[IC] Iquenos: In Nomine Domini

[Matsuri]

C L A R A

---

IFRISE FOREST — SOVEREIGNTY OF DRYADALIS

---

Perhaps it was Clara's lack of exposure to fellow magi in her time, but she had never seen a magi do things like Pythia before.

Clara had always been quite sensitive to the ether in the earth, even more so when she actually concentrated. But total concentration only got her so far, especially with such little formal tutoring. She may have had the basics of three spells ingrained into her memory, but when it came to real fighting experience, Clara was nothing in comparison to the rest of the group.

Placing her palms against the soil, Clara fully opened her senses to the forest's ether. Immediately she felt the world start to spin, and with a sharp wince she raised her hand away from the earth. It was far too much to handle, and just imagining how it would feel to be in the dark magi's presence when they were found made her stomach flip.

Before the group set off, Clara took one final look around. Despite all the injuries that had been sustained, the earlier battle made it clear to Clara that she was with people who wouldn't go down so easily. It gave her a sliver of hope that their next pleasant stroll through the forest would be a lot easier to manage. And thank the gods they actually knew which way to go this time.

"I suppose it's your turn to lead, little one," Clara spoke, adjusting her shawl and bag. She looked towards the brothers and then back at Pythia with laughing eyes. "But if we ever do run out of daylight, we can just have sunny boy lead the charge again instead."

[AlteredTundra]

---

• Ifrise Forest, Sovereignty of Dryadalis •

---

Zestasia wasn’t remaining quiet because he didn’t want to speak but everything that may have come to his sometimes smallish brain had either already been said or might’ve incited even further anger upon him. The last time he spoke his mind, he received those judgemental glances from multiple members of the group that wondered if he was capable of contributing more than just buffoonery. While that wasn’t the point, part of Zes’ instincts told him to speak his piece. At least then some of the group would know where he was coming from.

Then again, did he want to risk it?

Truly, the boy was in a dilemma.

As the group went over the plan, Zestasia just nodded. He was keeping true to his internal promise to himself not to say anything stupid or that would otherwise earn him more judgment. However, when Pag had rubbed him on his head, Zes playfully shoved him to the side. "Stop it, Pag!" He laughed as he tried to refocus on the group.

When Clara, the de facto mother of the group (only because she seemed far more...experienced than the rest) had looked at him with what he could only assume was a compliment, he smiled back at her. “Oh yeah! Just leave it to me guys! If you get a booboo, I’ll save the day!” He proclaimed and pounded chest. He felt like a badass but he knew, somewhere among the faces of the group, was a snide comment waiting to be said.

[mickilennial]

PART V: THE WITCHES DEN

“Faciam quodlibet quod necesse est.” Pythia muttered underneath her breath.

It was an old adage from an even older language. The lingua deus—god’s tongue. Pythia hadn’t spoken in it often, though from all the work she did reading scripture and literature alike it came naturally. Maybe it was the imperial blood in her that made it leave her lips in such a manner.

She sighed, as she held out her sword, the magical energies drawing themselves to her storm-like ether, almost like a magnet. The Ifrise Forest was huge, an expanse of wilderness that served as a buffer between three different provinces and multiple city-states. Though she had been leading her group through the brush for what seemed like hours, it had felt like literal years.

It was unbearable that she was surrounded by such a collective of imbeciles, can-nots, and eccentrics.

Pythia had initially liked Etoile, the blonde who was by her first impressions at the very least competent. She wasn’t like the moron Zestasia or the dunderhead Pagonia, so she believed that between the two of them they would be able to weather the storm. Of course, as everybody in Pythia’s life had at some point, Etoile turned to eventually disappoint her. Despite being attuned to the air, the blonde magi seemed utterly incapable of tracking things through it. For how formally she moved and how much authority she commanded, in the end she was just another failure. Such things made Pythia worry about the coming battle.

Her brows narrowed as she focused. The magic in the air was getting dense. They were close to the epicenter.

Pythia still wasn’t sure about the plan. Walking into the den of an insane magi was to court death itself, but going into the den was better than the alternative of dropping her weapon and hoping for the best. Even had her companions been the best magi in the whole universe and Pythia still would’ve felt nervous. She worked better alone. Depending on people always backfired.

