Chounan seemed to be rose up from unconscious. It was a nightmare made him brought back from reality. He started to puzzle his nightmare and it was him, his inner side dominating both of his foes and his allies during his knighthood back then. He remembered now that it wasn't the first time being not himself during the prisoners chamber. He checked himself and seemed that the two of his arm were not yet fully recovered from the trauma of that intense fight back then with the big one that carried an huge axe.

He caught his glanced on the vampire who were nursing and guarding the other injured party members. He is not yet fully combat ready, he decided to help Veronica to give the other a first aid. He brought some back from the armoury of Black Serpent hide out.

The Admiral and his companions arrived at Hdur, though his official order was for his father's men to stay clear from the city, there was something that needed to be ironed out.

The infamous bakery was located in the middle of the town. Other than the inviting smell of freshly baked loaf, there was nothing extraordinary about it; a two-story wooden building that seemed to give off the impression of a humble establishment, it always has its windows and door open, and strangely seemed to have more room for a mere bread shop.

Silas knew a thing or two about the owner, a very friendly elven man his father once described as an utter eyesore, like the town of Hdur itself.

The admiral dismounted from his horse and ordered a junior officer to take their horses to rest in the nearby military barrack and bring fresh replacements.

"Stay here. This won't be long." Leaving Kirsten on the terrace, Silas and the rest of his men hurriedly entered the General store, meeting with the owner himself who seemed to have been waiting for him. The eldest of the Delving brothers gave the owner the antique money, but he refused.

"Keep your money! Our business... end." He glowered, making a cutting gesture with his hand. "I know what your father did, a terrible mistake. No, I refuse to have anything to do with it. Get lost!"

The admiral sighed, slightly taken aback by the unwelcoming gesture. He picked up the coin and asked earnestly.

"Please be civil, Master Stockton. Every disagreement can be sorted out, and--"

"No! Not this one kid! Not even your daddy could. You tell him that! Barked the owner again, this time he pointed at the door "Now! Do you have wood for ears? Get lost will ya! I have nothing to say anyway."

Silas nodded, and for that moment it looked like he was going to leave in peace. But his departure to the door was to ensure that it has been locked should.

If only the situation was not that dire, he would have laughed, or maybe smiled at the fat man's foolishness.

As Silas walked back to the counter, his men began to flank the innkeeper and apprehend him. A burly man he was but lacked any real physical strength. Certainly no match against two well-trained marines.

"What sandwich fuck are you---"

After some futile struggles, a rope was tied to his ankles. Those marines threw the rest of it on the ceiling beam while one of them elbowed him square in the face. And soon, the store owner found himself hoisted up, hanging upside down.

"Master Stockton, deepest apologies but I am not here on behalf of my father," said Silas, ordering his men to stop lifting him at eye level. His sword was drawn and pointed at the store owner's neck. "I am here for Fredricus' goons, and you are the only person with the connection."

The store owner was well past the part where he should scream. His head was as red as a tomato, and when of the marines stepped closer to beat him some more, he grunted and gushed out his breakfast toward the Marine's trousers and boots.

"Shit!"

"Right... clean yourself up." The admiral tossed a perfumed handkerchief at his soiled man, then returned to Stockton "And you better start talking unless you fancy dangling above your own puddle of puke for the rest of your days. Why did you give my father the wrong report? Who killed the Usuals? Was it the freelancers?"

After some more coughing and snorting the remaining stomach acid out of his nostril, the store owner blurted. "It was not them!"

"Who then?"

"First. Go fuck yourself and your daddy, you nitwit fuck!

Another marine stepped up and bashed his stomach with musket stock. "Answer the question, sir."

The store owner's large body swung like a literal punching bag, his stubby arms reached down, clawing the floor and his own puke, desperately trying to stop himself from the dizzying oscilation.

"Oh god! My leg! Fuck me, I don't know! I... as clueless as your men! They said when they tried to storm the Bakery this early morning their weapons suddenly yanked off them and glued to the floor. They only saw the Baker and his daughter, and this one young girl with a blindfold!"

"So none of them saw any of the Fredricus'agents?"

"thweep Ptah! Fucking no! And I too barely know about what they looked like except there should be a she-orc, elf, bear, two men, and two women among the group. None of the surviving Usuals saw any I described above yah! Because those who saw them are probably dead."

Exercising the utmost patience, Silas leaned forward and lowered his voice. "How did you know that?"

"What? Your daddy had more than two dozen men stationed here last night and now nearly all of'em are dead motherfuckers! Do you think this Baker and his gals did it, by themselves? Khack ptoyy!"

"The only person I saw riding out of town was a blonde man with some armored soldiers and they were heading to the capital city. That's why the report said the agents were still here because, fuck! That's all I know and your father wasn't a patient man!"

There was a pause. Silas walked closer to the man, looking at him in the eye.

"Master Stockton, did you see those agents or not?"

"Boy! I told you I or my men didn't see them!"

Smiling, the admiral turned around and sighed, time was running, and here he already spent more than what was allowed. "This is a general store? Correct? Where the local blacksmith gets their equipment? From you of course."

The marines began to thrash the place until they found a plier.

"The fuck are you guys doing! Hey! You've got what you wanted. Put me down, boy! Hey!"

"Gents! Master Stockton here is lying through his teeth, so now I want those teeth removed. Get on with it."

