Geo Chapter
Red-Gold Rivers in the Desert Sand

Zweidaya, the great capital of Al-Marabar and a moving city that sails the dunes like a giant sigil of order and power in the lawless land. The massive sand ship had been built up over many generations, extended in some areas, and at times had simply joined another sand ship, eventually being built on top of and becoming indistinguishable from the greater image. As a result the city feels like walking through an endless ship, it's wooden decks and planks creating roads and walkways, the assorted masts and sails becoming akin to a shopkeep's signboard or becoming a beam from which one could layer something on top. The underground becomes a maze of it's own in some areas as when ships were packed together, small, narrow roads were formed and carved out with little thought, and occasionally would open up to a large clearing when the occasional sand ship had been hollowed out to become some sort of great hall. As one might venture further up the city, it would be hard to notice the large, circular arena, surrounded by masts. At the mid to upper levels of the city looking down from the railings, one could see the gladiatorial arena down below, the city's most popular blood sport at the behest of the Sand King, Axon.

Even now one could see him sitting upon a throne slapped together from the wheels and flags of old and now completely defunct sand pirate crews, ones he and his predecessor and older brother had wiped out for one reason or another. He sat there, posture straight up, and arms crossed with a grin on his face, tilting his head every so often as if he was interested in seeing the matches and their developments. He had broad shoulders, especially noticeable with the giant pauldron he had on his left shoulder, caramel skin, and a seemingly constant grin. He wore a headband with long hair slicked back in a wild and free fashion. He wore leather wraps around his forearms in favor of a greave, he had a large, ripped cloak wrapped around his waist, baggy pants, which then were put into uniform shape by metal padded boots.

This city though it is ruled by the presence and law of the Sand King, is still a ship full of crooks and criminals. Markets circulating goods of concerning legality, people being herded either to become fighters or labor, or just simply, dangerous items that are outlawed in other lands. It's not a reach or unusual to think someone could be talking about a devious plot within this place.

---

"Blue Diamond eh...?", a merchant sat in a dark corner of the city, eyeing what seemed to be a blue dust at first, yet as his scope focused upon the grains, he soon learned why it was called such. Every single grain was a perfect diamond shape.

"Indeed, one whiff of this, and even the most stout of gentlemen will be reduced to a shameful, giddy mess", before this merchant stood a man clearly not of this land. A fine Averton suit, top hat, a moustache so finely combed you could see the exact path he had run through it. His eyes were stern and cold, and behind him stood what appeared to be Sand Pirates. They wore similar garb, and anyone from around here would know whose garb it belonged to, the Aldugan Spines. A rather notorious Sand Pirate crew known for dragging slaves away to labor in one of their many mines.

"You would have me... Distribute this?"

"Indeed", he twirled his finger while his other hand pulled out his pocket watch, which engraved on the inside was a vision, glowing blue, it appeared to be of Hydro.

"If you do not... I will find someone else. Remember what I had said about the offer. You will get a 60% cut. In Averton, such a ludicrous offer would be snatched up in an instant... Personally I objected to this, but higher ups believe it is important it be pushed above all else", the merchant listened to the Averton businessman's offer... Huffed slightly, looking around a little...

"Peddling... "Miracle" items, can be quite dangerous... Especially within the city. I trust you know this, and have not foolishly brought more than this bag onto this ship", the man put his watch away, the click making everyone in the immediate interaction tense up. He did not even look in the merchant's direction.

"Of course... I would not be so foolish. I'm afraid I am on a tight schedule, so, what'll it be?", the merchant pursed his lips...

"Very well...", with that, the businessman clicked his fingers, and motioned to the pirates.

"You know the drill by now, get the gentleman up to speed. I have other places to be", and with that, he was gone, striding away so quickly his coat tails would flow behind him. The sand pirates approached the merchant, and shared the details with the merchant as they were instructed, and had seemed to do so many times.

---

Flashback - Two Weeks Ago

They knew the risks; his gang could not afford to antagonize the Walton Government and the Sand King at the same time. But Al-Marabar's slavers had proven to be insolent and intrusive and more importantly, bought Uveran lives for bargain prices. If this slave trade grew enough to be recognized, if the Walton Government decided that the disappearance of the occasional Waltonian was a fair enough price to pay for getting rid of 'savages and troublemakers', then their gang's cause would be in massive trouble.

And so they had struck, ambushing slaver caravans, assassinating slave traders and their collaborators, and protecting Uveran villages and the odd Waltonian town from raiders. Ken Cooper, being Half-Waltonian himself, had been useful in brokering deals with law-abiding citizens and fellow outlaws alike to humiliate the slavers.

Which led to his bounty being raised by another ten thousand coins. This led to Howling Brook, his superior in the gang, selling him out for that amount of cash. Now he was holed up alone in an abandoned Waltonian farmstead, facing a small army of Al-Marabar Slavers with his trusty guns, a cylinder of Dendro Gunpowder, and a bag of... potatoes?

"You'll never take me alive!" he shouted at the posse shooting at him through the farmstead main house's windows, throwing a potato that liquified and exploded into a sleeping mist at the foes, allowing him a brief opening to fire four headshots at the slavers' goons; the sand pirates were throwing their own people at him, too proud to just hire locals with more experience with his tactics - Fools, the lot of them.

Some ways to his right, he could hear the thud of axes against the home's main door; even the tables and chairs he had used to barricade it would not stand the blows from such weapons forever. So he loaded some Dendro Gunpowder into his pistols and shot at the barricade; the points where the bullets hit bloomed with green, thick vines. That ought to delay those goons for a good long while yet. Not that help will come; Howling Brook's treachery was not known... Yet.

He threw another potato through the windows, repeating his trick of turning plant matter into bombs that also doubled as sleeping gas or healing spores. He realized too late that the slavers had gotten much closer while he was strengthening the barricaded doors and that they were wearing their bandanas on their faces to avoid breathing in the gas. As he ducked beneath a hail of rock bullets, he knew that despite his bravado, he would be taken alive.

Nevertheless, Ken kept on fighting, blowing open a couple of slavers' heads and causing their place to be taken by small trees. Then a loud explosion came from the kitchen where he had taken the bag of potatoes from, and armed men and women began pouring in, laying down suppressive fire as their bravest folk made to grab him for captivity...

Present Day

And here he was, in the dungeons of Great Sandship of Zweidaya, about to have his first fight in the arena. His coat and his guns had been taken away, although he had been allowed to keep his Vision Crystal - A fat lot of good that did him without any living plant matter; even the smallest seed. Heck, they made sure any potatoes were cut up and stewed before serving them as part of his gruel. Assholes.

As the eighteen-year-old's door opened and he was walked to his first fight, the young man had the temerity to request, "I don't want my shirt or undershirt to be stained with blood, can I take them off before I fight? Besides, I'm eighteen, already an adult, so there's nothing improper about it while I'm fighting."

His request was granted, and that was how Ken Cooper, Fastest Gun in Uvera, was fighting bare-chested like a traditional gladiator, wielding only two 'Geo Pistols' given to him before the start of the bout, trying his damned best to survive and even give these pricks a good show - After all, who knows, maybe he can catch the Sand King's eye...

@Sho Minazuki

In the calming cradle of a moonlit night, smooth jazz played on a bedside table from a small, AM/FM radio. In a sheer negligee of violet satin, Johanna H. Wattzon flipped through the pages of a photobook; a dozen pictures of different women - victims of her magnetic charm and generous drink, and unknowing models in her scrapbook of perversion. Across the bedside table were a developing set of pictures; twelve in total, six and six of each of the women that lie, strewn across the floor in her bedsheets and comforters.

Models #18 and #19. A pair of Uveran twin sisters that she'd picked up at the bar; a pair of tourists that didn't know where they'd end up. Nothing in comparison to Model #17, a Grand Duchess of some such place that she didn't get the name of while she was committing royal infidelity. A smirk crossed her lips, and her polymorphed loins reacted fondly to the memory, as she stroked the pictures of the unconscious woman.

However, before she would take a walk down memory lane, the bell to her house and business rang in the dead of night. A displeased look placed her nostalgia, as she got up, and trekked to answer it. As she did, she took a look at her latest conquests, and her mood lightened.

...only to fall back with a hard thud, as she opened the door. Behind it, a tattooed Jotun in pretty standard Enforcer attire stood, his arms crossed, and face set in a scowl. Flanking him, left and right, were four Humans, two men and two women in a different flair; mercenaries from another nation, baring a familiar coat of arms.

"It's too late for this, Bazz," John says, as she was pushed past by the mercenaries rudely. "Sure, c'mon in," drawls the forced hostess, sarcastically, "Pour yourself a drink, if you like."

"It's just business, John. You know that," Bazz says, entering the room.

"Business you could turn down," John says. "Let it go. There's a pair of Uveran twins on my bedroom floor," she says, walking to her receptionist's desk, lighting a cigarette as she traveled, "If you don't mind sloppy seconds, I'm sure you can entertain yourself for a night with twin savages. Even the women can get in on it," John raised a silver flask, and smirked, "Polyjuice Potion. Eight hours of all the unmitigated fun of having a d--"


"Cut the shit, John! Every time you do this, you do something stupider and stupider! You aren't a child!" Bazz says, the door behind him slammed shut. "You burned her face. They can't hide the scars. Eventually, you reap what you sow, John. Take off your glasses..."

"So, we're seriously doing this, then," John asks, blowing smoke with her words. Bazz's expression didn't change. "A'ight, then. Let's dance."

John's right hand suddenly glowed like the sun, and flame consumed the cigarette, as she flicked it - the marble-sized fireball shooting through the air, and into the eye of one of the women. At the same time, her left hand straightened, and the silver flask impacted the throat of one of the men. A chorus of screams and choking drowned out the smooth jazz that played on the office speakers, and took the mercenaries that remained off guard. In a split-second, John was behind the other man, and threw a sharp hook in-between his shoulder blades; the tines of her knuckle dusters digging into his body, and igniting his clothing with a burst of flame upon his back.

"W-What the hell..." stammered the last woman.

"Good question..." John says, before suddenly sweeping out her knee, and driving an uppercut beneath her breasts to reach her solar plexus. "Corpses don't need answers, though..."

"You bitch!"

John tilted her eyes to the side, and saw the man she'd hit in the throat with the flask rushing her with a dagger. His approach was ended with a thunderous boom; his arm blown off by the sawn-off, double-barrel shotgun that was extended from, seemingly, nowhere.

"Where did you --"

Another explosion ripped open his chest. John cracked the shotgun, as she ducked a sword swing, and ejected the shells from the gun behind her with an unnatural force. Each shell would slam into the woman with one eye; one burning her face and the other cracking her jaw. The shotgun would snap into place, and her screams of pain would be traded for begging pleas of mercy, as her leg was blown off, before John caught her with the hot barrel and pumped her stomach upon the walls.

A gunshot rang out behind her, and John shifted to the left - a bullet sailing by her, and into her wall. Looking back, the staggered woman was doubled over, and aiming a pistol at her. Rapidly, she opened fire, and emptied her clip - John evading them all with impossibly fast movements, as she reloaded, and tossed up her shotgun. Snatching the woman's firing arm, she twisted the limb up and back; dislocating the shoulder, and cracking the elbow on her own, as she pulled it down behind her - catching her shotgun, and pressing it to her hips.


John let the bisected woman drop, as she switched gun hands, and spun her weapon to blast off the leg of the man that was recovering from the taser punch. Standing, she cracked her neck, and stepped on his cheek with her bare foot. Lighting a cigarette, she smiled down at him, before heat was expelled from the bottom of her foot and into his skull; muscle seizing on bone, flesh burning under skin, and blood boiling in his vein, as his brain was cooked.

"Still want to carry on this charade, Bazz? Did you think bringing fodder would offer any advantage," John asked, her back turned to him, as she looked back solely - her confidence unmitigated.

"I have plenty of advantages. They were just here for the contract," Bazz says, "I won't ask again, John. Take your glasses off."

"You're serious," John sighed, "Look around you, Bazz. I didn't break a sweat. Don't commit to this bullshit."

"This isn't something I get to turn down, even for you," Bazz says, before his arms were wreathed in flames.

"I guess s--" John's words were cut short, as the electrocuted man beneath her suddenly warmed up, and erupted in a gout of flame and viscera, as he blew up like a landmine.

Thrown into the air, John tried to recover as she cracked against her own ceiling, but Bazz had heaved another body at her, and it detonated, sending her into the floor, and another body. Each of the mercenaries had been booby trapped, and Bazz was able to use their corpses as firebombs with his Pyro Vision. Physically strained from her previous fight, more so than she'd let on, John couldn't speed out of them back-to-back explosions, and with the fourth bouncing her into the ceiling for a third time, she could only watch... as if... disconnected... as her office burned around her, as her house burned around her... her life going up in literal smoke.

All because she was a little too rough with some noble prick's unfaithful wife.

What an unjust world.

The last thing John comprehended was the crack of her glasses from the blazing punch to her forehead, and Bazz saying, “I told you, take them off...”

After that, naught but the sweet, silent embrace of The Sandman, Father of Sleep...Comas were tricky bastards, especially if you spent them in a cargo box with no food or water, being transported halfway across the world with not a soul aware of you.

Industrial freight was too common, and John's crate was marked [DO NOT OPEN UNTIL FINAL DESTINATION] with high-ranking seals. They couldn't kill her outright, but they could arrange for her to die at a point beyond their borders. However, a Witch was made of sterner stuff than some paltry Human, and a particularly heavy deposit would stir the beaten and battered woman from her overstayed slumber.

