The rhythm of the rain was often found to be soothing for some, but to an insomniac like Zarina, it just kept her mind focused on everything other than a happy, comforting realm of tranquillity. And so, more coffee it was. Coffee and finding something to do. Despite the raging storm, the Virangish freshman opted to leave the premises and find something to get her mind off the inevitable thoughts that’d plague her if idleness was indulged.

Before long, Zarina was outside after a brief prettying-up with nothing but a cloak and a levitating umbrella protecting her from the elements. Luckily the winds were merciful, allowing the dark, silky clothing to remain veiled during the entirety of her venture. Her velvet blue shoes, embroidered with gold, were not exactly the best for the increasingly wet pavements she ventured through, which led her to adopt a brisk pace and seize every dry spot she could find. Along with her levitating umbrella would be a metallic gourde, and from it she’d occasionally take a sip from the steamy, caffeinated goodness.

There was nothing, not one distraction at this hour, but at least the trip down to the Merchants’ quarters was somewhat of an adventure on its own. And it would get a whole lot more fantastical with a certain corvid stalking her. At first, she thought little of a bird just hanging about, especially when she preferred to focus on her beverage. But then it hit her that a bird was just squawking and flying about at this time and so consistently. Eventually she took notice, and a new adventure awaited.

Like many before her, and a couple after her, she would be brought to the Forked Tower. The down-to-earth Virangish couldn’t help but raise her eyebrow on more than one occasion, however the appeal of new discoveries was a bit too strong for this clearly bored teenager. Her umbrella was folded into her small bag she kept veiled inside her dark cloak, kept in a distinct pouch as to now drench the other goods, while her gourd was kept hovering near her shoulder. The riddle was … Not too difficult. Nothing that trumped counting owed money and sniffing out stolen stashes.

“Sixty-Six?” she squinted at the paper, and then the fork, “Huh, reall-”

Poof

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”-y? Eh?”

Blink, blink.

Dopey, golden hues darted left and right, up and down, as her frame stayed frozen in a somewhat uncomfortable posture. Lips slightly agape, the relatively tall teen needed a moment to process everything. There wasn’t a storm, this wasn’t the tower and there was the head honcho of all magic-folks essentially greeting her. She couldn’t help but react with clear suspicion in her gaze, tone and body language. But as it was revealed to be the real deal, the hood finally came down, letting her tied, ash-brown hair fall onto the still damp surface of her cloak.

“Paradigm.” was her singular opening line once Hugo had made a greeting along with proper gestures and whatnot. She paced around, absorbing the various apparatuses with her gold gaze, leaving damp footprints behind her with every step. The usuals ‘how’ and ‘why’ questions were posed, although little could be answered before the next visitor came: Ysilla. This got the oldest of the twins to quiet down with a clear change in her demeanour. Where she had no qualms in exploring a portion of the study while keeping some distance with the legendary mage, she suddenly stiffened up and quickly directed herself to one of the seats she was invited to take, all while keeping a focused stare on her sister. Then came Ayla, a girl that never failed to get a habitual wave and loud click of Zarina’s tongue when she made an entry.

And finally, Yalen. Now he would not be spared from Zarina’s scrutiny, but it wasn’t nearly as focused or posture-changing. It did, however, prompt her to widen her eyes in brief surprise and kept them there while an amused grin took form on her visage. A scrutinising and very conspicuous scan of his being was made, from head to toe, as if she was checking him out, though with a borderline pretentious smile. The tall teen would come to rest her chin over her palm, letting her cloak open up as she adjusted her posture to show off her layer of fine, Virangish clothing. But most importantly, all could see her Hexaic necklace dangle between the fissure of her cloak.

When the time came for the pained priest to take a seat, Zarina pulled the chair by her and invitingly gestured for the blonde lad to take a break, ”Coffee?” she inquired while beaming at the newcomer, the smells of coffee and her subtle lavender perfume so easy to capture from his distance. Her gourd was still very much levitating by her via a magnet magic exercise. The question wasn’t meant to be answered as a thin, metallic cup slid his direction. The drink was black with nothing really added to it, though it was very much fresh. Ysilla would also be wordlessly blessed with such a treat, while Ayla got her’s from the getgo- there was no need to even ask. Jocasta would be asked the same as Yalen, with a smile!

Provided with a folder, she shifted her gaze between its contents and her neighbour with a brief awe-filled pause when she saw the rift being opened. Her gold hues were often drawn to his leg.

‘Tethered’, a term that appeared more than once in the document, was then uttered by Hugo. Zarina leaned back onto her seat, one leg over the other and furrowed her brows, ”Does it hurt? After all that climbing.” she inquired as she looked over at her neighbour's direction with a strong Virangish accent but a hushed tone, which didn’t make her speech anymore difficult to understand but she made the origins very clear to those who had heard the language before. What was difficult was discerning whether she asked out of concern or mere curiosity, as her body language did not give too much away.

”Okay.” she replied right as Hugo finished his brief and she dedicated more of her attention to the file than her afflicted peer, ”If at all possible.” she repeated, ”So, is our goal to defend them or just neutralise the threats? If they don’t want to help or our help in general, even with our ailing friends here,” she nudges her head to the side so as to bring attention to Yalen while her focus was Hugo, ”do we just … Act against their interest so long as we eliminate the threats? Or is their safety what matters more?” she gestures her hand in a circular manner while crossing her arms, her demeanour never changed even when treading on potential hostilities with the tethered. It sounded like business as usual, ”I’d make these decisions myself, but I’m wondering what exactly we want out of this and what the priorities are.” the same gesturing her then posed its digits big her cheek as she waited for an answer.

Although in the meantime, she tilted her head and peered at the tethered teen, ”Relax, fireball, save that spunk for when those legs discover the glories of the western deserts. You’ll need it.” she readied her hand to give Yalen a pat on the shoulder, only to hesitate with her lips pursed, and then retreat to take a sip from her coffee instead. She was very much ready to go once clarifications were made and some loaded glares were dedicated to her sister. Maybe a refill for Ayla.

If the actions of two weeks previous had taught Jomurr anything, it was the value of ruthlessness. His enemies - and he had come to understand that they were legion - would not hold back. Thus, neither should he. The husband and wife - in truth, he assumed that they were wed and that this was not some sort of tryst - scrabbled backwards, preserving their dignity by hitching up their sheets. They had survived the night due mainly to his actions. The others had been mere accessories. He furrowed his brow. Who had been with him, again?

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Another thread: he felt it snap. The old man sat in his study. Outside, the grassy fields of Tanteubra swayed in an afternoon breeze. After the first couple of instances, he had learned how to walk between timelines and retain his memories. It was both his greatest source of pain and sanity.

He looked at the five young people in front of him. He had memories of all: reviewing their student records, catching glimpses of them on campus or in the streets, welcoming them in. Yet, he also remembered that four had not existed in another timeline. Was it the most recent one? It was becoming hard to keep track of the many lives he had lived. The ones with Enna had been the best, even if they'd been shorter. Even if she'd gone.

With some fuzziness, he recalled his instructions to that group. Saving a life: creating more lives, erasing others. It was a needed change, and one for the better.

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Ayla @Ti, Yalen @pantothenic, Ysilla @Pirouette, Zarina @YummyYummy

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Jocasta sat demurely in her rollchair, riding hood pulled back, hands knitted in her lap, blonde pigtails spilling over her shoulders.

Bitch, she thought at one of the girls.
Slut, she thought at another.
Creep, she thought at the third.

All the way through, she continued to smile shyly and confusedly. She bowed her head slightly in greeting and said all of the expected words. Pitiable, she knew, and unremarkable. One would not have been able to sense, even with the Gift, the disdain that she held for these people. It brought Jocasta genuine joy to know them for what they were: awful in their own ways, just like her.

Then, a priest came in, limping heavily. The twenty-year-old smiled most of all at him. Oh my, how the stairs have done a number on you. It would be more difficult to fake concern, she knew, as she reached out and probed his energies with the Gift. Truth be told, she was wary of doing it with Hugo Hunghorasz around: Hugo, whose use of magic far outstripped even her own. She started to school her features into an empathetic mask and then she felt it: the boy's dead and dying nerves. She lost control of her face for a moment. She didn't have to fake empathy.

After a moment, however, she remembered that he was on four still, somehow, while she was on two. He was a priest, worshiping gods that hated him. Bitch, she thought, slut, creep, idiot. The first of the group was going out of her way to antagonize him. Jocasta... wasn't sure how to feel - maybe like she should've been the one to do it, at least. Then, the Virangishwoman offered her coffee. Jocasta blinked. "Oh, I don't partake. I fear my constitution can't handle the excitement, but the kindness of your offer will be remembered." She bowed her head slightly, deferentially, and made her best apologetic face. It was a good one. The idiots were fooled.

A folder landed in front of Jocasta and she blinked. Hugo gave a speech, but a tremor worked its way through her, unbidden. He was saying things that she knew. She looked, instead, at the paper again and then the Bitch made her blood boil. "I-if I may," she squeaked, "I am one of those... 'ailing' to which my friend Zamira refers. I thank her for her concern." She nodded. Let's see if you correct the name, she thought to herself. "Yet, my... my entire life has consisted of others 'solving' problems for me, 'protecting' me, and rarely do they ask for my in-input, much less my consent. I..." She plucked up her courage and straightened in her seat. "I will not be a part of this unless we consult with those people." She balled up a fist. "Th-they deserve to be listened to and we should be there as a resource for them to help fight this battle that has been... thrust upon them."

Her performance finished but never truly finished, Jocasta glanced nervously about the table, once again shrinking into herself. The Paradigm, for his part, was watching her in that same slightly unnerving way that he had earlier. She held back on shooting him a look. "Both of your concerns are well conceived and well-noted," He assured the two young women. "Your priority is in protecting human life. That involves stopping the beasts and discovering the location of any further aberrations. The residents of that refuge are at once your best source of information, those most threatened, and either your greatest allies or threats depending on how you deal with them. The power of a mad magic user far outstrips that of a rampaging animal."

He had little else to say. The portal hummed open wider. Already, the first glow of morning was appearing in the sky of distant Torragon. "I shall trust you," Jocasta said quietly, rolling up to the tear in reality after Yalen. She took a deep breath and pushed through to the land of her birth.

Immediately the air assaulted her: cold, dry, and lifeless. None of these people were threats, but neither did they seem all that useful. Already she could sense things that they could not hope to, save Yalen: hulking Halassa resting in the darkness, their great shells like boulders as they slept, coyotes stalking though the valleys, and Froabases roosting on the crags. Yet, she sensed that many of the animals were restless. She sensed the distant probing magics of other Tethered, still there in the refuge, curious, reaching back, but frightened. Pathetic, she thought, but it wasn't their fault. They'd been raised to be pathetic. They hadn't the willpower or intelligence to peer beyond the veil of years of brainwashing and their own shattered memories. Jocasta removed her hands from her wheels and pushed herself instead with the Gift. It would not do to lift off just yet, not until she knew more. If Father was right, she would have a friend there, among other potential friends. First, however, there were the Halassa. She could sense the agglomerations of chemical and kinetic energy that denoted the beasts. A pack of five was headed the group's way. Jocasta knew well the threat those monsters presented with their foot-thick shells, bodies big as a wagon, and jaws capable of slicing through stone. Clearly something was wrong with the huge snapping tortoises. They never hunted by night. Yet, they were approaching with every bit of that deceptive speed that they had.

Jocasta glanced at Yalen. She could tell that he'd felt their approach as well. The others would momentarily. "We have company," she announced simply. "A pack of five Halassa, maybe more." She raised a hand and pointed. "Down that way. They've got to be aberration-mad and, at this rate, they'll be on us in about a minute." Jocasta could've killed them from far off, but the greater good would be served by seeing how her team members handled them instead... if they could. Halassa were no laughing matter. Their shells were all-but impenetrable.

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A plan of sorts had worked itself out. Leon and Eun-Ji were already headed for the cargo hold as quickly as they could get there. Manfred had been tasked with talking to the helmsman or captain (whoever was in the wheelhouse) and bringing the ship to a stop. Meanwhile, Zarra, Carmillia, and Dorothea found themselves trying to push the crowd over the top into violent riot... but not too violent.

The first of these three groups wound their way through the dining area at the front, just hurried enough to draw some murmurs and turned heads. "What is it with people tonight!?" exclaimed one patron. "Goddammit, Ethel," grumbled another, "Second group in as many minutes. Young people these..." Then, they were out of earshot and pushing through the saloon-style doors at the rear of the room. A small lounge area, with rattan furniture, end tables, a small library, and an attendant standing beside a mini-bar and humidor full of fine Joruban and Corriban, and Palaparish cigars flashed by in instants. A mustachioed man looked up from an avviso bemusedly and a woman in a fancy but somewhat worn dress jumped back.

There seemed to be something almost... instinctual driving Eun-Ji forward. It was almost as if she'd been in similar situations before. Leon, for his part, struggled to keep up, relying on a certain amount of natural agility, and still managing to placate disturbed patrons along the way with a brief conciliatory word, bow, flourish, or smile. The lounge narrowed into a hallway, wide enough that only about three could walk abreast. There were doors to either side and Leon nearly found himself going through one until he noticed a Kerreman word on it that he recognized as "Do not". Through the door on his side were a pair of mages, busy powering the engines that moved the great riverboat's novel 'paddle-wheels'. On the other side, he caught a glimpse of - nevermind, they were past it.

Eun-Ji slowed for a moment, seeming to look for something but, up ahead, through another set of double doors, loomed the saloon. There was a slight 'click' and she could see and sense the kinetic energy as well as she could hear it. That door had just closed. Her eyes flashed about the patrons beyond the glass-and-wooden doors and spotted a trio, moving as one, purposefully. Subtly, as she'd learned in the Lotus Sentry, she reached out with her manas, hoping for the telltale signs of the latent stored energy that often lingers in slightly larger quantities within magic users. It was hard to pick out in the bustle. Someone had recognized Leon from a show he'd once done and a few others had turned their heads. Nonetheless, the members of that trio were magic users. They were headed for an access hallway. They appeared to be paying little attention to the revelry around them. This was worth investigating.

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Meanwhile, Manfred planted a quick kiss on Dory's lips. He did not want to get involved in politics, but the sad history of House Hohnstein was well enough known that he could not possibly begrudge her wanting to get her own back right now. She headed down with Carmillia and Zarra, the latter a dancing monkey in his bright red uniform.

From his perch on the upper deck, where a few drunken patrons played lazy games of shuffleboard in the distance, Manfred made his way toward the pilothouse, the churning waves lapping far below, great gouts of black smoke billowing above him into the pure night sky.

