[IC] Iquenos: In Nomine Domini

_{M A G I T E K - A D V E N T U R E - D A R K F A N T A S Y - D U N G E O N P U N K
5 - 6 P L A Y E R S
[ ♫ ]}

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C h a p t e r s

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Prologue
Chapter One: Rebellion

[mickilennial]

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The Eoldysseus was an old railway barge. It wasn’t special in any real way despite its rather extravagant name; it was just another landship that provided passageway between the major cities of Iquenos, this particular run trawling southward through the Dryadalis countryside on route to Thlecia. The heavily forested region would soon turn into sparse farmlands until it inevitably twisted into hues of red, brown, and orange upon approach to the Vallis Infernus, the desert that the ancestral people of Thlecia had conquered so many centuries ago. But despite the barge’s mundane appearance and seemingly mundane schedule, the Eoldysseus did have something unique about it, or at least it did on this particular day.

The clientele.

A lowly cleric by the name of Alaric Fasarus – a member of the Imperium’s hierarchy, an ordained cleric and archivist. Normally no one realistically important, but in the last thirty-five or so years anybody in with the Status Ecclesiae had become “persons of interest” to one person or another and in a police state like the Imperium had turned into the number of friends Alaric could count on seemed to be few in number and he didn’t really have a lot of fellow members of the cloth in his escort. For some members on the barge he was either a target, an asset, or a person to stay away from. It was rare for criminals to take the risk of taking ship on a railway barge when the Ecclesiae had members of the cloth on board. But some criminals were more daring; others ignorant.

Whichever the case, it was going to be trouble sooner or later; and in Iquenos it was always sooner.

[Briza]

Sᴏᴠᴇʀᴇɪɢɴᴛʏ ᴏғ Dʀʏᴀᴅᴀʟɪs, Aʀʀɪᴠᴀʟ Bᴇғᴏʀᴇ Tʜᴇ Eᴏʟᴅʏssᴇᴜs' Dᴇᴘᴀʀᴛᴜʀᴇ

The old, crickety coach tussled Uriel’s small and thin body as it was pulled along the rocky soil. His feet dipped together with the movements; leather boots pressed in unison of nearly inaudible sound at these prospects; and his shoulders cautiously adjusted themselves against the cushioned seats of the coach. The loudness of the horses' steps suggested locations, and Uriel's naivety knew only a handful of these sounds. For now, he was more concerned with what he was holding in front of him, even if his decision to make such a journey was beginning to show itself beyond the scenery.

Some passenger before Uriel had made the curtain of the coach to be undrawn a little, with the forest sunlight pressing a spying eye through the modestly teasing sill. His beams were warm on Uriel’s lap, still shadowed by the curves of the boy’s drooped arms and the strong, curved folds of the book he was reading so adamantly. A shadow of restless worry was carved under his studious concentration, perched with a small frown that seemed too timid to remove itself, and nestled in an ascetic mode of thought, the boy’s head was pressed downwards with an inclined neck. His deep amethyst eyes motioned over the words, sometimes reviewing them twice or more, even the sentences in search for hidden knowledge he had surpassed in his boyish haste and lack of discipline.

A sudden jolt of wheels heaving exhaustively due to old age and thick forestry muscled loose the light curtain, drawing over the window and shielding the light from intrusion. The darkness of the blind was sedated by two dim ceiling lights, gently making swings and trembles with the rocking of the equestrian powered vehicle. In response to the the curtain making more use of itself, Uriel’s head absentmindedly decided to lift itself from some foreign cloudy haze of self-unawareness. His mouth moved, and he looked about the car. There was a juvenile passé in him that he wore so well like it might have been the only noteworthy quality about him. During those several seconds, his book was lowered and shut, and the pages pressed over his thumb as a mark.

For several more seconds, the boy seemed to be returning to his senses as the whimsical mist of his mood lifted and dissipated. His thumb respectfully allowed the book to sleep by removing itself from between it's pages, and along with his hand, his thumb was brought upwards to idly feel over the fabric of his shirt, which covered his hidden pendant. The edges of the pendant hinted into his skin due to the weight of his touch, and with his eyes closing, Uriel drew his attention to the pendant, repeating a small prayer in his mind and sharpening the edges of his core.

For secrecy, only, and the will to not tempt any other person’s notice, his back relaxed into the chair despite his body awakening from its literary slumber. He was exhausted despite such an educated rest. So childish he felt in his weariness, weak from such a small read and a wagon trip. How did his parents travel like so by wagon, across the kingdoms for so many ages? Their strength was something he was longing to hold as his own. It had been stolen from him. They had many more ages to travel, and yet… Each net he cast in order to capture such lost talent, he seemed to only bring about tangles of webs and knots. And, although his fingers were hardened from Artemis’ training against the Earth -- so calloused he could not anymore feel the smooth richness of the pages of books against his fingertips (such a childish desire he held close to only himself, much like a whispered confession), these knots were often not something he knew how to untie.

He was determined, though. His ether was a strength burning brightly inside of him, and he knew for one that his pendant strengthened this power. If his pendant was the key to finding his parents’ strength, he had much more studying to overcome. He would not let his parents’ death be in vain, nor would he allow himself to disown the memories of the ones who had taught him magic of which he held so close to him during his youth.

His eyes slowly opened, but his hand remained intrigued with whatever was beneath his shirt. Perhaps, an itch or a chest pain. Alaric Fasarus, yes, he was a small pain, like a sharp thread that needed to be cut as to allow the seams of Iquenos to unravel. Again, Uriel rested his eyelids. However, his hand rested as well, finding a place on the antique cover of the book lying in his lap. He needed all the energy he could muster. Casting spells was not always as easy as simply making some foreign noise in a distant language. How he longed for it to be, though.

[mickilennial]

Location: The Eoldysseus, Sovereignty of Dryadalis

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We’re halfway to Thlecia. Probably nearing the next stop -- Hitzestadt.

Pythia Nsiferum sat in her seat as she thought about the progress to Hitzestadt, the town she had designated on her map as a place of interest and a location of a royal cache. Being on the run as a rebel mage had taught her to operate as efficiently as possible. Her father’s notes about the loyalist caches and contacts had been useful to her for the better part of the last four years; though The Inquistion had compromised more than a few in that time just the same. Still, she had not been to Hitzestadt in three years and she had left the cache relatively untouched. She was low on currency, and she was low on patience. It also was useful that one of the clergy that had been involved in the extermination of her family had set themselves up as the Cleric of Hitzestadt at the same time. Two birds, one stone. She could resupply and have some fresh answers--or at least that was the plan.

As for Alaric Fasarus, Pythia thought him of little significance. He was low ranking member of the Ecclesiae and as such wouldn’t have the information she wanted and even if he did she wasn’t sure if the collateral damage would be worth it. While the young red-haired girl was undeniably fiery and arrogant, she wasn’t without intelligence and foresight to understand the dangers of such an action.