Light cracked in between panes that allowed air to flow in, as well, and kept her oxygen, while damaged, high enough. Said light hurt with a passion, as weak eyes opened to her prison.


That was the first thing her addled brain comprehended. Self-explanatory enough, as bits of her memory filtered in.


That was the second thing her brain gathered, once lucid enough. Likely, a puddle grown of her own bodily waste and sweat from her comatose state.


That was the third thing John realized, and that motivated her to test the limits of her prison. The box was big enough for her to sit in, hunched over, and open the smaller box that she's been curled around.

Inside, familiar things were assembled: her knuckle dusters, her shotgun with half a battery, half-empty box of shells, a fresh battery, a change of clothes, her bra/holster, a wad of cash, and her broken glasses.

Underneath her glasses was a letter taped to them. Opening the letter, she would draw out a piece of parchment and a cylindrical plate threaded with beaded double ended loop - her Vision. It crackled, and came to life in her lap; shining a revitalizing light in the cargo box.

Using her new light, she would read the letter...

<Yo, John.

Look, business is business. You know this. I know this. It's Averton. Nobody gives a shit what you do with your damn, magic dick, least of all me. But, you fouled some seriously royal waters, girl. I'm not proud of how shit went down, but I'm not stupid enough to say no.

Not all Jotuns are meatheads.

Still, I owe you a solid, so I packed a parting gift and rearranged your travel schedule. You'll have a nice layover in some pirate town - Al-Marabar, I think, is the name. I just know, capital-bound cargo is notorious for getting "lost" there, so if you wake up...

No, not if... when you wake up, you'll be far off and safer. Just keep your head in the sand. Let the heat die, and for the love of all that is cash money, keep your dick in that freaky potion of yours.

...or, at least, put it in a good woman for once.

But, know this: 10,000,000 is your fine, John. Those bodies weren't cheap. A lot of hush money went into this cover up. Even with your unnatural life span, you can't hope to pay it off. Your office is ash. The money is all that was in your safe. The only thing I could save, aside from those Uveran girls.

Whatever. That's unimportant. Listen, John. We're even. Hell, you owe me, really, but I won't collect. Settle down. Start a family. Don't make news. Don't come home. In fact, forget home. Stay safe.

And, have a nice life.

Seriously.

- Bazz>

John smirked, as she set the letter down. Shifting her position, she tipped the envelope to return the letter - sitting at the bottom, a long cigarette with writing on it.

"Last one, big sis...."

Sniffling, she thumbed her Vision, and reached behind herself... taking her hair into a low pony, and cinching it against her head using her Vision as a glorified tie. Looking down, she held the cigarette, and tucked it behind her right ear. "Bazz, you sentimental, kind-hearted, little shit..." she wiped her tears, and slipped on her knuckles dusters, before pumping her shotgun with a wicked grin, "Protected by my little brother..."

Supernova sparked, as lightning surged from her battery, and John pulled the trigger - blasting open her prison, and opening the door for a new beginning, as she stepped out...

...reborn from the ashes (metaphorically, and literally from the burning crate) like a Phoenix.

"Alright, Bazz! Just wait for your big sister's comeback!" John beamed.

The first thing that hit him as he entered the arena wasn't the smell of blood, the hot sun on his stony skin, or the feeling of too many eyes focusing on him, it was the sheer annoyance at himself for allowing that rat-faced (Literal in this case as he had a beastman bloodline) charlatan to sweet talk him into fighting a few matches in the arena in exchange for the information he had on his father movements.

He sighed, it was the first lead he had managed to get since starting his journey and it was all thanks to a small stroke of luck, the harbormaster at Helgaskr managed to "remember" his father's destination after he bribed her with enough meed to drawn a housecat, apparently his father was an odd enough figure to capture her attention as he took passage on a ship headed towards the moving city of Al-Marabar, with this information it was only a matter of finding passage for himself and then finding the correct information broker once he arrived. Sadly the only one he could find that wasn't human was the beforementioned rat-based beastman who was quick to strike some manner of deal with the arena organizations who would give him a cut of the attendance earnings for the matches in which he participated, or at least that was what he thought happened as the broker had a really obnoxious and incoherent way of explaining why his matches would be more appealing to the audience.

And now here he was, under the hot and blistering sun and with far, far too many eyes looking at him from all sides. His hand were shaking a little and he had to take a second to compose himself. At least he would get his information after this and he was even assured that anything he earned from his matches would be his alone. Truth be told he was almost out of funds after bribing the harbormaster and the cost of travel to this arid land so getting more money was something that would have become a concern eventually, perhaps this situation was more favorable than he allowed himself to give credit for.

Squaring his shoulders and ignoring the crowd that followed his every movement make it stop! he focused on his opponent and found himself surprised.

Not by the fact that his adversary sported a huge spiky club resting on his shoulder or the determined gaze that stared back, no, what surprised him was finding that his opponent wasn't human

He was a youkai.


What type he couldn't tell, never actually having seen one but it was obvious to all onlookers what he was, just as his own skin marked him as kin to all Jotun, he wondered for a second if it was intentional that he was facing another non-human combatant and if it was then would all his opponents be other races?... then the second was over and he readied his shield and sword combo, whether or not his next challenger would be human was not important right now, he had to give a good showing so the broker didn't have an excuse to without the information citing that he didn't participate enough.

With some luck nothing would go wrong and he would be out of this place soon.

Ken had learned in a short time that one, being a winner or a showy loser meant that one would not question him stretching the time he spent in the surprisingly good slave/gladiator baths to the set limits. This was of use as it meant that he can gather news of what was currently going on from loose lips, and what he found out was pretty dang bad; loathsome, even.

First up, the Sand King, the one who insisted on the gladiatorial system in the first place, was most probably the lesser evil; his main opponents were far worse in their treatment of their slaves, putting them in the mines to be worked to death - How disgusting. And there were rumors of a new drug spreading around - Ken hated drugs harder than cannabis on principle; addictions were a distraction from righteous causes like peace and harmony.

As he cleaned himself with hot water and soap, the eighteen-year-old engaged in banter with the gladiators, remarking to one of them, "So you refused to be free because you want to keep fighting? Sensible career choice, given that there are few opportunities here than trade or piracy or some combination of both, right, right?"

Ken received what he thought was a nod, and decided not to pry further, instead trading compliments with a gladiatrix - Aka a female gladiator - about each others' fighting styles. The youth ended up remarking, "You know, I'd put up an even better show with my original guns, but I guess they only give those back once I earn my freedom in... How long does it take to earn my freedom again?"

The answer was months - Months he did not have, although his ambitions did not preclude getting free legally or even getting favors from the Sand King, time was not on his side; every second he dithered meant more Uverans getting enslaved and the slavers from Al-Marabar receiving an extra moment to reach an understanding with the Waltonian's current President instead of merely being tolerated.

He had to hide the light in his eyes; the light that showed he still longed for liberty and had plans to escape. To do that, he had to engage in small talk with his fellow slaves and the occasional guard. At least one of his fellow gladiators was Uveran too, though less interested in the prospect of freedom than he was; her tone whenever she did speak just oozed contentment.

It was close to his time limit now; instead of letting the guards drag him from the bath, Ken got up, put on a towel, checked his pants and footwear just to see if anyone had heard his implied requests and placed a seed inside - Not that his Vision's power can do anything against the Geo Generator maintaining his cage - And promptly put on his clothes.

Time to train privately in his cells; good gladiators got good food which made them even better gladiators. And who knows? Maybe he'd get a chance at escape eventually...

_{@Sho Minazuki@Enkryption}

---

Zweidaya

---

A caravan could be seen moving through the city streets at a modest pace. Well, more like a haphazardly put together, beat up wagon was creaking along wooden planks people decided to use like streets. The carriage heaved and creaked as it made its way toward its destination, which appeared to the colosseum. In it was a young lady that seemed to be completely out of place with this sandy town full of miscreants and vagrants. Her driver was a short stubby man who wore a turban with dusty blue robes, and the wagon was being pulled by an admittedly ugly looking donkey. Due to the questionable structural integrity of the vehicle, the man occasionally looked back to ensure the well being of his passenger. At least, that's the reason he gave...

She supposed it couldn't be helped, she was beautiful after all. Due to her profession, she had to keep up appearances - and she certainly took great pride in hers. Who was this slender beauty, with her flowing brunette hair, fashionable slit dress, and impossible good-looks. Oh, no one in particular. Just arguably the best performer in all of Lacscuta, who perhaps in a whimsical split decision came here for a gig. She was starting to regret it...

The air was dry and hot, not to mention dusty. The humidity certainly didn't help, but what would one expect while in a city literally riding on the desert sands? She waved the elegant blue fan she was holding in a vain attempt to keep cool. Huffing in frustration, Tiziana turned her attention to her peeping driver. "This hardly passes as comfortable travel." She complained. "I'd probably get there faster by walking!"

"Be at ease, miss." Said the driver in a gruff, nasally tone. "The arena isn't too much further away." Tiziana was about to say something in response, but was cut off when the wagon bumped over something. This caused her to topple over in her seat, and instead of words all that came out of the performer was a silly yelp. This caused the driver to chuckle a bit. Tiziana didn't think it was funny, and the look on her face seemed to back up this notion.

"I've had quite enough." She snapped. "I'd like to get off now. As I said, walking the rest of the way there shouldn't be a problem for me."

"I apologize miss." He said in his attempt at a sympathetic tone. "I didn' mean t-"

"I don't believe you heard me." Tiziana's voice carried with it a unnatural tone, reverberating with a peculiar energy. "I said it'd like to get off, sir..."

The driver's eyes became deadpan, as if he lost his sense of self for that moment. "Yes, of course ma'am. We appreciate your business." He uttered, stopping the donkey in its tracks. Tiziana hopped off the caravan, then came up to the driver in the front. "Also, love, I don't have much change on me." She said, which was a lie. "Would you mind putting this one on the house?"

"Not a problem miss. Enjoy the rest of your day, and please be safe on your travels." He replied in a flat tone. He then made he way off, riding into the distance. Tiziana waved him farewell, giggling to herself.

[Siren's Voice] A skill that make her powers of persuasion hard to resist for men, and a certain percentage of the same sex. It certainly had its uses.

---

Making her way through the city on foot, she could see the arena in the not-to-far-off distance. While her feet were beginning to hurt, and the heels she was wearing were not made for it, she still felt that walking was better than continuing on in that shabby wagon. Her hydro vision jiggling on the belt she wore, she bit and bared it as she continued on.

Eventually, during her trek, something peculiar caught her attention. She arrived in front of a large caravan, the carriages filled with cargo boxes. What caught her attention was a sudden, small explosion that sounded like a gunshot. Appeared from the smoke was a naked woman holding a shotgun with a cigarette held in between her ear. Sensing her mana, Tiziana knew immediately that she was a fellow witch. She could also tell that she was filthy with a musty stench, even from where she was standing. Taking a bit of an interest, the hydro vision on her hip began to glow, as a torrent of water jetting forth from her fan and covered the woman head first in it's current. After a few moments, the water around the woman dissipated. While she was now dripping wet, she was better for it. Now fully cleaned off, Tiziana folded her fan and put it to her hip.

"I would ask you why it is you were sitting naked in a crate on some random caravan." She inquired. "Given the circumstance, am I right to assume that it wasn't by choice. I'm aware of how some feel about 'our' kind. I suppose I don't mind helping you out if need be."

@AzureKnight

---

It was the shock of the water that caught her off-guard; it was cold, unkind, and purposeful - sprayed with intention, and no concern for her comfort. That was the trigger to her aggravation, though it didn't set her off. No, that was reserved for the realization of what the water had done. It was no spring shower nor a summer storm, but a torrential downpour that had blasted her clean.

And, in doing so, blasted her glasses and the cigarette they were supporting into the crates. Now, she was pissed. Behind her head, her Vision blazed, as she smoldered, and warped the air around her to glow like the sun. Her eyes morphed into two different states; her left eye divided the pupil into three, and formed matching tomoe upon a sun-coloured sclera, while her right eye became a perfect mirror of the world before her.

"I would ask you why it is you were sitting naked in a crate on some random caravan. Given the circumstance, am I right to assume that it wasn't by choice. I'm aware of how some feel about 'our' kind. I suppose I don't mind helping you out if need be."

Suddenly, she was upon Tiziana; putting the songstress on her back, and her right foot on her throat.

"I'm glad you offered," she says, as her body heat raised; threatening to burn Tiziana's delicate skin where she stood. "You're going to help me find what you just lost with that stunt of yours."

Tiziana could see, as she'd front row seats, all that John had to offer as a woman, and a threat she posed with her eyes that weren't letting her go from their sight; as well as the encroaching damage to her hands, as they seemed to be slowly burning. It would clearly take a long time, but there was evidence of her body rejecting the bulk of the heat through her palms... which likely meant, it would come out of her soles, as well, being equally vulnerable.

..and, into her precious throat, which was just as vulnerable.

"From books... I'm free."


These words were both a first and last. They were a beginning and an end.

They were the last words anyone spoke to Doctor Galleus Morgans. He was a man who spoke many words to many people. With his words, he sent out orders, gave advice, shared information, made speculations, confirmed hypotheses, and even used words to request tea. He spoke to many people. Scientists, mechanics, doctors, soldiers, captives, corpses, generals, nobles, peasants, friends, enemies, patients, and customers.

A man who spoke to many, yet now the last words he would hear from others were these.

They were the first words spoken in years by a certain elf. For years she had been silent. For years she didn't speak to anyone. Not to those who harmed or nor to those who wished to befriend her. She didn't speak to those who ordered her nor to those who wished to cooperate with her. As lives came and went she didn't speak. As her captors praised her she didn't speak. As her fellows disdained her she didn't speak. No matter what, no sound came from her.