As Manfred approached, he could see that it was not the captain that awaited him in the pilothouse. He'd have recognized the military cut off such a uniform immediately. Even those aboard merchantmen wore it, for such were the Kerreman people - even Feskans. Instead, there was what looked to be the second mate, a helmsman, and a seaman lounging around at the door.

"Good evening, fellows," he said, walking up. He smiled pleasantly enough, in his Kerreman way.

"Hey, wait a second," the seaman called out. "You can't be here! You been drinking, bub?" Four and a half more feet, Manfred thought to himself. "Aww shucks, seems you've caught me. I've gotten a bit lost," he continued, still approaching, "Thought you might have some directions for me."

The mate opened the door and the helmsman glanced over. "Go ask someone else!" the former spat, with the air of professionally offended lower nobility. "Damidammed drunkard."

"Gentlemen, please, I meant no harm," Manfred apologized, starting to back away and turn. The helmsman took his eyes off of the interloper. Emboldened, the Second Mate stepped forward, leering at a man who he didn't recognize as his social better the way one might look at a turd on the ground. "Nonetheless, you have caused it," he scolded.

"I'm leaving. Don't worry. I'll be on my way," Manfred assured him. With that, he grabbed a hold of the seaman and, using a Kastang technique from his time in the military, flung the sailor over his shoulder and into the door. It flew open and smacked the Second Mate in the face. reeling backward, he caught the helmsman and they crashed into the control console.

Manfred Hohenfelter von Meckelin-Thandau strode forward. He delivered a short, sharp kick to the side of the stunned seaman's head and that was one threat neutralized. The Second Mate opened his mouth to shout. Manfred used a magusjaeger's technique to draw the sound out. He turned it into a telekinetic shove that smashed the man's head into one of the pilothouse's support beams. He, too, went limp. The helmsman was back on his feet. He turned to run but, here, his uniform hindered him. Those coattails, Manfred thought, shaking his head inwardly. Just like capes, they are never a good choice. He grabbed one and ducked a retaliatory right cross. Reaching into his dinner jacket, he drew a wheel-lock pistol and clubbed the man across the side of the face. He stumbled back, woozy, and Manfred put him in a sleeper hold until he went limp. "I am sorry about this," he mumbled as much to himself as his victim. "Truly, I am. You are but an enemy of circumstance."

The Nobleman checked his pistol for bloodstains and, satisfied that there were none, tucked it back into its hidden holster. Stepping over the unconscious figures, he pulled the lever that sent a magnetic pulse down to the engines and their mages. Within moments, her could feel the Lorentine Queen slowing, coasting now only on its built up momentum. It would be best if he weighed anchor, he supposed.

As Manfred stepped out, he committed one final act of sabotage, ripping the wheel from its column with a bit of kinetic assistance. This, he tossed like a clay pigeon into the black waters beyond. Striding to the very front, he peered down at the near-mob. Poor cretins. He couldn't blame them, really. Their lives were drudgery and the Rednitz who exercised such unconstitutional control over Feska noble only in name, and dubiously at that.

The ship continued to slow and, as he watched, aware that he should likely drop the anchor or offer support to Leon and Eun-Ji, he saw Dorothea make a move, coming up to the fore of the group, as if about be next in line to drink of the aberration's unholy sweet might. The woman that he loved, fiery and beautiful, reached into her bodice and... pulled out a pistol. Godsdammit, Dory A gunshot echoed through the damp air and seemed to get people's attention. She began speaking, momentarily supplanting the Traveler's agent, who seemed... skeptical at best. Zarra, the slinky Perrenchman, was nowhere to be seen, and Carm was hanging back. Manfred scowled. Should the trio's scheme fail, they'd likely be put to flight. It was a delicate balance that the two women would need to strike and he did not envy them. Silently, he wished them luck and turned to make haste for the lower decks, where Leon and Eun-Ji would almost certainly have their hands full.

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This guy reminded her of Benny. Ismette managed not to roll her eyes as Desmond outlined his big plan for roleplaying pirates. So much… enthusiasm. If only Hugo could’ve seen him, but the doddering old fool was back in his tower, busy scheming, as she knew he was wont to do.

She pushed thoughts of him aside. It was nice to be back here, in the place where she’d lived before making the trip to Ersand’Enise. It had changed a lot since the last time she’d been there, of course. Certainly, it was more… piratical than before. Probably not things that I should share, she thought. At least Desmond had ‘assigned’ her to the Mermaid’s Knees. That had been more smirk suppression. There was no way for Stubbies (humans) to know that it was common Mycormish innuendo. She walked up the steep road, hair fluttering softly in the nighttime breeze, nostrils full of the scent of this place, listening to the ambient noises of passerby, people in bars and taverns, and crickets beneath it all: chirping away with concerns so far from those of people. She decided to test the improbably tall human girl she’d been placed with. She figured that Trypano would pass a glance check as yasoi, but not much more. How about linguistically, though? Ismette thought.

“So, how much yasoi do you actually know?” she asked in the language. “What do you think of this place’s weird name?” She gestured with her chin up the hill. “How ‘bout that, eh?”

Trypano was walking whilst seemingly looking at her fingernails. In truth she was keeping just as much an eye on their surroundings as she was on what she was doing, listening just as well. Closing her hand then outstretching it the change was subtle but a thin edge of glass was formed in the edges of her nails. A subtle tool, nearly imperceptible without closer examination. The very sheen of the glass was masked by the red paint upon said nails.

“Some. Enough to carry a conversation.” She cast a glance up to the sign on the bar as they slowly made their way up the road.
“Afraid that’s an expression I haven’t run across.”

“At least you recognize it as an expression,” Ismette interrupted briefly, shrugging. “So we’ve got something to work off of.”

Trypano nodded back in acknowledgement. “I plan to let you carry the bulk of the conversation. Just in case, however, any tips I should know going in?”

The yasoi pursed her lips in thought for a moment. “Not about to lie: I’ve half a mind to play hooky. I could care less about rescuing some princess.” She sighed. “Might be worth its weight in gold, though.” She was totally playing into yasoi stereotypes now, and she knew it. Still there was a grain of truth to most of those for a reason. “Anyways, yeah,” she continued, settling onto topic and ticking points off on her fingers. “Keep your clothes loose so you can pass for yasoi-ish. Mermaid’s knees aren’t knees. ‘Means ladyparts.” She blushed a bit. “Everyone in there’s a darkhead. Be ready for a lot of weirdos and some out-of-place aggressive stuff.” She paused before listing a fourth. “Have a shiny to fit in, but don’t covet shinies or try to trade for them. It’s not human stuff. There are nuances you’ll miss.” She flashed a quick, reassuring smile. “And don’t worry. I’ve got your back.”

“If my suspicions are correct I doubt the princess will necessarily need rescuing.” Trypano was listening along, stroking her chin contemplatively whilst taking in what Ismette had to say. The yasoi grinned in knowing agreement at her words.

“The mysterious captain is what we’ll need to know most about. If there’s any chance of them being a mage then we’ll need to know what their focus is and why they’ve taken the holy artifact. Odds are strong that they’re not just planning on ransoming something like that back to the kingdom they took it from. A high profile thief would likely have a buyer already in place before the theft even takes place.”

Trypano was a worldly sort despite being something of a shut in. A veritable trove of miscellaneous knowledge from various different sorts, be it from helping her father and brother with the business or during her time serving as a nurse as part of her medical studies. She’s met a fair number of people from many walks of life.

Taking note of her recommendations Trypano started sorting through her given garments, adding give to the laces and straps amidst her outfit in order to provide the ‘looseness’ that was recommended for her. Given what she had mentioned it made relatively good sense. Pirates were already a mixed pot of both sailor and convict cultures. Over at this bar they’d be throwing Yasoian customs into the blend as well.

“In any case, let’s play our part and get this done so we may both return to more important business.”

“Preach it, sis,” Ismette tossed back, also tossing some hair over a shoulder. The rambling establishment was drawing near. The usual drunks were streaming out and future drunks were trickling in. Ismette kept her guard up but paid them no further heed. “You know, we cause a big enough calamity and force people to draw their magic,” she said, twisting back to look at Trypano, “we can skip all the social junk and just smoke out any bigtime mage.”

Trypano’s eyes moved from figure to figure, taking noteworthy details down whilst listening to Ismette’s words.

“As a Binder by primary practice I am required to discourage violence as our main means of progression.”

With a subtle motion of her hand she brought something to her mouth. It was a neat trick she had picked up from her study at the secret blood magic practices, re-contextualized for a more suitable size. She slid a thin slice of sponge beneath her tongue, a slice of Sign of The Mushroom to be exact. It would be useful since the possibility of her attempting to ingest liquids that may have negative effects were strong at an establishment such as this. As long as she didn’t end up swallowing the sponge filter it’s effects on her own fluids were minor.

“From a practical standpoint if we were to initiate a conflict we’d likely be targeted by the very mages we’re looking to smoke out. Furthermore it’d likely alert every pirate on this island to our work here including The Maria Nera’s crew.”

She produced from the satchel that was lent to her by Desmond a single gold coin, passing it from finger to finger in her left hand to lend more authenticity to her disguise.

“Let us keep that option as our plan b for now. There will always remain the possibility of resorting to force if the situation worsens with few exceptions.”

A goody-good, then. Ismette was rather weary of the type. The funny thing was that she hadn’t specifically said anything about violence. There were… other ways to cause a calamity, after all. Regardless, she forced an agreeable smile. “Sure,” she relented. “We can do things the hard way.” The truth was that they probably wouldn’t find much of note here. That said, Ismette would have the chance for a bit of fun and that was always nice. She reached down, loosened a few buttons on her blouse for the men, and put on a bit of a strut. To the large, tattooed bouncer, she tossed a coin and a wink. “My friend and I would love to spend some time with a successful crew tonight,” she chirped, stopping on the spot, chest out, playing a bit with her hair. “You wouldn’t know anyone like that, wouldya?”

The doorman blinked and looked her up and down none-too-subtly. “Vyrachi’s crew’s had a few good scores lately, going after Perrench ships since all the Revidian ones are paranoid these days.”

Paranoid why? Ismette wondered for a moment, but then she remembered to thank him and traipsed on in. “You coming, Tryps?” she called, twisting as she walked. Maybe it was a lead. Maybe this wouldn’t be all play after all.

Trypano watched Ismette speak with the bouncer who watched the door, prying for info through flirtatious means. Trypano herself hadn’t oft considered her own sex appeal for she was far too concentrated on her studies to really try and make anything of it. It was not to say that she neglected her upkeep and aesthetic but in truth a life led in social isolation had made her not only socially awkward but almost shy to an extent. Her peers had always looked at her with suspicion and fear due to the superstition tied to her unusual appearance. It was only fairly recently over the last few years that men around her viewed her in a sexual capacity.

Whilst Ismette blended into the role quite naturally Trypano found herself still trying to adjust to it. As such she could only muster a modest nod as she skirted along with her partner. Though her face was cool it was only through sheer focus that she masked her awkwardness.

Perceptive as Ismette could be, she was quick to notice her partner’s poorly–masked discomfort. “It’s an acquired skill,” she whispered over her shoulder, hair flicking as she twisted back. “Stick close to me until we’re in good with them and they’re rip–roaring drunk. Then it won’t matter.” Indeed, Captain Vyrachi and his crew were not far at all, occupying a couple of large booths and amply supplied with alcohol, food, and women. The captain’s purple velvet hat with feathery plumes was unmistakable. After all, ‘Vyrachi’ meant ‘Bird of Paradise’.

Yet, as the two interlopers walked, a number of things may have been surprising. First came the numbers and disposition: there were simply fewer people in here than one might’ve expected fro, the entrance and they seemed unusually unruly. Even as they entered, Ismette and Trypano noticed at least two new fights start up. Second, was the size and layout of the place. There was a bar, of course, with the usual set of merrymakers. There was a bedraggled-looking musician being hounded to play this tune and that, and a ragged chorus that chimed in with undulating enthusiasm. There was a dance floor. There were card and dice tables. There were wenches. Yet… the inside area did not seem to match the outside and it soon became obvious why. There was a small hallway towards the back corner, obscured from view by dark curtains. People seemed to slink regularly down it and back, almost… wary of being seen. A couple of even-less-reputable-than-usual characters seemed to be hanging around nearby. Finally, it was the magic: there were copious amounts of energy in the air from a source that would’ve been unfamiliar to most humans but all-too familiar to most yasoi. The majority of it was unmistakably concentrated somewhere down that hallway.

Ismette didn’t turn to Trypano. Instead, she slowed and her eyes did all the work. “You seeing what I’m seeing?” she asked in Avincian.

Ismette certainly was perceptive, noting her discomfort. Perhaps she wasn’t concealing her outward impressions as well as she had hoped? Her companion had a plan nonetheless which was of some comfort. Not having to steer the situation was a relief as her forte wasn’t talking, especially not in a language that she might know but not have a full cultural fluency in.

The interior certainly painted a picture. Since the bar seemed to cater mainly to yasoi it made sense that there were fewer patrons to this one than most others. The yasoi were becoming more and more reclusive after all, their presence in places outside of their homelands notably scarcer.

Aside from the captain and his crew who were making good money off of attacking Perrench ships the overall mood of this area seemed fairly downcast, the sort of feel you’d get heading into a pub in the slums during a recession. This was all undercut with something different. Very different.

The air felt almost electric, saturated with energy that she could almost tangibly feel against her skin. Her blood was keen to draw magic from the surroundings after all, a trait of those of her blood type. It was all concentrated in one area, an area hidden away from outside eyes.

“I do. We should…” Answering back in Avincian she hesitated, wondering if this might be a detour from their original intent in coming here.
“- See this.”

She wasn’t about to throw away the chance to document a phenomenon and perhaps expand her own understanding in the process.

Ismette nodded slowly, pursing her lips. “We should divide and conquer. I’ll see what I can get from Vyrachi and his crew. You should check out the backroom. I… have a feeling that communication will matter less over there.”

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It was never truly quiet on the Isla d'Amato. There were always fights to be had, money to be made, and merriment to partake in. The lives of the pirates who had made this place their own and gradually driven out most of its original residents were often short and violent. Hence, they were known to use each of the day's twenty-five hours in near-equal measure.

Yet, there were eight of them - youths, as all too many pirates were - who were here for other reasons. Having split into pairs, they wound their way through the island's taverns, discovering the particular dangers, delights, and characters of each. There remained, however, something methodical about their approach.