"No! No! I really don't know! Get off me you Delving bitch! No! Wrrrgrgg!!!"

Leaving the general store, Silas was saluted by his subordinate.

"Apparently yesterday Madame Matilda requisitioned several horses and a carriage for some unspecified reason, leaving only three steeds for us to borrow. Ser, you can have two for yourself and Miss Kirsten, but I am afraid the rest would need frequent rests."

Slightly annoyed by the muffled screaming coming from the store, Silas rubbed his temple before answering. "That can be arranged. Where is Kirsten, by the way?"

"Oh, I saw her going to the bakery."

When Admiral Silas Delving arrived on the premises, his sister was sitting at the table in the middle of the room, already getting comfy without a care in the world. In front of her, a pot of tea and assortments of snacks had been served, and she immediately munched one down.

"I thought I asked you to stay there and wait for me."

Part of him wanted to reprimand her, but he realized it was probably his fault too. The fate of this mission was sealed when he decided to allow her to tag along, and Kirsten being herself should be the last person he would expect to follow an instruction.

"Sorry, should have told you earlier..."

It was nobody's fault. Her sister was not briefed about the situation; even if she was, Silas knew Kirsten would not care.
Pulling a chair on the opposite side of her, the Admiral sat down and tried to ease the situation. What was done is done.

"Fine, you win," he said in a more relaxed tone, to the delight of his sister. "We've spent this whole morning on horseback. I can spare some time for a snack, we are waiting for our horses to be delivered anyway."

It was a slightly forceful excuse. A trip from their estate to Hdur barely covered half of their journey, but Silas was just trying to appear more amicable and made their conversation sound more natural. Make no mistake, he knew exactly where they were, and not a minute passed without him rubbing the pommel of his sword.

Helping himself with a slice of sweetbread, Silas kept his eyes on a seemingly-good-natured elven man on the counter and a fastidious young girl who yelled they were now running out of croissants to sell. His sister had downed a whole serving for herself, and he now had the chance to accept the invitation.

The bread on his hand was soft, it tasted sweet, delicious, and Normal and he hated it because it was normal and delicious.

He excused himself and stood up.

"Err, brother, what's wrong?

"It's nothing," Despite saying that, Silas rallied a great effort to maintain his gentlemanly demeanor. He walked to one of the windows facing the street, expecting to see his subordinate, but he saw none of them.

The admiral turned, cold sweat trailing on his forehead when he realized that Kirsten was gone too, and at their table, there was an elven man. He waved at him, green eyes glanced as if mocking his confusion. Where is my sister? He would give the man an ultimatum, if he wanted to test him he would get it!

He blinked, then it felt like some unknown forces pulled him. The admiral instinctively gripped his sword and unsheathed it, his fair feature glowed with radiant light, and suddenly he found himself sitting on the same table. Meanwhile, Kirsten emerged behind the counter, lifting a tray full of bread and bumping fists with the Baker's human daughter. "Ohh, so that's how you make a perfect roll!" she bubbled.

The elven man was now sitting in front of him, unmoving, either waiting for Silas' next reaction or whatever. A trace of glow could be seen gradually fading in his eyes as he placed a weapon on their table; an otherworldly pistol with a tubular muzzle and body full of jagged sides. It looked heavy and solid, like something carved out of stone.

And Silas did the same, his saber rested on the table with its edge pointed at their host.

"To what do I owe the pleasure of having the Admiral of Kindeance Navy visiting my humble establishment?" he began, his voice was dignified, but lacking any musical ring the elves were famous for. "I saw you visited Master Stockton before, how was he? Quite a grumpy fellow, but honorable. I get my shipment of butter, cheese, and raisins from him."

At first, he was alerted, but now Silas stared at the man curiously. "Your concern for your neighbor is commendable, Master Baker. But believe there is something more worthy of your time than grazing on a small thing like this."

"Not a small thing, Ser Silas." said the man. "I know Master Stockton has, or-- sorry, had some ties with your family. As far as the contracts between him and your family go, I take no part in them, but Hdur is a small town, and if a single actor missing from the distribution chain, the impact on the economy would be considerable. For example, people get their staple food from me."

"Speaking like a true Kindean I see... Pardon my insensitivity, but I am afraid the best I do is to suggest you file a complaint to the constabulary if the situation affected your business somehow."

"Ah, because it was you who said that, perhaps you could help me forward my concern to your brother? Please? I am afraid after the Black Serpent incident yesterday making an appointment with Ser Aaron would be rather difficult."

"I am sure someone as resourceful as yourself would not need my help."

The elven man lets out a hearty laugh.

"An average peaceful citizen like me would always need help. To seek Peace, Sir Silas, something that perhaps insignificant for your family, but you've heard my words before. You took away peace from a not-the-most-pleasant guy around and it's the whole community who suffers the consequences. You feel me?"

"Master Baker, I am deeply sorry for your predicament, but again I am not the one who can help you, and I am here to enjoy some bread."

Baker's hallow eyes feigned no emotion when he leaned forward. Silence fell between them for a time.

"That's very noble of you. If only your Usuals had a similarly ordinary intention when they walked into my home some time ago."

"They were under my father's order."