She knew that fighting on a railway barge was a good way to convince the people around you that you were justifiably an enemy of the state and as much as she didn’t care about the opinion of strangers and fools, Pythia understood that certain actions were lacking in foresight. Not to mention her particular magic would run like a current and possibly kill everyone in the barge’s cabins if used carelessly. Pythia didn’t want to be known as the rebel princess who had made an enemy of both the bourgeoisie and the commonfolk. What allies and resources could she have if she did such a thing? The wise thing would be to sit at the ready, follow Alaric when he got off at his stop, and strike before he made it to wherever he was going.

This was, of course, assuming that you wanted to interrogate the cleric in question; which Pythia did not.

Still, she kept her wits about her; there were other rebels in the Imperium who might be interested in the cleric so the likelihood of a possible confrontation on the barge was something Pythia had to be prepared for. Pythia had been in situations before where she hadn’t been immediately involved in the beginning of a fight, after all. So with her ears open she continued sitting on her seat, holding a small book with only her right hand as she read the script, and remaining quiet. She never had been much for the small talk of strangers, though that did not ever stop men from trying to engage with her or women to gossip about something inane while Pythia tried to travel in silence. She wondered if this trip would be the exception.

But would it?

She hoped not. The book she was reading was just starting to get good.

[Matsuri]

C L A R A

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THE EOLDYSSEUS, IFRISE FOREST — SOVEREIGNTY OF DRYADALIS

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The screeching of aged metal tracks was a new sound to Clara.

The Eoldysseus was one rickety hunk of old metal and worn wood, not at all what Clara expected from a railway barge of all things. For someone who only crossed the lands of Iquenos by foot or by hitching rides on merchant wagons, she expected the landship would have a bit more grandeur to it. Then again, if it was at all how Clara envisioned it, she likely wouldn't have been able to sneak on at all.

Yet she was still admiring the fact the Eoldysseus could even cover such great distances, and at such a great speed, too. Clara stretched her arms out of any open window she could find, letting the harsh winds blow against her fingertips. A light chuckle escaped her.

“Ah, how time flies.”

And how time had flown. It had been eight years since Clara had set foot on Thlecian soil. Eight years she had been on the road, without a family, without a home. So much had happened within that time, the landscapes of her home region were becoming foreign to her. But recent incidents had led her to take up this journey back to her motherland; Clara couldn't shy away from it anymore, she needed to start again somewhere. Still, she was filled with uncertainty, just as her decision to suddenly travel back to Thlecia was.

Clara smiled as she paced down the carraige, a light skip in each step. The approaching forest meant the barge wouldn't be going too fast around this time, so she figured it was safe to enjoy the luscious countryside view more closely. Perhaps too closely, as her fellow passengers started to give her odd stares. The sight of a grown woman leaning outside of a carriage window to look at the pretty green grass was nothing short of strange.

As the barge entered the forest, an even stranger sensation sent goosebumps up Clara's arms, and she instinctively reached out. If she leaned a bit further, she would be able to feel the roots of Ifrise Forest at her fingertips.

So when the Eoldysseus experienced a sudden jolt in its tracks, a small shriek came from a passenger as Clara was shaken off her feet.

[Raijinslayer]

Lazulin Mulciber

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• The Eoldysseus, Ifrise Forest, Sovereignty of Dryadalis •

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As the barge made it's way across the waterway at it's brisk pace, a man would sit in one of her seats pre-occupying himself with a game of solitaire. He was young, around his early twenties by the looks of it, with long silky hair that fell down his shoulders like a waterfall of molten silver, framing the angular features of his face in a way to maximize both his appeal and his air of mystery. His flowing silver locks seemed to constantly cover one-half of his face, and on the other shone an orb of intense dark blue, giving all of its attention to the task at hand. With a slow, methodical rhythm to his movements, he continued to play the game, seeming completely uninterested with the world around him. That, however, couldn't be any further from the truth.

From beneath the fringes of his haired, his concealed eye would take fleeting glances at a group of three seated not too far away from him. They all wore the bright white uniforms of the Church's forces, with symbol of the church emblazoned on their back as if it were a standard on a banner, though to the man, it seemed more like a brand. The rank of each was easy enough to figure out with a glance. The inquisitor by the militaristic way he carried himself, checking every thing and everyone to make sure they weren't a threat to his cargo. The boy next to him, on the other hand, was green as could be, likely the older man's apprentice from the way he seemed to remain glued to his superior's side, looking about to and fro with a nervous energy about him. And finally there was his target, the cleric known as Alaric Fasarus. The man was admittedly low hanging fruit in terms of what he probably knew, but it was the first chance at info that the man had gotten a chance at in months.

Still, he needed to be careful. The man had at least one experienced bodyguard with him, an fact that would make things difficult, and was obviously nervous and wary from his body language. Turning back to his table, the young man continued his card game, waiting for the right moment to strike. Train's to crowded, as is the station, but maybe once they leave? Much as I'd like to get my hands on this prick, he isn't worth causing a big scene. Besides, following him any further than this will leave me deeper in enemy territory than I want to be. With a low sigh, the young man decided to continue waiting, resolving that if he couldn't find a way to catch the man in the next town that was coming up, he'd give up the chase and head back to the outskirts. Hopefully, he'd find something of interest out there where the Church's ability to respond was weaker and the people less likely to turn him in for causing a ruckus.

[Lemons]

Etoile

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I hate forests.

Such was the primary thought in Etoile's mind as she clung to the back railing of the barge with her prosthetic limb, watching the forest go by. The main reason, of course, for her current spiteful irritation was the occasional low-hanging branch that, while not thick enough to injure her, whipped her with a fair deal of force. Her face was bruised in two places and carpeted with welts, and though the arm supporting her was metal and thus rather less prone to such phenomena as exhaustion or aches, the legs that served to anchor her in place were beginning to cramp from remaining unmoving for the last several hours.

As much as she hated to admit it, her funds were very much limited. Her days with the church were still relatively fresh in her mind, and chief among those memories were those of eating extravagantly, sleeping in the finest inns, and most relevant to her current situation, traveling in comfort. Back before she had cut ties with the organization, she'd basically had money poured into her lap—usually from fear—anywhere she'd gone. Being the realist that she was, though, she had to acknowledge that now, those days were over. She only had what she stole from her family before she'd departed, and though it had been a considerable fortune at the time, living had expenses, especially in this day and age. Her money had rapidly begun to trickle away, and it wasn't long before she'd resolved to only use it when absolutely necessary.

And if that meant she had to resort to bargehopping, well, so be it. It was uncomfortable, yes. She was wind-tossed, cramped, and cold, and occasionally, she'd had to hide from the few that had ventured to the back of the craft over the past several hours, true. She'd been slapped in the face by intruding branches from Ifrise, absolutely. But it was free, if less than legal. So on the whole, she'd squared her shoulders and gone along for the ride. Her white cloak had been stowed away into the pack on her back, leaving her only in a close-fitting, long-sleeved blue shirt and black pants that did little to break the wind away. She'd have appreciated the warmth of the long garment, but reason won out as she realized that it would flap out behind her for about five feet because of the wind. Not only would it be useless to her, but it would be a blatant flag of HERE I AM COME GET ME, and that was the last thing she needed right about now.

