Han!

”Everything’s so hard,” a voice hisses in your ear. There’s a tickling sensation, like a tongue flicking against it. ”Isn’t it? And your heart’s been so heavy.” A comforting, knowing sigh. The kind that a good friend would make, listening to your romantic woes. ”Why don’t you sit down? Tell Aunty what’s been troubling you.”

This is an excellent idea, probably. So excellent that, if you let the world keep getting kind of fuzzy and indistinct while you share your woes, for Aunty (and definitely only her, who is the soul of discretion, and who’s listening nearby anyway?) to tut and console you.

Your blood’s heavy, too. Isn’t it? Like it’s thick. And you feel warm. No, warmer. Like you could shed a few layers, too. It’s really comfortable. Like sitting by the fireplace. Take your shoes off, your very hard-to-digest shoes. And open up that heart of yours.

***

Giriel!

That’s very definitely a Heartache Worm on Han’s shoulders. One of Hell’s nasty little ambush predators, drawn to broken hearts and inner turmoil. Takes a very long time to digest its prey, but also takes a long time to get around to eating them; you’ll be able to get it off her once you finish, as long as you can get someone to pin her down. They’re nasty little puppeteers when threatened.

You’re about to slip behind the screen, as it were. Like in a play. That’s where the fairies are. You’ll have to lead everyone down behind the screen, into the earth, through the tunnels. It won’t be a real place, and that’s very much by definition, but as long as you don’t linger you shouldn’t attract any nonexistent predators. Probably.

More troubling is the fact that Uusha’s extremely intent on the waitress. In the “I have spotted a danger” sense. You’re likely going to have to defuse a very tense situation once you pull everyone behind the screen.

What kind of stories do you like, Giriel? This is a very important question, so don’t lie to us now. We’re about to go backstage, after all.

Aunty? What do you…doing, here? She can’t talk right now, she’s in the middle of. She was just yelling at. There was, someone here? Where, where’d they go? S’hard, with the, uh, the place, it’s kinda, y’know, there’s stuff here, but it’s just over there and here, so. So maybe a little sit would be nice. For a bit.

She sits, or maybe she just stops standing, but whichever it is she falls into a chair so comfortable it must have been made special for her. Room to lie back. Put her feet up. Rest her head. Her Aunty tucks her in, warm and snug, wrapping her in thick, heavy blankets like only she can, all while breathing a soothing stream of flickering whispers right in her ear. And in no time at all she’s got her Han mumbling all those heavy, heavy words she’s been carrying in her heart this whole time.

“It’s the Kingdoms, Aunty. They’re all wrong. Everybody’s fighting everybody all the time, and it never stops, and it’s never gonna stop, and everything’s going to wilt all the time ‘cause nobody’s fighting what actually needs to be fought. Demons, and N’yari, and Dominion, everybody’s trying to eat us up. United, divided, whatever, Kingdoms oughta do their job. They should, they gotta look out for their people. How’s a average person supposed to live their life if a cat could scoop them up the second they got their back turned? They can’t. It’s dumb. They shouldn’t have to deal with that. But they do, because, everybody’s who’s supposed to be doing it’s not gonna.”

“I’m strong enough to make it better. I know I am. I just. I just need more time. It’s gonna take a while, alright? I don’t need anyone else, I’m strong enough. I should be able to fix this. There’s just.”

There’s fire, deep down in her heart. It stirs, and she must stir with it. But ah, little one. Don’t you know? You’re much too weary for such heat. Let your Aunty rub your back and smooth your hair. Let her press those tricky, tricky words out of you. Give it all to her, and you’ll feel much better, won’t you? You know you can tell her anything.

“There’s…so many people to beat up, so much to get right. Why doesn’t anyone listen to me? Why…why are all the knights so terrible? Why aren’t any of the princesses doing anything? Why’re the city folk alright with the N’yari picking on us so much? Why do the priestesses care so much about my stupid clothes? Why’s the Sapphire Mother so angry I’m trying to fix everything? There’s no one else, Aunty. I gotta. I have to do this. Won’t let ‘em take my home. I won’t let ‘em. It’s, it’s mine…you can’t take it…I won’t let you…”

“Burn. I’ll burn all of you down.”