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Location: Isla d'Amato -> The Main

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Interactions: Onarr @Bork Lazer, Xavier Falzon @Force and Fury

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Ingrid was curious what the inside of The Main would look like. She had expected a smoke-filled room, scantily clad women as servers and even a brawl or two over a bad roll of the dice. But it was surprisingly calm and had an air of structure to it. With the shipping schedules and circular tables, it was more akin to a merchant house. A place that Ingrid frequented often with her father and mentors to gain experience. Ingrid had also entered alone and she remembers not getting as much respect from the merchants.

The forwardness of the pirates here had Ingrid on her feet. They knew why we entered and now she had to navigate who to make a deal with. One person after another left lackluster impressions on her for one reason or more. With each offer she deflected or denied, her trepidation grew. To have a merchant go after her you would have to do something drastic but pirates were a different thing entirely. These pirates may be professional but if they can't get what they want, she wouldn't put it past them to mug her and Onarr.

But then something good happened, someone noticed their magic. To notice their magic mean he or someone he employs could spot them. Ingrid gave him a bit of the side-eye, obviously inspecting him. His crew was large and he was interested in a cash exchange. Ingrid tried to weigh the offer but frankly, he did have some of the characteristics she was looking for. He made his proposal quick and immediate. His show of his crew felt less like a threat and more of a show of capability. He already read what kind of person Ingrid was looking for. Ingrid let out a sly grin, and turned towards him, "I think we can make a deal of some sort. How about we find a place to discuss this a bit more privately?" Ingrid pulled out the bottle given to them by Desmond to show it off, "I'll even provide the drinks." Ingrid tried to build some quick trust by offering some drinks to go with their talks.

The strongboxes are locked tight as the canopies are brought down, and the crash of the shutters ring around the port. The merchants and traders are done for the evening, packing away their fare, as the bustling streets are soon to be emptied. Ayla refers to this moment as the calm, a period of respite for nature to claim as its own as the Gulls, Rolieiro, and Skua sing their chorus to their heart's content. After the calm is over, the nocturnal storm begins as the taps at the drinking establishments are in full flow as the morning's catch is put to the grill.

Unsurprisingly, as the sun sets, the roar can be heard outside of the house, and surprisingly, within the household as well. A messenger has arrived from Torra Corda in the eve carrying a important message for Duarte, one that travelled very quickly through the walls of the household. Torragòn has been instructed to pay the mage price to Ersand'Enise, on the apparent orders of a Paradigm Hunghorasz, and the Arslan family were dutifully assigned this privilege from the Iron Throne directly.

The young play in the streets to the tales of Ersand'Enise, it is every young magi dream to be recruited to the Academy of Thaumaturgy. The reputation and prestige alone is said that being called, no, becoming the chosen of Sipentia, is clearly a sign of divine intervention and a sign that your family is on the ascendance, as the roar her ancestor, ‘The Lion of Torragòn’ can be heard across this world.

If this is the case, why are the faces of her family sullen and downcast, why is being chosen seen as such a burden that even the most hard-hearted of nobles can be seen distraught. Reality can be different to flights of fancy. A dynasty can end because of the many accidents and incidents lurking behind those walls. Only a family with much to gain risks sending their heir into the heart of the academy, for there is lots to be lost as they always return changed, different, a far cry from the selective grooming and education afforded over the years. Those from very prominent positions risk their secrets, skills, techniques, and strategies, falling into the hands of their political enemies. A war can be decided, lost or won, on the very choice of who is sent into those hallowed halls.

If the choice is based on magical ability alone, within her family it would be clear. Her eldest brother, Jorge is said to be a magical prodigy with his natural aptitude, along with his handsome looks, physical prowess, and charm, her father has groomed him carefully and manoeuvred him politically to the extent he is curated as the "Lion Reborn'' within Torragonese circles. He has been afforded every opportunity the influence the Arslan name has to offer to secure a very promising future, rumoured to have already reserved a prominent position within the next Torragonese campaign currently kept to a select few on parchment and ink to accrue accolades to accelerate his career.

The front door slams as she peers out her bedroom window in curiosity, seeing Jorge briskly walking towards the docks where his friends were already kept waiting for him. Whatever frustrations burden him appear to be quickly dissipated as he walks off with his companions, the outcome seemingly accepted without any significant resistance. She hears the hushed tones of her mother, Azahara as she struggles to keep her emotions in check. “Dado, you cannot be serious, she won’t… …”, the voices seem to come to a pause, a silence settling only to be interrupted by the sound of boots making their way down the corridor to her chambers, growing heavier and heavier. She knows what was discussed has been decided and there won’t be any alterations, her mothers’ wise words can no longer hope to help sway the decision when it has reached its conclusion. Her role as the daughter now was to soothe her father’s mood as she awaits the verdict of the outcome.

Ayla places the flauta by her lips. The gentle fluttering of the notes resembles that of a songbird as her father makes his way through the door. In a typical fashion, as if always caught off guard, he pauses as she is found playing, deciding to pull along a cushion to sit patiently for her to finish. There were unusually many Rolieiro found this evening, an omen perhaps, as her eyes are remarked to resemble the brilliant blue feathers, its brown-patterned cloak drawing parallels to her brunette mop of hair. As she draws to a close, she places the flauta upon her lap, “Da, it seems the Rolieiro are out in orchestra today”. Duarte’s hardened features betray the emotion being bottled inside like a pull of a harp string, the suppressed rage flaring through his body language, an anger directed towards himself, a confession of a betrayal, a death sentence. He composed himself before speaking, “You’re to go to Ersand'Enise. Your possessions will be packed for the Galley in short-order.” With the words, short shrift, he turns to swiftly exit the room and disappear within the darkness of the house.

Servants come and go, collecting her possessions, few rarely spoke and only for directions and advice on how to handle her belongings as her life soon only consists of what is contained within these boxes. The atmosphere of the house is sullen, a house in mourning, few that past lower their head, the words “Dami guide you” muttered in passing for the deceased relative that must have lived within. Her father had been recalled to Torra Corda, her brother Jorge in tow, and her mother has been noticeably absent as she attends to the affairs of the household. It was only at the farewell her family returned from hiding, her mother and siblings weeping tears of sadness, promises to write, blessings being cast and prayers offered to the five gods. As if coincidence was to strike again, she boards upon the galley ‘Rolieiro’, the cracked blue paint giving it a majestic appearance from the docks. She picked up her flauta and played once again.

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Upon her arrival, Ayla has been settling into her room. Fabrics drape, cushions adorn, incense burns as the spartan room is transformed into something that resembles a homely Torragonese interior. Time passes quickly as four weeks later, the absence of a letter from home was noticed, but Ersand'Enise Academy of Thaumaturgy has kept her more than a little busy. What drew her attention was the myth and legends, and how, with some amusement, that the majestic place gave birth to many storytellers’ flight of fancy. She remembered the tales of the great white Roc, a favourite of hers, its bronze beak terrorising the first years, especially those who are malicious in their intentions and ill wishes She now often feeds bread crusts to the ‘Roc’ of the Arboretum lake as it honks about excitedly, to the chagrin of others now pecked incessantly for their lunches. She heard about the secret school of magic, Sigma, and how it keeps the academy at the fore-front of magical knowledge, however in reality, it is a standard deviation. As for the magical hand, don’t get caught in a bout of rock, paper, scissors if you desire to win. However, the tales of magical flying rugs and cleaning equipment, dragon mounts, personal yasoi handmaidens, and sorting wizard caps were all fiction. Life at the academy was remarkably normal, for what she would assume an every day educational facility would be like, with the exception at least something goes bang, whiz, pop at least once during each of the 25 hours.

Her introduction was shared with a couple of merchant girls also summoned to the academy, tall and beautiful, Zarina and Ysilla. When fighting the aftermath of the journey involving excessive bouts of seasickness, sea shanties, and the smell of rotten fish, she spent time making considerable efforts attempting to become familiar with the pair, soon finding herself interacting with them separately for reasons she understood very little about.
Zarina was a girl who lights up the room, though sometimes less of a candle and more like a destructive pillar. She was a dancer, and through the art of music had opportunities to perform together with aggressive tempo, sharp staccato, and loud crescendo. Zarina, becoming familiar as Zaz, was fond of a brewed brown bitter elixir which she calls coffee, generously serving those around her. Without moderation, Ayla soon found herself restless, irritable, gasping for breath, and excused herself as she found herself temporarily bedridden through exhaustion.
Ysilla was comparatively a calmer character, giving an attentive appearance as they partook in art together as Ayla played a lively melody upon her flauta.
In her classes, Ayla also came across a boy who is both studious and devoted, in books and his faith, Yalen. Thankfully a patient soul as he showed great patience in responding to her questions of what must be trivial matters and information for the boy.
Kaspar was often by the Arboretum lake, known for its pleasant views. She had met the boy whilst he was sketching in his charcoal, often concentrating on his work. One afternoon, she could not help noticing the boy peering often in her direction, towards the gorgeous orchid between them. Finding the opportunity, she starts to gently make her way towards him, looking towards his sketchbook as he works. "Drawing me like one of your Perrench girls?", the girl offers him a warm smile, watching the faint blush appearing upon Kaspar's cheek, as he grows flustered and momentarily lost for words, "I’m not accustomed to portraiture, but I can try if you’d like". The pair started to meet up during lunch to share discussions on their art.

Ayla, like the others, found themselves making their way to Forked Tower, and Hugo’s Study in particular. The scattered students are being pooled together like an untapped resource, ready to be exploited. After arriving, they are soon greeting the others in a warm manner, familiar greetings to Zaz and Ysilla who were already settling in their seats. She takes notes of those lessons known to herself as she identifies the older gentleman as the legendary Paradigm. She slowly makes her way before him, head bowed in polite revered greeting, as she takes a hold of his hand in Torragonese style, “Paradigm.”. Ayla also notices the pigtailed girl in the rollerchair, approaching her with a more friendly smile rather than one of reverence, lowering herself slightly so she is eye level with the girl, taking one of those mitten gloved hands within her own, fingers squeezing upon it, “Ayla, pleased we have met.”, withdrawing politely after the greeting as they were being ushered into taking their seats. She gracefully glides to place herself between the sisters, knowing the preference for distance between the pair, a somewhat futile effort to help as they could easily look over her head with the height-difference. The document lands upon the desk as she holds to examine the page written in Avincian, as she takes in a deep drink of the brewed elixir. During the heated exchanges, she cannot help feeling moved by Jocasta’s spirited words and passion, resonating with the emotions expressed empathically, recognising the actions of others who seek ‘protect’, a word more synonymous with ‘prevent’ from experience. The wise words of the Paradigm interrupted with their gentle conciliatory tones, and soon the unexpected occurred before her, a gateway seeming to show the beautiful night skies of her beloved Torragòn. She anxiously starts to follow as her fellow students make their way through the gateway, seemingly stepping through as if entering a new room, beckoned and encouraged to make the journey.

As she walks through the gateway, she feels her hairs standing upon their ends, goosebumps along her body are raised prominently as she feels her body assaulted by the experience of temporal energies and then met with the cold air of the desert at night. She shivered as she started to wrap herself up by placing her hands around her body, dressed completely inappropriate for adventuring out into the desert in the middle of the night. As she is still trying to gather her bearings, stroking her hands up and down along her arms, she starts to hear Jocasta calling out with concern. Others start to prepare to defend themselves as she starts to gather her belongings from the satchel, dropping a couple bottles of her ink into the sand. She could feel her hands shaking, and this time, it wasn’t a result of the coffee. She was pushed backwards as she must have been in the way, falling down into the sand. She could hear the screech of the Halassa at this point, a cry that was guttural, a clear contrast to the sweet sounds of the song birds that populate Varrahasta. The sand sticks to her face, smudging the delicately applied makeup as she starts to sit herself up.

Ayla thinks back to the first time she performed for guests, and how it was a nerve-racking experience, how her fingers missed the holes, releasing an ear-piercing shrill, the pained look on their faces. She remembers an older gentleman, a name never provided, came over to speak to her as tears ran down her face. He came up towards her, crouched down before her, as he offered what appeared to be a pepper, “Nothing’s as bad as Virangish pepper.”. Before she realised what happened, she found herself chewing upon it. The heat just travelled through her mouth, coughing, choking, her face turning a bright shade of pink. House servants rushing to bring her water, scolding and laughter heard around the room at her reaction. As she was starting to slowly recover, the man bravely spoke loudly amidst the protests, “My child, now you know, no matter how bad you play that instrument, there is something far worse.”

Ayla grit her teeth as she recalled those words, “Nothing’s as bad as Virangish pepper”. She finds herself renewed with energy as she pops the top of the ink bottles and grabs a hold of the Flauta. Others are already making their way to confront the beasts, but she will get there first. The open ink bottles soon show their role as Ayla plays her melody, the shifting tempo and swings of the note, drawing energy from the sound. This energy is transferred through to the ink as it appears to start behaving as if it is being charmed, luring it through the bottle openings as if they were watery pythons. The long snakes mix into a ball and soon disperses into five streams as the hues shine and bend, becoming the five primary colours of the gods as they whip through the air like the darts towards the Halassa. Those at the front may feel the sudden gust as the inks find their marks, individual splish, splash, splush, splesh, splosh can be heard as each of the Halassa are now adorned proudly with a distinctive colour, and if fortune has favoured her, reducing their vision temporarily to support those at the front line. As the Halassa moves within the reach of her drawing, the flute plays an accelerating portamento. The air starts to grow very still and quiet, an unnerving experience as Ayla starts to draw upon the kinetic energy of the rampaging beasts, vibrations start to fill the air, the sand shifting underneath their feet as a disorientating zone of control is established through her casting. The Halassa start to slow from the drawing, their primal aggression becoming more sloppy as those agile seem to dance and flutter around them like butterflies, or moths to a naked flame, as the beasts are finding their senses becoming overwhelmed by the vibrations and effectively blinded.

Ayla has now done what she can as the beads of sweat are adorning her features. She tries her best to maintain that field for as long as possible, taking short intervals to refresh the drawing and casting of the magic, trying her best to maintain that disorientating field to support her fellow students… no… her friends.

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Location: La FLeur Rouge -> The Main

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Interactions: Onarr @Bork Lazer, Ingrid @dragonpiece, Amelea @Force and Fury

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Tick,
Tock

The freshman dormitory had been enveloped in silence for the past hour aside from the subtle hymns of a ticking clock. It was a silence born from the intense focus required for the task. Under the light of an oil lamp and zoom of a few magnifying glasses, Ysilla worked on just one part of her craft. A drop of golden paint nestled on the end of the tiniest brush you might have ever seen. Delicately she worked to apply that drop across the raised ridge on the wooden carving of a lion's mane half-painted mane, denoting a single hair in that mane.