It was simply the truth. No provocation, nor mockery whatsoever. Silas had heard about this man, heard what he could do, but seeing his unreadable eyes, he felt anxious, not threatened. Like staring at a large boulder planted on the hillside. The dangers were not yet measured and he would have a plan to deal with it. But uncertainty was still there and it echoed a clear waning; if any of them instigate a violent confrontation, both of them will die.

"True." said the man finally, still with a steely expression."That small detail was the only reason we still have this civil conversation right now, and I trust you would not follow the same mistake your father did."

"That was never my intention, I am here simply because my sister wanted some bread."

"Then I welcome you."

Despite the implied tension, it was as genuine as it gets, bringing a slight confusion to Silas who expected the situation to escalate. For the entire part of this exchange, he tried to distance himself from his Father's doing, but now he felt the offense burned him, and this one Baker had stepped out of his boundary.

"You are an interesting man, Master Baker. But I couldn't help but point out the faults in your ideals. You said you seek peace, but people like you often failed to be self-conscious... to realize there is something bigger than themselves. Those... who unfortunately barged into your establishment, those men, were the right hand of something bigger than you. Any wise man who truly seeks peace would let them be, and both parties would carry on with their lives, peacefully."

The elven man finally let out a thin smile, but he remained in silence, giving Silas a chance to continue.

"When you pray for the rain you have to deal with the mud as well, that's how the world works."

"Not the civilized world that I know." the reply came out sharper than Silas had expected. "I'm sorry to say this, but the rain and mud were always there, to each for their own purposes. It's just... there were always people like you who picked up the mud and throw it around thinking they have the right to decide who deserved to be smudged and who is not. You said people like us should be more self-conscious, but I gotta ask, are you self-conscious enough?"

"I am afraid it has nothing to do with the peace you seek."

"It does, on a grand scale. Your father has been scooping up mud for years, secured it in a large cauldron, and then added gunpowder into it, threatening to smear us all with something called war. He backstabbed his lord on the back, deceived him, and kidnapped his heir. You pushed a fair and reasonable man into madness, and now his wrath is focused on you, all who bear the name of Delving. What do you think he would do next?"

Silence ensued between the two, and Silas hated to be one who have to break through it.

"Master Baker, you think you know better than us," he said in a short chortle, then that smile faded, and a scowl replaced it, fire blooming in his golden eyes. "I think I understand my father's grievance a way better now. You, a foreigner, came to our kingdom and do whatever you please. For years we tolerated you and now you spouting nonsense as if you know about our homeland. Pardon me, but it is... insulting."

"You can call it whatever you want," the elven man shrugged. "doesn't change the fact that your King trusted his foreign agents better than you. Calm yourself, Ser Silas, I understand a man like you has a lot of things to not say."

"I don't have anything to say anyway." It was a pathetically thin veil of lie, and Silas himself had no idea why would he say something so easy to read like that.

"Maybe not, true. But I will do you a favor because it seems your path are destined to be intertwined anyway. You are dealing with a fanatically loyal Samurai, who shredded your associate's strongest champion to ribbons and burned his warehouses to the ground. His friend is a vicious scion of Rosenving who used to be your peer."

"With them is a legendary doctor cloaked in enough urban legend to make a storybook, and a Hybrid Bear who controls plants and weather. And finally, my former boss. They departed this midnight, dead set on liberating your prince. If you want to stop them you should go now, but I suggest you shouldn't"

"You advised me to not stop them after ratting them out?"

"The information I provided above can be easily gathered overnight by a trained spymaster, and the details about their departure were not given out of malice. Admiral Silas, I simply give you an opportunity to make a better decision. Better than what your father and younger brother picked for themselves."

He paused to look at Kirsten, who walked out of the baking area with a bright smile and a basket full of bread.

"The king's punishment will be severe and indiscriminate. Save your family from this madness."

After saying that, the elf picked up his gun and walked back to his counter.

"Those bread! How much do I owe you?"

"It's on me!" said the elf without turning back. "Not every day an Admiral having a brunch in my store."

[GM Post]

Asevor yelled in a mixture of anger, frustration, and pain as he was yanked off-course straight on to the keep's wall, followed by frosty ray that splash on the surface of his barrier, only for the ice to shatter the next time he got smashed on the wall, and then refrozen, over and over again. The barrier absorbed most of the kinetic force, but it's still somewhat rigid and the old wizard bruised all over from the repeated abuse. All culminated with a lightning strike, unerringly zapping him once he cleared the height of the fort.

The barrier's protection was better against the crackling energy, but the absorbed damage produced hairline cracks across the crystalline surface. On the flip side, there's no more obstacle to slam him at. Asevor had long since lost his sense of direction, but he picked a random one and beelined straight away. The wind fought to push him back, however his ring constantly shot kinetic blast to neutralize the gale and force open a path to escape through.

One last chance to try stop him, before he's too far to even be seen through the hailstorm.

In the stable not too far away, the wooden roof clattering dangerously from the constant barrage. But it'll hold... for now. Veronica was there, standing stalwart over the injured. The latter group consisted of Matilda, still swaddled in bandages with some recent blood splatter on her, Chounan who just woke up, unconscious Yvonne with rather unsighty burns, and a nearly dying Reinhold who got the brunt of the damage from Asevor's indiscriminate blast.