“The magic is too dense to navigate through.” She commented, as she lowered her sheath, holding it freely without attaching back to her hip. “It's about to get pretty dangerous.”

“Right. How do we want to do this, Red?”

Pythia looked back to the silver-haired boy as she considered the question.

Given the birds and the krovar, there was no telling what was ahead of them. She personally needed to be cautious with using magic. If she unsheathed her sword she would be at full-power, but it’d also be a lightning rod for anyone within fifty miles of the area who could sense magic. Judas was a powerful artifact and probably the strongest foci not held in the inquisitors personal armory. It would certainly make the fight quick, but the inquisitors would likely move their focus on them as soon as the birds and whoever was controlling them were dealt with. It was a thought, perhaps the only thought that could, that made Pythia nervous.

She had unsheathed the sword once before and the closest thing to family had died in the process. She wasn't keen on repeating that process again.

“There will likely be more monsters. Birds. Krovar. Maybe something else. Who knows what this magi has twisted and shaped in this forest. We go in dumb and loud, or cautious and smart. You know my preference.”

[AlteredTundra]

---

Zestasia was experiencing a feeling he hadn’t felt in quite some time.

As the group approached their destination, the presence of magic felt thick and it filled him up in a unique sense. Every hair on his body felt like an individual trigger that could explode upon his command. He felt hot, like all of the heat inside his body wanted to concentrate at the edge of his fingertips, as if they wanted to circulate in the palm of his hand. Zestasia felt like every impulse that was usually suppressed and controlled by a conscious wanted to disobey everything within him and rain fire on anything that threatened him.

For the first time in nearly five years, memories flooded his mind of a time where control of his emotions was just as likely as him having a good idea were.

Though he found it difficult, Zestasia stuck close to his brother, finding comfort in the man. He always had. Even if the memories were tainted by the many battles that plagued Hellion, Zestasia held onto the cherished moments spent with Pagonia, spent with Ouranós. That in itself was enough to keep the fire in his belly under control. For now.

His anxious hands dug deep into the pockets of his sapphire-blue jacket and he simply kept silent, which might be a first for him. Truth be told, he just didn’t want to annoy anyone and risk losing any semblance of control he had momentarily gained, but when Pythia had asked about the plan, she presented two options. Had it been any other time, he knew which one he preferred, but recent developments turned Zestasia’s go-to as the worst-case.

“We should try and be cautious about this,” he said. What he really wanted to admit was how afraid he felt right now and that standing next to his brother wasn’t enough to fully contain the unrelenting feeling in his gut to set anything and everything he saw ablaze in golden fire. “At least until we find who we’ve come to kill and roast that bastard alive!”

[Lemons]

Etoile

---

Etoile couldn't track magic through the air.

She didn't know why, but for some reason, she'd never been able to feel ether around her. It was like she was missing a sense, and she hated it.

But she didn't need to be able to track magic through the air to feel it stagnating around her. It felt like she was walking through existential honey. It was a feeling that she hadn't had in a very long time. Not since she was still in service of the church. And it was still just as alien to her as before.

"For once," she murmured, looking up at the innocuous trees above her, "I agree with the kid. We're in enemy territory, pretty much right in the nexus of this mysterious maleficarum's power. If they don't already know that we're coming, they're probably a strong enough magi to feel us now that we're this close. This is ambush tactics one-oh-one. If we're not very, very careful, I doubt we'll even see the enemy before we're overwhelmed. I would be pleasantly surprised and amazed if all they have are birds and krovar."

It reminded her of a quote from a book she'd read once: The triumphant seizes their victory before the war has begun, while the fallen goes to war and seeks to win. If ever she was going to war and seeking to win, it was now. Ill-prepared, injured, miscommunicative, in enemy territory, and with a list of misfits that, while perhaps competent in single combat, would be absolutely useless on a coherent battlefield with a command structure and likely had no idea how to fight a maleficarum...the list went on, and every item on it made her less and less confident that they would somehow manage to pull a win out of this disaster. Enough of that, she chided herself grimly. This will be hard enough as-is. Get your head together, these idiots stand zero chance without you. If there's no organization in the way we approach this, we're all going to die.