Aunty pulls the blankets squeezingly tight. Piles up them up ever higher. Firm, reassuring pressure around her little one’s body, her limbs, nursing her aches and stilling the insistent buzzing in her head. Han doesn’t have to stand anymore. Doesn’t have to think anymore. Tethers of body and mind drift far, far away. All she has to do is just. Be. Breathe in sweet comfort. Exhale her heart.

Fade, gently, into a poisonous dream.

“Go ‘way, Aunty.” (Surely she doesn’t mean it, not her dear Aunty.) “Don’t need anyone…”

“You’ll just…burn too……”

Piripiri!

You hear every word.

You see the fire in her eyes dim under flashes of sickly green mists, as she hangs limp in the snake's tightening coils. Even at your most precise, if you try and cut her loose, you know that demon will twist her body into the blade.

But, perhaps. Perhaps this battle is not one of knives.

Will you let her keep fighting it alone?

A rustle of noise amidst the darkness. But is it from the right or the left? High or low? Kalaya swings, but the sharp sting in her side shows that her guess was wrong.

She peaks out from the blindfold, up into the unimpressed visage of her father's master-at-arms. Across from her, Ven is grinning apologetically, holding a practice sword.

"Again!"

Kalaya regulates her breathing, remembering the lessons of the past. Pay attention to the sounds, but also the feelings. It's one thing to hear someones footsteps, but can you feel the air move as they do? Can you smell them? (Nope, thankyou dead flower smell). After all, fighting blind is more than just straining your ears.

The first time she blocks the blade, she can't help but peek out from under the blindfold to share a grin with her friend. This turns out to be a mistake as she's still fiddling with it when Ven's boot kicks her feet out from under her.

"A start. But you must always watch for the follow through!" snaps the master.

She can feel the horse-thing as it steps along. She can sense the presence of the scribe. But is Ven down here? Kalaya strains her senses.

She's in the castle. Of that, Kalaya is sure. But her guess would be that they've stolen a march on the princess. Ven would have been in her chambers before the screaming started. Or maybe the ramparts. She was never the kind of person who would linger in the dungeon if she could help it. Up high and open to the air were her normal habitats.

However, once word reached her, she would quickly make her way down - she'd know where they were headed. There were only two things worth invading the castle for after all.

Kalaya breathes out softly.

No, if they had to deal with Ven, it would be only after they'd reached the priestess.

As to whether Kalaya could protect them all? Well ... yes - probably? Maybe? In truth - she still has no idea what's going to happen if she actually sees Ven. In part, this trek down to the dungeons is serving as a great way to put off thinking about that for a little bit longer.

"We'll need to find a different way out" she whispers, as she follows Fengye deeper into the castle.

The proper protocol for handling a demon of such power was to checks notes live a lifetime of diligence and subservience to the Immaculate Dragons and trust in the blood of the dragon. She was... a little off that course, so alternatives needed to be considered.

She felt the mask inside her robe. Just a little more power and she'd have enough. That remembered rhythm beat in her heart, accelerating. A little more, a little more, ten more small steps and she'd be half way to Chiaroscuro.

But what she wanted more than the power of the goddess, in this moment, was a miracle. What she wanted was for this to all somehow work out perfectly through the power of knightly valour and moderately skilled horseback umbrella lancing. Her heart was beating fast, but the beat was still steady, still harmonious. It needed to thrash like a caged hyena before it would be loud enough to wake the goddess. What a greedy wisher she was, to wish for power to be given to her without her having to wish for power.

But this want, romantic and pure, was a gossamer thing. She was ready to put it aside in an instant if - when - the Goddess was truly needed.

The witch either hasn't noticed Han's peril or is busy with something else, the Stag Knight will be both useless against this and probably coming right for her, all of the goons are beneath her notice, this is the time to leave. Because everyone's distracted and they'll be helping Han, she can get away easily, but if she goes and helps herself she'll be distracted when Uusha (say her name, coward, she's a target but she's also a person, one always offers the courtesy of seeing the life you ruin) stomps over and backhands her, and then explains to the rest of them exactly why she's not to be trusted. She can leave.

But.

But that'd be wrong.