As for why she was going to Thlecia in the first place, well, she had her reasons. Some might have been going out of a desire to escape Iquenos, to go somewhere where they foolishly thought the Ecclesiae would have lesser power. Doubtless, the vast majority were simply working on the freight barge. She didn't know, and didn't much care. Since she'd gone on the run, she'd been living her life day-to-day. Did she have food, for example. Water? Shelter? And how far could she get from the Inquisitors chasing her? That final thought was what had prompted the impromptu hitchhiking of the Eoldysseus. Since she wasn't technically traveling—as in, she'd bought no ticket, paid no fees, left no name—there wasn't a way to track her by any records. She'd simply reappear a long way away from the last place she was seen. That was the hope, at least. She'd never tried in the past, simply because she'd shrank from the idea of stowing away on a craft like this. Her refined preferences, though, like her money, had been quickly petering out in the face of persecution and possible death. And so here she was.

For a time, she'd been able to use densus ventus to create a transparent wall in front of her, blocking out much of the wind that hissed around her. Realistically, though, she'd only been able to keep the wall up for an hour at most, and after that, she'd been without shelter. Her teeth chattered, and she realized that she couldn't feel her fingers. I should've invested in gloves. That was a stupid mistake, the kind I need to make no more of.

As the wind had flown past her, she'd heard snippets of the conversations of those on deck. Few had interested her; it was largely the same gossip that had always followed the common-folk about. This noble did this, this noble did that, and did you know that so-and-so bedded this person? She'd come to pretty much entirely dismiss what she'd heard, letting it become as much of a background noise as the surprised shrieks of birds about them as the barge trundled through the otherwise-peaceful forest. Still, she was listening just enough to catch a particularly interesting bit of news as a few workers spoke:

"Hey, so what d'you think of 'im?"

"Mmf. Seems alright 'nuff, but you know well as I do he's one of them blasted churchmen. Won't do to get too close to 'im."

"Mhmm, yer right 'bout that. What's 'is name? Alrec? Aladdic? Somethin' like that, I think."

"Alaric, 'e said. Alaric Fasalus, or Fasarus, can't 'member. Wish I knew where 'e was geddin' off. Seemed real nerved too. Like to jam a stick up 'is uptight ass."

Their conversation dissolved into laughter and Etoile rolled her eyes. True, it could be considered heretical for people to talk like that about an ordained cleric. But these two were on the job, in a remote place in between The Middle Of and Nowhere on any map. What the Ecclesiae didn't know wouldn't hurt them. What they said, though...now that was interesting. And it could certainly be problematic. She'd originally intended to keep hanging on until the barge reached the end of the line, but if Alaric Fasarus—she'd heard of him once—decided to ride all the way as well, as he was probably going to, there would be quite a few more Inquisitors than she'd bargained for. Making a quick decision, she decided that she would get off at the next stop as long as he didn't. Whether or not she was in Thlecia didn't matter much in the end; she'd bee going for a while, and there would definitely be some distance and confusion. Enough to buy her a day or two, at least.

Comfortable in her resolution and resigned for at least another few hours until they reached their next destination, she sighed infinitesimally quietly, settling down to wait.

[Briza]

Sᴏᴠᴇʀᴇɪɢɴᴛʏ ᴏғ Dʀʏᴀᴅᴀʟɪs' Dᴏᴄᴋ, Tʜᴇ Eᴏʟᴅʏssᴇᴜs' Dᴇᴘᴀʀᴛᴜʀᴇ

A jostle in the carriage caused Uriel’s head to jest against the bench on which he was seated. His melancholy gaze opened the boy’s eyes, having realized in his concentration that he had fallen asleep. An embarrassing whisper pulled from his breath as he tried to contain his mood with a forced smile, milligram in size that edged his face to peer out the vehicle’s window. The sun was so bright amidst all the glittering shadows of the city’s trees, and a playful twinge of excitement roused in him while his tired thoughts tried to sew themselves together in order to fabricate more energy and will -- Anima Mea and Intellectus.

He had arrived at his destination. However, he was still a bit of ways from the barge, and by the looks of the sun, there was little time. His thin body pushed itself from the wooden seat and collected the most mature stance he could muster in his immature frame. The book held in his hand was discretely shuffled into his satchel as he made his way through the tight wooden interior. There were gruff voices conversing, and the coachman was making some business talk while keeping tabs on all who exited his vehicle. Without much hesitation aside from tiredness, Uriel thanked the man for his hospitality and thusly received the corresponding gratitude before making heads and tails of his mental compass.

There really was no time. There never seemed to be enough time. Uriel knew this perpetual feeling all too well. They might as well have been friends by now. The boy was willing to make it such, if only the feeling was not always in a hurry, and he was better at minding its commands. Often times, the feeling felt more like an authoritative figure or guardian than a friend, and he knew his youngness ought to be an excuse for not behaving according to its whims. However, Uriel was beginning to tire of perpetually making his age an excuse for anything. He would be a man soon enough, and spending time on dying excuses was a waste of time for someone who hardly had any time if any at all. Enough about time, Uriel told himself. He had none as it was, and so contemplating it was useless -- utterly useless.

Uriel’s boots pressed into the sandy gravel while he looked around the small area of the large city. His gray eyes widened at the sight, scanning the design of the architecture drawing through the skyline. He felt his lips part quietly as he lost himself for several breaths. There was a mixture of thoughts running around in his mind. They had been racing ever since he had taken note of the sun, but now, they were trying to accurately depict memories of this beautiful, robust scene. Dryadalis was a town he had not visited since his very young days, which was during a period of life that he lacks any real power to ascertain through memories. His parents must have known this city very well, and for this, he wanted to preserve this small portion of time in honor of them. Of course, as his breaths quickly passed, so did the opportunity. The barge between Dryadalis and Thlecia would be leaving sometime soon, if not already.

With a milligram smile of musing desire, the boy wearily placed one boot in front of the other. He had a small memory that his parents also had, and this bit of knowledge added a small spark to his strength. Even though they were dead, it was as if they were still alive, like the holy magi locked secretly on Uriel’s necklace. It was true that Life without magic was no life at all. These simple moments, as quaint and small as they were, spoke voluminous amounts of how important it was to safekeep magic. It was madder than madness as to what the Imperium was doing. It was murder; it was suicide. And, the dead could even detest to this behavior. Uriel closed his left fist in frustration and slowly opened his hand, spreading out his fingers. Anger was unwise. It led to madness and so forth. Yes, he wanted to murder, but his reasons were purely justified. However, he did need to make certain his alignment was correct during the act lest his actions be in vain.