These words signified the end of this elf's imprisonment. She had been imprisoned in

• holding cells
• surgery rooms
• scientific breakthroughs
• scientific failures
• heavy machinery
• chains
• shackles
• binds
• blindfolds
• subject files
• experiment logs
• battles to the death
• greedy machinations
• her patience.

These words signified the beginning of this elf's freedom. Of her escape from all of those prisons as the

• holding cells, SMASHED!
• surgery rooms, SMASHED!
• scientific breakthroughs, TAKEN!
• scientific failures, BURIED!
• heavy machinery, SMASHED!
• chains, CUT!
• shackles, CUT!
• binds, CUT!
• blindfolds, SHREDDED!
• subject files, SHREDDED! mostly
• experiment logs, SHREDDED! somewhat
• battles to the death, WON!
• greedy machinations, DECAPTIATED, CRUSHED, BLED, STABBED, PUNCHED, GOUGED, RIPPED, TORN, SUNDERED, CLAWED, REAPED, KILLED, KILLED, KILLED, KILLED, AND KILLED !
• her own patience, HARVESTED!

These words were uttered near a door, a door leading to the sky. Normally this door required mechanisms and people to open it, but these words had been uttered within the center of a tornado. Trying to contain a tornado was a fool's errand.



Currently, the moon was high in the sky. There was nothing but rolling plains and countryside for miles. Any known road was leagues away. The area was quiet. Well, saying there was nothing here was a lie.

There was a rock bathing peacefully in the moon's silver light. It was a beautiful, peaceful scene. There was no sound. The only thing that seemed to move was a gentle breeze that caressed this rock. Then the wind began to pick up. The grass was moved, but the rock remained stalwart and unmoving.



The ground shook. Some sediment fell from the rock.



Another movement. Another shaking of the ground. There was even a slight crack forming, allowing the moonlight to pierce the inside of this rock for the first time in its existence, albeit only an inch in. The wind was also picking up more. It was now able to move the cracked-off sediment and make the grass rustle with anticipation.


The sounds were louder. Their source was... under the rock? The wind was starting to swirl and churn more. Any pieces that fell off this rock were being moved by this wind. The moonlight eagerly filled the crevices, revealing that the stone itself had metal inside. Not ore though, but rather a few gears and cogs.



The wind was starting to whistle with a burning fury. The rock was crumbling and with cracks visible all the way through it. Metal cogs and pieces were dented. The eager, curious moonlight shows the ground beneath the failing boulder. The strange, smooth stone ground was beginning to crack. The bangs did not stop but instead grew more frequent and forceful.

Each one makes the wind howl louder. It is filled with fury, agony, hope, destruction, death, life, and many other contradictions. It seems to be mixing with a wind coming from beneath this smooth ground. Each bang sounds like a prisoner, barging on their door. These are not the hopeless punches of someone sent to die though, but rather the fists of a beast that only has one resolution when it comes to its cell door.



The knocking continues. The wind picks up more. It has now carried away some of the bigger pieces of broken rock as well as some of the metal bits that have been reduced to scrap, creating a howling whirlwind of grass, blood, metal, and stone.




A fist several feet tall suddenly breaks through the earth, its torn flesh glistening and its skin bright red. Green, bloody wind surrounds the fist as it bursts through the ground, where a second one quickly joins the first in punching through The explosion it creates though is not as loud though as the howling of the wind, which seems to contain a powerful voice within.

It is a feminine voice, filled with the primal rage and neverending ferocity of an ancient beast.

Within the center of this swirling gale is a figure that is attached to those two huge fists. The gale begins to die down, but the howling does not. With the glowing green, bloody gale dying down, that curious moonlight was able to better illuminate the area. It shows that the howling seems to be coming from this figure that, despite the size of the fists attached to it, is rather small. It is a girl with slick, dripping red skin.

She is covered in gashes, viscera, and slick, dripping metallic pieces. Her hands seem to be the only thing that isn't red. They are green and glowing as the wind occasionally swirls around them. Those two massive fists are attached to metallic connectors that are coming out from what appear to be her slick, red metallic arms.

The armor on her arms seems to be not just armor, but prosthetics attached at the shoulders. Each arm has a long, blade-like horn sticking out of it, one of them still having bits of viscera stuck to them as if they impaled a person. Her chest, right above her heart, seems to be the center point of this armor. Embedded within a slot on this harness-like armor is a glowing green stone. This slot is that central point that's located right above her heart. This green stone is also the only part of her that is not red. Anyone with any amount of common knowledge of this world would recognize this embedded stone as a Vision. An eye of the Gods.

Other than this armor that she has on, the rest of her body has no clothing on.

Yet as the surrounding gale dies down, her ferocity seems to grow as she stares at the mostly collapsed remains of what seems to be an underground entranceway from which the thick stench of blood and death is wafting. Her deep green eyes, within which seems to be a powerful storm, glare at this entranceway.

And she laughs.

"HAAA HAHAHA HAA HAAHAHA". The laugh seems to be the starting point of an invisible storm. A storm that would not rock the body, but rather the spirit, of any weak-willed person who heard it. As it echoes out into the silent night, more booms begin to sound out as those massive fists move. They punch again and again and again at that entranceway.

"I waited, waited, waited, waited, waited... waited. For... right moment! Freedom, free, free, freefreefreefree FREEDOM!" Each cry of indignation was more ferocious than the last as those fists continued to smash at the entrance of this crypt in an attempt to turn it into a tomb.

The force of the punches, the wind generated from them, seemed to cause some of her slick red skin to fall off those fists and her body as well as some of those remaining bits of viscera and torn flesh that were stuck to them. This allowed the moonlight to now reveal more of the true nature of those fists and said body, as well as the true nature of her skin.

Said body was pale, riddled with scars and wounds. Many of them were healed, but there were also plenty of recent ones. They seemed to come from many different sources. Some were surgical and methodical and others were bloody and brutal. Those fists were also not the fleshy, bloody fists of a demon, but massive fists made of some strange, dark metal. The slick, red skin was blood. Some of it was coming from those recent wounds, but there was plenty of it covering every inch of her that was no doubt from sources other than her own veins.

The bloody barrage continued as those fists pounded the ground beneath the moonlight. Soon enough, unable to bear the storm, the entranceway completely collapsed, but that didn't stop that storm of punches to stop. It continued on for an entire hour, as did that primal howling. The ferocity behind it seems to come from some deep, deep source that has no doubt built up for a long time. A ferocity that would only seek nothing but endless destruction of its cause.

As mighty as a tornado is though, even those will eventually run out of power and fade away. That didn't stop this messy, bloodstained girl to force a few more slow, but powerful slams of her fists into the ground. The final one only seemed to be the final as her body ran out of energy and she fell onto her back, panting heavily. The fists seemed to dematerialize as those connectors sank back into her metallic arms. The glowing green hands she possessed had flickered out a while ago, leaving her metallic arms as two empty, metallic stubs.

That swirling storm in her eyes had now completely dissipated as her eyes became calm.

"Freedom... mine." Those were the final words that went out softly into this area as her calm eyes seemed to resemble two soft, still, deep green emeralds.

With a weary body, she finally turned away from this place. The final shackle had shattered as her bare feet carried her through the grass away from this place. Her steps were light and her gait was peaceful as she walked away.

She had finally attained her freedom and power that would allow her to keep it.



The blood on her body had since dried, becoming caked on her skin was now partially brown was matted with dried blood. Her steps had been swift at first as she simply headed forward with no destination, but without a source of food or water, her speed slowed.

"No prey..."

She had barely run into any trees and very few creatures had crossed her path, but those that did were the occasional tiny insect or bird. These were either thing that wasn't worth the energy to catch or could fly and escape beyond her reach.

"Not... right moment..."

Even mighty typhoons cannot survive without water. A mortal body is no different. While several days of starvation and dehydration were bad enough, her body was in a very sorry state.

Power has a price after all.

The price her body paid to be able to accept the power she used to attain her freedom was not one she could afford to pay upfront. Without energy, a storm cannot exist. As such, she collapsed.

...

...

...

Time passed.



"Need to wait for the right moment" A no-faced individual was crouched surrounded by green fog, a bow in hand. This figure seemed to be whispering to someone without turning its head as if the figure was whispering to itself. Their voice seemed to be muffled by something.

"How... know?" A weak voice responded, the weakness akin to a flickering candle.

"Listen -- --- ----" responded that same muffled voice. Some of the words seemed to be lost beyond an even greater layer of fog. Just then, that empty face turned, pulling back the string that had what seemed to be the vague shape of an arrow made from fog knocked onto it.

"--- ----?" The weak voice couldn't hear itself at all. It said something, but the words were lost. As was the rest of the exchange, which lasted until suddenly the no-face figure quickly swiveled and aimed its bow.

TWANG!

A pair of eyes opened.

The first thing that entered them was an unfamiliar ceiling. Looking down there was a stretch of somewhat faded white fabric that covered the owner of this pair of eyes. Those eyes were a deep, calm, graceful emerald green. They shifted to the side where they saw a very familiar site that, despite its familiarity, didn't even cause a stir. Emeralds are rather solid after all, disturbing them is a rather hard task unless one uses a very strong impact.

The emerald eyes closed. A voice came to mind. A voice filled with wisdom and ambition.

"We successfully amputated Subject KA2U3's arms. Keeping her on the IV for a while should help with the malnutrition. We can't have such a valuable specimen starving to death before we even get to run any tests after all. Elves are always valuable after all."

The emerald eyes opened again. They saw a pole with some kind of bag on it. There was a tube running from this bag, connected to her arm.

"I...V?" These things were very familiar. She had been connected to many of them over the years. The metallic pole provided a very small reflection as well.

These were the same emerald eyes of that bloody figure, but now her hair was brown instead of red. Furthermore, it was no longer matted. Someone had washed the blood out of it. Furthermore, with how her hair was laid back behind her she saw that one of her pointed ears had a bandage on it. She could feel many bandages on her body.

Then that ear, along with the other one on the other side, twitched. The room was small, so she could tell that the sound came from outside the room. She closed her eyes.

"Still asleep huh... you should be waking up one of these days hopefully. Well, for now, let's give you another change of bandages shall we?" The female voice that entered the girl's pointed ears was a gentle voice that seemed as if it was getting on in years, but not quite elderly as of yet. The voice was full of concern and tinged with disappointment at first, but quickly took on a more optimistic tone after.

"Wait... listen" The familiar words of that no-faced figure entered her mind. She abided by them even as she felt the sheet gently removed and a pair of slightly cold, yet gentle and methodical hands remove the many bandages she felt on her body. The hands stopped a few times in the areas near where her metallic arms were connected to her flesh.

"Jeeze, poor thing. Covered in blood, stuffed with metal, and even missing your hands. Who could have done such a thing?" The voice was filled with sadness and disbelief. Its owner heaved a heavy sigh before continuing to apply new medicine and change out the old bandages for new ones.

For the entire process, which took about fifteen minutes, the elf didn't move at all. Even as she could hear the woman's nearby being as she just stood there for a few seconds the elf didn't move. It was only after the door closed and she couldn't hear the footsteps anymore did the elf open her eyes once again.

"Doctor?" Those hands certainly seemed like a doctor's. They were methodical and good at changing bandages and applying strange medicines. The elf shook her head, not really sure. Those hands felt different from the hands she had felt from doctors before. She just couldn't really put her finger on it. "Now... right moment." She shoved those thoughts away quickly as she put all her strength into getting up and out of the bed.



The moment they touched the floor and stood straight, her legs gave out. The IV she was connected to fell to the ground. Even with her mighty will, she couldn't get her legs to execute any major movements. All she managed to do was save herself by falling backward onto what she figured might be a bed but was different from the beds she was used to. Before she could try to get up again though her ears twitched. Using what strength she had, she managed to worm her way back beneath the sheets.

"Feet... four" The sounds of two sets of footsteps entered them, then the sound of the door opening with a slight bang.

"What's wrong?!" It was the woman. She recognized her voice but now saw her face. She was middle-aged, with a few visible wrinkles. She had dark hair that was speckled with a few grey strands. She was most likely in her sixties. She was wearing white clothes. The woman saw the elf and smiled, a few tears forming in her eyes. She took a few steps in.

"Look dear, she's finally awake!" She turned to the man who had now entered the room just behind her. This time the elf's eyes were open. Even if they weren't, she still would have noticed something, so the elf just kept her eyes opened this time.

"Not right... wait." The elf's eyes scanned over the two, her expression calm.

"Goodness, you gave us quite the scare. How are you feeling?" The man had a bit more white on his head than the woman. He also had a cane, although he didn't seem to depend on it too much. He was probably a bit older than the woman, maybe in his early seventies or so.

No response came from the elf, even after waiting an entire minute.

"Well I suppose you did just wake up. I understand if you don't want to talk, you don't have to if you don't want to." The man heaved a sigh. He was disappointed, but understanding.

"Doctor?" Her emerald eyes looked the man over. He was also wearing what she knew were doctor clothes, just like the woman. "Doc...tor?" While her eyes didn't stir, there was a mite of confusion forming inside of her.

"For now, you just rest up." The woman moved by the bed, fixing the sheets and setting the IV back up, but she didn't connect it. "You will need to rest a lot before you can get up and moving again."

"She's right. You have many injuries, external and internal no doubt. Furthermore, your body still seems like it didn't even get to recover after your..." the man noticeably grimaced as he seemed to struggle with himself to get the next word out, " surgery." The man sighed heavily now, before suddenly putting a small, slightly nervous smile back on his face as he noticed the woman shot him a rather dirty look.