So with a remorseful glance at the forest around them, so easy to bolt through, Piripiri walks towards Han, pulling and dropping the last of her knives as she does. They can't help here and might harm. She doesn't glance at Uusha. No use seeing what she can't control and has chosen not to react to. And she reaches the snake, and holds it's mouth shut. She's no witch to chant bindings, she is no Immaculate monk to seal it away with prayer strips. But that doesn't mean she can't do anything.

She speaks, carefully, but with conviction. "You are not the only one who cares. And not everything you touch will burn."

Defy disaster: 6! Gain a tradition, spend it to enable her to hit a 7, and she loses her knives to make it work.

Giriel loves stories of all kinds! As an aspiring sorcerer, you learn a lot of stories. They’re good teaching lessons. Some of them are horror stories about witches who didn’t follow the right precautions and got dragged down to the hells (yes well, that had seemed a lot less likely until the last few days), sometimes they were fascinating stories about obscure spirits and deities and how they moved in the world, and other times they were thrilling, seat-riveting stories about the wonder and miracles that happened around people every day.

Then there were the stories that you learned by doing the work. Banal stories about backaches and old war wounds, about warts and rashes and all sorts of ailments. Stories about harvests and rivers and trees. About local families, ancestors, gods and spirits, and about respect and disrespect. The movements of everyday life and religious life, and all the little interactions that people have and need help fixing when they make mistakes they didn’t intend.

But, if Giriel is being honest, her favorite stories are the romances. That’s right, she’s something of a sap. But the Flower kingdoms are full of them, and they come in all shapes and sizes! Some of them are so tiny and so real: people who come to her just because they want a potion to make their hair look nice and their skin healthy to meet someone special. Others are so big, weddings that fill an entire village with flowers, or tales of lost loves kidnapped. Some are the work of high fantasy like the stories of knights and damsels fighting off the hells themselves to be together, defying the strands of fate themselves, and the distant stories of gods long past who could rewrite reality and yet railed and screamed and clashed in the throes of their feelings for the loves they could not have.

Giriel loves these romances, big and small. She loves any part she gets to play in them, and she loves dreaming about them on her travels.

[The Astral dance is a 13]

Ven!

When you go down into the tunnels beneath the castle, it is with a torch held by a servant. Every other time before, it’s been a wrack-doll, but right at this second, well. You’re already making plans to shift your operational strategies, aren’t you?

Ordering the dolls to go and assault a major settlement, like Turtlehead, was cutting the knot. The only move you could make. They’re ultimately loyal to their creator, after all, and he’s… he won’t understand the play you’re making, but he’ll be distracted by the tactical strike against “supporters of insurrectionists.” See? You’ve got this. Everything is perfect. Everything is going to work. You’ve salvaged this.

Except as you approach the dungeon door, you find it open. Your heart skips a beat, even as Kalmanka, your ronin knight, whistles between her teeth in amusement. And you draw your sword…

***

Kalaya!

“Look, I’m an artist,” the demon says. “Commissions pay the bills.” Do demons even pay bills? Is Hell that cruel, that even the emanations of the Titans must pay rent to live on their backs? “So let me finish my job.”

“MMMMPH!!” The priestess says, wiggling behind the demon in the middle of a professional lighting set-up: lanterns, mirrors, candles, and prisms make her look like she’s on a mountaintop at noon, really bringing into sharp relief the way that her dress is scandalously torn, her hair’s starting to frizz, and the way her veil’s been lowered to show off the green-and-brass-colored scarves swaddling her face. Dangling from the ceiling by her wrists, she sways and squirms on tiptoe, desperately trying to get your attention, even as the artist-demon harrumphs through his baleen mustache and spreads his many (many) arms.

“I don’t even care what you humans want to do with the subject material afterwards! But this is my livelihood, so piss off and let me finish!”

***

Fengye!

You’re out of time. You made it here just to find there’s a jealous guardian, a spider-peacock of crushed dyes and mingled inks, and the way behind you is about to be blocked off. Even if Kalaya bullrushes through the artist, snaps his brushes and scatters his easel’s bones, there won’t be time to save the girl.