Picking up his pace, the boy quickened his steps into a light jog upon seeing the vessel’s resting spot. There was a stir at the port, at least in terms of human interactions. He could hear the bustling getting louder as he drew closer. He was going to make it, afterall. Uriel was not about to count his blessings, until he was assuredly on the barge. Instead, he told his body not to give up. There would be time to rest, if there was time for anything, like catching the barge or the life of Alaric Asfarus. Uriel was jogging quickly, now, and his bag was thumping against the side of his pant in his impetus movement until he found himself breathing heavily and slightly hunched over at a stop of rest in front of a man and a woman, presumably a couple, entertaining the ship’s purser. The purser looked like the typical travel dog, especially in front of The Eoldysseus’ old landship physique.

Uriel straightened his posture and adjusted his attention to his bag. His right hand was slipped inside of it and made to rummage around its innards in pursuit of his coin purse. Boyish wonder was keeping afloat this time, but not enough to keep the purser from critiquing his age and causing a small flustering of pinkness on Uriel’s face as he made his way over the dock bridge. He tried to concentrate on the smell of the fresh air, and the sway of the barge’s weight, which seemed to lull him tremendously. Of course, he had time to rest on the journey. He had told himself this. Although, he perhaps had lied a bit (sometimes, lies were necessary) because it was truer that the juvenile would have to keep his awareness alert enough to locate Alaric Asfarus. He took his seat and relaxed himself. The jog had been good. He had been able to stretch his legs before another long, seated journey. Unfortunately, not long after the ship set on his journey did Uriel drift into the contents of his subconscious.

[Taka]

The wind blew ever so gently throughout the hood covering the face of Pagonia Calore. Pagonia's arms rested upon the railing of The Eoldysseus, the upper deck being the most peaceful place to be. Many people were traveling upon the barge today especially those known as Inquisitors. The young swordsman, as stated by a young boy standing only a few feet away, kept his gaze on the forest passing by. Attention was the least on the list of things that Pagonia wanted today. Ever since leaving his the order and declaring himself an enemy of the state, life has become much harder to endure. Pagonia's mind couldn't wrap around the thought of everything that had been lost since he was a child. A deeply saddening course of events.

"Mommy. I want a sword." A young kid yelled out whilst pointing at Pagonia.

Pagonia turned his head a bit so that one eye could see the big smile on the child's face, the child's eyes glowing brighter than stars. There was one thing that Pagonia cherished and that was the happiness that children brought. Kids didn't understand the dangers of this world nor could they understand the great burden that people like Pagonia shouldered to save their future from being a dark void. Before he could kneel down and speak to the boy, the mother rushed over to pull him away. He only wondered if he really believed in himself; could he really save this world and bring about a peace needed so the children of tomorrow could live without war? Pagonia's eyes moved back to the green sea created by the trees of the forest and put his thoughts back to what really mattered.

[Matsuri]

C L A R A

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THE EOLDYSSEUS, IFRISE FOREST — SOVEREIGNTY OF DRYADALIS

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“Woah.”

Clara wasn't dead, yet. Someone had grabbed her by the shawl and spoke to her with genuine concern, which she highly appreciated considering how silly she must have looked in front of the nearby passengers. Clara simply laughed it off, noting to herself that it was best to avoid leaning her body over windows and railings from now on. Perhaps talking to other passengers would be a less reckless way to pass the time.

Really, Clara couldn't afford to be so adventurous today. Discussions about Imperium members and Inquisitors on the barge were being thrown around everywhere she went, which was exactly the sort of thing that made the open air suddenly feel so stuffy and uncomfortable. Keeping up coversations with the commoners was her only distraction from the fearful whispers in her head.

As Clara leaned against a railing, she noticed a woman to her side, still, silent, and seemingly quite hurt. She winced at the reddening welts and bruises on the blonde lady's face, and wondered why she simply hadn't moved somewhere else to prevent receiving more.

Somehow, Clara figured this was the perfect opportunity to brighten the women's mood. She approached the blonde with a friendly smile, and spoke.

“Quite the shaky barge, huh? You'd think 'cause it has such a fancy name, it could afford some fix ups. But I guess no matter how safe it's made, there's always the one idiot that makes everything around them a hazard.”

[Lemons]

@Jay Kalton

Etoile

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Etoile started, swearing loudly and colorfully and only barely managing to restrain herself, as a young Thlecian lady—perhaps her own age, perhaps a few years younger—noticed her, and began to address her. For all her care to not be seen, it appeared that she'd been unable to completely disappear from anybody's awareness. Despite all her best interests, she was still subject to the weaknesses of bodily function, and unwilling to stoop down to the point of taking a piss while hanging off the railing of a barge, she'd taken her heavy white mantle out to cover her mechanical arm and slowly crept through the barge, doing her level best—which wasn't quite well, as she'd never been all that adept at stealth—to keep out of the line of sight. Evidently and unsurprisingly, she'd failed miserably, and now she was wound tighter than a spring, ready at any moment to slash wind across the woman's neck.

Damn. I suppose I had to have been seen sooner or later.

She affected total disinterest and perhaps a bit of disdain as she replied in as flat a voice as she could. "Yes, because I'm sure the Eoldysseus was always this old and rickety. It was built that way, I suppose. I have more important things to worry about than the naming conventions used by fools." With any luck, the outright apathy in her voice would dissuade any further attempts at conversation. But knowing her luck? There would be a confrontation.

While it was unlikely somebody wearing robes like that would be an Inquisitor or otherwise a member of the Ecclesiae, what with the distinctive uniform they tended to wear—Etoile shifted uncomfortably as she realized she was wearing one herself, and made a note to be less prideful and more careful in the future—one could never tell. If she had learned one thing from the recent past, it was that danger could come from anywhere, at anytime. Perhaps outside, she'd be able to bail. But inside? If there were Inquisitors here that noticed her, it would be a nightmare to escape back up to the deck to make the jump down to the stones below. Her right hand unconsciously crossed her body and took a reassuring squeeze from the sabre hilt at her waist, and only then did she realize that she'd just shown off a magitech arm emblazoned prominently with the crest of a noble house in the middle of a run-down rickety railway barge approximately all the miles away from anywhere that mattered.

Damnation. This is why I wanted to stay outside. I'm not good at this.

She fixed her stormy-gray eyes into the dark ones of the woman across from her, her voice dropping all pretense and becoming low and intense. "If you bring any attention to me from the Inquisitors, this ride is going to become much less pleasant for all of us. Move along, for everyone's sake."