*****

"Other people... oh!" The prince perked up, hitting a fist to his palm. "The last few meals, he wasn't present anymore. Beside the maid there's two bored-looking guys in less fancy purple robe, and a rough-looking one-eyed bastard accompanying them. They never talk, but the sound of the door unlocking was about the same."

There, some more clues. What could possibly be done with the information so far? And could it be done just from within the prison? Just so, a voice could be heard from the crack. While the speaker likely stood before the metal cube, it was soundproofed very well. Unnaturally so, in fact. If not for the crack, even the hailstorm would barely register within.

"Anyone in there? This better not be another dead end."

Kaito, the fox. Where in the world did he went? No one know save for the man himself, but he's here now. Ready to help(?) to the best of his abilities. Probably.

The hurricane sucked Asevor and threw him against the tower. Down below, Jazdia waited in anticipation to blast him with another missile, but like a rubber ball, he bounced back, yet managed to stabilize himself to hover away slowly. Despite the unexpected occurrence, the elf steadied her aim. Asevor should be easier to shoot down now; his shield already had more cracks than the barrier itself.

So she string pulled, and the arrow flared, ready to be fired. The wind was a bit choppy but she could always compensate for her aim.

Until a small, red star appeared on the Wizard's staff.

The glow in her eyes faded as if the instinctual self-control in her decided that she had seen enough for now, and should work on minimizing the consequences of her failure.

Undrawing her bow in sheer disgust, Jazdia rushed to look for Cedar, who seemed to be more enraged than herself. The wind howled around him, whirling in such force it already lifted his enormous body and had him spinning mid-air.

His spinning figure raised a hand then sweep it down. And suddenly a massive downdraft roared with an increasing intensity.

"Ced! Do not pull him!" she shouted. "Stop your spell now!

The bear-shaped spinning thing above peered down. His voice echoed in the raging tempest with a mix of confusion and resolution. ''Listen lady, this kinda magic dont work that way! At this point, it's him or me, its gonna take one of us, an' 'ats 'a onluh way it' gunna stop!'

Ugh, maybe stop was not the correct word. Being mindful with her phrasing in a critical situation like this was never been her forte; on one hand, she had a message to relay, and on the other, she must not let that old wizard sniff the knowledge she had. It was all about the game of balance and she despised it.

"Ced! That wizard MUST NOT have his shield broken on this ground, or you are at risk of causing an unmanageable level of collateral! Civillians will die!"

The entire city would be damned if Cedar didn't get the message, but whatever. Climbing the stairs leading to the inner wall, Jazdia prepared her arrow and activated her comms. The last communication established was with Yvonne, and the damn thing was still with her.

Glancing down to the tower entrance, she saw Petra. The undead had the ability to propel herself up using her spectral form. That way she might be able to reach Cedar.

"Miss Rosenving, this is Jazdia. Hand my Kompass to that fancy ghost, yeah that's her. And take the others back to the keep, now!"

Yvonne roused with a hitch, everything hurting like a motherfucker. Throbbing bruises, stinging burn, and myriad other issues all over the place - probably faster to list any part that wasn't hurting than otherwise. If anyone's wondering though, it's her left ear. That's the list. A single item of no importance.

That's all the distractions she could afford herself. The communicator pinged with the elf's voice, barely audible amidst the constant noise of whatever the fuck was going on since she fell unconscious. Either there's a warzone out there or it's a heavy hailstorm smack dab in early summer, and she wasn't sure which one was more sensible.

Anyway, rambling mind. Focus.

"The what- oh. Yeah, just give me a moment." Heavy groan, digging into a side pouch where the item in question was tucked in and mostly forgotten. Now, to wait for the ghost. To think that she'd be working in the side of a ghost. "You heard the elf, let's move. Dead gods, what the fuck-"

It's a hailstorm, yep. And so much worse than she expected. Looking back into the stable... they'll get mauled going through it, especially the hunter that looked like he'd kick the bucket any second now. The pay for this job better be fucking worth it.

From here, Jazdia could confirm that her order had been carried out, and thus without waiting for the item to be handed properly, the elf immediately barked a new command. "Take this trinket the bear above, I want to speak with him, Pronto!"

A question still remained whether Solomon's undead could receive verbal instruction from just anybody, or worse, that reanimated thing has a will of its own. This was the only chance, and if this doesn't work too, she would have no choice but to shoot Asevor down now.

---

So it appears Asevor erred more towards his convenience than to that of his paranoia. Still though, it didn’t leave Solomon with many options he could do from within the box. The mage in purple was probably one of Asevor’s underlings, but he could not recall a man with one eye. Solomon considered leaving the box again, potentially shortening their time to seek answers from another avenue. His first though was Asevor, the only man he knew who could open the box. Then there were his mages. They had left to deal with Cedar’s brambles and the following fire. He doubted if any survived, but even if they had not.

For the thirty or so seconds he contemplated what to do, he heard a voice, barely audible. It was Kaito, or at least sounded like his illusion casting friend. Solomon moved closer to the forced opening at the corner of the room like box.