"Alright. Pagonia. You're probably the most suited for frontline combat and taking hits. When we go in there, you take point. Clara, the kid and I will be behind you, supporting you, watching the sides, and providing utility. Sparky? You can beat the tar out of anything you touch, but you don't look like you can take a hit and keep on doing so. You play rearguard. Anything comes up behind us, you zap it out of existence. Any objections?"

There was a desperate hope in Etoile that everyone would for once agree with something, but she wasn't very confident in its coming true. More likely, Pythia would be overly-prideful again, refuse to stay in the rear, take point, and then immediately be dropped by a threat nobody saw coming. And with her gone, so would be a great portion of their combat strength. She raised her eyes to the heavens, delivering a quiet prayer: please, Sol. Don't let these idiots die. I still need them.

[mickilennial]

Location: Ifrise Forest, Sovereignty of Dryadalis

---

“I don’t take orders from you.”

Pythia’s remark was pointed, a little less patient than she had been with the blonde inquisitor since their initial meeting on the barge. A lot of that was due to a loss of respect, as Pythia had allowed her and Pagonia to take point with the krovar. Remaining in the back lines of the battle as they did their strategy that took up minutes of their time. Besides such things, Pythia had suspected something of Etoile since she had claimed she had a classical education, anyway, so it was really just icing on the cake. Her suggestion to abandon Judas and the revelation about her magical limitations despite her knowledge of academia had made the red-haired magi not really trust her direction.

“I’m taking point with Pagonia.” Pythia commanded, as if she remembered her noble blood, for a brief second. “He’ll probably rush in without thinking, anyway. Someone has to watch his back. Besides, Clara is defensive and works best at the rear with a classically-trained magi who can't track magic through her own element. Focus on our back-lines like you said you would.”

[Taka]

PAGONIA

Pagonia mind wandered just a bit as they located which direction to travel to face whoever was attempting to kill them. He wondered just what would be next. Everyone here had become entwined in a fate that they knew nothing about; fate seeking to test them, at-least that was what Pagonia felt. The feeling of being able to rely upon these strangers, and the fact that they could work together was a huge plus. His eyes suddenly locked on to Clara. She had helped heal him and basically saved his life when the krovar attacked. "Hey Clara.", Pagonia turned to her with smile brighter than his brother's magic, I just wanted to thank you for earlier. Your magic is great."

Pagonia's smile soon turned to a puzzled look with a small bead of sweat slowly rolled down his face, as he heard Pythia state that he would be dumb enough to run in without putting any thought to a strategy. Raising his hand to the back of his head, he began to slowly rub it. "Ah come on, Pythia. That's a rather unfair assumption." Pagonia could only give a tiny laugh a the end of his words. This couldn't possibly be what they thought of him. All that training with his master made him smarter than what most thought. He only wondered if he could change that thought process.

[Matsuri]

C L A R A

---

IFRISE FOREST — SOVEREIGNTY OF DRYADALIS

---

The malicious energies attacked Clara's senses from every possible direction, invading her body with the strangest, most dreadful sensation. The further the group ventured the heavier she felt, as if she was dragging her legs through a deep river of mud. Even the air itself started to feel like mud, becoming denser and thicker inside her lungs with every strenuous step she took. At this point, she was convinced she could even smell something putrid in the air. It felt disgusting.

Clara untied the shawl around her shoulders and wrapped it over her head, hoping it would shade the sweat that was pouring from her face. It was taking all of the little strength she had left just to keep a serious expression in front of the group, and that just made the sweating worse. Desperate to distract her mind Clara let her eyes wander, and by chance she was met with a smile from Pagonia. But as he spoke, Clara found herself caught completely off guard.

It was the most basic of basic compliments, even a child could have come up with it. Yet Clara had never heard it from a stranger before, nor did she really believe it. In the past eight years she had become distrustful towards her magic, fearful, even, of its existence and her own incompetence. It was better hidden away from the world, as she had learned the hard way. Praesdium Terrae – Protection of the Earth. That was the name of her magic, yet it failed to protect her loved ones on the night they needed it the most. Now here this man was years later, thanking her for her efforts, praising her magic. Clara could only let out an uncertain chuckle.