It was a level of commitment that was unnecessary but a self-exam of her abilities, nonetheless. The truth of it was, wood was not the best material to carve a lion puppet out of. It would only ever be life-like, not alive. The hair she just painted would never flow in the wind like that of a proud lion catching a breeze on a windy day. Aside from that, it was far too small to represent something proud being no larger than a common housecat. Yet it, along with the many other figures that sat in this room, watching their creator work on a new addition, were all prized for the lessons learned in their creation.

The eyes of animals, monsters, and even people were all simulated in Ysilla's dormitory. All given the same amount of care as this lion but only a handful were ever given more. Two of such acclaim, hung onto her, a passive extension of her unconscious will. They were kept close because they were far more than mere figures but tools to be used by should the need arise. That need was coming and she was ready the moment it arrived. She hardly went out anyway.

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She was one of a small number to arrive. Her presence came without sound, quietly but respectfully bowing the Paradigm as she separated herself the concentration of others, preferring to maintain a silent vigil over this sudden meeting. She sat, one hand layered over the other and listened to each as they talked. Details of what they were called her for and exchanges between the others were as equally important to her. How were they reacting and acting? It was curiosity of hers, not that she didn't react or act. Quite the contrary, she loved to do so when the moment was right but she could never break her more monotone expressions without it seeming too forced. It was her way and very much unlike her sister.

Ysilla accepted her sister's offer of coffee just as wordlessly as it was offered. There weren't too many words exchanged between the pair these days. Ysilla never was a conversationalist but there was little she had to say to her twin sister. Little she wanted to hear from her as well. With a focused stare, she'd watch her sister offer others coffee silently wondering what she has been up to lately.

It wasn't a very occupying thought as Jocasta took that attention as she politely refused a cup. Such a curious character to be present at this meeting. Sure wizards and witches didn't need strong constitutions but there was something disarming about seeing one in a wheelchair. She was such a small figure and yet as the meeting went on, she had such strong opinions despite her frailness and even timidness in her voice. Many plays would feature a character with such fragility. An apparent shortcoming that was made up for by a strong and noble heart and yet...

Zamira

Ysilla had been sitting near motionless, except to take the occasional drink of coffee, this entire meeting. At the mispronunciation of her sister's name, however, she tilted her head, expression bending into one of a mild ponder. It was a note far beyond the usual noble heart character. Her sister didn't even have a difficult name for non-native speakers to pronounce and yet here it was, passing the lips of someone that in the very next breath applied an extensive curtesy. Was it deliberate? Ysilla pondered for an answer, believing that it was but she tried to rationalize that belief by looking at who Jocasta was as a whole. Passive aggressive to make up for unintimidating appearance? An intriguing personality quirk.

There was little else in the meeting from that point on. They were given a blessing and a portal to go on their way.

Emerging out into the sandy dark terrain of a desert night, Ysilla pulled her cloak closed in front of her, a subtle display of the cold bothering her. She made no sound of the discomfort as Jocasta announced the alert of incoming danger and being in the back, witnessed Ayla's struggle with the cold or fright. Delicate would be more suited to the lithe and small character falling onto the sand. The thought slipped into Ysilla's mind to help her up and even offer her place inside her cloak if it was truly the cold. They could be warmer huddled together but it wasn't the practicality that made Ysilla want to ask. She yearned for the Torragonese to be close to her. When the moment came to ask, her throat dried and she did not speak, letting the moment get away.

Regret was quick to follow as she watched her friend jump to her feet and move headlong into the encroaching Halassa.

Oh right.

Stepping forward, Ysilla made no urgent movements as she stood next to Jocasta. Watching the approaching beasts, she finally spoke. "Five encounters five." The towering Virangish would turn her head down at her sitting companion. "One for each of our party to trial against." She held the other's gaze, unmoving as if searching for something but her tone was as stern as it could be. This was not an observation but a demand. They were tasked with something dangerous and one that could be a liability wasn't worth having tag along. "Agreed?" She cocked her head ever so slightly to the side, towards the beasts.

If Jocasta say anything other than stating her agreement, Ysilla would turn and walk away. Without stopping a step, she'd fling her cloak open, allowing the cold to kiss her along her silk outfit underneath. One hand would reach behind her back, the magnetic magic already being channeled to make the black and gold clothed figure, Khamsei scamper out onto her arm. Her other hand pulled her hat from her head, revealing the nesting pearlescent lavender bird, Hoopoe.

She'd lift Hoopoe out in front of her, the jester shaking his head with a monotone laugh. "Haaahaaahaa." He rose to his feet, reaching up. Hoopoe rose to her feet and stretched her wings with caw. The bird then leapt from the top of Ysilla's head, her feet dangling for Khamsei to grab them and the pair took off into the air. Khamsei's laugh hollered across the dunes as the pair approached the Halassa.

Hoopoe flapped her wings but something about how she flew seemed uncanny, like a bird caught in a wind. She was merely being pushed along by Ysilla's will. She watched the pair and almost passively, she made them move but even made moves ever so slightly. Like Khamsei's legs kicking wildly in the air like he was having a grand time, with his head turning to gaze at the landscape.

His laughs, distant, but still audible as the pair came swooping in towards the head of one of the Halassa.

The flowers of Ersand’Enise were lovely in a way that could never fully translate to paper. Of course, the beauty of any plant couldn’t be contained in a charcoal sketch—or Kaspar was not yet skilled enough to capture it. Despite that, he still tried.

A breeze pulled lightly at the edges of his cloak, sprawled across the grass beneath him, and carried away some of the heat that lurked beneath the heavy fur. It was impractical to wear in this weather, but it was a symbol of his house and his homeland, so the Helbahnese boy kept it on. Or, that was how he kept himself from thinking too deeply on the sense of comfort it brought, and the pricklings of anxiety that ran beneath his skin when he was without it.

He sighed, thinking to the plantlife he’d drawn in the gardens of Wentoft and the Elstrøm Estate, some that had been there long enough to have years of growth chronicled in his sketchbooks. For too long, the plentiful corridors and greeneries of that place had felt like a cage and a punishment. The life of a noble chafed on some, and it was harder when one was so heavily confined to solitude. But it, like everything else, became familiar.

”Are you hiding from your teachers, even now?”

He glanced only briefly over his shoulder at the jest, nodding to the figure who approached. She was older, of light complexion and graying-black hair with hard silver eyes. She was a sharp thing, with a fondness for the young Elstrøm that did not translate to leniency.

"Only from you, Master Willa," he called, returning to the lines of his sketch as she laughed. She stopped, lowering herself to the ground beside him, and tilted her head at his sketch, glancing between it and the subject with a critical eye. Finally, with a sigh, the woman retorted, ”I’m no master to you anymore, boy.”

Kaspar scoffed, stopping his sketching to look at her. She met his gaze, raising an eyebrow, and he shook his head. ”You’re no Zeno, but you’ll always be my master,” he replied, eliciting another chuckle from her. After a few minutes of companionable silence, he murmured, ”Won’t you be missed, when the rest of the caravan returns home?”

”Your parents enlisted me eight years ago to look after you. I can’t very well do that from three countries away, and neither can they,” Willa replied sharply. ”They’ll see it as a disobedience at first, but in a few short weeks they’ll be glad someone they trust is here in the city. They love you far too much to stand differently.”

She continued to watch Kaspar sketch for some time, pointing out any lines she thought were misshapen. The boy often lightly slapped her fingers away with his charcoal-covered hands, but it did nothing to deter her from trying.

Willa finally departed as the sun began to set, turning her own feet towards the Merchant’s Quarter. Kaspar watched her leave, brows furrowed in thought as he clutched his now-closed sketchbook. When she was gone, he reached forward and gently plucked a petal from the flower, holding it in his palm. Slowly, a rough rendition of the familiar stream-and-storm emblem of the Elstrøm family carved itself into the delicate surface, the soft edges curling away from it.

Kaspar swiped a thumb across his palm, and the petal was gone.


Kaspar slept when the sky got dark. In Helbahn, he may have studied or perfected drawings by candlelight, but he’d been sleeping more heavily since his arrival in Ersand’Enise. Not more soundly, perhaps, as he was still adjusting to the different sounds of night here, but this academy was certainly working him harder than his tutors had—and they’d not exactly been easy.

The tapping on his window went unnoticed at first, as the noble curled into his blankets and, in his sleep, ignored what he thought was the worsening of rain. It would take several more minutes for him to stir, finally awoken by the peculiar noise, and glance blearily to the window. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, pulling the covers off and trying to make sense of the dark shapes on the sill. He peered through the glass, before opening the latch and looking curiously at the pair of ravens—or near enough—staring beadily up at him, one of them clutching a paper in its beak.

He read the note, taking a few deep breaths to send oxygen to his half-asleep mind, and muttered a thank-you to the avians before turning away and gathering his clothes. He fastened his dark leather vest around the thin red tunic and ensured his black pants were tucked into the high leather boots. The red-eyed boy forwent digging for any of his rings, tucking his cherrywood wand into an inner pocket of his vest and pausing by the door to grab his thick cloak. Fingers buried in the fur, he decided it would only serve to be soaked in the rain, and there could be nothing easy about a nighttime journey at the behest of a bird.

By the time Kaspar made it to Hugo’s study, having taken a little longer to assess the bricks than he was proud of, the sleeves of his tunic were damp against his arms and his brown hair clung wetly to his face. He tossed his red gaze around the room, noting the odd dimensions and apparent lack of the storm that had battered the academy. He also saw a selection of students whom he’d met on occasion and the Hugo Hunghorasz himself. He felt small stirrings of reverence, tempered by his nature, and nodded, murmuring a quiet, “Paradigm,” before taking a seat.

The only one of these figures he was truly familiar with was Ayla; the girl also had an interest in art, and though their mediums differed, Kaspar found there was a peace of its own kind in creating alongside a companion. She was, perhaps, the closest thing he’d had to a ‘friend’ in many years, assuming she wasn’t being paid by his parents. Zarina and Ysilla were not strangers, but he’d interacted with them only sparingly. He knew the puppeteer had a more reserved demeanor than her sister, but did not mistake it for a sign of her abilities—none made it to Ersand’Enise for a lack of skill or ambition. The elder Al-Nader was well-talented in her own right—in both magic and dance, as he heard it—and had the air of a leader.

He was silently studying Jocasta and sipping the coffee offered by Zarina, glad to have something to add a sharpness to his mind at this hour, when Yalen arrived. The only thing Kaspar truly knew of the priest was his commitment to his faith, though he admired it—even if he didn’t share it. Yet it was his arrival that started the discussion, which the Helbahnese boy followed silently. He noted Jocasta’s concerns and Hugo’s assurances, willing to follow the girl’s interests so long as there were no immediate threats.

Pushing to his feet, he gave another nod to Hugo before stepping after his companions, through the rift.


Surrounded suddenly by the cold desert air, Kaspar found himself grateful for the sort of chill he’d not yet found in Ersand’Enise, a temperature more like that of his homeland. Then it set into the dampness of his clothes, and he cursed it quietly in his mind. Suppressing the urge to shiver, he traced his eyes across their surroundings to get a feel for their environment, noting it was unsurprisingly comprised of sand. Thank the Pentad for his high boots, then—he’d have to be knee-deep before the granules filled them.

He heard Jocasta’s warning and turned in the direction she indicated, sensing for the first signs of the approaching Halassa. Kaspar had few martial skills, but doubted any he could’ve learned would’ve been much use against their thick-armored opponents. He would have to make do with something else, but straightened his spine and let the familiar confidence seep through him.

Ayla was the first to dart forward, and he smiled a soft thing at her eagerness. He observed the striking of her inks, formulating his own counter against the beasts, and moved to position himself against the far left of the coming herd. Hearing the laughter of Ysilla’s jester, he deepened his stance, sinking his feet slightly into the sand and reaching out with his senses toward the nearest Halassa, slowed by Ayla’s assault.

”Into the fray we go, it would seem.”

Kaspar took a deep breath and pulled at the sand beneath its feet, feeling the matter vanish as his manas took in the energy. He drew down, hoping the fluid nature of sand would work in his favor, and felt the familiar press of contained energy. He was skilled at drawing, but the boy had never used it on a scale like this—it would be a challenge, but he knew he was capable of it.

Yet, the energy would need to be released, too—he couldn’t hold it forever, and certainly didn’t want to damage his mana capacity so soon in the mission.

Pulling his cherrywood wand from the pocket of his vest, Kaspar pointed it toward the Halassa and imagined a barrier of stone in front of the beast, halting its progression and being drawn into it by the collapsing sand. The matter emerged, layer by layer, as sweat began to bead on his brow. He switched again to drawing, breathing deep and heavy. This was not an easy task, and certainly not at the speed he was trying to do it, but he hadn’t spent years honing his drawing to be incapable, and had no intentions of dying so young to an overgrown turtle.

He could do this. They all could, in their own ways—and they would have to.

---

---

"I'll meet you down there, expect something big!" he says offhandedly to the duo.

Rather than attempting to vainly cut through the crowds down the stairs and draw possible witnesses to himself, Zarra goes into a men's bathroom, which to his luck is empty. He goes inside a stall, stands on a toilet to hide his presence, and goes into deep thought. After what could be interpreted as an eternity, he decides his strategy. With a little bit of concentration, all sense of touch, pain, and even temperature, fade away. Once again, he is left levitating in a world that breaks the boundaries of the ship. It's an experience only a Greyborn can truly understand, becoming beyond permeable. He uses what illusion of gravity left to fall through the floors. He lands inside of a utility closet on the middle deck and singlehandedly dismisses his astral surroundings. He takes as damp towel, possibly needing it for his idea. He leaves the closet cautiously, like a superhero worried about their secret identity.

His first instinct was in fact, to go to the hull itself, and rip a nice, jagged, gaping hole into it. However, that would have to unfortunately be a last resort, as the instant drop in pressure would likely instantly flood him away and make it impossible to reach the hole again, assuming he's lucky and isn't KO'd upon impacts. He could also go to the riled workers right now and say a Volti is after them, but they'd likely question him and he'd eventually crack from lack of good responses. If Manfred is going for the captain, that could be used a distraction. And so the cunning boy has an epiphany: What if he sabotages the engine? Leave them all stranded, well, except for his team of course, Hugo is on their side. Everyone else? I hope they know how to bind rafts, he snarks to himself, acknowledging the irony of having survived a sabotaged boat only to have to do that himself.