It was a good run, though, right? Really got to feel like a hero. Sure, the horse is almost certainly going to betray you when its mistress whistles for it, and you’ll be lucky if you end up tied back-to-back with the little priestess, and not just tossed into one of the deep pits down here, to fall for the rest of your life.

Unless you’ve got one more trick up your sleeve?

***

Giriel!

All the props for the wedding scene are back here. Fried pastries made of folded paper, stacked in ready-to-serve trays. Wreaths, also made of folded paper, that almost somehow seem like they could look better than the real things, once you brought them into the light and brushed the pervasive dust off. Venus-blue banners hanging from the ceiling of the (tunnel? passageway? backstage?): Long Life, Lasting Happiness, Bountiful Gardens. Dresses on mannequins that look almost like real people, in all their ruffles and rainbow colors. In the hands of one, a very conspicuously out-of-place umbrella.

All you have to do is wade through the props until you find the exit. Easy enough, and this trip backstage seems like it’s deserted right now, no bandar-logi to worry about. The only danger here is the kind you bring yourself.

Uusha does a spin in midair to build momentum. It’s beautiful; she controls her body with the grace of a predator, completely under her control as she kicks the barmaid in the side of the head.

***

Piripiri!

There are two ways to fight a daughter of dragons.

The first is to challenge them properly, to trust in your own method of channeling essence to overcome them. Bold, confident, and very dangerous.

The second is to stop them from channeling their essence in the first place. Never give them a moment to breathe, to reach for that power, to feel it flow through the stations of the body.

You can’t breathe; Uusha isn’t giving you that chance. When you try to get up, she’s there to knock you back down. When you try to cover your face, she punches you in the throat; when you try to cover your throat, she slams a fist against the side of your head and makes stars explode in your vision. She isn’t cruel, she’s not trying to kill you, and isn’t that a bleakly comforting thought?

She’s just going to pummel you until you can’t fight back. Smart of her. If you needed to restrain a daughter of dragons, and you didn’t have an opportunity to rely on drugs, you’d probably have to stoop to the same tactics. Unconsciousness opens her arms wide and invites you inside her bedrooms to sleep.

Then Azazuka tackles Uusha from behind and tries to get her in a bear hug. Silly girl. Uusha’s armor makes hugging her like hugging a holly bush; there’s no safe place to do it. Thorns dig into her soft skin as she takes two steps backwards, dragging Uusha off you before Uusha catches her heel on the floor, vaults over Azazuka’s head, forces the merchant’s daughter down to the floor with a squeak. Barely avoids goring her on those antlers.

Then she’s charging at you again, almost too fast to counter. But you bumped into one of the mannequins, didn’t you?

And now there’s a very familiar umbrella handle under your hand.

And you’ve got just enough time to let essence flow through your body in one savage inhalation of power. Fairy-essence, admittedly; this is not a particularly safe place to channel essence, to draw on power. But whatever the cost later, it’s yours now.

***

Han!

Oh, you’ve got a choice, don’t you? Not much of one (we all know what you’ll choose), but there it is, a choice nonetheless. Just in case we’re wrong. Just in case the dragon roars.

On your right, there’s a fight. The dragon blood in you thrills, because someone’s drawing in essence. A rival. You’ve never been acclimated to other dragon-blooded, after all. This feeling suddenly surfacing inside you is new: the challenge-lust, the desire to prove that you are the strong dragon. There’s a reason that only Scarlet remains of the true dragons that once ruled the earth.

Dragons do not have a society. Dragons only have dominance. And you know, instinctively, that you need to prove that you (yes, you) are the strongest. That this is your territory.

(Piripiri’s had training. Every dragon-blooded child goes through socialization, learning to keep that instinct on a leash, turn it into motivation to excel. But you, child of the mountains and the wild places, you’ve never practiced keeping this on a leash.)

But on your left? You hear, from a far distance, echoing, Melody. Trying uselessly to call for help with her mouth stuffed full, just like the first night you met her. There’s no way of telling how far she is, but if you run, if you break through everything in that direction, you’ll get to her eventually. And she needs her dragon.

Fight!

Rescue!

Dominate!

Hoard!

Your instincts writhe in your gut, burning away sleepiness and leaving dragon behind. Your blood burns, and for a moment you feel like you could let all that roiling essence out in a torrent of fire.