[AlteredTundra]

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• The Eoldysseus, Ifrise Forest, Sovereignty of Dryadalis •
_{@Jay Kalton@Lemons}

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Zestasia woke up this morning in some alleyway behind some tavern that he got drunk at. He was placed behind a couple of empty ale barrels. There were a couple of animals(two house cats and a trash panda) cuddling on top of him. Only when he groaned and moved slightly where they startled and he had slowly risen to an upward position; though, he didn’t anticipate that he was behind the door to said bar. Unfortunate for him, as soon as he had risen…

SMACK

The next thing he knew, he was unconscious again. He regained consciousness a few hours later. Thankfully, the rays of light from the glorious sun healed him of his head injuries; though it did nothing to ease him of the hangover he was currently suffering from. No, that would only improve with the right amount of food and time. One of those things were easy to acquire but the second, however, was lacking. Zestasia didn’t know what time it was at the current moment, but he had to hurry. He had a barge to catch and he surely didn’t want to miss it. But first thing’s first! Nourishment!

Over the next five minutes, Zestasia would scout the tavern and smelled some steak and potatoes. It was rich with rosemary and all the fixin’s. So he knew that he had to act fast. Cleverly, Zestasia produced a small orb of magic using his Sol Vibrante. From there he easily hurled it at the guy who was about to eat that plate of food. Though, he did make sure to make sure it would swoop from behind and strike the man in the back of his bald head. When it make contact, it made the large, burly man jerk forward. He looked like the type of man to punch first and ask questions later. Zestasia would be proven right as he roared like a boar and charged like a bull at the first person who caught his eye and started to pound on the poor sap. Meanwhile, Zestasia seized the moment.

Hopping through the window, Zestasia took the plate. Before the barkeep or anyone else could say anything, he was out of the tavern through the same window he climbed through and halled his skinny, plaid-clad arse through the alleyway behind the tavern and he made several turns to ensure his successful escape. After a few minutes of running, he stopped and went to town of the steak, eating it as if it was his last meal. Gobble, gobble, gobble and it was gone, gone, gone. He then looked around and saw a flagon of wine not far from where he was.

“Must be my lucky day,” Zestasia mused aloud, sneaking close to the ground. The wine was set just underneath a window that seemed to belong to a house that was occupied. He quietly got the container and took a few swigs.

And unfortunately for him, this was where his luck ran out. “HEY!” Someone shouted from the window.

He looked up. The guy looked heavy set, though he did appear to also look quite buff. It was an odd mix to look as such, but Zestasia had an advantage. He pointed his free hand at the guy. It started to shine like the sun and in the next moment, a blast of light emitted from it. The guy went down in fear of getting blasted, to which Zestasia snickered and controlled the blast to go down a foot lower, crashing into a barrel of fruit. And as it did, an apple flew towards Zestasia. He caught it and took it as he ran again(along with the flagon of wine). Next stop, the barge~

---

Boy the station to board the barge was far away. He had to run the whole way to make it in time. And even through all of that running, he was just a moment too late. With his ticket in hand, it was preparing to take off. He knew this as the final horn was going off and he was still about thirty meters away. Even though he was hauling his lean mass as fast as his legs would allow him to run, each long step would only prove to be counterproductive because the barge would gain more momentum the longer it took off, so Zestasia had to do something drastic.

Using his Sol Vibrante, he absorbed sunlight from the sun via photosynthesis and activated his Solaris Pallio spell, which ignited an aura of light and fire. Using it to enhance his speed and stamina, Zestasia was able to run a bit faster. When he reached the edge of the port, he took off in a longjump, reducing the gap between him and the barge almost twice as much as he would had he tried it the hard way. However, as big of a help as it was, he barely was able to catch the edge of the barge with one of his hands. And for a few moments, he spent his time dangling in the air, unsure if he would actually be able to swing himself up.

While he did have doubts he would fall, the right momentum from him swinging left to right afforded him with enough pull to throw one leg over the edge. From there, it was only a matter of getting his entire body in. And thankfully for him, no one caught the sight of him hanging for dear life. Though, the same couldn’t be said about his flashy jump. Real subtle, Zes. Definitely something to do when you have to lay low.

Oh well, he was on, so he might as well not complain. Still, technically, he was on there without going through the proper channels. So, maybe hanging out in the open wasn’t exactly the smartest of decisions. Okay, so the plan was to find a nice place to hide until the arrival at whatever god-forsaken stop this crummy barge was going. “Oh,” Zestasia just had a lightbulb go off in his head. No, it wasn’t from the aura nor the sun. He shut that off to conserve his reserves. No, this was more in the symbolic senses. He had the idea of looking at his ticket that he never got the chance to use and wasted valuable money buying. “Okay, let’s see,” he pulled it out, and looked at where it was going. “Whatever.” Zestasia shrugged as he tossed his ticket. He wouldn’t need it anymore.

Zestasia was content with his predicament, so he would simply go find a nice snug hiding spot until there came such a time to get off before anyone knew he was here.

---

And yet that wasn’t easy. So many times he found a good spot and just as many times, he nearly got caught by those who were here by the rules. What did a guy have to do to hide? It was as if the universe was punishing him for the tricks his pulled back in that port town. Not his fault that he didn’t have the funds nor the patience to play by the rules. Still, there was nothing he hated more than people trying his patience. Oh well, maybe those two lovely gals he heard whispering knew something.

Looking at them, he saw they were trying to be all hush-hush. Wonder what gave? Were they trying to figure out why he was here? No, that wasn’t right. They didn’t even know of his presence despite how he heard every bit they were whispering. Apparently, he was sneaky like that. Though, it was interesting that one of them wanted to keep the whispers minimal. Zestasia got the impression that this one was trying to end conversation.

“Did you say the Inquisitors?” Zestasia suddenly said in the same hushed tone, popping his head over the blonde. "I'm after them, so please don't leave anything out.".He looked at both women. Boy, they both were incredibly beautiful even though they looked to be a tad older than his preference.

[mickilennial]

Location: The Eoldysseus, Sovereignty of Dryadalis

---

“Did you say the Inquisitors? I'm after them, so please don't leave anything out.”

Pythia heard the words, uttered by probably the stupidest person on the barge. She didn’t know them, but admitting out loud you had the kind of strife with the church where you were after them was not exactly the smartest thing in the world. In fact, it was borderline suicide. She didn’t need to see the gape-jawed reactions to know they were there. It just gave her further inclination to get off the land barge at its next stop.

Well, if they weren’t going to get attention before, they will definitely be getting it now.

An intent that was only reinforced by another passenger's sharp gasp at the straightforwardness spoken from the young man who had approached the two women. Pythia wondered if they would scream for the inquisitors that were undoubtedly on the transport or if it would just me murmuring, or the third option to which Pythia presumed was the likely culprit—silently getting up from their own seat and seeking out the inquisitors. The only way she could imagine the man to get away with such comments was to write it off as if it were a joke, but that would take timing and crowd awareness, and even then it likely wouldn’t work. Not reporting rebels were legally declared as being equal to a conspirator and serving as an accomplice.