“Unless you are also have talent in rune crafting, I’m afraid there isn’t much you could do. The box is very durable.” said Solomon. He spoke as closely to the crack as possible so that he words could come through. Despite the thin walls, there was a considerable amount of soundproofing. Another measure to help conceal the prince within, no doubt. Solomon stayed by the crack a little longer, he had more to say. “Time isn’t desperately short, but we don’t have much to linger. The prince is in here. If you can locate any of the mages sent to fight the bramble growth or any of their bodies, bring them here. Perhaps then I might be able to wring out a key bearer. The should be dressed in purple. At the very least, find any under Asevor’s charge. None from within the keep, though. They have passed on and will not be of much help.”

Solomon turned back to the prince, “lets hope that Asevor entrusted more than one other mage a key.”

As the wind penetrated the lower levels of the keep as Asevor continued his attempted escape, Petra scowled again as the paranoid mage continued his ascent, shrugging off every ray of ice she had released. Her physical body was flipping through a couple of the pages, locating another spell when Jazdia shouted towards Cedar, and then directed instruction to Petra. Petra looked down then up at the injured elf. At some point Jazdia started for the stairs.

Petra attempted a protest, but everyone was too far away, and the storm and raining hail made it difficult to speak without shouting, and Petra just lost interest at that point. Follow the elf’s lead. That was the instruction along with everything else. Petra considered ruining the stable to retrieve the magic device. At least then it would be the storm’s fault for those death inside. It didn’t matter. A spell not requiring her book, Petra’s spectral hand was laid out palm up as an exact replica of it separated from her body. With a flick of the wrist, the singular hand with no attachments flew through the storm, cutting through the wind as though it didn’t exist towards the stable.

Petra looked down at the book, held in her physical arms raised above the physical head. She rested another hand on the exposed spell book, her fingers curling as pure arcane energy pooled between her palm and the page. Her arm lifting off the page, several mostly transparent distortions of space erupted from the page. Seven beams of pure kinetic energy given magical form flew out of the keep, turning sharply towards Asevor’s direction. In clear weather, these rays were barely perceptible, but nigh unnoticeable through the fog, rain, and hail. Each of the seven rays flew past Asevor before turning sharply circling him in a wide orbit. One at a time, the rays would deviate striking Asevor’s barrier the opposite direction he was attempting to travel. Each ray was like being hit with a wall, so the plan was to at least halt his movement before he got too far away.

At the sables, barely holding together through the strong winds and heavy rains, a magical hand cut off by the wrist appeared. In one swift motion, it attempted to grab the magic device from Yvonne. Should it be successful, the hand would fly towards Cedar’s location, and by one means or another, thrust it into his possession, even if it was uncomfortable.

Without any assistance from her enchanted vision, it looked like there was a line made of a ghostly glow being established between Petra and the spinning bear above. And that was all.

This plan hinged on the details yet the storm and distance made it difficult to scrutinize, the wind was not slowing and they had only so much time at hand. The downward current felt like it was going to tear her skin when Jazdia activated her communication device.

"You are making one hell of a mess here," she said, for now, the replies came in erratic rumbles of wind hitting the microphone. "If you heard my last message, good. If not, I am not going to repeat it." Pausing, and still no reply, Jazdia exhaled a breath before continuing. "You need to calm down. Asevor has a bomb powerful enough to level half of the city with him, and I swear to God it will happen if we stop him right now. He is trying to get away from the city, and currently heading to the southwest, seemingly lost all sense of direction. Luckily it's all plains outside the city. Now, if you want to keep your hide and alive, keep the pressure on him, slow him down until he is far enough from the city, then we take him down. How's that sound to you?"

Cedar blinked in confusion as an ethereal, body-less hand flew up to him, and assumed an orbit in synch with his airborne spinning, before thrusting something into his free hand.

"You are making one hell of a mess here,"

It was the elf woman, sounding put-out and acidically cross.

He bellowed out "not my idea of a good time either!', but the trinket rattled on without him.

"If you heard my last message, good. If not, I am not going to repeat it."

This was more about not slamming that spindly old bastard into the ground like a fencepost. It made him angrier, somehow.

"You need to calm down. Asevor has a bomb powerful enough to level half of the city with him, and I swear to God it will happen if we stop him right now. He is trying to get away from the city, and currently heading to the southwest, seemingly lost all sense of direction. Luckily it's all plains outside the city. Now, if you want to keep your hide and alive, keep the pressure on him, slow him down until he is far enough from the city, then we take him down. How's that sound to you?"

Holding in the nausea from all the whirling and spinning, he held the trinket right next to his face before trying to answer.

"If dis dumbassed thing wurks buth wayz, en listen close. Da magic I'z been workin' got a kinda a minda its own, and bests I kin do is nudge it here 'n dere. I's is outta juice, an' if'n Is push too hard, th' spell's gunna make me dead as 'ell. I kinda wanna do at ol' fuck in firs'. "

He sucked a breath then continued.

"This ere storm aint endin till one a us is 6 feet un'er. No, afores yas asks, aint nuthin I kin do 'bout 'at. That fuck'r gits away, I'm one dead bear; storm'll eat wha's left a me, tryin to peg 'im. ... ...

I kin try an keep 'im pinned high up. Wuz plannin' on killin' 'im up'ere anywhoo.."

He was worried why she wanted to delay killing that bastard, after all the carnage he had caused. Then his thoughts turned back to why they were even here.

"DA PRINCE! DID YAS FINDZ DA PRINCE!?"