"I think I should be the one thanking you for, you know, saving me from getting impaled," Clara mumbled, forcing a small smile through her fatigue. "I would've hated to go like that."

Now it felt like the world was sinking, and Clara along with it. She started zoning in and out of the current conversation, just barely grasping the important details through her waning concentration. Although she had managed to keep a straight face for the duration of the journey, the haziness in her eyes was becoming apparent. Being hyped up on monster battle adrenaline was something she never knew she'd ever want, but it was probably what she needed to distract herself from the nausea simmering in her gut. Clara kept quiet through clenched teeth, praying it would subside with rest.

[Lemons]

Etoile

---

It almost hurt to grind teeth together as hard as Etoile ground hers when Pythia responded with...well, pretty much exactly what she'd expected. But expectation doesn't preclude disappointement, she groused to herself. The sting in the tail of Pythia's remark didn't exactly improve her mood.

"He'll probably rush in without thinking," she mocked, pitching her voice up in an exaggerated imitation of Pythia's, "someone has to watch his back." She scoffed, returning to her normal voice: "Of course, you're right. It's not enough to have three magi, all of whom have magic which is more useful for utility applications than direct combat, watching someone's back when they run in. It'll all be better if instead of that, we have a primarily offensive magi with a comparatively frail body run in next to him, be immediately crippled, and subsequently lose a great deal of direct combat magic. That's far more strategically sound than having other people drawing attention in a major conflict and said frail but powerful magi delivering an unexpected surgical strike and everyone being fine."

She placed a hand on her chest, heaving out a heavy breath. She needed to stay calm. If Pythia got under her skin, she'd be compromised, both in strategizing and in fighting. Best to just let her barbs skate off. She wasn't that much taller than Pythia. Five or six inches, if she had to guess. But she moved closer and straightened her back up, doing her best to emphasize the height difference as she threw her arms and shoulders into an exaggerated shrug.

"But if, in your opinion, what a veteran strategist thinks is wrong and you know better, Sparky--kid: then who am I to argue with you?"

She stalked away, taking up a position behind Clara, who...well. Perhaps it's best if I stay back here after all, with how she's looking. Wouldn't do for her to collapse and only Pythia to be there to help her if something unforeseen happens and we're separated.

"I'll just be back here if you actually want some advice. Zestasia, you've been promoted to a name. There's another person here who merits the moniker 'kid' far more than you do."

She lowered her voice to just above a whisper, moving closer behind Clara and murmuring into her ear: "Hey. What's going on?"

[mickilennial]

Location: Ifrise Forest, Sovereignty of Dryadalis

---

Pythia rolled her eyes at the remark. Clearly she had gotten under the do-nothing's skin.

“Good.” She thought, though she couldn’t help but think about the implications of the blonde’s uppity, almost authoritarian nature. She already was suspicious of her and thought her less capable than Zestasia after less than an hour of journeying through a forest with her. She spoke a lot despite not providing much in the field of competency. If pointing out Pythia's age was the only chiding, patronizing thing she could say it surely meant that she didn't like that one of the women in the group had any innate talent to begin with, or at least that was what Pythia imagined.

She thought of her comments about being a veteran strategist and the other clues she had given Pythia over their time together. She had initially thought the mud-covered, cloak-covered uniform was a disguise to blend in, but she began to wonder if such a theory was even remotely accurate. They were thirteen years removed from the destruction of the Eileithyia and the Ecclesiae’s supremacy over magic and society finalized. Etoile pretended to be a veteran strategist and she was far too young to have been on board the Eileithyia as a commander for the magi guilds, let alone a survivor.

She was grandstanding. Trying to reclaim her pride. She smelled a stink on her and Pythia looked back, hand gripping her sword. Was she being paranoid again like her late mentor said?

Her eyes flickered with ether, “The only strategists I know are inquisitors.”

Before she or Etoile could respond, the blonde obviously whispering to Clara in earnest, there came another voice.

“Let's all focus on the task at hand, alright? This wood witch will kill us fine, no need for us to beat her to the task.”

Pythia sighed, supposing Laz was right. She almost forgot he was still with them, considering how quiet he had become since they had disembarked from the barge. “Whatever” She managed, turning back to the front of the line.