As one of the nearby passengers stood up, Pythia gritted her teeth. Would this man’s actions as proxy bring the attention of the inquisitors to investigate every passenger on the barge? Would her appearance coincide with reports of her “criminal” reputation? All it took was one comment and one inquisitor being a little more overzealous than usual and she would have to escape from a moving barge or fight accompaniments of soldiers. She narrowed her eyes as she moved her left leg inward into the path of the passenger who had gotten up from their seat; they quickly found their way to the floor. Pythia wasn’t sure if it was the best course of action, but it was an immediate one that she would have to live with, just like the man’s boisterous claim that he was the enemy of the Inquisition and as a byproduct, the Ecclesiae. This was not how she wanted this day to go.

If she needed to fight, she would be ready to. And as people turned their eyes to the person who tumbled to the floor, a loud 'thud' occurring as their face met the metallic floor.

Idiot. She thought as she violently closed her book with one hand. As she did so, she jumped to the fallen passenger's aide. She had a minor plan to alleviate the situation.

“Are you okay? You seem to have lost your footing.” She placed her right hand on the person’s back, while she leaned into a whisper as she helped the woman to her feet. _{“If you alert the guards, I will make sure you regret it. Get back in your seat or else.”}

[Lemons]

Etoile

@Inkarnate@Altered Tundra
---

I should've just pissed off of the railing.

Etoile's left eye twitched violently as an idiot with a death wish popped over her head and borderline admitted to going after the Ecclesiae, tantamount to heresy already. It would've been bad enough if he'd only whispered it, but speaking it aloud? He was either insane or stupid. Or both. It was only too easy to see where this would go as soon as an Inquisitor arrived and just so happened to find a young lady bearing the Lécuyer family crest on a highly-visible mechanical arm. The cogwheels in her head began to turn rapidly so as to formulate a plan and, as though wishing it would hide her away and give her more time to think, she pulled her mantle a little tighter around her.

Hold on. There was a thought.

The land barge had gone deathly quiet, with the exception of a woman standing up that set off about seventeen different kind of alarms in Etoile's head. Before she could move to cut her off, though, she fell on her own, and a teenager with bright red hair knelt to help her up. Etoile frowned briefly; something about the girl seemed vaguely familiar, something like a character from a book. No time to think about that now, though. She couldn't have asked for a better distraction. At that precise moment, the attention of everyone in the barge that had known what was going on was drawn to the woman for just a split second, enough for Etoile to finalize the rough sketch of a plan in her mind. This is going to come back to bite me later, she thought as she stood at her full height, but I'm out of options. As long as they don't look for an insignia of rank or something, I should be fine. Her Inquisitor badge had been taken away from her when she'd been slated for execution, and she'd been unable to reclaim it in her escape from Iquenos.

She rolled her shoulders forward, drawing the eyes of any that might have been looking to the fact that she still had an Inquisitor's uniform on, and made a show out of looking at the idiot's face. "One of my colleagues did mention that there was a magically-gifted individual on the barge about to attain adulthood that had expressed prior interest in becoming an Inquisitor. Hmmm. You might do." With any luck, people would be amenable to an alternative explanation towards the phrase "after them."

She gritted her teeth behind her impassive expression, hoping desperately that nobody would think to inquire too deeply about who she was and why she was where she was. Also, she was hoping even more desperately that the moronic blonde kid in front of her—who, she noticed with chagrin, was just as tall as she was, if not taller, while being quite measurably younger—would catch the subtext behind what she was saying and go along with it.

"Come, walk with me. I wish to speak with you privately. Impulsus ventus." She extended her organic hand and flicked a finger, and a burst of wind blasted out of it, knocking open the door to the stairs that led to the upper deck. A low murmur spread through the crowd. Magic wasn't as common as it had once been, to put it lightly. Many of these people had likely never seen in their lives.

She inclined her head towards the stairwell. Come on, kid. Don't screw this up.

[AlteredTundra]

---

• The Eoldysseus - Top Deck, Ifrise Forest, Sovereignty of Dryadalis •
_{@Lemons @Kal-El}

---

And in that moment - that long, silent moment - Zestasia heard what he said roll back in his head, repeating over and over again until he realized exactly what had flown by the common sense part of his brain: I actually bad-mouthed the Inquisitors with my words and voice. I didn’t do it in hushed whispers. No, I had said it out loud, allowing any passing guard or passenger to hear.

But did they? That was the question Zestasia’s eyes were asking as they scanned the area. Those curious, blue-as-the-sea eyes had oh-so-carefully gazed from left to right, hoping to the gods above that the wrong person wasn’t doing just as Zes had done and was eavesdropping on an obviously-private conversation between three people who were hopefully on the same team. Admittedly, Zestasia had jumped the gun and that was on him.

Sure enough, as he was about his love for the warm sun, Zestasia saw it - well them. The onlookers who had a mixture of wary glances at the heresy that had come from his mouth and down-right awe at how brazen and daring Zestasia proved to be once his mouth had opened. And quite frankly, those two significantly different looks that he received from those who obviously heard him were justified. There wasn’t a cell in his body that was justifying Zestasia’s choice of actions. They only hoped that, with the right explanation and a little luck, that they - yes, because Zestasia was with someone other than his idiotic self, it was more than his ass on the line - could get out of this without being burned at the stake for treason.

Maybe use some of my charm? That could work, right? Or maybe offer myself up as the sacrifice. It was me who spoke those treasonous words, so it’s not like they’re guilty.

Zestasia had spent the next moment or so going over a few ideas. Some seemed likely to work, but it wouldn’t end well for him. Nothing about this would result in him getting the better end of the stick. His only saving grace was for someone to offer up a better solution. Maybe a nice escape route or some sort of distraction that would be just enough to get the three of them out of harm's way. Anything would do. Just, please, let there be a sign.

And just as Zestasia had put the word out there in the known universe, it, in return, sent him a guardian angel, though he wasn’t sure if this was a joke or the universe’s way of having fun at his expense. Oh, very funny. I fuck up and you send me a shrimp for a guardian angel. Real clever. Zestasia wasn’t really laughing at the fact that he bore witness to this crimson-haired, tiny little girl showing how people shouldn’t judge a book by its cover. No, he was more finding that he made a royal fuck up and this person was one of two people that would save the ass of someone who didn’t deserve it.

The second came in the form of one of the two people who had given him such a ‘really dude’ look. This one, to Zestasia’s surprise, had not only been a user of magic just like he was but specialized in ventus.

This day just keeps getting better and better.

Zestasia not only got that distraction he so desperately hoped for and a definite escape route but -- wait, no, that’s not right. “But you’re a--”

Too late. Zestasia, whether he consented or not, was forced to follow the elder blonde woman. Okay, not exactly forced. He could decline, but was that really wise? The short moment that passed after she had used magic and was seen talking to him, he didn’t necessarily have a lot of options. He either stayed and faced the wrath of the tiny, yet scary, a guardian angel that had no qualms of threatening some innocent passengers or he followed and met whatever cruel fate waited for him upstairs.

Time to make a decision, you idiot. Or do you want her to make it for you?