"We will come back in a bit with some dinner for you. Just focus on your recovery, you can talk when you're ready." With that she guided the man out of the room with her and closed the door on their way out.

The elf sat up but noticed that it took a bit of effort to do so. She laid back down as she shook her head, the faceless figure's words playing in her mind again as she closed her eyes.

She would wait. "Not hurt..." That was her last thought before she closed her eyes and went back to sleep once again.

...

...

...





During this time the elf didn't respond to the doctor couple at all. The woman introduced herself as Belle Anderson and the man introduced himself as John Anderson. They were married and ran Mabel's only hospital. Mabel was a village located far out in the countryside. A villager who was coming back to the village from visiting relatives found the elf on the side of the road. He was a sturdy fisherman named Arnold Smith.

He had mistaken her for a corpse at first but noticed that she was barely breathing, so he brought her back here to the Mabel Clinic with all due haste. Thankfully he had a wagon, allowing him to safely transport and move with the elf far more quickly.

That mote of confusion only continued to grow inside of the elf as these doctors seemed to not only not push her to talk at all, but they even fed her and let her rest.

"No... tests?" was often a thought that went through her mind for a while at the end of each day. This made her more confused. All they did was give her medication and food, which she took. At first, she had taken it because she knew she was too weak to refuse. After a while, however; she realized she realized it was helping her recover faster so she took it of her own volition.

The elf had thought about leaving after she had been able to walk on her own without support after about a month, but she chose to stay. Her body was still not fully recovered. It wasn't the right moment. So she waited.

Maybe eventually that strange mote of confusion would vanish, and then that would be the right moment? The elf wasn't sure.

So she continued to wait.

...

More time passed.

Her being able to walk on her own without a wheelchair or cane delighted the doctor couple, so much so that they decided to celebrate. In truth though, the elf had been able to actually walk without support for an entire month now but she had hidden this fact.

"What is... Doctor...?" Every day during the entire month that she had hidden the fact that she could walk on her own had this question cross her mind. These "doctors" didn't ask her tons of questions. They didn't do any "tests". They just helped her recover. So one day, at the end of her second month of recovery she figured it was the right moment.

This was why, to the couple, it had taken the elf two months to be able to walk on her feet without support.

And they celebrated with a bit more meat than usual for dinner that night and had something called a 'cake'. For the past two months, the elf didn't have hands, so Belle Anderson usually fed her. The elf didn't turn it down although it was a first for her. She had to often eat the meals she received right from the tray by herself.

The doctors didn't know that the elf had ever eaten like that though since Belle attempted to feed the elf right from the very first meal she was brought and the elf just accepted it whilst remaining perfectly calm. This made the doctors have the misconception that the girl was simply used to being fed by others.

"Good...meat" This meat was something she liked. It was soft, tender, delicious, and always in that strange, thick 'water'. "Stew?" She had heard that name a few times and realized it was for this meat.

Then came the cake.

"Good...Good?" The moment she had that first bite of that thing called "cake" that was what had entered her mind. This happened every time she had been given food by these people, but this was the first time where it had such a different feel. It was a different 'good'. This good caused that tiny mote of confusion that had been buried deep within to appear within her eyes as she recalled that wise, ambition-filled voice and her eyes closed.

"These results are... GREAT!" That voice was so high, full of force as that voice's eyes poured over his notes and wrote in his books with shocking speed. "GREAT, GREAT, GREAT! Subject KA2U3, you really are the best specimen! While this surgery may have been a failure, we are so much closer. Plus, you survived! That's GREAT too! HAHAHAHA!"

"Cake...Gureat?" That mote of confusion became a bit brighter in her eyes as she savored this first bite of cake. Belle Anderson immediately noticed the elf's expression and gave her a look of concern.

"Is the cake alright miss? There isn't too much sugar is there?" Belle was observing the elf, hoping that nothing was wrong. A look of panic suddenly appeared on her face as an idea crossed her mind. "It's not an allergic reaction is it?"

John Anderson also stood up, concern wracking his face.

The elf's eyes looked at these two. "Test?" She looked at the cake. Then she looked at the two 'doctors'. "No books?" She saw their hands. Empty. She saw their bodies. She saw the room. "No books... Not... a test."

She swallowed the cake. The confusion in them quickly passed as the emerald hues stilled once again. She looked at the two doctors, who seemed to notice that the elf's expression returned to normal.

"Phew, you gave us a fright there. Is that your first time having cake?" John seemed to nearly collapse back into his chair, a hand held over his heart. He gave a light, but nervous laugh.

"It could have been something serious though... maybe we should save the cake for another day." Belle looked at the elf, then grabbed the cake and began to walk it out of the small kitchen.

"Right... moment!" Her eyes saw that cake right as it was about to be taken away. So for the first time in two months... she acted. For the first time in over two months, she finally made a noise toward another person. The last time was two months ago, and that person was now dead with a hole in their stomach.

There was no hurting here. Only healing. Her command of the language may have been low, but the elf was by no means stupid. She had waited long enough. This was, as the faceless man often told her in her dreams, the right moment.

These people were different than that person though. They were doctors, but different doctors. There was food, but different food. There were hands that applied medicine, but those were different. The beds, air, rooms, doors, water, voices, smells, expressions, ideas, tones, touches, medicine, and treatments were different. The hurting was different, in that it didn't exist here. The healing was different as well. It wasn't forced.

With all of these differences in place, the noise the Andersons got would be different.









"Cake... great." It was a small, soft voice that seemed no different than the momentary whisper of a gentle spring breeze. This kind of voice would easily get lost in a crowd or make one think they were just hearing things. Yet, at this moment, the voice had an impact that could grind the world to a complete halt.

Not because it was powerful, but because of what it represented. It represented something good doctors strove for: The well-being of a patient improving.

Doctor Belle had stopped in place and Doctor John blinked a few times.

Doctor Belle turned around to look at the elf, her hands causing the cake to tremble with them. There were even a few tears present in her eyes. "Y-You finally... spoke-- AH!" She was about to say more, but suddenly the cake plate fell out of her hands. Right before it fell to the floor, however; a gust of wind caught it.

A gust of wind that was in the shape of a hand, a glowing green hand. This hand was coming out of the metallic arm of the elf who had managed to move quickly and catch the plate before it fell. Her attention had been on that plate of cake the entire time, so the moment it started to fall she moved from her seat and caught it. She handed the plate back to Belle who, despite her even greater shock, managed to retain enough of her faculties to be able to put the plate back on the table.

"That's..." Doctor John's eyes widened as he stared at that hand. "The power of a vision?" He couldn't help but swallow a little. Sure Visions were common knowledge, but seeing their power close up was still quite the shock.

"Vis...ion?" The elf's voice surfaced again as she looked at her glowing green hand, which she then placed on her chest. Even if she didn't know the term's meaning explicitly, she could feel an instinctive connection between it and the crystal slotted into the Core. Placing her hand over it made her ears twitch. It was as if she could hear a voice in the wind, although she couldn't hear what it was saying. She then looked back at the cake as she sat down at the table.

This hand on the eve of its original birth had shredded, torn, ripped, stabbed, gouged, clawed, punched, thrown, chopped, gashed, cut, broke, and shattered many things that were sturdier than the spoon she was holding now, yet that's what it was doing. Merely holding a spoon. She was holding it a bit awkwardly, but despite it being her first time holding one she had a decent hold on it. She had been observing the Andersons and their eating habits for the past two months. While she wouldn't win any praise from finishing school teachers and definitely stand out at any fancy dinner parties, at the very least she wouldn't make a mess or get confused for a toddler.

Doctor John looked at that glowing hand, then at the elf's other empty arm. He had long since recovered from the initial shock now. "Yes, a Vision. An eye of the Gods. They grant all sorts of elemental powers. I believe yours is slotted in that compartment on your chest?" He had seen her hold her hand to that spot. Back when she was unconscious, both Doctor Belle and Doctor John had worked together to stitch and clean the girl's wounds, so he had seen the bonded armor quite closely.

The elf tilted her head but ended up just giving an absent nod. She assumed that the Doctor was correct, so she just nodded and then was silent again as she looked at the cake.

Doctor Belle noticed this, so she decided to change the subject as she saw that the elf went quiet once again. "Well, thanks for the save, took quite a while to make this. Come on, we are celebrating your recovery, so you can eat as much as you'd like." Doctor Belle, noticing the elf holding the spoon, decided to cut the elf a piece this time. "Can you eat with that hand miss?" asks the Doctor.

"Can... eat" With that, she accepted the piece of cake and ate slow, small bites using the spoon. This was the same spoon that Doctor Belle had been feeding her with.

After that, the rest of the celebratory dinner proceeded nicely. The Doctors noticed that not only did this Elf not talk much but that her command over their language was low. As such, they decided to not ask her any more questions. They both figured that she would talk when ready, so they instead discussed other topics, simply letting the elf listen to their conversation.

Of course, Doctor Belle and John both asked if the elf would like to see the town after a few more days of rest, to which the elf merely nodded.

The Doctors also still didn't know what to call this elf, but they figured that was also something they'd learn with time. Maybe she'd give them a name someday. That was what they were hoping for, but they knew that rushing into that was a horrible idea. There was still a long road of recovery ahead for this patient after all.

...

After that, time marched on. The patient slowly regained more of her strength.

The doctors showed her around the town. The residents were all friendly, with many of them showing pity for the elf. They were all also very respectful to the Anderson Doctors. Many of them had their lives saved by the two before.

Things did get a little awkward though when the Andersons' patient didn't really talk and no one really knew what to call her. They all simply defaulted to "Miss Elf". She didn't shake her head at the name, so that is what stuck after several introductions.

Aside from the village's children who were not only excited at seeing the elf but the rather "cool" design of her metallic arms, the one who was really the most excited to see the elf was Arnold Smith. He had burst into tears at seeing the elf being able to walk around alive and well. He had been kept up to date on her progress, but seeing it in person had a different effect.

"Ah, I'm so glad I made it in time to save ya miss Elf" cried the fisherman in joy.

Everyone in the village had questions they wanted to ask and a few did try, but they were all met with silence. They had been informed prior to the event that the girl wasn't really able to speak much, but it still made things a bit strange. It was them thinking about what the girl may have possibly been through they squashed any possible complaints that had formed deep inside themselves.

To them, it was a miracle that the girl was even alive let alone walking. Any problems they may have had from not being able to hear the girl speak were all completely, utterly worthless.

After another month, she noticed Doctor John struggling to move something. Even though they ran a clinic, this was a rather tiny farming village. There was still a lot of manual labor that had to be done even though the technology to automate many tasks did exist. There was only so much they could afford, so sometimes the residents of Mabel still used good old elbow grease for many tasks.

The clinic, like many other residences, had its own personal garden. This garden, however; was used to grow medicinal herbs. Like all gardens, it required a bit of maintenance.

Seeing his struggle, the elf actually helped him move the wheelbarrow of fertilizer. Of course, Doctor John tried to refuse her help but she did so anyway.

From then on, as the days passed, the elf helped the doctors out around the clinic with various miscellaneous tasks. The doctors saw this as a good thing as the exercise helped not only with her recovery but also with her adaptation to her prosthetics. This was something that the doctors explained to the best of their ability. Most likely they guessed that the elf realized it too.

Which was a correct guess. The elf wanted to move her body. She wanted to recover and exercise. The voice of that astute, ambitious man echoed in her mind as she thought about that.

"Subject KA2U3 head to the training room. You need to exercise to recover your strength and training is the best exercise. If you win this fight, you'll get extra bread as well, so give it your all."

There was no fighting to the death and she knew she needed to wait in this place to recover, so helping with these tasks was the only form of training and exercise she could find. The doctors could sense the girl's need to move, so they even talked to the other villagers. After explaining how the girl gained her 'hands' and several days of planning things out, the elf was soon a common sight around the village.

She'd go to different shops and farms to help out with tasks. Of course, these were simple tasks that mainly required a pair of strong hands or the occasional need for sharp instruments.

During these months as her strength improved she'd even go to a private place to train. Even if she was out of that place, the routine was still hard to break. In this case, though it was something her body needed and wanted. She wanted to move. She wanted to jump, run, punch, kick, and claw. This was her 'training'. It was just movement free from any and all reason. Free from any and all calculation. It was instinct, pure and simple.

The doctors noticed that the elf would go off sometimes. She'd always return, but as the months passed she'd start to be out later and later. Sometimes she even came back with wild game. At first, it was small things like rabbits or squirrels, but eventually, even some deer or wild boars were brought as well. This shocked the doctors and some of the villager's hunters as they didn't expect her to be such an adept hunter as she seemed too frail for such a thing.

They didn't mind though. If anything they were happy. For the Doctors, this meant that not only was the elf recovering, but their little town of Mabel had become a nice place for her. Certainly better than wherever she had been before. For the hunters, it meant more meat for the village. Plus some of these animals had been getting into crops too, so this helped the farmers out also.

On that mysterious subject though, the people of Mabel could only speculate. Other than the occasional response to basic requests or information on the tasks at hand, the elf never spoke much. It was indeed awkward at first, but the villagers got used to it and eventually considered it part of the girl's charm even. There was even one young man in the village who had a bit of a crush on her, but that's all it was. He was smart enough to know that it would never happen even with interference from the heavens.

Just like that though the peaceful days went on and on.
















The days up to this point had been uneventful. There were no fights. No tests. No death. There was only life. Even a new baby had been born during this time. It was a baby girl who was named Emma, a name that had inspiration originating from the emerald green eyes of their newest knife-eared resident.