“Whatever. Pagonia, are you good guarding the left?”

[Matsuri]

C L A R A

---

IFRISE FOREST — SOVEREIGNTY OF DRYADALIS

---

"It stinks here."

Clara didn't turn to look at Etoile. She kept trudging forward, pulling her shawl down further to shadow her face. As if the air itself didn't feel hostile enough already, things were turning sour between Etoile and Pythia. Clara couldn't stand to hear another round of their incessant bickering, it was wearing her patience thin.

"It's just a stomach ache, nothing I can't handle," she groaned back at Etoile, heaving out a weary sigh. "Gods, it feels like we've been walking for hours."

She wiped her sweat away and finally looked over her shoulder at the woman, inspecting her through hooded eyes. Pythia's last comment hadn't fallen on deaf ears.

Clara had her suspicions from the start, even though the previous skirmish had fully distracted her from them. Looking back, it had all been spelt out very clearly during her first meeting with Etoile; the fancy looking sword, the ornate metal arm, the fact she could even use magic wtih such confidence and finesse. And that was all before Clara had even noticed what the woman was wearing under that large cape of hers.

Clara couldn't trust Etoile. But she also acknowledged the tension hanging around the group would do them no good in the upcoming battle, she was sure the crazy dark magi would take advantage of them if it lingered. The pressure had to be eased, somehow. She slowed her pace to move beside Etoile, staring straight ahead.

"We will get through this, Etoile." Clara murmured through short breaths, quiet enough so only Etoile could hear.

Surely, a bit of reassurance was what the woman needed after her outburst, even if it was all just Clara's wishful thinking.

[Taka]

PAGONIA

The arguing was undoubtedly annoying; even to Pagonia who usually kept a chipper mode. He tired of it all as there was no reason to it. They were fighting, arguing, over things that they could be calmly discussed. Pagonia felt....something....different in his own mental state. Their bickering could have given away their position or possibly caused a rift that ruined whatever teamwork they had learned from the last monster fight. All Pagonia wanted to do was be with his little brother again; his mind racing at the thought of the inquisitors. Pythia spook up claiming the only strategists were Inquisitors and Pagonia could only wonder if that part of his life would come up. His own face against flashed in his mind before another flashed in his mind; this face was old and bearded, giving way to more thoughts.

"Enough." Pagonia's voice was less cheerful and more commanding as he turned his back to the group, "Yes. I can handle guarding the left." He walked forward just enough to stay in view and form a strategic positioning with the group. Turning his head just enough to see Zestasia out the corner of his eye, he only wondered how things would play out for them.

"Garland, you were right." Pagonia whispered to himself.

[Lemons]

Etoile

---

Clara's words were welcome. But her shadowed face was not.

Etoile had seen suspicion before. She'd had plenty of it directed at her, both in her line of work, and afterwards. Pythia's parting jab--that the only strategists she knew were Inquisitors--they had hurt. They were true, no doubt about it; the military was the Church, and so the only real military strategists were those that the church had trained. But they still hurt.

Etoile was silent as the group moved into Pythia's formation, eyes burning into each of them in turn. If she was going to be the rear-guard, she needed someone she could count on if--when--things got rough. Pythia. She's paranoid, prideful, and has no understanding of strategy beyond "zap it with lightning from a sword." She's also crammed her way into the front, so she probably won't even notice if we get picked off one by one. Garbage. A rock would be more use in a fight than her. Lazulin. I don't know enough about him to gauge much of his combat potential, but he sets off warning bells in my head. He may be skilled, but I trust him about as far as I can throw him. Zestasia. He's less proud than Pythia, but also less intelligent. His magic is more versatile than hers, but I get the feeling that he's less competent at using it. Still, at least he'll listen if I call for him. Better than Pythia, at least.

Pagonia. A competent swordsman, and he seems smart enough. He's not too proud, either. But he's emotional, and Zestasia could be used against him. And he's in front. He's probably going to have his own things to worry about. And Clara. She seems to understand the concept of a command order, at least, which is more than the rest of them can say. Her particular brand of magic seems useful, though I've only seen it once. She'll be near me in the marching order. And she keeps a cool head under pressure. If I had to pick one of them to actually warn, it would be her. She'd by my choice to fight with--

But she stopped her train of thought there. As it seemed, she wouldn't be picking people to fight with. They would be picking whether or not to fight with her. And she didn't much like that.