Now, he could just use his intangibility to reach the engine itself, but the issue the longer he stays in that form, the more annoying it is come back, it's logarithmic in its time like that. Be there for 30 seconds? You're not gonna come back for another 6, that's just enough time for many things to go wrong, including accidentally getting stuck between ebbing stories of the ship. He's done something similar before and it is not an experience he wants to repeat. Besides, that's exactly why he asked Hugo to give him this effective, although fashionably outrageous, employee outfit.

He makes his way through the corridors of pipes and mechanism beyond his current education, stealth in mind. Why do the inner workings of boats, or just buildings and general, give off such a creepy vibe? Is it the shadows of stow away rats? The flickering of torchlight on the dirty metal? Is it just the pipes themselves that brings out some inherent human fear of looking at the unknown? These sort of metaphysical questions would be very easy to get lost in, but he refuses to let them dominate his full attention as he walks with quiet purpose.

Zarra reaches a very large and complex room. The noise is nearly unbearable at this point, the sound of blast furnaces, steam regulators, and chugging gears creates a cascade of mechanized cognitohazard. He spots 3 men and a woman: Two watching some sort of terminal, likely keeping track of the everchanging states of the ship's power. Nearby, Zarra spots the other two having a drink and arguing over some kind of schematic. Maybe they're on break, or trying to fix an underlying issue? Regardless, this is a strangely exhilarating experience, he feels exactly like a Traveler Agent. He always admired the Traveler, seeing him as a legacy of change, not the terrorist that everyone propagates. He's only dishing out the very suffering that the higher classes have been perpetuating for years.

Finding himself getting distracted, he kicks himself back to reality. Analyzing the whole system, he notices that all of the small pipes come from a very colossal pipe. He could bind the metals open, but only an actual fool would do that, as the pipes would easily melt someone's skin onto its surface, even with the frigid towel to protect him, The cruise is currently slowing, that means the pipes are low pressure, atleast, what's what his limited understand of engineering is telling him. What about creating a small slit? He feels that's a little bit underwhelming, they'll inevitably fix that... Unless they don't have the very thing they need to fix it. He prides himself on his cleverness.

Being careful and patient, he slowly uses magnetic to remove the rivets out of the frame of the pipe, a magic so simple nobody should sense it. Tink as the first one hits the floor. He looks back instinctively, nobody yet. He does it again, a little more confident, nobody again. He decides his wasting his time, and start doing all of them in quick succession. He removes the last screw, leaving them sloppily left on the floor. He takes his yellow soaked linen, and heaves the pipe off. There's a distinct clunk as the pipe comes lose into the mage's hand, who had pulled way too hard an attempt to do dodge the steam shooting out. He falls forwards and makes a very loud CLANG as the boy uses the pipe to catch himself, almost putting his face onto it's blue hot surface. “Crap!” is the only thing he can pronounce as he has indubitably given himself away. He shifts through the wall on pure panic. He enters another part of the hallway where he stops in front of...

Leon and Eunji, who sees this skinny dusty fake-employee now holding an integral part of the ship's power.

---

The meeting concludes.
Hugo’s study pre-departure
Responding to @YummyYummy

---

As the meeting proceeded, Yalen found himself abruptly engaged in a conversation with Zarina. Her offer of coffee was more welcome than she realized. He was the type to sleep early and get up at the crack of dawn. This unexpected summons was taxing Yalen’s dwindling vitality. The exhausted youth sipped the beverage carefully so as not to burn his tongue. Such a pleasant aroma. It’s quite smooth and tangy.

Yalen responded to Zarina’s probing questions with patience. By openly flaunting her opposing faith, she’d made it clear that she was targeting him, and he wanted to avoid conflict if at all possible. He had met a few Hexaic worshippers while traveling to various villages with his Dordian brotherhood. They all presented themselves with varying degrees of politeness or hostility, but they all had a peculiar look in their eyes. He did not know how much persecution Zarina faced from his fellow Quentists, but Yalen hoped to get along with her. The young monk was a moderate among followers of the Pentad. Rather than try to convert Zarina, Yalen desired to learn more about the Hexaic faith, and understand why she chose to worship a false idol despite acknowledging the majesty of the five gods.

Everyone eventually spoke their piece and the meeting came to an end. Jocasta’s performance was especially moving, leading Yalen to wonder why such a fragile person was part of this sortie. Hugo widened the portal to the other side and beckoned for the party to enter. Jocasta followed Yalen as he approached the gateway. For some reason, he felt his neck stiffen in her presence, but the sensation passed as soon as he crossed the threshold to Torragon.

---

Hostile forces approach.
Torragon, battle in the desert

---

Upon exiting the portal, Yalen stumbled and fell pathetically into the sand. He shakily recovered himself with the aid of his walking cane and scuffed the dust off his robe. The sudden change in temperature caused goosebumps to creep along his skin. The party appeared to have arrived shortly after nightfall.

I’m certain the paradigm did his best to choose a safe entry, but I should check our surroundings just in case. Yalen closed his eyes and stretched his awareness out into the vast desert. The amount of life he was able to detect was staggering. Thanks to his virus, he could feel the presence of even the smallest mouse. As Yalen focused on each distant creature, he realized that a handful of them were moving towards the group at an alarming speed. His fellow tethered Jocasta sensed them first however. “We have company.”

The students prepared for battle. Yalen wrapped the chain of his holy icon tightly around his fist. The peaceful cleric could feel the chaotic energy flowing through the Halassa. They were aberration mad, just as Jocasta said. Yalen knew that his duty was to preserve life, but these pitiful creatures were no longer what they once were. Their bodies were mere puppets, slaves to some heretical power. Only Eshiran’s peace could save them.

The Halassa were close enough to be seen now. It was do or die. Ayla was the first to act. Her performance seemed to slow and disorient the beasts, disturbing them in body and mind via unseen forces. Yalen did not know the purpose of painting the Halassa’s shells different colors, but guessed that it was to make them more visible and coordinate everyone’s assault. Ysilla and Kaspar were making their moves as well, summoning puppets and walls of stone to block the enemy’s advance.

One of the reptiles was getting uncomfortably close now. It appeared to be less disoriented than its brethren and was fully intent on making a meal out of someone. Yallen pivoted to face the foe and raised an open palm towards it. Yalen zeroed in on the Halassa and probed its body with his mind. With his tethered nerves, he could touch the animal’s essence as easily as one would grasp the hilt of their sword.

The monk drew the desert’s ambient energy into his Manas in preparation for a spell. Though the air was cold, there was still plenty of warmth to absorb deep under the sand. His control was perfect, allowing him to fill himself with power right up to the limit without exceeding his capacity. Yalen was hesitant to confront the Halassa, but he had to stop it from killing his fellow students.

“And thus Shune said unto Rakda, I shall take thy sight from thee, so that thou may ponder thine own iniquity…!” Yalen was not one to write spellbooks, but reciting scripture helped him concentrate on what he was doing. The aqueous humours of the Halassa’s eyes were mostly water and collagen. His plan was to exploit that. The icon of sunset in his hand glowed intensely, acting as a focal point from which Yalen sent out a wave of magical energy.

The liquid layers within the Halassa’s eyes began to boil as Yalen forced them to heat up. The creature’s gait became unsteady. It thrashed about in pain, forced to endure the agony of its eyes being turned into sludge. Yalen felt nausea ripple through his body as he reluctantly tortured the beast, and he had to swallow several times to keep himself from throwing up. Please forgive me. Your suffering will be over soon. Yalen directed the wave of scorching heat to pierce deeper into the tortoise’s skull. The blood vessels progressively ignited while he continued to boil the creature from the inside out. When its brain was finally destroyed, anyone looking could see the crimson vapor escaping its ear holes. Yalen felt disgusted at his deed. He would sooner allow himself to be killed before he did something like this to a normal animal, let alone a human being.

---

Leon led the two when approaching the double doors going into the lounge. He turned around walking backwards while he talked to his company. “Well Eun-Ji, I know the cargo hold was just an excuse to get me alone. But I really am trying to get this mission done, so let's try to stay on track here.” Leon quipped in a joking manner. “Besides, I think the cargo hold might actually hold the lyre too. So that's a plus.” Leon stopped outside the two doors and turned his attention to them, his eyes leaving Eun-Ji last.

There was a lot of commotion coming from there. The lounge seemed lively, that's always a good thing. Leon would be in his element with all the people. Taking an elated breath in with anticipation for an adoring crowd. With an exaggerated push, the doors swung wide open. Only for Leon to realise just how many people were there and that he was supposed to get through them at a reasonable pace… Impossible.

Eun-Ji looked at Leon as he quipped in jest, face remaining expressionless. Ah. He was joking. she mused in her mind, the joke taking a second before she caught on to it. ”Right… In any case, that was indeed why I suggested checking the cargo hold.” she continued as she followed behind Leon as they entered the longue.

She didn’t pause for more than a split second as she continued on, driven by instinct that was tempered by years of experience. ”Let’s move on. Please follow me.” Her words were said without turning her gaze to look at Leon. Despite how crowded the small lounge was, Eun-Ji’s practiced eyes found a route effortlessly and near instantly, while her mind and body coordinated perfectly to navigate through it all.

Mere moments later, she arrived into a hallway, wide enough that only about three could walk abreast.

Leon looked back to see Eun-Ji’s face, unflinched by his words. Emotionless as ever. He rubbed the back of his neck as he entered the lounge. What was with everyone being so cold tonight? Certainly there was an important mission ahead, but he thought they could at least have some fun with it.

Continuing on into the lounge, Leon was not nearly as effective as Eun-Ji moving through large crowds. “Woah, hey, no need to spill the drink.” He helped stop a man from tripping, leveling his drink. “There are better places for it than on the floor.” He left with a twirl continuing on, Eun-Ji was just ahead of him now. Then a clearly drunk woman grabbed him for a dance. Not wanting to be impolite, he took her for a few steps of a waltz. Appearances were important after all. But as soon as possible he finessed the woman’s hands onto another's, slipping away. Eun-Ji had made some distance.

Leon finally caught up to her in the hallway. “Those people are ravenous, I don’t know how you made it out unscathed.” Clearing exaggerating some form of tiredness.

”I’m just used to it.” she said simply, glancing back at Leon as he caught up to her. Her gaze soon seemed to go to something or someone behind Leon instead, however, as she noticed someone approaching them. Or specifically, Leon.

From behind them, he heard the unmistakable sound of a fan recognizing him. Not now. Any time but now. He couldn’t afford to stick around and entertain the drunken masses, as much as he wanted to. Leon knew he had already held up the trip too long and time was of the essence. Reaching into his pouch, he took out a couple of marbles and tossed them toward the hallway entrance. “Always good to meet my fans! But duty calls I’m afraid.” He delivered with a showman’s tongue as the marbles exploded into a gentle dance of glitter, obscuring the hallway from the patrons’ eyes.

”Okay, let's get out of here. Quickly.”

Eun-Ji nodded, turned her gaze forward once more, and started moving in controlled haste again. ”Agreed.”

The pair continued moving, past the door with a pair of mages that were busy powering the engines that moved the great riverboat's novel 'paddle-wheels'. Eun-Ji glanced at Leon, casually pointing at three figures that moved in a hurry matching their own pace, some distance in front of them. ”Mages. And suspiciously in a hurry while moving towards the direction of the cargo hold. I do not like the implication.” After saying so, Eun-Ji increased her pace even more, ignoring the merry patrons around.

The patrons however, didn’t exactly ignore them in return. Especially Leon. Eun-Ji merely got some curious looks due to her being an exotic. But Leon, on the other hand… “Leon? Leon Solaire? My goodness, it truly is him!” Once more, a fan of his. A middle aged man, approaching the famed entertainer with a wide smile on his face. His shout caused others to look as well, and some of them seemed to also show recognition on their faces.

Leon continued following Eun-Ji until he heard someone calling his name from behind. His eyes widened, they were truly relentless. He slowly turned around to see a fan slowly emerging from the glitter bomb he unleashed in the hallway and more followed him. Would they stop at nothing? There were super fans sure, but this seemed as if something more bestial drove them hidden behind a friendly smile. What else could he do to stop their relentless advance?

“Eun-Ji, I’ll handle this. If I don’t make it out alive, let Carmilla know it probably wouldn’t have worked out between me and her anyway.” Leon took a last look at Eun-Ji before the hoard was upon him, eventually he just lost sight of her.

With an inhale for bravery, Leon mustered the energy to take on the ravenous crowd. ”Well hey, it’s always good to meet fans. What can I do for ya?”

”.....” Hearing Leon’s words, Eun-Ji stopped and looked backward at the one excited fan and the others that were starting to converge on the famous entertainer. Should she really just go away and let Leon handle these people? They were already nearby the cargo hold, and getting separated now would complicate the mission.

No, it simply will not do.

Thus, just as some of the fans were starting to speak up, the lights inside the room suddenly dimmed, plunging the room into darkness as Eun-Ji drew from them. The crowd was distracted, looking around at the suddenly darkened room. Swiftly, Eun-Ji moved, slipping through the crowd, taking Leon’s right hand and pulling him with her while casting an illusion spell on him to make him disappear from sight.

It was only for a few seconds and the light returned to normal. “What was that about, I wonder?” mumbled one of the crowd. “Wait, where’s he? Mr. Leon?” said another.

Leon continued to chat with his adoring fans until the lights started to dim and a hand grabbed him. "Hey, hey, I love my fans but please don't be so handsy… Oh! Eun-Ji it's just you." Recognizing the situation, he started to lower his voice into a whisper.

Meanwhile, Eun-Ji continued moving, left hand grabbing Leon’s hand as she walked beside the still invisible man as she maintained the spell on him. ”Do pardon my decision.” she whispered softly. ”But I judged that being separated now will not help any of us.”

"I am fine with hand holding Eun-Ji, there is no need for pardons."

Leon then turned a call into the hallway. "This is farewell for now. But I'll be doing a show outside the cargo hold. Get as many people as you can and drink as much as you like."

Hearing Leon’s words, the crowd turned their gaze to see Leon with Eun-Ji moving away, already out of reach. A few seemed at first like they wanted to give chase, but either because of how uncouth that will look like to other people or because of Leon’s promise of a show, they relented. Instead, these excited few along with some others maintained a degree of calm as they started to plan to indeed attend the promised show.

Likely, the area outside the cargo hold will soon become quite chaotic.

Eun-Ji let go of Leon’s hand, giving him a nod. ”Would I be correct if I make an assumption that you’re intending to use the crowd to our advantage in securing the Lyre? If so, that is a very clever plan, Leon.”

"Well that and a party goers crowd will turn that riot into nothing but a drunken brawl. That makes it just another normal night in Feska rather than the start of some revolution."