Still, all good things must come to an end at some point.

The elf's body had fully recovered. It was early in the morning. Her eyes opened and she immediately headed for the clinic's front door. Right before she left though her ears suddenly twitched so she stopped.

And waited.

Familiar footsteps came. The doctors walked up, both still in their nightgowns. "Are you leaving?" asks Doctor John.

"Yes" A single word, a nod.

"Do you have to go?" he asks again in a fatherly manner.

"Yes" A single word, a nod.

The white-haired doctor lowers his head and sighs. Doctor Belle looks at the elf with a sad smile on her face, and then gently holds her husband's hand as she gives him a consoling gaze. He returns the affection with a gaze of his own as he notices the touch of sadness in his wife's gaze.

"Now now dear, we knew this day would come. Our little Mabel is too small for this wind. The wind needs to move throughout the whole world after all." She patted the man's hand with her other hand as he gave her a nod and let out a sigh. Then both of them now turned their gaze onto the elf.

"If you are leaving that is fine, we will not stop you. Before you go though, there are some things we wish to give you, as well as a favor we'd like to ask of you." His speech, as always, was gentle as he gestured for the elf to follow them. She did.

They went to the couple's own bedroom where he reached under his bed and produced a rather sturdy, yet slim, leather pack. In it were various travel supplies that one would need for the road ahead such as a few changes of clothes, a map, a water bottle, dried meats, rope, a knife, and a few other useful sundries. Among the more notable things were some writing supplies, a bag of money, and three books.

They showed her the books, giving a thorough explanation of what they contained. One was a handwritten dictionary full of various useful phrases and expressions for her to study. The other was a book filled with some details about the countries of the world. Of course, most of the information was on Averton, but there was some basic common knowledge on the other places as well as rumors that circulated through the common populace about said places. It was an accumulation of all of the knowledge of the world outside of Mabel that a tiny remote countryside village would have. It wasn't much, but it was better than nothing.

It was enough to give a traveler a basic heading.

In addition to that, there were some travel tips in the book as well, such as information on money, the roads, and ways of travel. There was even some medical information as well on how to properly care for one's own body. Finally, the book had some blank pages as well.

"So you can add your own thoughts," says Doctor Belle with a smile.

The third book was a book on writing.

The elf traced the blank pages and thought of that other doctor and all of those books he had. This book didn't feel like those books. She didn't know how to feel about it though and accepted it along with everything else. The Doctors packed everything into the bag, showing the elf ways she can properly pack everything up.

"If you don't know where to go, may I make a suggestion as well as ask you a favor?" Doctor John would reach into his nightstand, pulling out a small wrapped parcel. "There's a port village right here, at the edge of the Great Sea of Dunes." The elderly doctor marked the map and handed the elf a piece of paper. There was a picture included with this paper of a man in his early thirties who had blonde hair. He didn't look too different from the two Doctors.

"Our son lives in this village. I'd like you to deliver this parcel to him, his name is Avery. He may even be able to get you on a ship to Zweidaya, which is a pretty interesting destination." Doctor John motioned to the paper, which contained various phrases. "If you get lost on your way, you can show someone this. It is sentencing on hitching rides."

Doctor Belle would explain their general meanings the best she could to the elf. After she was done with her explanations she'd pat the girl's head. "And if you ever need to rest for a while, you are more than free to come back here at any time. Of course, you are also free to go wherever you want as well, don't feel the need to complete that old man's request if you feel it's beyond you." She would give the elf a smile as she used her hands to tidy up the girl's messy hair a little.

The elf did not reject Doctor Belle's hands. This wasn't the first time they tidied her hair. She had grown used to these healing hands. They fed her, helped heal her wounds, and aided her in regaining her strength.

They made her feel... something. Something that moved to her face. A warmth. Those hands that had been cold ten months ago felt warm to her now. They made a small smile appear on her face. She suddenly thought of the many times she heard people say words to her after each time she helped them with a task. She didn't know their explicit meaning, but she understood what they meant. After all this time waiting and listening to them... now felt like the right moment to use them.

"Thank you... for... everything." Her smile went from tiny to a little bigger after she managed to form those words and release them to these doctors.

Seeing that smile, and hearing those words, made tears form in Doctor Belle's eyes as she gave the girl a hug. Doctor Johnson, with his own strong eyes glistening, walked over and patted the girl's shoulder.

"That's what doctors are for..." says Doctor John as he uses his other hand to wipe a tear from his own eye.

"Doc...tors..." The elf closed her eyes for a moment as she thought of that wise, ambitious man. He called himself that all the time too. She knew now though that he was not a doctor. She didn't know what he was, but it was not a doctor. These two were doctors. Still, whatever he was before he was a corpse now. Dead.

So the elf opened her eyes and pushed him out of her mind for the time being. He'd return in her head for sure eventually, but not as a "Doctor". Her dictionary was limited, but now she defined doctors in a new way. These two... were Doctors.

"No need to thank us either dear. You being alive and well is all the thanks we need. After all, when Arnold brought you to us..." Doctor Belle pulled back as she looked at the elf's face. If someone told her that the 'corpse' from before was this girl standing before her... she'd never believe it if she hadn't seen it with her own eyes. "So that means you need to stay safe, ok?"

The elf nodded.

After a hearty breakfast, the elf left the clinic, followed by the Anderson Doctors. They headed to the exit of the village together. Along the way, people who were out and about readying themselves for the day's work noticed them and stopped what they were doing. They knew that the day had come. It was a day that everyone had expected.

So needless to say there was a bit of a commotion.

Her arrival to Mabel had been a wind of death, blood, and despair. Within it, however; was a tiny breath of life. Of hope.

Now her departure was a breath of fresh air. A wind of freedom, life, and adventure. There were many people wishing her both safe travels and quick returns. The elf didn't really understand many of the things that were said, but even her calm emerald eyes were stirred by them.

From this countryside, she had been given years of blood and despair.

Now she was being given freedom, life, and hope. She had a map and a heading, which was all she needed.

Suddenly, as soon as they got to the exit of the village, a sound rang out.

"HA HAHAHAHA!" Laughter. This laughter brought wind. The Mabelites had heard her voice before. It was always quiet and gentle. This... was the opposite. It was a voice that could blow away all like a mighty gale. Perhaps though it did explain how the girl was such a skilled hunter. She was like a beast that was hiding its fangs.

As she faced the road ahead there was a storm swirling in her eyes. "The right moment!" This wasn't a storm of ferocity though. This was a storm of jubilation. She took a step forward and, as she did, wind gathered around her legs as a bright green glow could be seen through the white tunic she wore.

"I'M... FREE... THANK YOU!" Those words came back out in a bellow. Those same two words that the villagers had often said to her. Now she was returning them. Doing so made her body feel lighter. They made the wind move faster around her feet and caused some of the less sturdy villagers who were forced to take a few steps back.

Everyone was... quite shocked, needless to say. This was nothing like the "Miss Elf" they had seen before. Neither was the expression she showed as she turned back to them.

It was the face of a beast. A huge grin was upon it, an almost ferocious grin. Despite its ferocious nature though, no one was scared by it. Just... shocked into silence, trying their best to find their words.

Before they could though she turned back to the road.



The howl resounded throughout the village before the girl bounded off. They didn't know if she'd ever return. This made many of the villagers rather sad, but also happy. They now knew the truth. She needed to go.

The doctors were the only ones who weren't shocked. They held each other's hands, smiles on their faces as they watched this beast of the winds bound away.

"I hope you find your name and your freedom out there... wherever they may be. I know you won't find them here, so I hope you find them out there" murmured Doctor John as he held his wife's hand, filled with both worry and pride. He knew the most that she needed to go to

• New places.
• New horizons.
• New adventures.
• New life.

---

Over the next two months, the elf's journey utilized many different modes of transportation. She used her feet but also hitched a lot of rides on wagons. As she got to more civilized parts of Averton, she even managed to hitch a few rides on cars, but it was still mostly wagons. Normally people would be hesitant to give a stranger with metallic arms and glowing green hands a ride, but when she offered them some Mora and showed them that piece of paper, and pointed to what she figured might have been the relevant phrase, they changed their minds.

Eventually, she managed to get to a major city. She stood out, as usual. Of course, whenever she wasn't holding something she had no hands, but when she held things out to try and get directions people were always taken aback by the glowing green hands that materialized out of nothing.

So they just gave her the directions she needed and quickly left.

Eventually, she made it to the train. The ride took a good chunk of her remaining funds. It allowed her to get any last bits of rest and recuperation she needed though. Of course, the wild elf was staring at everything around her the entire time. She appeared calm though, which did help her blend in a little as she didn't seem like as much country bumpkin despite her clothes and bare feet.

She definitely seemed out of place though.

Regardless, she eventually made it to Fuhan. From there she kept going, hitching rides wherever she could until she was basically nearly out of money.

Thankfully by that point, she had arrived at the port village. Finding Avery wasn't too difficult. She simply showed his picture to multiple people for about an hour before she eventually went to the docks and sat and waited on a bench. The faceless figure's words came to mind once again, so she heeded them and waited on that bench.

Avery Anderson was a man of decent renown in this port town. His medical skills inherited from his parents had helped him make a foothold here in the port village until eventually he was quite well known, often serving as ship doctor for sand ships that went back and forth between the port and the city of Zweidaya.

Needless to say, hearing of a girl with metallic arms and possible elf ears, as her hair made it hard to tell at times, looking for him and even having a portrait of him came to him pretty quickly, so naturally he sent a dockhand he knew to find her.

"You looking for Doc Avery?" asked the dockhand to the girl on the bench as he walked up to her.

She was calm as usual as she gave him a nod. She hadn't been a raging storm her entire trip. She had calmed down pretty quickly when it came time to hitch her first ride. She hadn't gone on a rampage since as there hadn't been a reason to.

"This way." He guided the girl to Doc Avery's clinic. Once there, he guided the girl inside the clinic before leaving as he had other things to do.

The elf couldn't help but compare Doc Avery's clinic to the Anderson Clinic back in Mabel. This one was bigger but didn't seem as warm despite Fuhan being hotter. She couldn't really tell why though. It was still far better than the hospital rooms she had been in more than a year ago.

She had been guided to Doc Avery's office in the clinic. This clinic was bigger and as such had multiple doctors, offices, examination rooms, and other such things. She had taken note of the doors she passed, but ultimately only the one she was guided to mattered. The one that housed Doc Avery.

Doc Avery was a bit older than he looked in the picture. He was about in his early forties. He had a five o'clock shadow and bags beneath his eyes. "So, you lookin' for me?" asked Doc Avery as he looked at this girl from behind his desk. "Whaddya want?" He noticed her metallic arms. "If it's about those, you've come to the wrong clinic." There were a few packs of cigarettes and a few bottles of alcohol on his desk.

Her hands materialized. This caused Doc Avery's eyes to widen a little, but he quickly suppressed his surprise as he watched the girl reach into her bag and pull out the parcel which she handed to him. "This is..." he opened it. It was a small box. His eyes widened bigger than they had when he had seen her wind hands materialize.

He opened the box, the contents of which the elf couldn't see. She watched him pull out two letters and read them. Confusion, sadness, regret... and then happiness. These emotions appeared on his face as tears stained his cheeks as he folded the first letter up and put it back in the box, which he closed and put into his desk. "By the Archons, you sure are one hell of a messenger..." He picked up his lit cigarette, which he was about to take a long drag off. He stopped, sighed, and put it out whilst he read the second letter, during which he switched his gaze between the second letter and the elf.

"So... Miss Elf..." he looked her over, not really caring about the fact that she had no name. According to the letter people in the village had asked, but she had never responded to the question so they assumed she didn't want to say or just really didn't have one. "You wanna get to Zweidaya huh? I can get you there. I will be leaving on a cargo ship bound for it in about a week. You can be my assistant during this time." He reached into his desk and pulled out a pouch of Mora, which she tossed to her. She caught it and put it into her pack.

"You probably spent a lot of money getting here. I was just going to spend that coin on more booze and cigarettes... but I guess it can serve as reward money for your delivery." He opened the curtains now, letting the light into the office. "You can stay at my place here in the clinic. I'll take you to get some food, come on." He had given the elf a decent chunk of change. It wasn't anything to a person with actual money, but it would allow someone to afford food and lodging for a couple of weeks, provided they go for the cheapest options.

A week came and went. The accommodations Doc Avery provided to a normal person would be barely passable. To the elf, however; she had already seen some of the worst. Anything else was an improvement.

This next leg of the journey proved to be uneventful as well. The cargo ship was a routine trip with rather basic cargo. Thankfully it didn't interest any Sand Pirates. During the journey, people asked Doc Avery about his strange new elven assistant, but after telling them that she was the friend of relatives, they let it drop. It wasn't really their concern since, aside from the metallic arms with no hands, nothing else seemed to be really going on with this girl.

Finally... after a couple of weeks, she arrived.

---

---

After getting some information about the city from Doc Avery that came in a handy small booklet, the two parted ways. After all, Doc Avery had to stay with his ship and the wild elf wanted to explore. The sea of sand had been very entrancing and she wanted to see this huge city that floated upon it. Of course, none of it was enough to stir her calm expression, but it still created a desire to explore.

The brown-haired, pale elf with deep green eyes and metallic arms stood out. Her clothes were definitely not ones those who were native to this place would wear either. It was merely a white tunic, belt, pack, matching pants, a small jacket, and a leather pack.