Go on. Let the dragon out. You know you want to.

"Nope!"

"Nope nope nope nope nope noooope nope nope no nope no. No!"

Kalaya practically vaults over Fengye and the demon-horse to slam the dungeon door shut between them and the approaching footsteps. Jamming her dagger into the lock to keep it from opening she steps back, regarding the door with more fear than she had the demon horse just a few minutes ago. Hopefully the stout wood and whatever wards were placed on it will hold back those on the other side for just a little longer.

"Uhh, so! New plan! We need a new way out!" she says with manic energy.

"Fengye, can you please grab the princess and find us a new exit? I'm uh, gonna be holding the door for a bit."

She never even notices the slip.

[Roll to defy disaster. Willing to sacrifice Kalaya's dagger (it has a nice lily on the hilt) to avoid this disaster of a reunion from happening for a bit longer - hopefully until at least after they secure the priestess. 3 + 5 + 2: 10]

One more trick? She, humble Fengye, scribe in service to the Dominion and the Immaculate Philosophy? She only has the assets that Daana'd gave her, her robe, her umbrella, and a brace of firewands that are surely nothing to a demon far above her station. She is the icon of placid civility and benign ignorance, and she would never perform any wicked acts of sorcery while being observed by a noble Knight of Flowers.

Which means she's got about thirty seconds while Kalaya is distracted holding the door shut.

She levels her umbrella at the demon artisan and with a smooth gesture opens it - and for the first time the pattern woven into its surface becomes fully visible. Upon the outer rim of her umbrella in slashing and glowing rainbow patterns, alight with the intricate terror of alchemy, is a summoning circle.

Her secret weapon.

As the demon's eyes reflect the circle it is too late - already it is manifest on his skin. A glowing tattoo spreads from his eyes, coursing down his face like tears to gag him with a sphere of green energy. It courses down his shoulders, following the crackling tracery of nerves, until it reaches each pair of his wrists, encircling them and binding them tightly together behind him. The energy courses down, pulling tight, trussing the demon into a tight ball, cramming him into the tiny space available on the surface of Fengye's umbrella.

And then she lances forwards with the umbrella, shoving him through the portal in a single elegant fencing thrust as he squeaks through his gag. And then, as a fluid conclusion to the same motion, she snaps the umbrella shut, breaking the circle and dimming the light, just in time for the moment when Kayala Na looks around to find the demon mysteriously gone and Fengye pulling the trussed priestess across the saddle of her horse.

"Of course, Lady Knight," she said demurely, tucking her umbrella back into the loop on her sash. "Lead, and we shall follow."

[Fight: 10
- Taking a string on the demon
- Creating an opportunity for Kayala
- Seize a superior position (on this side of the road to Malfeas)]

This cannot be her umbrella.

That's the only thought that actively crosses her mind, but there's a quick, intuitive series of leaps behind that. It cannot be her umbrella, but it is an umbrella she can fight with, here, behind the scenes, where the fey rule. There is a Rakasha about, and it's identity still unknown. The Rakasha wants her to fight Uusha.

Use what tools are to hand, even if it disgusts you.

She takes the umbrella and passes it from hand to hand, in a low guard, as Uusha shakes off Azazuka and stands, preparing her own spear. She doesn't take the chance, here, to go on the offensive, instead catching her breath and resettling herself. She watches, carefully, as Uusha circles, waiting for the strike. One's best defense is to not be there, and in a contest of strength, it's clear who'd win. So she ducks away from the opening stab and parries the followup, umbrella a rod of solid hardwood one second and then bending like a willow branch the next to slip around Uusha's guard and jab at her arm. No damage, just after space, and she retreats a few steps under the following barrage of spear-strikes. Enough space to enact her plan.

"Uusha! Rakasha, fey, false faced, lie-speaker and bearer of false oaths! Thus I name you!"

And now the Rakasha (who is certainly not Uusha, to be clear) has way more to work with. Stick that in your pipe and smoke it, Stag Knight.

6+2 to Fight with Grace. I am provoking Uusha to get a String, and then striking not at her heart, but at the court of public opinion, and thus creating an opportunity for Vixen (not that I know that she's the Rakasha).