Eun-Ji paused for a brief before nodding once more in approval. ”I see. Very, very clever indeed.” The smallest hint of a smile was briefly on her face. She was impressed that Leon actually planned that widely. She didn’t even think of the riot at all, her mind having decided that the task fell to the others for that.

Thus the two continued on, right on the tail of the three suspicious mages. Soon enough, they arrived right where they needed to be, near the trapdoor to the Cargo Hold. And there stood the three mages that Leon and Eun-Ji had been chasing, facing against two men standing in front of the trapdoor. The stances of all five individuals suggested an imminent beginning of hostility.

”Zarina.”

The one with such a namesake spoke up, louder and a more dominating tone than the persona Jocasta tried to emulate, essentially cutting her off. But it was just that, an immediate and brief correction that didn’t even earn the Virangish girl’s gaze as she’d take a sip from her favourite beverage right after. It would only be after Hugo’s elaboration on priorities that her golden hues geared themselves toward the chair-bound tethered, ”Sure, I’ll hear them out. But I’m also getting rid of the threats even if they whine about it. Just so we all know where I stand.” she announced as she pushed her chair back and got up just as the others did.

Zarina took the time to refill her own cup and prepare another while the others were hopping into the portal into the familiar night of Torragon. She was actually the last to go in, for she had something to add in her exchange with the Paradigm which she would start with a snap of her fingers, ”Ah yes.” her digits were not finger-gunning upwards, and slowly pointed toward the bearded mage, ”When we’re done, how do we get back? I’d hate to make the boat trip again.” she grinned confidently while awaiting Hugo’s reply.

With her question answered, she left the final cup of coffee on a surface near Hugo, ”See ya’.” with that, she hopped into the rift and joined her comrades.

---

Location: The Deserts of Torragon

---

The sand was cold, the breeze even cooler. The desert was such a merciless teacher, no real respite for those that dared to tread her hateful lands. But all those familiar with the dunes of Torragon knew the frigid nights were far more bearable than the scorching daylight, and Zarina was certainly glad to feel the cool, rainless air. She takes in a deep breath, finding her happy place among the dry soil her ancestors once marched upon as warriors, as merchants and even as nobles once. It was her element, now if only she had Riesco …

Her brief moment of stretching, arms opened wide and eyes closed while her cloak waved to the wind’s rhythm, was interrupted by Jocasta’s warning and Yalen’s clear change in demeanour when the rabid beasts had taken notice of their arrival. Zarina’s eyes didn’t open just yet, this was a nice and soothing moment. But as the vibrations in the sand reached her own sensitivities, she’d turn her head to prompt a crack from her neck and slowly open her golden gaze to the dying twilight before her.

”Agreed.”

She responds dryly to her sister’s remark while taking a step forward and essentially crossing the invisible line her colleagues weren’t keen on violating, many opting to stand their ground instead. And then another step was taken with her body leaning forward a little. Her metal jug was carefully levitating by her, as well as her recently filled cup, and she realised it by the third step which prompted a pause. There was no way she’d compromise it, so she’d carefully guide it over to a stony surface near Jocasta.

The beasts were drawing very near, and Ayla was preparing her counter-attack. When the little lion’s melody came to be and set the rhythm of the upcoming dance, Zarina drew her black, piercing-friendly Shamshir in one, fluid movement with her left hand, making it clear to even those who didn’t pick up on it yet that she intended on bringing the fight to the Halassa.



A wide, toothy grin took shape onto the young, Virangish mobster as she commenced her jog toward the maelstrom of rabid breast flesh coming right at them. Ayla was limiting them and coated them with different paint each. In turn, Zarina could more safely feast on the energy the pack was emitting by charging in so violently. And just as they would get a bit too close, she lept in the air, propelling herself as to get behind the group, and more specifically the conspicuously big one with a unique pattern on its shell, the odd sixth among the five colours used. A basic use of Kinetic magic, one she had a more intimate attunement to, so it came to no surprise she’d have no trouble manoeuvring and correctly if she over or under-shot.

First thing’s first, the alpha had to be stopped. She did so by hurling her blade at its tail while she was still above it. And no, her aim wasn’t perfect, which merely scraped the creature’s appendage instead. But it was enough to get its attention, especially when her landing would come with an amplification of her impact’s sound, the same way she emphasised her footsteps during dances. Naturally, the shelled beast would not take kindly to its tail being messed with and confront a potential flanker.

Zarina took this chance to observe how it moved, how awkward it was for it to orient itself toward a small target and its general speed when it couldn’t just bullrush. By then she would use basic Magnetic magic to attract her blade back to her left hand and keep it outstretched to her side to make her appear a tad wider. She intended to strafe the creature, keep on its blind spot now that its sight was compromised, and her echoing, calculated footsteps added to the disorientation that Ayla was already providing for the group.

Like a Matador in a Corrida, she kept calm. It was to be expected from one used to dealing with animals. She was very much teetering close to that vicious beak, but continued to strafe to the side, circling the beast, and if it charged, it had a perfectly good shell to hop on and revisit that tail she had previously cut. One could mistake this for toying with the beast, but it was clear she intended to either find a quick opening for a swift and merciful Coup de Grace, or to tire the beast out. The former was more likely, given the nature of the Halassa’s condition.

It would attempt to bite, and it would attempt to swipe. Both terribly impractical when facing a lithe and agile predator who specialises in movement. All of which gave her even more means to zip faster around the beast while keeping close. There would be a bit of prodding, mostly to the shell to see just how tough it was but also keep the creature’s attention on her.

As the shot rang through the group, the woman stood on the table and grabbed one of the half emptied cups on it. “Listen up, Kameraden!” Quickly taking the time to chug it down before continuing. “I understand this anger you are all feeling, as I feel the same way you have. However! If we just continue to get angry without doing what needs to be done, we’ll get nowhere!”

Dorothea clamped her cloak tightly as she wasn’t too used to speaking to such a massive crowd, let alone this passionately. “Your ancestors must have told you about how our dear Feska used to be before those schweine of the Rednitz took over, right? Why don’t we return to those times? Where men aren’t treated as slaves! Where there aren’t any who die in the fields of exhaustion!”

She looked around to see the faces on the people. Scared to even talk any further. Scared she would put her family in danger, however she doesn’t have much of a choice any longer. Taking a deep breath, she prepared to conclude her side of the bargain. “My name is Dorothea Hohnstein, heir of the family. I will do everything in my power to make sure to make Feska a place where the people aren’t treated like dogs any longer! But if we want to achieve such a dream…. My friends, my brothers and sisters… WE NEED THE REDNITZ TO GO!”

At the mention of her name, murmurs rippled through the crowd. The Hohnsteins were well–remembered in Feska. Their honesty and generosity had made them immensely popular, but also not popular enough to avoid the sta in the back from their fellow nobles. Yet, it was clear that, while her message had been broadly positively received, the people were looking for something a little bit more: some clear indication that she was on their side and would support their actions as opposed to simply co-opting them for noble ends. Dory could sense it.

Then, the Traveler’s agent stepped in. “A rousing speech, rich girl,” he sneered, “and some ideas I wish that more of your people expressed, but I would ask you why we should trust you? Why do we need nobles to lead us like cattle? To tell us what to do?”

It was then that a sly smirk appeared on the woman’s face. “Cattle, good sir? You have a rather rude way to address the people here. No, I do not intend to trample over you like the Rednitz do. I just wish for my people to stop suffering this much! An absolute monarchy does not fit us, now does it?”

The agent’s eyes went cold. “The words I use are apt for your people’s actions, and your change of heart very sudden and convenient, given your family’s history with the Rednitz who, I will agree, are monsters. So I would question you this: how would you have us proceed, oh noble overlord?” The crowd was clearly watching. There were scattered shouts and exhortations.

Dorothea’s face would be covered by grief. “Indeed, even our family wasn’t safe from the Rednitz’s brutality…. However, these beliefs have been shared by our family for decades.” A while later the woman reached her hands outwards into a gifting manner. “I will use all of my family’s resources, for what’s left of it at least, to make sure Feska won’t ever have people like the Rednitz rule it any longer… I wish to share power with someone chosen by the people.”

As the debate continued, the people’s rabid energy seemed to dissipate. Some were no longer on the precipice of violence, while others had grown impatient. They were drunk and angry and wanted blood. The Traveler’s agent clapped as Dorothea finished her speech, but there seemed something almost mocking about it. “And what power can you offer us that we cannot already take for ourselves,” he countered, gesturing at the huge aberration. “Would you scold us for drinking of its power and taking for ourselves what should be ours? Or would you join us!?” The last few words were spoken with a firebrand’s fervour.

“What would I offer?.... survival.” Dorothea’s stare would stab into the agent. “We should all know how small we really are, if there is no noble house that can continue to coerce our neighbors… Then Feska would be a couple specks of dust in history. I would join my people if that is what they wished, of course.” The woman paused for a second. “The only thing you forget is that I would die for Feska and its people, whether it be as a noble or a commoner!”

The crowd cheered at Dory’s words and it seemed she had won them over. The agent seemed… slightly less convinced, but more impressed than he had been. “Then we shall drink of its power together,” he proclaimed, “and seize this symbol of opulence from our oppressors.” He stretched out his hand to absorb some of the aberration. “We must all act together,” he warned, “not too much for one or the power will overwhelm.” People began filing in, nervous but trusting. Dorothea walked among them, rubbing shoulders with the commonfolk, encouraging them, leading by example. They seemed genuinely impressed with her and her unconditional nonjudgmental support. Then, the Traveler’s agent stretched out a hand towards the spot of blackness and the others followed.

Dory followed the crowd and stretched her hand out just as the others were doing. It didn’t make sense anymore, it felt both short and excruciatingly long, however when it took effect… it really took effect. She felt strong, really strong suddenly. As if she could actually kill a Rednitz with her bare hands… a Rednitz.. perhaps killing one would make this anger fade.

With a collective howl, the crowd began to surge forward, the seeds of a nascent revolution planted, Dorothea empowered, and… no real plan in sight at all.

---

I expected too much, thought Carmilia.

Carmillia, as per her original intentions, had let Dorothea Hohnstein take the lead. She didn't use her powers on the crowd in order to see the extent of Dorothea's capabilities. The noblewoman had done an admirable job at rousing the the crowd. Their original aim to mindlessly riot had been changed to aiding the Hohnstein's cause. Even when dealing with the original riot rouser who was undoubtedly an agent of the Traveler, she had passed. Then whatever respect she had for the Feskan had evaporated upon seeing her take in the powers of the abberation, clearly under the pressure of the heavy atmosphere.

Abberations, Carmilia had decided, were a no-go.

Power in exchange for sanity was a poor trade. It also absolutely went against their original plan of inciting a controllable riot. Nearby, she could spot hundreds of others on shore. She eyed them precariously. If they merged with the ongoing riot on the Lorentine Queen... it was entirely possible that a riot spearheaded by abberation frenzied men would spiral into an unstoppable disaster. Fortunately, the ship was slowing to a crawl. She was unsure whether it was due to Zarra or Manfred but she thanked them silently in her head. It would buy them necessary time.

Time for Plan B.

Reinstating Dorothea into power was always a secondary objective. It was but a means to an end. The main goal had always been the Lyre. For now, she needed to slow down the escalation of the riot. She wasn't intending on forsaking Dorothea entirely but judging from the somewhat crazed look the Feskan girl had after absorbing part of the abberation, she probably needed the aid of the more combat apt members of the team.

Carmillia took once last glance at Dorothea. She was disappointed. This was what happened when allowed another to take the reins.

She turned on her heels and went back indoors, dropping several of the napalm canisters she had brought with her. All it took was a spark from a basic arcane spell to set the main doors alight. This would buy her needed time to rejoin back with her wild card; Leon Solaire. The gaudy charlatan was no doubt the only other person in their team that would agree with pocketing the Lyre.

"Eshiran's Bones! What the hell is going on?" yelled a man next to her.

Carmillia assessed him. He looked shabby. Poorly dressed. There was a drawl to his words, possibly a result of being drunk but most likely due to the fact he was a commoner. Probably a Spratz farmer burning his meager earnings away on drink and gamble. There was no reason to worry about detection. Drawing from the thermokinetic energy of the fire, Carmillia unleashed the full brunt of her magic onto his mind. She forcefully diminished any sense of danger he might have been experiencing and willed him to trust her.

"Some guy is preparing to perform a fire dance. The flaming doors are just theatrics, there's no real danger," said Carmillia, with a reassuring smile.

"...Huh," he grunted, somewhat convinced. "Bloody performers getting crazier by the day, eh?"

"Yes," she answered. "You wouldn't have happened to see a flamboyantly dressed tanned fellow? Cape and all?"

"Ah, that guy. Saw him and some oriental girl back in the lounge, they were headed down. They performers as well?"

Down... They're probably headed for the cargo hold. It was a good place to start the search for the Lyre.

"Miss?"

Carmillia looked at the drunken commoner once more. Inebriated with alcohol and her magic, it was likely he'd stick around and either get burned by the flames or run over by the riot that would come after. A decent person would warn him and get him out of harm's way. Carmillia ignored him and took off.

---

---

"Five encounters five," said Creep, doing that thing that people of a certain height did, looking down their nose at you in a subtle assertion of power. "One for each of our party to trial against." It gave Jocasta pleasure knowing that hers was the power to break this arrogant girl should she have chosen. "Agreed?" The Virangishwoman concluded their one-sided conversation. Jocasta gave her the satisfaction of the eye contact that she so obviously sought. She gulped and nodded. "I...I'll give it everything I have," she promised. Or... perhaps ten percent, you peon. It was easy to turn the smirk that threatened to burst out of her into a brave smile. Then, she watched the children launch themselves headlong at giant tortoises. Jocasta had lived inside one of their shells once. She had eaten their putrid flesh: rubbery, bland, and slimy. What moisture it had contained!

The magics that they hit the halassa with were about what she expected. Slut played a pretty little thing on her flute, splashed some paint and vibrated the sand. Oh, Jocasta thought, you're a sonic mage. Truly a stunning development. Still, she slowed the aberration-mad beasts a little, and that made it easier for the others. Subtly, the Tethered began drawing energy.

There was nothing subtle about Bitch, however. It was clear that the sisters weren't on ideal terms - and I wonder so ever why? Jocasta mused wryly - but they were oh so much alike beneath their superficial differences, pointy hats, and gaudy jewellery. This one just charged in and began jumping and dancing around the biggest oldest tortoise of them all, making a lot of unnecessary noise. Ugh, Virangish. She was entertaining at least, though her attempts to poke at its shell were not likely to yield any sort of dividends. For a moment, Jocasta considered intervening, but the girl was quick and probably wouldn't die. She'd find her opening eventually.