"This ere storm aint endin till one a us is 6 feet un'er. No, afores yas asks, aint nuthin I kin do 'bout 'at. That fuck'r gits away, I'm one dead bear; storm'll eat wha's left a me, tryin to peg 'im. ... ...

I kin try an keep 'im pinned high up. Wuz plannin' on killin' 'im up'ere anywhoo.."

____________

So it was a no.

The wind howled without any sign of slowing down, Jazdia's golden hair draped behind her, and soon the ribbon that binds it together in a ponytail unfastened; it had withstood the acid fog, torrential rain, and fire, but sadly the raging tempest was its breaking point.

There was nothing special with the hairstyle, really. It was her favorite because she liked everything neat, tidy, and orderly, and abhorred everything that strayed out of the plan, out of the calculation, and out of her already flexible acuity to improvise.

Her loosened-up hair perhaps signified the control that has been slipped out of her grasp. But instead of hating herself or anything for it, she decided that the energy spent on it would not be worth it.

"DA PRINCE! DID YAS FINDZ DA PRINCE!?" asked the bear, for the first time in their frustrating and windy conversation he sounded concerned.

"We found him. He is on the top of the tower." answered Jazdia, jumping down from the rampart to the roof of a random house below. "If anything, that should be more reason to keep Asevor away from this place." she continued dryly, there was no option left but to be remarkably calm, and it was surprisingly easy when the impulse to murder Asevor waned because the Cheating Wizard was no longer in sight.

"If you want to lift him any higher, then do what you have to do. My arrow can't reach any higher than this, so you are on your own, pal. We will take shelter in the tower. Good luck."

Reaching the ground now, Jazdia looked up to the sky and winced. She pulled out the enchanted arrow in her quiver and whispered a modified code into it. To another arrow, she did the same.

"On second thought, I have some regards that need to be delivered to our floating wizard. I have programmed my arrows to explode in 30 seconds upon reaching your altitude, do whatever you want with them, but I hope it's not something as shallow as martyrdom. Again, good luck."

After saying that, Jazdia nocked the arrow and pulled the string as far as she could. The arrow soared straight into the sky, trailing through winds, and missed Cedar a meter away, another arrow followed suit.

"We found him. He is on the top of the tower. If anything, that should be more reason to keep Asevor away from this place. If you want to lift him any higher, then do what you have to do. My arrow can't reach any higher than this, so you are on your own, pal. We will take shelter in the tower. Good luck."

Cedar's heart skipped a beat in both relief atbthe prince being found, 9and panic over losing the assist at the same time. He needed, and WANTED, every bit of help he could get-- he'd need every bit of it to get out of this alive, and really was not at all keen on 'showboating'. Throwing all the chips in like this was desperation, not showmanship. Any and all help was GREATLY appreciated.

"On second thought, I have some regards that need to be delivered to our floating wizard. I have programmed my arrow to explode in 30 seconds upon reaching your altitude, do whatever you want with them, but I hope it's not something as shallow as martyrdom. Again, good luck."

Palpable relief.

'I had da same idear! An' no, I aint inta being no damned martyr, I fuckin' HATES dis spell, an only cast the muth'r fuckin' thang acause at dirty sumbitch jus' han'waved e'rythang else we dun throwed at 'im! Trus' me, I ain't enjoyin' dis li'l funride nun'tall! You jus' lay in as much fire an brimstone as ya can, an I'll suck em all in nice an' close like. Dey starts goin' off-- I'll uncork a bottle a lightnin' in 'is damn asshole! ---An git da damn prince offna damn roof! Aint safe fer man nor beast up 'ere! Git 'us scrawny human ass inna damn basement were it mos'ly safe!"
"

"Arrows fired..." huffed Jazdia through the comms.

30 seconds, she told to herself, it was too late now to question that decision, the time given was applied without any strategic consideration but instead a result of compromises calculated by what remained of her tactical acuity and a natural impulse to survive. Adding more seconds would shut her down completely, and certainly nobody would want that, would they?

Cedar better makes every arrow count.

---

Solomon took pause, occasional shifting his eyes to look at the timer. While it was true that the timer moved considerably when he passed through, it had barely made any progress since then. He was sure there were a plethora of reasons why or how the timer worked, but Solomon didn’t need nor care to contemplate it further. Kaito was already out there, presumably searching for the persons he described. However, Solomon realized he was of no use any more within the box. He got all the information he could from both observing the runes along the walls and from speaking with the prince.

“I am not of much use to you in here, it seems.” said Solomon, relaying the facts towards the prince. “I will have to depart. We need a key bearer, and I’m afraid my comrade might not be able to succeed alone. You’ve given us enough insight to find a means of your release. Hold tight, it should not be much longer.”

Solomon’s form darkened as his figure resembled ethereal smoke more than a person. Collapsing and snaking out through the exposed crack in the box, Solomon left the prince alone. Rather than meet up with Kaito outside the box, should he still even be there, Solomon phased through the stone and timber bones that held the keep together until he was outside its walls. The storm was still blowing strong, with no sign of letting up any time soon. No one alive, either enemy or dead, seemed to be around. Anyone alive should be seeking shelter.