"Huh?" replies Kalaya, double-taking at the now demon-free dungeon behind her. "That was fast. Uh, good job!"

Stepping away, she glances around the room they're trapped in, taking stock. No other obvious routes of escape. Enemies at the door. Only way out is ...

The door rattles on the hinges as something hits it from the other side.

Right.

"Fengye?" She says, turning away and busying herself with pulling the gag off the priestess. "Two things. First; If we get separated, you need to take this priestess back to Turtlehead. Find a highlander named Han who's staying there - she's the one looking for her."

She pulls the green and gold scarf free - seriously, why green? It's a nice colour! Why does Hell have to have it all over their stuff? - and reties it to veil her own face. There's a small chance that Ven hasn't realised it's her here after all - and she'd like to keep it that way for ... for ...

Well ... for long enough for her to finish her job, at least. Then she can ... whatever.

If Ven even manages to say her name ...

"Nice to meet you by the way. We're your rescue party." she continues, distracting herself by cutting the priestess free. "Please keep your hands and feet astride the ghost horse until we are out of the castle."

"And secondly." she turns back to Fengye. Not gonna hold much longer. "When I give you the signal, you ride as fast as you can back to the surface. Don't stop no matter what. I'll be right behind you."

The door gives another rattle, and the wardings must have broken as she can hear muffled shouting on the other side now.

Beckoning the others into position, Kalaya takes one deep breath and listens. When she hears footsteps rapidly approaching, she yanks her dagger out from the lock and flings the door open.

A body tumbles into the room and Kalaya has only enough time to yell "Now!" before she throws herself at the other figure outside. Grappling with them briefly, she uses the shock of the ghost horse's passing to fling them behind her and to slam the door shut again.

At least the bars are on this side she thinks, pulling them down and sprinting off in the wake of the horse. Hope this gives us enough of a head start!

[Fighting: 1 + 6 + 2 = 9. Choosing to create an opportunity for Fengye to escape with Melody and to seize a superior position (i.e. on this side of the locked door).]

Choice? What choice?

She is the strongest. She can hear Melody in danger. No one is going to stop her.

No one can stop her.

Every day she wakes to a voice in her heart, and every night she falls asleep to its truth. Some days it whispers. Some days it shouts. Now it bursts beyond her heart. All plans. All strength. All doubts. There is no part of Han that does not howl

the world is wrong, and I will burn it right.

A bottomless well opens, and essence pours down its insatiable depths. Never stopping, always hungering, only ever more, more. More than a body can hold. More than her body can hold. Waves of heat and power pour off her, essence releasing where it can hold no longer. A blazing star, a molten girl, drops to her knees. And from that blinding light erupts claws, scales, antlers, tail-!

A roar splits the light.

Paper burns to ash.

Pride crumbles to primal fear.

The air moves aside too slowly, and shatters before her in brilliant flame.

The Vermilion Beast of Lanterns comes. Flee for your lives.

[Han’s Feral jumps to 4. Han is Transformed. Rolling +Daring: 4 + 3 + 2 = 9. She can move in ways no ordinary person can]

Uusha a Rakshasa? No that wouldn't make any sense. She was here still as she was, and it was hardly surprising that she had attacked a daughter of dragons once revealed. It wasn't hard to reach the same conclusion Giriel had: that the mostly likely reason for such an exalted presence here was as a spy for the Red Wolf. Starting a fight here, as Giriel was traveling them through the stage was incredibly stupid though. Just so stupid. They needed to complete their circuit and get back in to the castle quickly. This wasn't a safe place!

But what could she do? Giriel stood there and seethed as the fight came through in earnest, but she was a witch. A witch already in the middle of working magic no less. She wasn't stupid enough to throw herself in between the Stag Knight and a trained martial artist with draconic powers. They'd mash her, probably by accident!