The boy that the Tethered had hardly noticed earlier - she'd thought there were only five of them for the longest time - she dubbed Sucker (for bloodsucker, since he looked like a vampire). He... started disintegrating sand. This was wonderful, honestly! The vampire was a blood mage! Left to her own devices, Jocasta would've struggled to make something so good up! Thankfully, the nonexistent gods had done it for her. Or just this guy's parents, she amended. She watched him sweat and strain and set himself as if he were about to defecate in the sand. A barrier materialized in front of the charging halassa and the big old tortoise hammered right into it blindly at a... breakneck pace. Well, not really. It did slam hard into something of considerable mass, however, and it staggered, stumbled, and... Jocasta gave it a little bop. It crashed to the ground, dazed and wounded, one of its chunky forelimbs twitching spasmodically.

As Sucker was busy nearly getting a nosebleed and giving a halassa one, Creep, for all her subtly disdainful talk of pulling one's weight - which Jocasta was all too used to being on the receiving end of - attacked the third animal with... a screaming puppet. The Creep is a puppeteer. Let me guess: the priest prays the next one to death. Just what the second Virangishwoman intended to do with a little black birdy and a cuckoo jester was beyond Jocasta's imagining, and that actually annoyed her slightly. If this one dies, she told herself, I think I'll let it happen. Would the sisters reconcile as one lay there, expiring? That would be worth watching. A part of her now hoped that one would, indeed, take a mortal wound, but she wasn't invested enough to make it happen.

“And thus Shune said unto Rakda, I shall take thy sight from thee, so that thou may ponder thine own iniquity…!” Jocasta felt a distinct buildup of energy in the area of the fourth halassa and the beast let out a horrible braying, hissing yowl. Well, at least one surprise among the group. Yalen was straining, she could tell. For all of his Tethered powers and enviable degree of ambulation, his RAS was pitifully low. Boiling its brain, she recognized. He was the smartest of the group, the girl knew, for she had done it the same way. He made the most of his powers and ended its life quickly and mercifully. Animals were stupid things, but innocent, and there was no need to make them suffer for humanity's follies more than they had to.

Then, one was upon her. She'd been paying so much attention to the others that she'd neglected its approach. There wasn't time for anything fancy. With a speed approaching instinct, her arms flashed out in front of her and, eyes wide, she hit it with a massive kinetic shove. The enormous tortoise tumbled backwards, end over end, and landed on its back some fifty yards distant, struggling to right itself. Mercilessly, Jocasta drew the energy both from its flailing limbs and from the final halassa, which was heading straight for Ayla, and made a slight twisting gesture with her fingers. The inverted animal's neck snapped and its suffering ended.

While her draw had slowed the sixth giant tortoise to a more appropriate tortoise-speed, it was still headed for Ayla. There were three still very much alive and in the fight and a fourth down but not completely out. Jocasta began panting. She used chemical magic to cook up a sweat. Clearly, the Tethered girl had done her part and was rightly exhausted. She reached out with her manas. Even now, she could feel her former prison-mates stirring a ways away. She wondered who the caretakers' favourites were now: who'd told them about the disruption out in the sands. She could sense them moving: on a sortie out to investigate. The other five could handle three and a half halassa and, if they couldn't, they weren't worth having around anyways. "I-I'm sorry," Jocasta called, panting as she spoke, "That's one more down, b-but it took a lot out of me. I've got your backs, though! I'll...I'll scan in the distance for any more. Gods help us if there are!"

That would cover the surge of energy that they might feel from her. Four figures: caretakers, including Mirabel, the Tan-Zeno; Al-Qorrah, the Binder; Esparza, the Internal Chemist; and Gutierrez, the rapist. They would never make it over here. Jocasta drew from the desert and reached out with her energies: she would see to that.

---

---

As the inks are sprayed upon the encroaching Halassa, identification for communication became remarkably easier and the class seemed to naturally respond to what felt instinctive to them, a natural reaction from the pheromone laced within the dyes. This was perhaps a secret to the party, but whilst the Torragonese greeting was given a personal touch, it allowed her to become close enough to gather the information she needed for her performances. With the instructions provided by Ysilla, she used this information to direct the class like a tactician, watching over their progress with interest, directing her abilities as necessary.

Ayla watches Ysilla, as the puppets come upon display. Though what drew her envy was that warm-looking cloak billowing behind her, almost willing to do anything to huddle up under these cold conditions. The jester puppet Khamsei cackling in an unnerving manner, an uncanny valley, a facade of life that borders upon the grotesque, as the Hoopoe draws the pair upon the Halassa adorned with violet hues.

Ayla would think that under other circumstances, Kaspar would take the opportunity to take out his sketchbook to draw these creatures, though thankful he wasn’t overwhelmed with artist inspiration in this moment. The red-painted Halassa drew his attention, matching the crimson gleam present within the boys’ eyes. The sand engulfs around the tortoises’ legs, slowing it further, but a powerful beast and the boy’s mana limit were in direct contention. Thankfully, Kaspar erected a powerful barrier to stop its advance… a very powerful barrier by all appearances, as the red Halassa slumped, momentarily stupefied, leg spasming.

Ayla felt the shift in her drawing almost immediately with a Halassa being downed already caught her off-guard. Her focus shifted to the priest boy, Yalen, hearing how he spoke the blessed words of his gods and in the spirit of divine retribution, a blood curdling shriek departed the yellow Halassa’s mouth, as if the creature had defied the will of the gods. She could see how the eyes of the creature boiled within its skull, swelling, inflating, the steam erupting from the sacs. She was thankful that she forgot to eat before attending the study, as she dry-heaved upon the sand in front of her. Air becomes thick with the scent of boiled Halassa, the red mist of its blood bubbling out with wet pops as it escapes through the eye sockets and ears of the creature. If she ever had ever questioned the power of the Pentad, she immediately apologises there and then to avoid their wrath.

Ayla could feel the battle dance of the Zarina upon the sands, the swift and agile movements as she stalked her prey, evading the attacks in rhythm, flexible in her bobbing and weaving, striking to constantly draw its attention, baiting the beast like a Matador to create the ideal opportunity to end its misery. She couldn’t help but give a smile when she noticed it, Zarina naturally targeted the biggest Halassa out of the group without encouragement, the proud nature of the Virangish girl unable to resist the challenge to display her talents in front of the others. Even as skilled as she was, it seems ever so subtly the girl couldn’t stop the dancer inside of her from moving in time to the sounds of her flute, keeping pace with the variation in tempo, seeming to time for the appropriate moment to flow into the next movement.

The final Halassa’s were approaching herself and Jocasta, the pair still residing near the spot where they arrived. The animals were thankfully charging wildly, but sluggish and disorientated under the effects of her magic. The green Halassa was taking the lead, seemingly approaching Jocasta out of the pair. It was approaching too fast for Ayla to do anything about it, but thankfully the other girl was willing to pull out her trump card. She could feel an incredible draw of energy, stunting her own magic, and with a flail of her arms, Jocasta directed it towards the Halassa, watching the poor creature flip, going through the air in a backwards somersault, cartwheeling over itself till coming to a stop fifty yards away on its back. Truly the girl in the rollerchair displayed some impressive raw power in her assault, it wouldn’t surprise her if Jocasta turned around and suggested she was RAS 9 in that very moment, and Ayla would believe every word of it. Though the acting afterwards was good, the skill failed when in such proximity to a fellow performer. Ayla could empathise with Jocasta, she understands what it means to be physically weak compared to others, and the parts they play to survive in the world they live in. With great power comes great responsibility, and Jocasta must find herself burdened under that heavy load.

The final blue Halassa is stumbling towards the pair, and with Jocasta in her weakened state, it was to Ayla to step up. This would be her first ever confrontation with a wild beast like this outside of the Circus petting zoo of Varrahasta and the safari’s organised as family trips by her father, under the protection of an armed escort. The beast’s features were distorted, pained, as something truly maleficent has blighted this perhaps one noble creature. The residual effect of Jocasta’s drawing allowed her the time to prepare, and with the others finishing off the other Halassa, she could now be afforded the opportunity to use her magic for herself. Whilst she was seemingly not trained in combat like her classmates, her time entertaining as allowed her to pick up a few skills. Unlike other performers who liked to enhance their stage presence, glowing and shining like a beacon on the stage, Ayla always stayed in the background, the conductor hidden in the dark as the audiences’ eyes were upon the play. It is through her performances she was able to develop the beginnings of how to use her powers obfuscate, and whilst these skills have yet to be nurtured under the tutelage of an experienced Master or Arch-Zeno, she has enough for the purposes she intends to use them for currently.

“Stay still”, Ayla starts to play her flute as she begins to draw upon the energy around her, Kinetic, Arcane, and Chemical. From the perspective of the blue Halassa, if it was a sentient creature, events and its awareness would start to follow along these lines. It would feel the creeping darkness as it starts to decrease its awareness of its surroundings, that feeling it is embarking on autopilot towards its destination, having the urge to travel over in that direction, but starting to lose focus. The air is starting to fill with the sounds of a flute, omnidirectional, instilling a constant presence. The tortoise will start to look around, not seeming to make out any distinctive or recognisable shapes in the desert, having a feeling that there is something there, as if something is missing, but not able to conceive on where it is. It starts to look around, disoriented and confused, and frightened as an animal would be in this situation, would start to lash out blindly around it. The Halassa would start to notice something, a shape, moving towards it to attack, only for its actions to slide through the liquid mass. The mass starts to form a shape, something that begins to resemble something like a miniature Halassa made of ink droplets and strokes levitating in the air, giving out a gleam which rivals the stars in the bright sky. The creature would try to approach it, but it always moved backwards, a charge would result in the ink dispersing around and reforming again elsewhere. Constantly attention is drawn to this.

Ayla continues her performance for the creature as it now seems to be trapped in a world of its own, its actions being delicately controlled through the subtle uses of multiple magics working in tandem, being rotated within intervals to the effect to be managed so the others may rally together to finally give the beast the peace it deserves. To the rest of the class, they could see how Ayla appears to hypnotise the creature like a snake-charmer, playing the flute to subdue the entranced Halassa, guiding it away safely from Jocasta and herself with her ink splot acting like a carrot-upon-a-stick before it.

---

---

---

Ismette went in hard on Captain Vyrachi and his crew and they proved... she'd have liked to say 'useful idiots', but it was far more of the latter than the former. Mostly, the captain spent time regaling her with tales of his many adventures. It was clear that his sole mission was going to be sleeping with her. He wasn't ugly, by any means, but not nearly as fetching as he thought he was. She bided her time and plied him for drinks and what little information she could glean, waiting for the opportunity to slip away and try somewhere else. She wondered what sort of luck poor Trypano was having.

Indeed, what the human among yasoi witnessed was... not what she had expected. Hair down in a tangled mess, clothes baggy, height far too tall for a human woman, she avoided questioning as she entered. The gruff man at the door merely held out a hand and barked an order that she pay the fee. A coin found his palm and she was inside the vast backroom of the Mermaid's Knees.

It was a drug den, and a prison. In one area were great black chests: man-sized or larger. Chained to the floor, walls, ceiling, and pillars, they rocked and reeled. Unholy noises came from inside: noises that sounded like... it was hard to say with all of the distance and other ambient noise, but it almost sounded like people were in there. As she watched with growing fascination and apprehension, one of the stiller black chests, which seemed to be home only to a gentle, persistent knocking and a muffled voice, was opened by three burly-looking guards. A scrawny man launched himself out of it, cursing and swearing in a language similar to Mycormish. “You could've let mem out an hour ago!" he howled at them. “I'm fine! You can see I'm fine." Their response was partially lost amid the racket of another chest jerking violently, but Trypano could make out something about him being let out too early last time. If she understood correctly, he had bitten someone's ear off.

She turned her attention to the other part of the vast, subdivided room. Against the walls and between the pillars were shadowed booths and individuals hunched over tables in groups. The magic that permeated the air was like nothing she had ever felt before save... it reminded her, however, slightly, of the Temporal Magic that Hugo Hunghorasz had employed, actually. There was something different about it, though: something sickeningly... sweet, for lack of a better descriptor. She was just starting to wonder - with the diligence of a scientist's mind - what it was they were doing in those booths, with what may or may not have been a form of Temporal Magic, when she saw her first aberration. The size of a bushel, it was unmistakable. The four yasoi pirates clustered around it bounced up and down in their seats excitedly, chattering amongst themselves in anticipation. Then, as one, they reached for the aberration and... the room seemed to flutter for a moment. Trypano linked. The three women and one man at the booth slumped back in their seats. Two were holding their temples, eyes bugged out, breathing laboured. The lone man's head lolled to the side, a look of contentment on his face as he stared up at the ceiling with a dopey smile and drool dripping from the corner of his mouth. The final member of the quartet, however, was staring straight at the human interloper and, as the Binding mage watched, the yasoi hurled herself forward, screaming something unintelligible but very, very angry.

Quietly Trypano had been piecing together the scene before her. It all struck the tone of a drug den, sailors abusing some form of anomalous substance after which they’re locked away during their period of instability. This also held the potential to be what was fueling the rumors of yasoian pirates using magic more commonly than other crews. Someone was distributing them a dangerous substance of unclear stability. This was worthy of investigation.

Her eyes fixed themselves on the quartet of pirates sitting around this unidentified substance. Whatever happened in the juncture of seconds between her looking at the substance and it suddenly being consumed it seemed to escape her. Due to its link to temporal magic it was entirely possible it simply blinked out of this world into an unknown space or even time.

Even more fascinating was the physiological effects that were imposed upon them. Despite having been standing within view of this it seemed she had been outside of its effects at the time as she felt the same as before… Or, at least she believed she did. She made a mental note to re-evaluate her physical and chemical status shortly after this. She carefully watched the dilation of their eyes, their rate of breathing, the coloration changes of their skin, the fluctuations of mana in their system, just any and all alterations to their biological systems she could pick up on.

Before she could form a plan of action moving forward one of the yasoi exposed to this substance suddenly peaked in aggression, lunging for her. For the most part Trypano seemed oddly unphased by the sudden bout of violence. There was a momentary start from her as she was pulled from her train of thought by the unintelligible screaming but there was little to any shock on her porcelain mask of a face.