She heaved a sigh and threw one last tired glare at Pythia--too drained by frustration and worry to put much energy into her malice--then ratcheted her awareness all the way up. She hadn't envisioned herself as the rear-guard here. But here she was. And Sol be damned if she'd let something by her. Just because she didn't like her job didn't mean she didn't need to do it. If there was anything she wanted to be less than ordered around, it was dead weight.

Especially after Pythia's words. These people didn't seem the type to wait for an explanation. And they still hurt.

[mickilennial]

Location: Ifrise Forest, Sovereignty of Dryadalis

---

“Noted.” Pythia nodded, the murmurs of Pagonia whispering under his breath apparent to her but not something she could pick out. He was probably calling her a bitch. She would not blame him.

She had once been told she needed to open up, but every time she seemed to she was proven right in her paranoia and something happened. She always blamed herself. She bit her lip, her eyes attentive and ears open. Now wasn’t the time to think about Marius or her parents or anybody else she had failed. Now was the time to save a group of innocent people on a barge and have the inquisitors off her trail. That was her primary concern. She sighed, as the group continued their advance into the wood, the sound of human footsteps crossing leaves and branches, a dead stillness in the air. One single cry from a crow fluttering from the forest. It wasn’t a pleasant sound or feeling. Pythia’s eyes widened, albeit only slightly, as a voice cracked through the silence. It was not a voice that sounded particularly human... or sane

“I wasn’t expecting visitors. How quaint.”

That would be the magi. She thought, looking in the upward direction it had come from. Hard to pin down, but she was perched somewhere above. She had a sightline of them, but not vice versa. Her hand gripped the hilt of her sword tighter than she had before, looking for any sign of creatures she had tampered with. But what should she be looking for? What element was she? What was her ether?

Malum. Right. Her element was Malum. Of course, she had corrupted the krovar’s natural biology and that of the crows. Her train of thought seemed to continue. What was exactly native to this forest? Drydalis was known as the city-state that represented the emeralds and foliage. There could be more krovar, but they were rarely seen in density. She had not heard any wolves. That left natural killers. Treeants, vinkarls, and other things. Most of the magi’s pet crows were accosting the Eoldysseus.

As Pythia looked around, the ether in the earth seemed to get heavier and filled with malice. Before she could catch it the trees around them opened, like they were the maw of beasts. The vines around the group seemed to lunge at them all.

“Watch for the vines!” She managed as the magi who had drawn them in began to laugh.

Pythia had never seen what malum could do to treeants before in her life and she wasn’t certain this was a normal appearance. She moved the sheath downward, just an inch so the blade could cut through the incoming vines for her. She wasn’t sure about the rest, well, they’d have to react just the same.

[Matsuri]

C L A R A

---

IFRISE FOREST — SOVEREIGNTY OF DRYADLIS

---

When the earth burst to life with an overflow of malum, Clara blacked out on the spot. Not that the group would notice, because as soon as she did, a large vine swung forward and smacked her into the bushes. Just the rush of wind alone had startled her awake.

The shrubbery cushioned Clara's fall, but her stomach was not so fortunate; that vine had hit her hard. Her throat burned with acid as she flipped to her side and hurled up onto the grass, Clara couldn't keep it down anymore. At least there was no blood and nothing strange to be found, she noted with relief.

Coughing up the last drops of nausea, Clara heard something move as her consciousness slowly returned. Many things, actually. Were the trees… moving? She gawked at the way their trunks broke and twisted into the most horrifying shapes, blighted by malicious energies. Clara could only shudder at the spectacle. The trees appeared even more ravenous than the krovar from earlier!

Still trying to catch her breath, Clara looked towards the group and then to Etoile. The two of them were meant to watch the group's back, if she recalled correctly. Now the swordswoman was on her lonesome, and surrounded like the rest. Clara's muscles ached with a fiery numbness as she scrambled to her feet and tried calling out to the woman.

"Etoile, watch your–!"

Then a rushing sound came above Clara's head. It was another tree vine, much larger and more ferocious than the one before. Still barely on her knees, Clara did the first thing, the only thing that came to mind in that instant.