As she walked, she eventually saw a huge building in the distance. "Ar...ena?" Doc Avery's information came to mind. She didn't understand all of it, but she knew that it was a big building that was pretty important here. So she headed towards that. Along the way, she passed a large caravan.

There was something going on, but the elf ignored it and walked right on by what appeared to be some confrontation between two people. Her interest was the arena. Unless something got in her way, she was heading straight there to check it out, all while her eyes scanned the busy city streets and took in the sights.

This was the first step of her journey. One that would hopefully help her find what she was searching for.

A name was the first. She wanted a name that she could one day bring back to those doctors. She had what could be considered a name, but she didn't want to use it. She wanted a name that she could call her's.

The second thing... was even greater Freedom.

Sailing alongside the great capital of Zweidaya was a small merchant vessel; Nothing particularly special about it. The guards were so-so, the goods of moderate value, and the make of it unimpressive...

But, did a pirate need to rob someone only if they were rich? The vessel had yet to dock at Zweidaya, and was in a blind spot for the great sand ship. Now was the optimal time to strike. The patheticness of it all only added to the ease of the score, the small-time group of pirates utilizing a harpoon to suddenly spear the stern of the ship. "Pirates!" one of the merchants cried out, the lack of guards inciting panic in the two merchants standing beside a woman who couldn't be more out of place if she tried. Fanning herself with a folding fan and using a parasol to shield herself from the sun, she'd even tied a handkerchief over her face to keep sand from flying into her mouth. Her attire wasn't suited at all to the climate she found herself in, the young woman clearly some sort of merchant's daughter. "Ah...right...I'd been told Al-Marabar had a large population of pirates," she said, seeming to be baking in the sun.

"Miss d’Aureville, I told you we should have hired on guards!" the older of the two merchants shouted, shaking the young woman by her shoulders. Sighing, she would gently place her hands atop his and say: "There's a very good reason for us being unarmed. And that's because..." the apparent leader of the three would say, before she was interrupted by the crashing of the pirates' bow into the back of their ship. In an instant, three of the pirates would board, crawling over the back railing and brandishing blades and spears, one with a gun holding the three would-be merchants at gunpoint. "Stay nice and still, and nobody has to die today."

Immediately, the goods in transit, covered by a tarp bound with rope were uncovered. Sterling marble of high quality that gleamed in the sun of the sand sea. Heavy, but surprisingly valuable for such a small ship. "Heh, lucky for us! These morons were carrying something good after all!" the spear-bearing pirate commented, before throwing the tarp back on.

Remaining silent with their hands up, the two male merchants bit their tongues, cursing the foolishness of the girl that hired them. ...But, who cared, it was her money being wasted with the goods stolen, and no guards hired. So long as they didn't put up a fight, odds were good that they would get out of this unharmed-

"Those aren't yours to take," Miss d’Aureville said, rising from her seat, only to be met with a spear pointed right at her throat. Reaching over while she was held up, the sword-bearing pirate would tear the handkerchief from her face and grab her chin. "Not bad looking. Might fetch a good price on the lower decks."

At having her face exposed to sand passing by, and her face being touched, the lady-im-patience would furrow her brow, the unseen accessory hanging off of her belt came alight with a soft purple glow, and the back of her hand would collide with the swordsman's cheek. At the very point of contact, a small bundle of purple Electro energy formed and slammed into his face once the slap collided. What would only have made an average person flinch slightly instead sent him flying directly into his spear-holding companion, knocking them both off of the sand ship entirely and into the sea of sand below. "HOLY SHIT!" the only remaining intruder shouted, not expecting a sudden literal thunderclap.

Taking aim, the gun-bearing pirate would mutter some curse that a dignified lady dare not repeat before suddenly having a hammer thrown at his head, perfectly smacking his schnoz enough to make it let out a sickening crunch. ...A crunch so nasty sounding that even she flinched. "Oh...oh my..." she said, underestimating how much damage that would do as her hammer slid down the man's face, and his body promptly fell back off the ship. Seeing as this had already gone incredibly south with the realization that one of the passengers of their target was a vision holder, the pirates would cut the harpoon connecting them, before peeling off to go pick up their fallen comrades.

Standing in confusion, the two merchants watched the woman who had fended off three men with ease look at her bloodied hammer, and very gingerly start washing it, seeming adverse to even touching blood. "I'd meant to hit his chest..." Alina d’Aureville grumbled. Deciding that it wasn't worth the headache to ask questions, the two would go back to piloting the ship. Once they reached Zweidaya, she wouldn't be their problem anymore.

---

@Enkryption@AzureKnight
Ah, Zweidaya! Alina had been waiting a long time to make the journey here. The land of the legendary Archon Axon, the Sand Sea's King and a living legend. If ever there was a figure to inspire a grand sculpture, it'd likely be him. Alina had secured fine marble, making her way from Yato to Al-Marabar and sparing no expense (except on personal guards) and suffered greatly (she got a little sand in her mouth one time) to come to the moving kingdom. While she was excited, she was also a touch wary due to the unsavory welcome she'd received, and the ill-rumors of the lower decks of the ship.

A majority of the marble she'd brought with her would be sold rather quickly, the quality goods likely to be shipped to other nations for a tidy profit, leaving the artist with a fair amount of money to herself, and a few pieces of marble to be held for her. She'd have to get an audience with the Archon, or at least see him to get inspiration. Talking to him would be ideal, but she wasn't quite naïve enough to think the ruler of a nation would make time for an artist. Even one as (decently) accomplished as she was. She'd have to learn his haunts and how to sneak a sketch or two in.

The prospect was already exciting her a little, already imagining a grand full-sized sculpture of the Archon on the bow of his ship, blade in hand. Perhaps there were even some local legends to draw a scene from. Speaking of a scene...one was unfolding right in front of her. One woman bearing the air of a vagabond burst free of a crate, while another woman who seemed...oddly familiar doused her in water. Then, the vagabondian woman would suddenly burst forward and knock the water-wielding woman down, foot on her throat. Whatever was happening, it...was confusing. Were they enemies? Had they only just met? Alina had absolutely no idea. But she felt like, as a woman of upstanding morals, she had to intervene so that nobody would get hurt.

Running the short distance over, she would say: "Ladies, please, there's no need for violence," while also wondering if any guards were coming to check on the disturbance. After all, this was a place of commerce...

_{@Sho Minazuki@Enkryption@The Irish Tree}

---

Zweidaya

---

"Oh...?"

Seeing her fellow spellcaster's eyes change fill Tiziana with a bit of intrigue, though she also was put on edge after seeing her pyro vision flare up. Before she had time to process the scene, the woman rushed her. In an instant after a pained grunt, she had Tiziana pinned to the ground. Her foot pressing against her neck, the songstress would also feel the heat around that area start to increase. The woman was heating up her own body, the moisture that lingered on her evaporating. Honestly, it was already hard enough for her to breathe, but soon it wouldn't matter if she removed her foot or not...

Having a naked woman standing on top of her certainly isn't how she'd thought her day would start. Tiziana thought that she was oddly tone for a witch; Do some witches work out? She didn't think it was necessary, given their mastery of the mystic arts. She supposed what affects the body affects the mind, but this honestly wasn't the time to be thinking of such things. Although, her attention was diverted when another young woman showed on the scene. She didn't possess any particularly unique mana coming from her, so she didn't seem to be a witch like them. The twin tailed lady decided to play peacemaker and advocate for peace. Hah! As if the songstress asked for any of this.

Dropping the act of slowly choking and burning, Tiziana would dawn a cheese-eating grin as her whole body began to melt. "My, looks like someone woke up on the wrong side of the crate." She said in a garble tone, that seemed to faze out into a slush of liquid. Her body melted into a small puddle of water, and the real her appeared next to the twin tailed girl.

"Miss, I assure you, this conflict is entirely one-sided. I only wanted to be of help." She mused innocently, looking toward the brunette with slightly annoyed eyes. Unfolding her fan, both it and her hydro vision began to glow as the left over water around them began to form into a couple of tentacles. They appeared to be holding some items as they made there way toward the naked woman. They politely reached out, attempting to hand the woman her glasses that got lost in the wash, along with the cigarette she was about to smoke.

"I presume these were the items you were referring to earlier?" She said. "I offer my apologies, it wasn't my intention for your belongings to be lost. It's just...you were filthy. One would have to imagine you were sitting in your own muck while in that crate. I just took it upon myself to give you a free shower." Holding her fan to her face, she folded it again. The azure glow it held dissipated into small blue wisps that flowed away from them until they disappeared.

@AzureKnight

---

As she held the glasses, Tiziana would feel her tentacles growing weaker by the second, as she sussed out the immense Magic Suppression Ritual put on them. Before she could mull on what a Witch was doing with such an limiting magical item, without speaking a word in affirmation or dismissal, said Witch would snatch her treasures with the same speed she'd toppled Tiziana's Doppelganger.

"Don't your lies smells like sunshine and rainbows," John says, as she strolled around Tiziana, putting Alina in a box. "You'll have to forgive me for not showering for... however long as I was in transit. It would seem, my cargo container wasn't fitted for such amenities," she says, "Not that I could have enjoyed them much in a coma, anyways."

Tiziana would feel air flow against her left side nape, as John was, suddenly, standing before her, and sniffing her from her nape to her crown. Progenies of potions, Witches had the noses that knows all, and she wouldn't forget the natural scent that she bore. "Lascuta," John says, suddenly, behind Tiziana, finger walking down her right arm, before taking her hand - committing the lewd act of holding hands in public.

In truth, she was memorizing Tiziana's spiritual flame, her Ki, "Such a temperate flame; well-kindled, yet kept cooled and flowing. This a very palatable Ki."

"I'll remember you for helping," John whispered into her ears, before she was gone - strolling down an alleyway. In the split-second that she'd moved, John was dressed to the nines, or, My usual affair, as she would put it, and striding off; Vision bouncing off the back of her head.

However, Tiziana's body was still vibing with the warmth of the once naked woman; even through her dress, and her natural defenses of moisture, the strange Witch had burned through with her warmth - leaving the phantasmal impression of her naked body lingering on Tiziana's, the warmth of her face upon her head, and the indecent hand-holding burning her palm, as the sensation crawl up it.

From crown to toe, she was enveloped in an impossible, fleeting warmth from the departing woman.

Now, Tiziana had a fresh dilemma: continue on her path to seek the gladiatorial arena, or give chase to someone she might never cross paths with again in a city as large as this. If she needed an excuse for the latter, she'd easily spy the rather regal-looking box that was in the crate John had "hatched" from so explosively.

Even from a distance, she could tell it was worth more money than a simple parcel box.

Returning it would be a helpful thing, no?

Al-Marabar, Sand King Arena

The Sand King Arena, called so simply as the Sand King himself presides over it, 90% of the time at least. It was a large arena, and for awhile today it had been running single combat. In fact there was one going on right now, between Fiske and an Oni. The two stood upon the sand, somewhat hot from the burning sun above, the roaring crowd around them as they raised their weapons and... One single thunderous clap stopped and silenced everything.

All looked up towards the Sand King's throne as he stood up, seemingly with an announcement.

"I am sure all are looking forward to this match, yet I have been apprised of a development!" He raised his arms as he addressed his crowd, like an emperor standing before a party he was hosting.

"Today has been a rather fruitful day, for there were more new potential fighters than we had originally anticipated! And so I would like for one, free for all melee!", this was certainly not something Fiske had anticipated on, and the same with the Oni. Yet no matter what deals were cut for this match, the Sand King's word was law.

At this time, inside of the Arena's other facilities, the cages and all others, things were suddenly in a buzz with activity as wardens rushed to grab any of the new slaves that had been obtained today, among them including Ken, an Uveran gunslinger. He was hastily handed a cheap revolver and a belt with some bullets, and sent out in his slave rags. Others like him were moved as well, but it seemed they would be coming out of other exits of the arena.

Of course, at the same time... Crowds were also quite excited. Bets were being made, and those who simply enjoyed spectacle were not disappointed with this development. While such things were normal for the Sand King, they were infrequent enough that when they occurred, everyone knew to run their ass over to the arena to watch. Some enterprising shops were already sending out people to sell food for the event.

Eyes back on the arena itself, the gates on the edges came to life as they slowly lifted, letting out groups of the slaves, armed with whatever they could either get, or whatever they can grab. There was indeed quite the selection, and a decent few, almost two dozen were now in participation in the arena. One man tried to get the jump on this grand melee, raising his blade and charging Fiske, but he was suddenly halted in his tracks of a large, golden arrow of earth blasted at the feet in front of him.

"Now now! I appreciate the enthusiasm, but what fun is any normal melee?!", the arrow came from the throne, in his hands the Sand King held a giant bow, and just as easily as it appeared, it disappeared from his hands in a golden wisp. As soon as he did he clicked his fingers. The ground below the participants whirred to life as Geo constructs sprouted out of the ground in a formation, emanating a pulse.

"Our audience and veterans know what these are! Geo generator constructs! It creates a geo reaction to any element! I've been told we have more than two vision wielders among our new participants! And so I felt this might be an appropriate bit of spice!", of course... When a Geo reaction goes off of any element it drops an energy shield for anyone who can grab it... Meaning this kind of hazard was good not just for vision users, but anyone who doesn't use a vision too... A surprisingly fair addition to this brawl.

"Well without further ado, even I am excited to see how this may play out! Let the battle begin!"

@Letter Bee@Enkryption

A grand melee?, thought Ken in scorn as he was brought into the arena, the eighteen-year-olds request to fight shirtless was ignored in the haste to arrange this 'spectacle'- Fools, the lot of them. Surely, he thought, more opportunities for me to cause a disaster; if I'm really lucky, the disaster would both free me and entertain the Sand King enough that he'd be too busy laughing to order an immediate pursuit.