Rather, in a measured motion she reached out and caught the woman by the throat as though she were snatching a bird out of the air. There was an only slightly audible breath of exertion as she hoisted the aggressor up by their neck. Her grip was firm but not crushing as her intent wasn’t to strangle them but to halt them. She cast a quick glance down at her hands to make sure their belt wasn’t sporting a dagger or blade of some variety as that could quickly complicate things. She turned her gaze over to the aggressor’s hands, watching for latent energy in case her attacker attempted to use magic. Despite the overall threat to her life however this situation largely bothered her only in that it was a distraction from this potential discovery.

“Have a spare place to put this one?” She asked aloud, speaking indirectly to the guards she passed while keeping her focus on who she was holding and just assuming they were listening. Trypano managed to get a guard's attention. He turned and made noises of acknowledgement, but then she was far from alone with her captive. Two of the woman’s friends were also running in her direction, shouting both at her and the guards in a language that seemed… related to Mycormish but distinctly different and difficult to grasp. She made out the odd broken word: something about understand, something about control, and something about not taking or absorbing. They were holding their hands out and gesturing wildly as Trypano’s attacker struggled. From the other side, the guard replied in that same tongue, his voice gruff and unhappy.

It seemed the situation grew a little hectic. Not good.

Trypano took a moment as she processed what little she could make out of their language before closing her eyes briefly and shoving the woman in her grip back into her two friends. Looking back over to gauge the reaction of the guards and then back over to the three she kept her chin tall and continued to stride forward with an air of confidence, as though she were untouchable. With a light “Hmph” she strode past and continued on her business with the hopes that this was a sufficient defusal of the situation.

She hoped, mostly for their sakes, that they left well enough alone. She was both not so fortunate and fortunate at the same time. The aberration-mad woman bolted at Trypano again, only to be restrained by her friends. A pair of guards arrived to haul her away, kicking and screaming, towards one of those black chests. Meanwhile, a third placed himself in her way. “What are you doing here?” he demanded in heavily accented Avincian. His face and bearing suggested implacability, though he didn’t seem to be drawing any sort of energy.

Alas, attention had been drawn to her. Unfortunate, truly. While she had put the attacker’s incident behind her it seemed they had outed her as an outsider, or so it seemed.

Still, the person before her didn’t seem to be drawing upon energy which either meant they didn’t expect much conflict or that this guard didn’t have the capacity to cast. Made sense not to have the guards keeping track of this magic-boosting substance also addicted to it.

Now, Trypano was no master of espionage, far from it really. What she was good at however was thinking, both in depth and on her feet. She wasn’t afraid to try throwing ideas at the wall either. Considering she was in a den full of people with mild magical potential she figured light usage of magic wouldn’t register strongly to others looking in on the site. With that and the notion that the guard before her wouldn’t pick up on it she let slip a slow closed mouth smile, buying a few seconds while she gently ran her own tongue down her teeth, elongating the enamel of the teeth upon the crown until they were finely pointed, each tooth now longer and sharp like the canines.

The idea was a simple one. If she couldn’t blend in as well pretending to be like them then she would pretend to be something else. Something… Different. She wasn’t going to lie but she wasn’t going to meet their expectations either. It was time to change the dynamic.
“Really? Breaking out the tongue of intelligentsia already?” She answered back in Mycormish, reaching up and giving an elegant flip of her hair. “I might know my magic but I’m a pirate first. In with my crew, wherever they crawled off to.”

She casually leaned over against one of the dividers for the various booths whilst she spoke, changing back over to Avincian since the guard decided to drop into conversation with it.

“I’m a mana aficionado you see. It’s fascinating, truly, the influence goods imported from alternate timelines can have on those native to a separate timeline. I’m quite impressed your provider managed to talk so many into becoming guinea pigs for a test of this scale… Or were you not aware?”

It was in major part educated guessing and pure conjecture her argument. Her plan relied heavily on this grunt knowing less about the proper origins of this unique magic substance they were abusing. It was little more than a loosely fitting theory that the stuff that brought about this jump in their magical capacity had origins in alternate timelines. She understood little on the subject of alternate timelines themselves outside of the conceptual basis surrounding them. Time, after all, was a fiendishly complex field of study and one not presently available to her as even she was not counted amongst the elite privileged to study such subjects.

With her question left hanging she gave a sharp smile, the edges of her teeth peeking out from the slight gap of her mouth as it gradually receded back to a close.

“Yeeeaaah nah, missy,” said the guard, shaking his head. “Just ‘cause I break heads for a living doesn’t mean I’m stupid.” He crossed his arms and she could feel a cautionary buildup in energy around him. A couple of lights dimmed, addicts moved sluggishly or groaned, and there was a chill in the air. A crate of… something unknown dematerialized. It was evident from the speed, variety, and ease of his drawing that this man was strong indeed. Perhaps he wasn’t quite at her level, but he was close. “I dunno what your game here is, but I’m gonna have to ask you to leave.”

A couple of other goons began moving subtly in the pair’s direction. However, before anything more could happen, a lanky yasoi woman hurried up from the direction of the door. “Gentlemen, gentlemen,” she crooned in Mycormish. “Let’s not do anything rash, shall we?” She inserted herself into the guard’s and Trypano’s immediate space, shooting the latter a flicker of a warning look. “I had to bring my human friend with me since we’re the only women in our crew. Wouldn’t want to leave her alone out there, much as she can handle herself.” She flashed a smirk. “Besides, just look at her: the fine specimen! You’re telling me there isn’t yasoi blood in there somewhere?” Ismette shook her head lightly. “She’s just the curious sort. No harm, no foul.”

Three goons had gathered. A handful of the apparent drug addicts were staring out from their booths a bit less blankly than usual. “She is sticking her big human nose in directions it shouldn't go,” growled the lead guard.

‘Yes, yes,” Ismette admitted, “but what has she really seen aside from a few addicts? We have our own here, just like everyone else.” A couple of gold coins appeared in her palms and she smiled appeasingly. Her blouse was unbuttoned and she smelled of a perfume that she hadn’t before. “This is something you can forget about now,” she said, reaching out to place the coins in each of the guard’s hands, “and so will we. My adventurous friend agrees with me. Right?”

Trypano could feel it, then: chemical magic so subtle that someone with less expertise than her would’ve missed it entirely. Ismette was stimulating all of the right receptors here in service of provoking the desired response.

Sometimes she gave others more credit than they deserved. They held magic yet they understood so little. It did little to humanize them in her eyes. With so basic a nature was it really so strange to see them not as people but the flesh, bone, strings and nerves which keep them moving?

“Sometimes I wonder why I bother.”

She announced, sighing deeply with a frown, the first genuine expression of hers this whole trip. All this work keeping up a mask to try and slip in and now she was expected to leave completely empty handed. She wasn’t surprised given how she was neither Yasoian nor terribly worldly but this barrier between her and a genuine anomaly was most vexing. Every fiber inside her wanted to reach and extend the glass nails at her fingertips through each of their throats but at the same time her mind swam with all the ways this situation could go wrong. Their victory was not guaranteed and she was not well versed in direct combat. More than anything she wasn’t about to let her research end with her at the hands of some gods damned pirates.

The only thing to cool the sting of this racist refusal was the intrigue born of Ismette’s talented use of chemical magic. As someone who’s spent nearly every day of her life studying biological functions the use of chemistry to influence the state of these pirate’s moods wasn’t particularly special. What was surprising was how little movement or visible usage of many she employed. She’d contemplated the arts of free casting, casting without overt motions or a foci before but seeing it in action she definitely felt impressed with Ismettes skill in the field. It wouldn’t be bad to find out how she does that sometime.

Regardless, with that being said she and (presumably) Ismette left the establishment unimpeded by the guards. Still, Trypano wasn’t one to let good opportunities go to waste. Her red eyes scoured their surroundings to see if there was a yasoian anomaly-addict loitering about in the many alleys of the dark open streets. A sample was a sample after all, even if it had to come from the blood of a Yasoian that had recently been exposed to this anomalous material. She was already using her binding to fabricate a steel framed glass syringe, sealing the tip and drawing away the gasses within to create a natural vacuum in place of an ordinary plunger. Without rubbers or plastics the kinds of syringes she was familiar with were veritably primitive compared to this elegant creation of hers, a mage's solution to make up where society falls short.

“I thought you were going to do something rash,” Ismette admitted. “Thank Dami you didn’t.” She shoved her hands in her pockets as she walked. “My people have… changed,” she sighed, “and very much not for the better.” She glanced up at the moons overhead, two of them close to setting. “Sorry if I said anything bad, by the way. Nothing meant. All in the service of getting us out of there with our limbs still attached.” A silence lingered for a moment. “We’ve always resented humans, even in the old days: how there are just so many of you, how you look at us as oddities, how you used to hunt us down for samples of blood and tears as if they were tonics to cure your stupid illnesses when the true illness was one of the soul.” She shook her head and tamped down on a subtly rising voice. “But now it is us who have such an illness. This newfound secrecy of ours is… not like us. I can read the old texts and hear the old stories and piece it together.”

She turned to Trypano, always surprised at having to look upwards, however slightly, and searched for her eyes. “We are addicts, almost all of us. I was too. We have always used temporal magic. Maybe you felt it in there: yasoi magic, thick in the air! Ours is the art of drawing all as one and casting all as one. Gifts of time and space were a part of that, in the past, in a dozen subtle ways, and they served us well.”

The ramshackle town was a dimly lit place at night, the wild forest encroaching at its edges, hazy silhouettes coming and going like loud ghosts, inns, taverns, and shops occasional oases of light in the darkness. “But then humans discovered Temporal magic. They didn’t hold back like we did. They tore freely from the canvas of space and time and they left holes in it.” A small group of sailors staggered past, somewhere between arguing and singing and the two women paused to watch them. “You must understand something about my people: we look like you, but we are not like you. We are… natural addicts, curious to a… maladaptive degree, and aberrations -” She furrowed her brow for a moment “-the taste of them is so sweet, so full and heady. You get little snippets of another time and place as you absorb them: a peek into other lives.” Ismette blinked. “Did you know that they’re always displaced from their origin?” she asked-but-not-really. “Think about it: you never see one pop up right beside where temporal magic is used.” She shrugged. “I wanna stop it, of course, it’s ruining us - utterly - but I’ve no idea how and now is not the time for that crusade.”

“The issue with our people is that they make no effort to try and further their understanding of what it is they have. They’ve taken things and simply jammed them into themselves in order to see if it will suddenly fix all their problems. For all the refinements and intricacies we’ve developed in mastering the fields of magic our treatments for our bodies largely boils down to consuming the right materials or cutting out the ill parts and letting our biology handle the rest.” Whilst speaking as they walked Trypano was straightening out her costume, correcting it for a more standard approach as they gradually left their district towards the more general regions of the island.

“Worst yet is that we all depend on Mana yet so little remains understood about them. A fundamental building block of all magic and yet all that has been explored of them are general guidelines and trends in how they behave or respond. It’s no surprise however that such an important fundamental understanding would fall by the wayside.” Trypano returned her gaze to the way forward, searching within the shadows and keeping an eye out for potential ambushes that could lay in wait for two women waltzing about an island of criminals.

“Human or Yasoi, all are prey to the obsession with the things we build. Friendships, rivalries, communities, societies, people can become absorbed with thinking about these things yet when the dust settles none of it truly matters. A sparrow will never care about the schemes of The Doge of Revidia. An otter will live it’s entire life without ever knowing the tensions growing between Perrence and Revidia. For all the concern people make of events that we’d be made to believe will change the world it never truly changes, just the details. Time and time again…”

With her eyes scanning for trouble as they made their way forward she definitely recalled how little time was spent discussing where they’d meet up after gathering info. She figured they’d probably end up making their way back to the point where they started but without any noteworthy landmarks to navigate back to that’d make the task just that much more difficult. Failing that, she figured visiting the other inns and seeing how each of the other sub-groups were doing would be the natural progression provided the others hadn’t left already and gotten lost somewhere on the island. Or worse.

---

The fight continues.
Assisting: @Ti

---

Despite the cold night air, Yalen felt perspiration trickle down his face. Even if it was just the head, raising a Halassa’s blood temperature to its boiling point was not an easy feat given his painfully average capacity. He cut the flow of power off, the creature now doubtlessly slain. Such a disgusting death. If he had a little more time to prepare, Yalen might have been able to formulate a less painful attack. The act of taking life weighed heavily on his heart, but Yalen believed this was the only choice. There was no cure for aberration madness after all.

There was a sudden spike in ambient energy in the direction of Ayla and Jocasta. He bore witness to a pair of Halassa bearing down on them. Ayla had engaged one with a musical assault, rendering the beast powerless as it began to attack the empty air. Jocasta wasn’t paying attention, and Yalen almost began channeling another spell to save her when she blew the reptile away without warning. Such power! The speed at which his fellow tethered was able to draw and release a kinetic attack of that size was unexpected.

"That's one more down, b-but it took a lot out of me. I've got your backs, though! I'll...I'll scan in the distance for any more. Gods help us if there are!" Jocasta was out of the fight for the moment. The others appeared to be handling themselves just fine. Ayla’s situation gave Yalen cause for worry however. She was safe enough thanks to her illusory melody, but the musician wasn’t going in for a killing blow. Her performance was probably too complicated to divert any energy towards her offense.

”Hold it there for a moment Ayla! I can help!” Yalen refocused his efforts on the blue Halassa. He was recapturing the heat radiating from the dead one as energy for a new conjuration. The enemy was dazed and confused. It was easy for the priest to probe deep into the body of the armored tortoise with his mind. He sought a vulnerability that would allow him to slay the maddened animal without causing undue suffering.

Perhaps I can try this… Yalen was a doctor and a cleric before he was a mage. Though he had little experience with animals, there were aspects of anatomy shared amongst most land dwelling creatures. It took him a few seconds to locate the Halassa’s major arteries. With his sixth sense, Yalen was able to feel every ounce of fluid flowing through the Halassa’s blood vessels.

Yalen had only recently been granted the special permission to receive instruction in a third class of spellcasting. As a chemical mage he was a novice, but there were basic tricks that even an inexperienced user could make use of. One of these was manipulating the body’s unconscious signals to wreak havoc on a foe from the inside. Using his knowledge of medicine, Yalen began orchestrating the Halassa’s demise.

Inside the Halassa, a multitude of false signals were being sent to the creature’s platelet receptors. Yalen was fooling its body into believing that there was major bleeding located in every important blood pathway he could think of. The aorta was the easiest to locate, just above the left ventricle. The coronary arteries were also compromised. Yalen made sure to target the blood vessels in the head and neck as well. In a couple minutes, the Halassa would begin to suffer several strokes and heart attacks at once. It was his hope that a sudden onset of brain death would render the creature unconscious in its final moments.