No, if there were a Rakshasa, there was a chance that Giriel's spell would have surprised it. A Rakshasa in disguise might have been unprepared to come into its own realm. It might have-

Wherever Giriel's train of thought was going, it was utterly derailed by an explosion of fiery essence. Was that...Han? It was, but she was lit up like a beacon, outshining everything else around them, diving for another destination out in front of the curtains. Had she found her own route? This was beautiful. This was incredible. This deserved studying. And Han's symbolism! Giri was starry eyed. A beacon of essence like this spoke of the bonfire, a great light in the darkness, a sign of power, safety, and reveling, though sometimes also of chaos, excess, and orgy. And the way she moved, like wind and flame and some great snake in the corner of the eye, that had yellow symbolism, the color of Mercury for journeys and messages sped swiftly and safely. Oh, this was incredible, amazing, Giriel could spend a day just writing notes about this moment and what it might mean.

And those two oafs were missing it. Damn fools. "Follow the light! Hey, idiots, we need to get out of here, this is a travel spell, it's not safe! Hey, hey! Stop killing each other for one damn minute and follow the light!"

[Giri will spend her string on Uusha to get her, at least, to pay attention and stop the fight until they can get out of this space (and she's hoping cooler heads will prevail at the demon castle, but no promises on that one]

Fengye!

It’s almost too easy. Kalaya’s senseless bravery means that you’re off and away on the demon horse, fast as a whip, before either horse or owner can recognize each other. Doubtless she is going to die a heroic death battling against a warlock and one of Adorjan’s Daughters, but at the very least you can make her sacrifice worthwhile by saving the breathless priestess clinging to you like you’re the real hero.

Then the world strains and snaps. The Wyld, that unreality which surrounds all that is like an egg, presses close— and that weakens existence enough, here, for someone else to punch through.

You barely dodge the first one in the dark, not understanding what it is, simply that from the size of the air displacement it must be very, very large; you can feel something whipping past your cheek, a hair’s breath away, as the demon horse hugs one wall and becomes unnaturally thin.

Then it is past, and you could almost dismiss it as some demon trap that failed to catch you— but now the demon horse is hopping from stone to stone as something rises and falls on the floor. There is a hot breath of wind in here, and the music of Hell is louder and terribly, terribly present.

A door slams open to your right, and before you can stop it, the horse veers right so hard it nearly knocks you both off. You and the priestess both hunch low over its back as another huge something barrels through the door in the opposite direction, just over your heads.

And then you are in Malfeas again, riding over a frothing, storm-tossed sea of snapped spears, shattered shields, stained bandages, frayed ropes, cannon-scorched masonry, and rusted silver stirrups. Above and all around you Tikhtokh, the General of the Wrack-waste, plunges his countless arms into the sea.

“Ven,” he roars, in trumpet and pipe and drum, and the echo shakes your bones. “Where is your prize, Prince? Did you think to hide her from me?”

His information is out of date as long as the priestess doesn’t say a word. As long as you continue to escape his notice, he’ll tear down Kingeater Castle around Ven’s ears trying to find her. This might have Ramifications, but you will have saved this priestess everyone’s worried about, and tricked one of the mighty shards of the Broken King’s soul in the bargain. For all that you’re in a perilous place, you’re in no danger as long as she doesn’t squeak and alert him to the prize right under his nose.

Mark a Condition, too; this is getting stressful, isn’t it?

***

Vermillion Beast of Lanterns!

The girl picking herself up off the floor in the dark hallway is not Melody. No. You recognize her. It’s the kidnapper.

There’s a moment where the world holds its breath; a moment where you loom over her; a moment where you pause, in your glory, and shine; a moment in which her eyes widen and she begins to understand the enormity of her error.

Then two things happen at the same time: a huge, maggot-pale hand snaps out of the darkness and latches around her ankle, dragging her backwards, costing her coat buttons, as she screams and claws frantically at the stones underfoot, and the woman with her becomes arrows.

Many, many arrows.

Close your eyes, o glory of heaven, and let the heads break on the ridges, the stones and the irons and the brasses and the black glasses; let them seek your soft places even as you knock them aside like stinging gnats. To anyone else, this would be cause to surrender, to curl up in a ball and scream for mercy, here where the air itself cuts.

But this presents a problem for even you. The hiss of arrows in flight is deafening, you cannot risk opening your eyes for fear of losing one, and how can you fight a wind?

Must you fight a wind?

When the kidnapper is so close, ready to be chased, no matter where it takes you?

***

Kalaya!