Zestasia looked around. The people who weren’t terrified were certainly doing their best to make their impression of the heretic known.

Well, Zestasia always did want to see what it was like riding on a barge with the wind in his face and the sun on his skin.

His hesitation waned and Zestasia flew up the stairs in a matter of second. When motivated, he ran like the wind that the blonde lady had at her disposal. And when he made it to the top, the first things he noticed was the beautiful view. With the blueness of the sky and the white clouds spread throughout, the forest the barge was riding through had a majestic, almost surreal glow.

Even though he shouldn’t, Zestasia took a moment to breathe in the sights. “You know, sometimes you have to enjoy the little things.”

Zestasia took in a deep breath, letting the natural scent of the forest overtake him as he closed his eyes. Once he exhaled, he slowly opened them up, turning around to face the wind mage. He had meant to say something clever about the outfit that she was wearing. He knew it looked suspiciously familiar, but his eyes were distracted by someone else. Though the person he saw didn’t ring any bells, there was something familiar about the sword on the man’s back.

When Zestasia was still a young boy, before the war took his home, his father often read stories of about a sword that was said to be a thing of beauty. It was known as the Durandal. It never resonated with Zestasia, but his brothers seemed to take a liking to the story. Maybe it was the morals of the story or how blood was often shed with it. Zestasia never could remember exactly, but he was pretty sure both of those things resonated with Pagonia and Ouranós respectively. Somehow, both embodied the good and evil of Hellion and somehow, when hell broke loose, true colors were shown

“It was on that day..” Zestasia murmured lowly, finding himself walking closer to the sight of that sword and further away from the wind mage.

As he moved another three paces, Zestasia grew closer and closer to the person, their visage resonating with what ZEstasia remembered. Hair that seemed to reflect a stormy sky and a sword that somehow glimmered in that muddy gray. The gold that was spread throughout the silver and shined brilliantly when drawn. It was of legend and yet, as Zestasia was just one foot away from it, arm extended and hand was feeling the texture, he knew it right away. There was this sixth sense that came to Zestasia. The air around him was all-too-familar. This was the Durandal, the famed sword that he vaguely recalled from his childhood.

But which one was it? Was this Ouranós, the brother who left him with Master Anatoli or was this Pagonia, the brother that had never been seen since that day where all of their lives had been altered and with no way of going back to the way it was.

“This sword..” Zestasia finally spoke after just standing there for a few, long moments. “There’s only one person who would dare brandish that sword,” Zestasia spoke loud enough so the swordsman in front of him would hear him. “Isn’t that right?” That was the last thing Zestasia said before his left fist would absorb the faintest amount of sunlight to give it a faint, golden aura. As soon as he would see this man turn around, the first and only thing he’d find instead of a warm smile that Zestasia wished he could provide, there would be the strongest of left, straight punches aimed at his jaw.

[Briza]

Iғʀɪsᴇ Fᴏʀᴇsᴛ, Sᴏᴠᴇʀᴇɪɢɴᴛʏ ᴏғ Dʀʏᴀᴅᴀʟɪs Tʜᴇ Eᴏʟᴅʏssᴇᴜs

All the trees were really pretty looking, like some unnatural scenery as light brushed delicately through the blurry leaves. Uriel could hear the wind and feel it, but it felt different and more like a song that he heard a long time ago. His eyes scanned towards his feet. They were bare and standing on top of a small drift of forest flooring. He wanted to wiggle his toes, but he forgot to do so or maybe he just could not. Either way, he was unfazed by the lack of coordination in his own structure. Instead, his face turned, and his eyes looked towards a clearing.

Without much thought, his feet, still naked in all their worth, were moving towards the opening of the forest. A compelling force was drawing him closer, and all his mind could grasp was the opening. His arms were lucid to his vision and feelings. His feet were the only part of his body he could really admit to feeling and maybe his eyes. The end of the forest became further and further away the more his feet pondered against the dirt and stone; and he became worrisome. His knowledge of the estranged area became skewed and warped; and the reliance of his intuition started to fall through the gaps of his mind; and the demarcate around him started to drop its facade. He was lost.

Uriel could not remember how he had gotten here. At the beginning, when he was admiring the skyline and treetops, everything seemed in place. There was no thought as to how he had miraculously been positioned in this unknown yet beautiful spot. He kept trying to retrace his footsteps, but his memory was unable to follow the path he was trying to take. Instead, his feet kept running, even though he was being made aware of some aching and tired pain from the distance and procedure in which his feet were involuntarily partaking -- Why was he running? Why couldn’t he stop?

He was being chased! Yes, he was being chased. How could he have forgotten? They were trying to kill him! Panic surged through the boy as he tried to quicken his pace. He had to warn the others, But, it was too late. He knew it was too late. Upon accepting this knowledge, his body plunged through the forest floor in a hole of smoke that softly but swiftly pulled his body into another place and time. He could see his hands. They were held out as he fell. His fingers were relaxed even though it was said to him that his heart was beating rapidly. Any minute he would reach the bottom of the hole; and his fear beat faster and faster with anticipation; yet the pit started to seem ominously bottomless.

A heavy hand of sweat broke through Uriel that he was stuck in this void. There was no escape. He would fall like this forever -- for eternity. No! Uriel’s thoughts shouted to himself, somehow commanding on his hands to reach for the necklace around his neck. It was still there, most thankfully, unlike his shoes. He tried to close his eyes, but the black void was everywhere, even under his eyelids. Dismay swept over him briefly as he understood the inescapable power of the void even more. Don’t lose hope, he scolded himself before forcing his frightened being to meditate on the locket. He could feel a sense of calm begin to wash over him as his affinity began to align with the ancient holy magi. Eternity will not be such a long time, he told himself.

The warming sensation lasted only but moments for the boy, however. The locket in the frail palm of his hand began to glow brighter and sizzle. A pain jolted through his core and caused him to cry out in pain and release the locket. When the pain subsided, the world around him became more stable and lighter. He was no longer falling through a meaningless dusk. No, he was standing before seven tall shadows. Their bodies pillard in orbit around him and casted their dark presences over him like a star. Grimmness melted their likeness, and Uriel was stricken with immense terror. A purple smoke began fuming like a foggy incense around the heptagram, and he was made aware of his knees, cold and bare against the celestial ground. He was kneeling. No, no, he told himself, fighting his body to stand.

There was so much reason to stand upon his feet, still noted with a throbbing ache. He was bowing to them, and they, they -- they were, they were… That song came back, and it was not as pleasant to remember, anymore. It started to pluck through his conscious, and the thoughts in his head began to throb and bulge inside of him. They were fighting each other and pulling the seams of his concentration unloose. All of the spells he had memorized were untying from the tapestry of his mind. Again, he cried out in a vain last last hope, but his voice having been shaken by the void, was stiffened into a muteness that silenced his beg for mercy by a bright light, a thunderous sounding explosion that jostled the fibers of his being. Thick fires burst and singed him into another dream, woven more vaguely and tiringly than the last delusion.