“A mage in purple, or underling of Asevor. If you should find him, living or non, call me forth.” said Solomon, though in his spectral form, no one alive would ever hear him, let along through the noise the falling rain and billowing winds were making. The two shadows who were otherwise lingering within the dining hall of the keep flew through the walls towards the remains of the bramble roots outside the palisade where the mages of the keep attempted to control the magical growths. Petra remained where she was, concentrating on the coordination with Jazdia.

Solomon reentered the keep, returning to a physical form, resting upon the ruined seat laid closest to the shattered remains of Asevor’s armed men. Though Solomon could no longer raise them, their secrets once held in death was left for Solomon to coerce. He asked those men of how many knew of the box, how many knew of the key, and whether they could name any. From the perspective of an outsider, it would appear as Solomon was sitting still, staring at the remains of a torn apart lifeless corpse. But to Solomon, the dead could speak volumes. With the bodies either Kaito or his shadows could find, he might quickly narrow the key bearing candidate entrusted by Asevor.

Cedar nodded at the affirmation of shots fired, then steeled himself for an even more wild ride.

He dared not look up, or out-- getting whirled around like this had him nauseous and disoriented enough as it is, adding a lack of consistent reference to his senses was downright foolish.

'Aright, ya heard da lady... le's git goin'..' he muttered to himself, as he pulled the flagpole in close to his chest, then wrapped one leg around the shaft for stability.

He reached out through the connection with the storm, and drew it in tighter as well, feeling for both asevor, the hail, and the arrows, and then givingbthe nudge to group all of them very tightly together in a very tight funnel of raging upward whirling wind.

He bit his upper lip, closed his eyes, and committed himself to the nudge.

He felt his own speed of rotation sharply increase, and felt himself get lifted higher as well, unsure how high now, having lost all references.

He hoped he survived this.

Really hoped.

[GM POst]

At the end of the day, Asevor was no proper battlemage. He had made one mistake of underestimating the sheer vicious might of wild magic, and now he paid the price. With the kinetic bombardment returned his way he failed to make any headway, the storm picking him up and yanking him away elsewhere. The old man had long since lost his orientation in the tumble, his pool drained dry and any attempt to peruse reconstructed spells fizzled from the dizzying treatment.

"No, this cant be- NO!" That was the last word of Asevor, grandmaster runesmith and self-proclaimed archmage, lost amidst the howling wind. His barrier already cracking as it slowly expire, and the addition of more explosives finally broke the camel's back. If there's any consolation to the man, he barely even felt anything in the end.

From an outsider's perspective, a series of violet explosions detonated high up in the sky. The cataclysmic weather phenomenon continued for a few seconds afterward until a tiny pinprick of crimson light shone like a fell star within before erupting in a massive, disconcerningly quiet sphere of crackling energy that momentarily stained the landscape sanguine for hundred of miles.

The silence lasted the exact same time for the shockwave to travel, a long crackling rumble that washed through the village and the keep. Along with the displaced air was the hailstones, blasted away by the explosion into a volley of high-speed projectiles. No one's left out there, thankfully, but there'd be no building standing entirely intact in the village after all these abuse.

Within the first floor of the keep was most of the party, barely made it through the bad weather and not a moment too soon. The structure shook, part of its southeast corner breaking off, but mostly held itself in place. Eventually the chaos subsided, sunlight streaming down from the huge gap in the slowly dissipating cloud up above.

"Oh yeah, we did shanked some mages on the walls. And I'm pretty sure mr hunter here personally killed an one-eyed bastard there. Body should still be near there, but likely in a bad state after all that." Yvonne continued her conversation with the fox like nothing's happening, turning a head to look at sunlight streaming to the ground outside. "So, Cedrick's out there still? I like him, shame if he's gone."

Cedar could be found halfway down the hill, crash landing somewhat eased by how muddy the entire place had turned out, but still not a gentle one.

It took several seconds for the realization of what had transpired to fully register in the bear's head.

He had suddenly, and rather abruptly, been released from the clutches of his spell, then rather violently blasted down to the ground.

It had not been a graceful landing, and the standard pole was now a fractured and jagged bit of splintered wood sticking pitifully out of the water drenched soil. He himself was not far away, dazed as the world seemed to continue whirling, even after he had since stopped moving. The realization that he had survived slowly came, as did comprehension that he was outside, in the aftermath of a violent storm that he no longer had any influence over, but was still every bit as dangerous.

His whole body hurt. His arms and legs protested movement to the point of near total refusal, yielding only under the strongest willpower he could muster, and then with the rest of his body in open revolt, threatening to make him lose consciousness if he kept at it. He sucked in a breath, and it was a mistake. A violent bout of vomiting assailed him, sending him into a shuddering, coughing convulsion, before collapsing in the mud again, having fallen over from the loss of equilibrium.

He laid there for several seconds, as the world slowly began to slow its spinning, and the rain fell. He was cold. Tired. Wet...

Little by little, he carefully balanced breathing, and labored muddy crawling toward the blackened remains of the keep's outer door, as the world slowly stopped spinning.

He was a mud caked and rain soaked wreck of his former self, as he crawled through the gaping maw of the doorjam, and collapsed in a sodden heap on the floor among the spoiled, acid polluted remains of the fancy breakfast that had once sat regally upon the now equally despoiled dining table; itself in battered shambles of its former regal glory.

He was inside. That was all that mattered.

Exhaustion overtook him, and he passed out.