The entire castle shakes. And that’s when the air comes alive with huge, grasping, groping fingers, unseen but felt where they displace the air. You’re not the person they’re looking for, but it’s still harrowing. Wherever you turn, there’s more: fingers as long as your arm, bristled with boarhair, the smell of molding cloth adding to the smell of dying roses, and a terrible roar that seems to fill the whole world.

You’re going to drive them back with your sword flashing, jabbing at fingers like a mouse with a needle, until you have breathing space. You’re going to hear a terrible roar and a sound like thousands of bowstrings being loosed from the other side of that door. You’re going to be left with the terrible choice of what to do next: to try and follow Fengye and hope they haven’t been attacked and caught by demons, to try to lead whatever this is on a wild fox chase up into the fresh air, or to open that door again out of a terrible curiosity to see what’s going on.

Take a Condition. The fighting will not be pleasant, not at all.

***

Piripiri!

“You know, little cosmopolitan,” and she definitely puts the stress on it to suggest that she knows absolutely everything that’s going on, “I should kill you. You’re not an enemy combatant, you’re a filching little thief and spy.” She pulls her arm tighter around your neck, dragging you along in an awkward position; your choices are simply to stagger along with her or to go limp and try not to black out, throat pricked frighteningly by her thorns.

For a moment, she lifts a hand as if to claw at your face, and then closes it into a fist again.

“But I’m a Knight of the Accord of Thorns,” she growls— no, not quite. Growling doesn’t quite convey the air of frustration, exhaustion, not at you but at herself, at her circumstances. “Defender of the weak. Giver of mercy. Even when I’m standing against enemies that will swallow whole everything I hold dear. So don’t fight, and I’ll make sure you’re given the chance to go stay with the Priestesses.”

Oh. Well. That suggests that a) she’s expecting you not to know about the supernatural prison beneath Lake Zenba (Azazuka certainly has the reference pass over her head) and b) she has connections with the House of Lapis Lazuli. It’s possible that she might have the backing of a… radical sect within the priestesshood, one more willing to see the Dominion ejected by force.

***

Giriel!

“You can’t let her do this,” the city girl pleads with you, under her breath, as Uusha drags along the dragon-blooded girl. “The Holly Knight is out of control! Everything she’s done has been dangerous and making it less likely we’re going to be able to stop this warlock, so do something, please!”

And there’s that, too: you’ve never been good at letting people down. On the one hand: Uusha. Strong, buff, devoted to this land. On the other: a distressed girl who reminds you of a lot of your petitioners, scared out of her wits by the violent, looming knight. (Not to mention she’s probably in a position to reward you handsomely after all this, based on her very posh accent.)

If you take decisive action against Uusha, even though she’s hot, if you take the reins and let her know you’re in charge from here on out, take a String on Azazuka and an XP for your troubles.

Sometimes you play your hand and you get your ass handed to you.

Piripiri takes her hands from where they'd been grabbing at the knight's gauntlet, heedless of the thorns, and pulls them away, tapping twice on the back of Uusha's hand. "Yield." She doesn't have the breath for more, it's honestly a shock she got that much out. And she goes limp, unresisting.

In noble Hymair, this leads to a fairly stable set of events. Once one has surrendered, one is searched, disarmed, and restrained, before being interrogated. There is a difference, here, in if you are being treated as a noble or a spy. The noble will always get the gentle questions. The spy may not, but either form would not harm the prisoner, as once they've surrendered, it would be a drastic dishonor to the jailer and their house should harm come to their prisoners. Finally, one may not attempt any form of escape until the sun crosses the horizon twice. The combination of the possibility of escape and need to protect the prisoner leads to many quick ransoms and hostage exchanges, keeps the number of agents and nobles available reasonably high, and leads to many, many romance plays where a captive falls in love with a jailer, or vice versa.

There are, of course, dark tales of houses that breached etiquette in noble Hymair. What the prisoner knew was worth more than the risk if anybody found out, or perhaps they needed the prisoner to loyally serve. She knows the theory of how to do this even. Just in case, if she needs to resist it. But she's never needed to, and never plans on it. No reason to threaten something that also protects oneself.

This is not noble Hymair. But she'll play by her side of the rules, assuming that Uusha does not break hers.

Surrendering and triggering Help Me!~~, gaining an XP.