He already had the barest wisps of a plan, one that relied on the Geo Generators, a seed or even a piece of fruit being present in the arena (snacks were allowed in the stands, right?), and luck. Lots and lots of luck. And of course, finding out who exactly that other Vision wielder was would be a bonus - Maybe they can cause a disaster together?

As the battle began, Ken showed his marksmanship by shooting the weapon from the hand of the first gladiator to go at him, probably taking off a few fingers while he was at it. Then he shot another, and another, while constantly moving around so that none of these folk can get their hands on him, all the while hoping his weapon won't suddenly jam at the first opportunity.

Then a spear was thrown at him, and everything suddenly got interesting. Sidestepping the spear and picking it up with his free hand, Ken invoked the power of his Vision, channeling it onto the wooden shaft - Wood was plant matter, who knew? - before throwing it high in the air, causing it to explode into healing spores that were scattered by the wind, prolonging the fight by healing injuries sustained; a small price to pay for waiting for the other Vision user to tip their hand by testing the 'Geo Generators' and the energy shields they gave off.

Luckily the above-mentioned generators were scattered all over the arena floor, and one was close by, allowing Ken to dive for a shield and take it once one appeared, but before that, he kept on shooting at his opponents' weapons and eventually their limbs - He knew that these fights were not supposed to be fatal and he was willing to play along with the Sand King and prolong the latter's enjoyment... Until an opportunity struck and he was able to cause chaos, the chaos that would hopefully not harm the audience members who came to watch, although it might frighten them a little.

All he needed was for the other Vision user to unconsciously cooperate with him and his plan...

Casually strolling out of the cargo hanger, and into the proper township of Zweidaya, John would listen to the sounds of hustle and bustle of a city that drifted upon a sea of sand. Immediately, her mind set to working on her circumstances, and the last few things she remembered - prominently, the Uveran twins were featured, but she knew they were of zero importance to the matter of her exile; a pair of wandering savages were nothing but wandering potential to certain trades in Averton.

No, there was a better reason...

'Those mercenaries...' John rubbed the back of her head, trying to "warm" her brain. 'They were dressed in Walton fashion. Adorned in their coat-of-arms,' she grimaced, holding her chest. 'Those chumps weren't any kind of trained force, however. Not even close. Probably had those insignias for show. Bazz was the actual threat,' John straightened her back, as she pushed through a crowded marketplace, 'Still, those were Walton colours, and legit. Likely, Bazz rounded up some hoodlums to try and coax me into conceding - using them as cannon fodder for his bombs. They were dead as soon as they suited up...'

Around her, the distracting hawkers pitched their wares, goods, and services alike and aplenty. A town that moved from place to place, serving as a port for locales of all sorts, made for a varied and exotic shopping trip - both material and immaterial. It wasn't enough to tear her from her thoughts, however, as she continued through them...

'But, for what and for why,' John asks. 'What am I not remembering? There's a piece of the puzzle locked out of my head...' John admired a pile of saltpeter, as she stood before a stand selling alchemical reagents.'Could it be about the Duchess? What was her name? I barely remember her face. I don't even remember where I fucked her...' John moved to a fruit stand, overlooking the produce with scrutiny, 'An office, I think. Her husband's? No, no... I remember her saying that was too risky...' Plucking a banana, John purchased the nicely ripened fruit, and continued moving, 'There were papers on the desk. Correspondence between Waltom and Averton, but I can't remember what they said...'

Finishing her banana, John dropped the peel upon the ground, and carried on. Almost cartoonishly, a little trio of thugs - boys, really - rounded the corner, and one of them hit the peel; squishing the skin and sliding upon its slippery underside. John turned, as she heard the shout and crack of the fallen thug, as he hit ground. Looking back, John chuckled, and rubbed the back of her head.

"My bad, dude," John started, as she walked back over to retrieve the fruit skin, "I guess, I should have thrown this away."

"You did this?"

"I mean, kinda," John shrugged. "He wasn't paying attention, though," she accused, as she wasn't going down with the ship alone, "Oh, stop crying, you baby. You just hit your head. You'll be fi -- "

John was cut short by the *shick~!* of a switchblade, and she stood up with a grimace. "You don't want to do this. I'm not outnumbered. Not even close. There's only three of you, and one of you is -- "

"Shut up, bitch! You got two options: hand over all your money or we'll take it out of your organs."

"If you have guns, I would suggest using those," John says, coldly, as she picked up the banana peel, "This is going to suck for you..."

"I said, shut up, and hand over the money, before I -- "

There was a *fwoosh~!* that cut him short, before a flame was thrown at him; the banana peel ignited as a brief ball of fire, as the oils in the skin burst from John's flame. Before he could commit to screaming and scrambling to get the burning peel off his face, John was already on him; catching his knife hand in her left, and driving her right into his worst - cracking the bone and damaging the tendon, before she took the knife into her left palm.

"F-Fuck!" shouted the second man, as he barely comprehended the fight, before his brain scrambled to catch up with the burning pain in his leg. Sticking out of his left thigh was the first man's knife - glowing red to the point of vermillion. Dropping to the ground, screaming, the second man was torn between removing the knife and leaving it in.

"Get up, little boy," John says, pointing her shotgun at the third, still lying on the ground. "His left wrist is broken, and he's got a knife wound. Likely, you have a concussion. So, you two help him walk to the hospital or whatever you have around here, and get treatment." John motioned with her shotgun to hustle, and her demands were met at gunpoint. It would have been clearly foolish to do elsewise at this point. "Oh, here," John says, finishing out her money from her coat. "That should cover your medical bills, to a degree. Now, get lost, before I become uncharitable..."

Warning received, the trio would get lost, and John would pick up the charred banana peel. "Damn, now I'm actually broke..." she sighed, before her eyes tilted to the side - crimson, once more. "I'm not in a charitable mood anymore. If you wanna start something..."

"Naw, naw, cher..." spoke a woman with a deep accent, likely of Walton lineage - outskirts, judging from her rural dressing. "I couldn't help but marvel at your little display. Such talented fighting skills, and the way you used that banana peel as a weapon, not to mention that little trick with the knife, and -- "

"To the point," John says, standing up.

"I heard you’re a bit cash deficient, now? Pesky thing, being charitable to today's ignorant youth. Costly, too. However, someone like you... well, I know where you can put your fighting skills to work without worrying about any adverse costs."

"Colour me interested..." John says.

"Follow me," the woman offers, adding with a purr, "You can keep that big cannon of yours at my back the whole time, just to prove there's no funny business..."

"Trust me, I plan to," John says, before following her new tour guide of Zweidaya.

Of course, the Humans would alter the deal at the first opportunity to create more destruction, foolish of him to assume otherwise really.

"Typical"

At the Sand King's announcement, he readied himself and looked directly at his opponent who seemed bemused, took a moment to deliberate... then ran after the guy that tried to jump at him at the start, he already disliked him the moment he appeared and if he went after him disregarding everyone around them then clearly this guy had some kind of stake on taking him out.

To the man's credit, he managed to rise a shaky defense before he rammed his shield at full speed against him, then the man discovered the hard way that defensive stance or not he really couldn't contend against the might of a Jotun. The result was an opponent down and a crack in the wall of the Arena, sadly (or maybe fortunately) that marked him as a threat to the several contenders around, two in particular had obtained a shield from the generators before everyone else on this side.

Without losing time he launched himself at the new group of enemies and the fight finally began in earnest, a sable hit against his shield and he responded with a strike from his axe, a returning swing to the rib stopped a sword from stabbing as a leg with grieves hit him on the back of his legs, he responded by letting go of his shield, grabbing the human by the leg and then using them as an improvised flail to hit another before throwing them at the bow user that was about to fire in his direction, missing the maze that was about to hit his back, chaos was on all sides of him and although he was winning he was still taking too much damage, a sudden activation of the chained enchantment on his weapons recalled the shield to his hand in time to met with a shield bash from a someone who didn't think things through.

A scream rippled through the air as another human flew in the path of one who was about to stab him in the back with a dagger and he saw how both groaned on the ground against each other before looking in the direction it came from.

There his original opponent was watching him eagerly, a hand on the pommel of his weapon and another signaling at him and then at himself in quick succession before dipping into a battle stance.

He delivered once more, on one hand, the youkai was being outright polite considering the situation surrounding them, on the other he could be bashing Human heads at his heart's content. With a sigh, he fell back into his own stance, he was raised to respect others and the youkai appeared to be asking without any malice, declining after he had gone out of his way to help would be unnecessarily rude as well.

The Youkai widened his grin and let out a laugh before speaking for the first time since they entered the Arena.

"Takemura"

He gathered strength in his legs and responded.

"Fiske"

And with that, both launched at each other with the intention of causing harm.

Just as soon as Alina had tried to intervene verbally, one of the women suddenly vanished into a puddle of liquid, only to suddenly appear next to the sculptor. She reassured her that the conflict was one-sided, only for the woman she argued with to come strolling over. And...what a stench! Alina made no effort to hide her disgust as she buried her nose in a handkerchief, not even noticing that the seldom-bathing woman was naked until she saw the shine of her buttocks while she walked away.

...This was...a peculiar way to start her cultural expedition to Al-Marabar. Now left standing before the refined woman, Alina couldn't help but give her a once-over. ...Did she know her from somewhere? Her garb looked rather expensive, likely Lascutan nobility but...that voice of her's seemed familiar.

Then, it hit her. "I'm Your Canary", "Hail in Bridges", "South by Southwest"! This had to be the most renowned songstress in Lascuta (in a fangirl's opinion), Tiziana! Putting her hankie back in her pocket, Alina would put her hands together and confirm with one last look that it definitely was the songstress herself, and promptly keep the losing composure stuff internal instead of external. "Pardon me, but...you wouldn't happen to be Tiziana Maggiore, would you?" the young woman asked, smiling slightly as she spoke to the woman.

It seemed one of her fans had inadvertently found her.

The strange-looking but still somehow unassuming girl kept walking unimpeded. Those that saw her at a glance wouldn't think much about her. Her brown hair, basic clothing, and small size made it so that she didn't really stand out at a glance. Of those that did happen to get a slightly better look as the girl passed on by fell into one or more of three basic categories: the curious, the concerned, and the unnerved.

What made her seem pitiful was that she wasn't wearing shoes, which made a few people think she was some kind of homeless runaway. After all, she did look quite young even to those who could see the tips of her pointed ears that occasionally stuck out from her messy hair. She also had no hands, which also made her seem quite a pitiful existence as well.

The people who showed either passing curiosity or heartfelt pity both all felt one thing that they had in common with the third group: the unnerved. This feeling was caution.

Her lack of hands was enough to cause some people to be filled with pity, curiosity, or perhaps both. What made them rather cautious though was the rather demonic design of the metallic arms. Her arms had a rather ancient, almost vicious design to them.

"What kinda weirdo puts freaky arms like that on a kid" was one passerby's thoughts.

Of course, the elf was used to these looks. Whether it was from the villagers when she had first met them or people she met on her journey to this city many had similar looks. Needless to say, this former lab rat didn't really bat an eye to any of the whispers that her ears picked up nor did she even give anyone who gave her a look a second glance.

She even ignored the calls of various stall owners who tried to beckon her over. Both because she had a priority goal and she also couldn't really understand them completely.

Eventually, she did make it to her destination. It was pretty hard to miss after all even for a first-timer to Zweidaya. The elf's green eyes couldn't help but scan the place as she walked in. Thankfully there was no entrance fee to enter the arena so she was able to walk in freely. There were guards at the entrance who did look at her though, but let her pass anyway with only a singular glance. She seemed completely harmless in their eyes.

After all, she had no hands. What could she do? Swing her metallic 'stubs' around? Her legs didn't seem like they had much strength in them and she wasn't even wearing shoes. So other than the possibility of giving someone blunt force trauma they didn't think she was going to be any trouble. She wasn't like those Vision wielders who could cause trouble in ways one could only barely imagine.

Once inside the stadium, she couldn't help but look around. Before entering the stands there were plenty of stalls selling more things. Food, trinkets, drinks, and even gambling stakes. This arena was truly an enterprise for many people. It no doubt generated a large amount of circulation for Zweidaya's economy.

Not that the elf knew this or even thought about it. Sure she wasn't stupid, but she also wasn't educated either. She had only just recently learned the bare basics of "money" so the more advanced concept of "economics" was still beyond her. There had even been a few people on her journey to Zweidaya who could have scammed her out of some Mora. What had prevented this were those glowing green hands that gave them the Mora. As much as those people would have liked some extra Mora, going home fully intact was more profitable.

"Hungry" A familiar feeling crossed her mind as she smelled a nice aroma. It was coming from one of several food stands.

Needless to say, she decided to go over and get a bite to eat. Unfortunately, life can be a bit unpredictable. As she walked to the stand, someone who just purchased their own food walked right by her. While the Elf usually struck a rather lithe figure, the rather striking "horns" that curved out from each of her arms made some aspects of life a little difficult. "Crowds" was one of those aspects. No one could really stand right next to her without needing to be wary of getting poked.

"GAH, What the hell!" A man who wasn't paying attention to where he was going bumped into one of those horns side first. This caused the skewers and booze he had just purchased to all spill to the ground, and a lot of it spilled on him. This stained the rather nice-looking clothes he was wearing. This was definitely a person who had enough money to keep up appearances in this kind of town. "Ah dammit, what the fuck!"

He immediately turned his ire toward the elf. "What the fuck, why are you wearing shit like this? You nearly poked a hole in my damn gut and made me spill my food you damn brat! What do you have to say for yourself?"