Standing under a shack that was once a stable, Jazdia braced for the impact when the blast report reached her. Immediately the elf hunkered down, instinctively shielding her face with the elbow as the shockwave ladened with splinters of ice and debris hurled toward her. The chaos ended as quickly as the explosion itself, but still did another number to her, who was now struggling to keep her balance. Thankfully though, there was no piece of metal rod or fittings sticking out of her torso. Speaking based on experience that was.

Shaking herself off from a mild concussion, Jazdia stumbled out of the ruins, immediately correcting her gait until she walk steadily again and have his eyes focused on something else. The peak of the tower was unchanging. No additional explosion, no fires or smoke or goddamn acid.

"Dead man's switch my foot!" she spat.

The path was muddy, and Jazdia was deliberate with her step as she hiked back toward the tower. The sun was shining again, finally, and she had almost forgotten how good it felt after a bad day, must be the retirement thing.

With no door to kick, the elf entered the room, smiling as she reached for one of the chairs and drag it across the room. "Everyone alive?" she asked amidst the irritating groan of wood against wood. "Good! Don't mind me though, No rest for the wicked they say!"

---

Solomon continued to speak, but briefly with the dead within the keep’s ground floor. Many did not know of what he was speaking of, either playing dumb, or genuine ignorance. It didn’t matter too much though, as soon the shadows and their speed found the deceased mages in question. Solomon stood as straight as his old bones would allow, audible cracks announced to the world the condition of his age. Solomon laid his hands together, concentrating upon the dead his shadows located. Black energy laced with silvery wisps began to flow from the closed pages of the large tome near at his back. The coiled around his torso and arms, condensing between his palms. Then it dripped from his hands towards the ground, sinking into the soil below out of sight as the energy crept through all matter of cracks and crevices to seek out the mages.

While Solomon was more vulnerable in this state, especially since there was some distance between him and his target, he let Petra keep watch. She turned to face the necromancer she was bound to with disdain, but otherwise, kept a closer watch to the storm outside. It was lessening, or to better say, it was focusing more towards the sky. Though the hail still devastated the fragile infrastructure of the village remains. Petra witnessed the concentration of attacks from her force rays, Jazdia’s arrows, and the storm itself perpetuated by Cedar unwillingly.

Then the keep shook. Dust and debris raining down from above, timber cracking, and any glass shattering. The tall bean stalk swayed over the garrison, losing most of the leaves that grew around. It would have surely been blown over had a majority of its base had not been secured the keep itself. Similarly, it might have been its roots and vines that might have held it together. Despite the devastation that expanded outside, the silence from such cataclysm was just as deafening. No rain nor hail spoke and the wind ceased for just that moment. Then the silence was broken. Stone chips clattered over the ground and across the wooden surfaces of the remaining furniture. Water droplets dripped down from the floors above. Just as the explosion ceased, the weather began to clear. Petra stepped back from the doorway as the spectral image of Asevor’s mage floated in.

Solomon let his hands fall, as he turned his entire body to face to newly raised undead. There was some confusion on it’s face, but Solomon didn’t need his understanding, nor his voice. The ghostly raised mage had one job, and that was to unlock the door to the box, halt the timer if possible, and then simply dissipate afterward free to fall to whatever afterlife awaited him.

“Petra, you will escort the prince down once the prince is freed. No more, no less.”

With both Petra and the ghost away to the upper floors, Solomon knelt down next to the hunter, Reinhold. He was badly hurt, fading in and out of unconsciousness. He reached under his robes, sifting through the cloth until his hand revealed a leather pouch and roll. Broken shards of glass could be heard. A shame that he didn’t take better precaution when he worked Violet’s harsh screams. Luckily, the medicines he needed were not among the mixed chemicals in glass vials. Neither were his pain relieving salves. However, but the end of his treatments, he was going to need to replenish. Perhaps he could get Cedar to help him grow the herbs he needed.

Solomon started bandaging the worst of Reinhold’s wounds and cleaning out the dirt and grim. He was mostly finished when Cedar crawled in. He looked terrible, even though Solomon knew not much of the care for a bear. Even so, Solomon was going to try. Applying pain relief and accessing the extent of the damage was going to be hard with all the fur, though.

“Jazdia, Yvonne. In my pouch there is one last container of some pain salve, medicated ointment to promote healing, and some bandages. Take the canteen and clean your wounds with the water. Patch what you can, and where you cannot, I will tend to you. Allow me to see what I can do for Cedar first.” Solomon shuffled over the his bear friend. He was covered in mud, and was obviously exhausted. Asevor as well as the storm had done a number on him. Solomon wanted to at least make sure he was stable. He had to endure more than most in this conflict.

“Jazdia. I will not accept your nonchalant behavior. Please take care of yourself, keep yourself rested. There is no further need to exert. Stay here. Petra should be escorting the prince down shortly.”

Chounan was guarding those who were injured. He can't gave a helping hand due to his injury on his both arms. He say somewhere nearby the rest of the party to comfort himself. He stripped of his arm wear and folded the sleeves his kimono. It was revealed, a severed bruises both of his arms and he feel like having a noodle arms.

Chounan's POV:

(I was keep blanking my mind. Someone is controlling my body and not myself. If I concentrated during the fight against that huge foe I will overcome it and have a better result. I win against the inside of me or maybe I let my party kill when the time he already took my body.)