Still wearily on his knees, Uriel tried to push something from his mouth, but all he heard was “Artemius,” echoing around him in his own juvenile vocals. He had been trying to call for his parents, but his mind had not been able to convey what he had wanted. His hand reached for his locket, again. It was cool to touch and no longer burning. Uriel traced his thumb over the kunzite, feeling the stone’s strength weave through his print. Gloomily, Uriel opened his eyes, having realized they were closed.

"-- wish to speak with you privately. Impulsus ventus."

Uriel’s eyes hazed at the articulation of Impulsus ventus. His knuckle tightened around his locket, still gripping the amulet with childish fear. His mind was trying to awaken and jolt itself from what the lady had just said. His mind was scattered and restitching itself together; his thoughts were jumbled and scattered and frayed; his very essence was so spread apart, he was not sure even if he was on a train or a barge; he was very aware, though, that his feet were tired from travel. It was all a dream...

"But you’re a--"

Uriel’s head cautiously turned, and his eyes focused as he watched a man, younger than the lady, ascend up the stairs behind the woman. His own feet wiggled his toes nervously. His own fatigue seemed to have gotten the best of him. His palm clenched more tightly around his locket, and he drew in a deep sheltered breath, trying to relax his unravelled mind. He was so collapsed, he almost did not want to inquire on what had just happened, but he was no fool. He was a Sanctus. There was no time to dwell on his nightmare or vision. It was all a dream, he assured himself, But this is not. With the last thought, his lithe frame pushed itself from the seat and followed the two magi as if a small string was tied to him, and his intuitive curiosity was dragging him towards them.

[Taka]

Pagonia Calore

Pagonia still stood in the same spot as he watched the landscape. The commotion in other places on the ship kept the young swordsman from engaging his environment. There was too much at stake currently to get involved with suspicious people. A kind nature made Pagonia feel a bit guilty for staying to himself. It seemed as though people were crowding around someone that brought attention to themselves. A chill rolled up his spine as the commotion grew louder and intensity. Whatever was happening was not of his concern and he needed to maintain that thought pattern. Unfortunately that peace of mind would be interrupted by a very rude young man.

“There’s only one person who would dare brandish that sword," Pagonia was frozen in place the moment he heard those words. There were not many who paid attention to it often or could accurately detail the sword to spot him so quickly. The fear of being caught loomed within his mind. Pagonia turned around slowly but cautiously. A faint, golden light resonated from the a fist flying toward Pagonia, his reactions going into overtime at that moment. A swift movement belying his expert training, he lifted his right hand to push away the fist and in one movement his other hand was at the attackers throat; Pagonia's hand glowing its own faint, light blue. An hazy, cold smoke rose from Pagonia's hand.

"Who in the hell are," Pagonia stared into the eyes of the man before him; his memories of younger brother flowing through his mind, "Zestasia." The words were soft and warm. Tears nearly filling the eyes of Pagonia. Those eyes and face could never fool him, as he knew his brother from anywhere. Pagonia lunged forward, wrapping his arms around in a brotherly embrace.

[Lemons]

Etoile

@Altered Tundra@Kal-El
---

"Are you two done?" snapped Etoile, patience rapidly wearing thin as she rapidly become more paranoid. "In case you didn't remember, child, we're in a life-or-death situation right now! Any moment, Inquisitors could walk out of that door right there and slaughter us. There are better things to do than have some sort of bizarre reunion, whoever you are!" She was fuming. There was no time for a hug-and-make-up session. She didn't know who the stranger was, and consequently, she would rather she and the kid not spend too much time here. Getting distracted was all too easy, and all too dangerous. She paced back and forth agitatedly, a quickstep motion of five steps one way, five steps another.

"We should head to the back of the barge. It's easiest to drop to the ground there if need be, and it's out of the way. If we pay attention, we can know they're coming before they know where we are." Her pacing accelerated, increasing to seven steps and yet passing in a shorter time frame. Her teeth grit together. Her metallic hand was clenched tightly enough around the hilt of Vent de Trancheuse to expose the glimmering, ether-powered joints, and her face was tight. She was clearly a hair away from snapping. She turned to the stranger with the absurdly massive sword on his back.

"I don't know who you are or your relationship with the kid, and I don't much care. Either way, I saw your hand," she said, gesturing to the appendage in question, the one that had released the smoke. "You're...not an Inquisitor," she said, avoiding from long habit actually saying that he had magical talent out loud. "I would get out while you can. I have a feeling things are going to go downhill from here in a big way."

As she said that, the door back down into the cabin opened, and she whipped toward it, immediately drawing her sabre as all the tension flooded straight into her sword arm. "Gladius ventus," she hissed without conscious thought. What looked like dense heat waves appeared just in front of the sword's blade, and she adopted a ready stance. I better not get caught because I stopped to help this kid.

[Matsuri]

C L A R A

---

THE EOLDYSSEUS, IFRISE FOREST — SOVEREIGNTY OF DRYADALIS

---

Clara was startled by the woman's harsh tone, but seeing how she looked, she was wasn't surprised. Clara simply smiled back, hoping she could ease the awkwardness. The woman looked like she needed someone to lighten her spirits anyway.

Before Clara could speak again, she froze as her eyes caught sight of the woman's arm. A metal arm in fact, and it looked expensive, far too small and elaborate to be armour. What on Vitae could a woman of wealth, with a scabbard at her hip and a cautious, yet cold look in her eyes, be doing on a not so wealthy mode of transport? If Clara's burning suspicions were correct, she was ready to hit herself for not noticing the signs earlier.

She took a step back. Holding her breath, her light brown eyes locked with the other woman's grey pair. The animosity in the air was suffocating.

"If you bring any attention to me from the Inquisitors, this ride is going to become much less pleasant for all of us. Move along, for everyone's sake-"

“Did you say the Inquisitors? I'm after them, so please don't leave anything out.”

Clara's eyes almost leapt out of their sockets. She would have turned around and fully slapped whoever had uttered such a thing, but that would have been just as stupid of a move as saying what this person had just said.

There was nowhere she could run or hide, she was surrounded by passengers on a moving barge in the middle of a bloody forest. Clara swallowed her breath and kept a calm face, planning and observing. But the blonde woman was faster, managing to distract the onlookers with a gust of wind from her hand and taking the young misfit with her to the upper deck. So she was a woman of magic talent, too. Just how, how could Clara have been so careless?

As soon as she found herself standing alone inside the paranoid crowd, another commotion with the woman who had tried to report the incident gave her the chance to escape. As the passengers remained distracted, Clara slowly backed into the crowd. She had the girl with the head of fiery hair to thank for that.

“Oh dear, that must've been a hard fall. I could hear it from all the way here!” she muttered to the people next to her, hoping to ease her way out without raising suspicion.

And with that, Clara managed to slip away into the carriage. She could breathe now.