The girl was silent. This just made the man angrier. It was also drawing the attention of the people nearby as his shouting was causing a scene.

"Did your parents never teach you any manners? You should speak when spoken to!" The man was fuming.

The girl was still silent.

Still not getting the response he wanted, his nostrils flared as he reached his hand for her pack. "Since you're gonna be silent then fine. Gimme your Mora! You're paying for my clothes!" The man had a rather big hand. He seemed like a rather beefy guy too as he seemed to stand around six feet tall.

At this point, someone had already run off to try and find the guards. While the elf closed her eyes.

"Hey, come on now, it was just clothes, chill out---" began one man grabbed the guy's hand to try and get her to back off. Unfortunately, this just got him a firm shove from the beefy man.

"Shut up! This isn't your business!" he shouted at the interloper before once again reaching for the elf's bag, or more precisely one of her shoulder straps.

"You're KA2U3 right? It's 'cause of you that we have to take more fucking tests!" A tall, but thin, young girl of about 17 approached the elf who was about 3 years younger than the one in Zweidaya. They were in one of the areas in that underground facility where they often let the subjects get daily exercise. It was something akin to a prison yard, but underground.

The elf's silence and her almost blank stare only seemed to make her more irritated.

"Since you're so willing to be their dog, then you should dress like one!" In a fit of rage, she reached for the shoulder of KA2U3's clothes.

"GIVE ME THAT! You damn-- GAH!"

"GIVE ME THAT! You damn-- GUAH!"

In both past and present a foot was thrust out towards the owners of said hands. This foot connected right to their stomachs in a strong side-kick. Both were knocked to the ground.

The subjects all stepped back, eyes full of scorn and fear.

The onlookers cried out in fright, eyes full of concern.

The doctors and Project Titan facility guards came in with restraints to take the elf back to her cell and stop any further fighting.

Two arena guards had quickly shown up, eyes widening in surprise. All of that had happened rather quickly, both in the past and present. One went over to the unconscious man, making sure he was alive. The other noticed the elf quickly take a few steps towards the unconscious man so he stepped into her path.

"No fighting here. You need to come with us. Don't use your Vision, just come with us. You're not in any trouble, we just want to know what happened" This was the other guard. He was looking at the green wind surrounding the elf's legs. Sure people were used to seeing fighting, but usually in the arena. Even when Visions were involved it was always in the arena, never near the concession stands.

So everyone, even the two guards, was a bit surprised.

In this scenario, they simply wanted to escort the girl to a different area to keep the peace. They asked what happened and an onlooker, fortunately, mentioned that the unconscious man started it. So the guard quickly jostled the man awake and cuffed him, making him stand up.

The elf's eyes scanned the guards, both the one now holding the groggy, cuffed beefy man and the other that walked over to her.

"Come along now" he stated simply. Even though an onlooker stated the man started it, the peace needed to be kept so both involved parties needed to be escorted and detained for a bit.

She went with the guards, legs in cuffs.

She refused, and her legs struck out. The guard was sent flying as a wind-powered kick landed right square in his chest and definitely broke a few bones. It also sent the guard flying back into a nearby food kart with a rather nasty-sounding impact. She then quickly dashed to the other guard, two green hands materializing on her arms. The onlookers at this point began to scream and flee.

Even the cuffed beefy man had fled, scared out of his wits.

She slashed her claws at the guard, knocking away his drawn weapon before sending a precise kick to his temple. The brutal wind-fueled kick sent the guard savagely to the ground. If this guard was lucky, the worst he'd have is a heavy concussion.

Both of these guards had simply been left on the ground by the Elf unconscious and in terrible shape.

A quiet storm had arrived at the arena and it was heading for the arena proper. The storm would do what it wanted, see what it wanted, and live how it wanted. Thankfully the storm hadn't been completely unleashed, but that... was only a matter of time. It was definitely brewing.

It wanted to see the matches and arrived there very quickly... with no doubt guards in hot pursuit.

_{@Sho Minazuki@Enkryption@The Irish Tree}

---

Zweidaya

---

Tiziana made note of the magical suppression that the glasses dame made use of; She watched as the tentacles she made began to fade, though not before her fellow witch snatched up the items they were returning. The songstress put on an amused smirk as her fellow witch made her rebuttal, which was hidden behind her fan. Then, at that point, things got a little more...intimate.

John would suddenly appear before the diva, sniffing at her nape and inspecting her being. Tiziana immediately frowned at having her personal space infringed upon. However, as they were both two of a kind, she naturally understood what she was doing. She was trying to learn her brew; Potions, spells, remedies, and other concoctions used on the body were the most general things witches would be curious about with each other. Even the act of walking a couple of fingers down her arm, and eventually holding her hand in public of all things, she realized was an attempt for John to memorize her mana signature. "Correct you are, miss." Tiziana said, confirming John was right in presuming her hometown. In spite of all this, Tiziana wasn't sure what the woman was playing at, feeling she had something else in mind. Getting close to her eye, John finally gave her 'thanks' for her deeds, whispering gently into her ear. Then, in an instant, she was fully dressed and made her way further downtown. Her fan now folded, Tiziana's perplexed and intrigued expression was on full display. Her mannerisms aside, it wasn't often that the performer actually got to meet with others of her kind.

Such was the life of secrecy their kind was bound to...

Out of the corner of her eye, Tiziana spotted an decorated box of some sort. She naturally assumed that it belonged to the glasses woman; It seemed that in her standoffish stupor she had overlooked it. Sighing, Tiziana decided that it would be best to do her another favor. Going off of its appearance, the box was probably something of importance. That was before the other girl interrupted her thoughts, and began to pry into her identity.

Her arms folded, she wore a warm smile as she turned to the young lady. "In the flesh." She confidently responded. "As beautiful as the midnight moon and elegant as the midyear stream!" She looked the young woman down for a moment, sensing a regal air about her. Able to tell she must've been from Lascuta as well, she guessed that she happened upon a fan. Something that she always looked forward to. Then, it finally hit her. Her garb, her looks, the way she carried herself - a member of the d'Aureville house? All the way out here?

Tiziana walked over to what was left of John's makeshift home and picked up the parcel. "It's always nice to meet a fan, even in a backwater, unsavory town like this." She said, looking back at Alina. "Though, I hardly expected it, especially it being someone from the d'Aureville house." Tiziana would confirm if her suspicions were correct. "It seemed that peculiar woman with the short fuse had left this cute little parcel. As I've already helped her once, why not make it twice. I invite you to come with me, and we can talk further if it tickles your fancy."

With that, Tiziana began making off in the direction John left for, partly hoping that Alina would follow. She was curious as to what led a young noble all the way out to this sandy hive of ne'er-do-wells.

--

It didn't take too long for Tiziana to catch up with the other witch. Her mana signature was easy enough to follow, not like she was trying to hide it. As she approached, she heard a commotion of some sort. She had arrived to see the woman nearly burning a young roughneck alive, stabbing him in the tendon with a knife. Goodness! That along with pulling out a shotgun seemed to be enough to run off the hooligans. Someone else, an older woman with a heavy accent, also seemed to have been watching. The two seemed to have been conversing about something, she couldn't make it out. Whatever it was, it ended with John beginning to follow the old woman, her shotgun pointed at her back.

"I imagine you make a hobby of getting into fights wherever you go?" She said to John, having made her way over to her. "You probably noticed me following you. I came here to return this back to you, you left it. Perhaps, too busy inflicting violence on a poor innocent soul?"

ATTN: @AzureKnight & @The Irish Tree

---

Tiziana wasn't hard to sense; a Mana like her was loud, performative - demanding attention, and ready to put on a show - and desperate, and John loved the smell of desperation. "Desperate girls are easy prey for easy play," so one of her brothers had told her, years on years ago - they hadn't spoken since, after she slept with his girlfriend that same time, and tossed the advice in his face. It wasn't that she did it out of malice or anything - she loved her brothers, especially Bazz; it was just their faults for raising her as "one of the boys," and not expecting this outcome.

As she followed her guide, she would play back the fight, critiquing her movements, and her mercy. However, John didn't have long to dwell, as Tiziana's Mana was on fast approach, and planned to land beside her without regard to personal space or caution.

Ironic.

"I imagine you make a hobby of getting into fights wherever you go?"

"Fights find me," John says. "I can't help it, if a bunch of little boys get angry that their friend ignorantly slipped on a banana peel I dropped."

John's guide snickered, "That's quite the classic deflection."

"You probably noticed me following you. I came here to return this back to you, you left it. Perhaps, too busy inflicting violence on a poor innocent soul?"

John quirked an eyebrow, as Tiziana barreled through the back-and-forth, as if neither of the other women had spoken. "I invite you to recall the aforementioned reason," she says.

"Oh, she heard you, darlin', but these artist types ain't kind to unfinished sentences," the woman says, "Something of an artist yourself, Johanna Alighieri?" John's blood ran cold, as the woman chuckled, "My mistake. You go by Wattsun, don't you? The Fiery Detective, John Wattsun."

"You -- " John cut the sentence short with a sharp punch of her shotgun barrel against the woman's back, "That's -- " Anger was cutting her thoughts, as she tried to formulate words.

"Now, now, cher," the woman says, looking back; her eyes were changed, empty, black hollows with a meager, red light glimmering from the back like a light at the end of a long, treacherous tunnel into hell. "Juniper Mofferan, charmed," she says, her voice becoming more pleasant and her accent shining through even better, "It's not every day I come across celebrities," Juniper looked ahead, "Tiziana Maggiore, in my little neck of the desert. Oh, joyous days~!"

John tightened her expression, and grimaced, before she relaxed. "Seems my reputation precedes me," she says, smugly. If a Witch was good at anything, more than potions and being discriminated against, it was saving face and putting on airs. However, she noticed the woman's twin bangs were, suddenly, standing oddly - almost like... antenna?

"That they do," Juniper says, her hair drooping back down, as she squeezed her eyes close with the excited an exclaim of: "I even saw another up-and-coming artists. Little Lady Alina d'Aureville! The Stonemistress of Lascuta!"

John tilted her head, "Stonemistress, huh? Sounds like an edgy, little shit."

Juniper giggled, now a noticeably buzzy sound. "We're almost there..."

"There, being," John asks.

"Now, now, cher, that's not a question you ask," Juniper grinned, "It's a surprise, after all."

Al-Marabar, Sand King Arena

@Renose@Teyao@Letter Bee

As the all-out brawl in the arena continued, there were rumblings on the outside of the stands as armed pirates began to fill the backs. Well, it wasn't unusual for people to bring their own weapons with them, but they all wore the same bandanas, cloaks, arm bands, or masks. Orange with their logo emblazoned on it, based on the Aldugan, a giant sand worm that lives in this region. The Aldugan Spines. It wasn't unusual to see them every so often, but in this number... One might notice something, that is if it wasn't for most people's eyes to be glued to the battle down below.

Takemura the Oni would engage in direct combat with Fiske, intended to fight him one on one, going so far as to throw others away or stop Fiske from going to other fighters. Ken on the other hand would find his waiting for an opportunity to work against him as a pyro wielder made themselves known, throwing a blazing javelin at him and engaging in combat. He seemed to have noticed that Ken was a vision wielder too and figured he'd eliminate him to be rid of competition in this brawl, but either would find themselves under pressure by wayward gladiators flanking them as soon as the two felt they might have a one on one fight.

Truly there was no escaping that there were others in this. The Geo generators gave shields to anyone who could pick them up, enabling them to get an edge over whatever opponent they found themselves facing. Working especially well as it also absorbed the kinetic force, allowing the one shielded to power through, given the shield did not break.

---

Al-Marabar, Underhull

@Enkryption@AzureKnight and maybe @The Irish Tree???

The underground world of Al-Marabar is extensive, almost a second city within the city, and that might be because residents up on top, may regularly make visits to the Underhull. Underneath the layers of ships and decks is an underground area of sorts, lit up constantly with electric lighting of varying colours. It was almost like a different place. The varying colours started from people being unable to be picky about the kinds of lighting they could get access to, but some artisans down here have even taken to making specially designed lights as signs.

Within this place however was a particular club. The gladiator fights are a popular past time for the peoples above, as brutal as they can be there were still rules in place to prevent participants from killing as much as they can. Here however, the Underhull's own small, caged colosseum known as Club Spades, or 'the Club' as most down here call it. Juniper Mofferan led the three, primarily John through the Underhull, and to this particular 'Club'. The entrance had a big neon sign saying 'Club Spades', the logo being simply a clubs and spade card suit being crossed over each other in two different colours.

As they entered into the arena itself, it was a cage match format, very different to the larger, more spacious colosseum. In fact it was a lot more crowded and compacted down here. As Juniper led them through the crowds, they found themselves slipping back out to 'backstage', as it were.

"Ahh Juniper! My good friend, so what's this gift you have for me?", the group entered into a neon lit lounge, there were various other underworld presences here, but it seemed to be focused around this man who approached them. The man was sharply dressed with a ritzy purple suit, shrouded glasses in a shade of dark red that hid the expression of his eyes, and a smile that was both unnerving and charismatic. He held a walking cane, adorned with a small and rather cute owl which almost didn't fit with his rather showy getup.

"Might they be talented fighters? New staff? Or... Sponsors?" his eyes rested on Tiziana, to whom he was referring to as he said that. He clearly recognized her.

"Whatever they may be, there's money to be made. Whether you want to risk your wallet... Or your life", he leaned in a little as he finished his sentence. One can bet on fights here, sponsor a fighter and get returns on their wins, or be a fighter and earn money by winning.