She crossed her arms over her head and muttered the old words.

Crystalised ether sprouted from her skin, but the vine was even quicker. A raspy scream erupted from Clara's lungs as she was slammed into the soil, the hastily formed crystal on her left arm shattering.

[Lemons]

Etoile

---

"Gladius ventus!"

Etoile whirled Vent de Trancheuse around her in huge, sweeping arcs, the invisible aura of wind around the blade shearing through the vines with minimal resistance. All frustration with Pythia was gone now, blown out like a candle flame in a typhoon. She couldn't afford to let even a single strand of her attention stray, or else she'd miss something important and get chokeslammed by treeants until her her spine broke. Face stone, she continued her deadly dance.

"Etoile, watch your–!"

–back, she finished grimly as a vine managed to tangle itself into her heavy cloak, pulling her sharply backwards and nearly knocking her off her feet before it steadily began to pull tight against her throat. She fiddled gamely with the toggle with her metal hand, even pulling hard on it in an attempt to break the stitching, but one hand just wasn't dextrous or strong enough to free it. As stars began to dance in front of her eyes--still cutting through encroaching vines as she struggled--she realized that she was going to die if this kept up.

Sol damn it.

She lashed backwards with her saber, shearing through the heavy wool and sending her into a forward stumble. She hit the ground hard, swearing as she did so. As she desperately struggled to regain her feet--a struggle she was steadily losing, as vines swarmed her again and she lacked the footwork that she desperately needed--she saw Clara fall to the ground, smacked down and shattered by a huge, menacing vine. Gritting her teeth, she pulled herself into a little ball, cradling Vent de Trancheuse protectively, and spat out, "Densus ventus."

A bubble of steel-hard air formed around her, and she took a moment to stand and collect herself as vines flailed wildly at the invisible barrier. Clara wasn't moving.

Taking a deep breath--the pain in her throat refusing to go away--she dropped the barrier.

Moving more freely now that her cloak was battered and muddy on the ground, only a foot or so left sticking comically out from her back and the remainder of her Inquisitor's uniform now openly displayed, she smacked a vine away with her crest-emblazoned prosthetic, struggling as best she could over to the downed Clara and neatly severing the vine that stood above her. Wheezing from her painful throat and from the adrenaline pumping through her, she crouched down over Clara's prone form. Curse it all, I need a second to think!

Dropping the aura from her sword, she heaved out one more rattling breath into a pained invocation of densus ventus, giving the two of them a momentary reprieve from the assault. Gripping Clara by the shoulders, she pulled her upright, gasping lamely. "You'd better be alright, Clara. Otherwise I don't know what I'm going to do."

[AlteredTundra]

---

Following the short-lived praise he received from Etoile, Zestasia had been flying on a high - a high that kept him mostly out of the conversation that went down. He heard them speak words about “orders” and “lines” and something about Strategy.

Honestly, Zestasia couldn’t care less about most of what they were talking about, but that’s because he was too hungry to think straight.

Okay, that’s not true.

Zestasia could hold onto a thought or two and if directed to do something, he’d do it without question.

That’s what he was too hungry to do:

Protest.

As the group walked deeper into the forest, he was reminded of his master, Anatoli Solis.

About a year before his master was taken from him, the two of them would often take a break from training and go to the forest near where they lived. It wasn’t anything like this depressing patch of greenery. It was beautiful and rich with fluorescent scents: irises and daisies, roses and sunflowers -- all of them filling the air with a pleasant aroma. Even though bees frequented the area, shockingly enough, they weren’t the types to be instant pricks. That and Anatoli would blast them if they came near him or Zestasia.

And remembering that came rich with sounds of his master being taken away. By the inquisitors. Or those who worked for them. Hell if he knew, but they were responsible for it. And no matter how many new friends Zestasia made, no matter their story - or hell, even being reunited with his brother -- there was always a part of his soul that couldn’t let go of that.

“Watch for the vines!”

”Huh?”

Pythia's sharp tone brought Zestasia out of his own thoughts and he shook his head.

With just enough time on his side, Zestasia managed to evade the killer vine that came for him by jumping to the side. He couldn’t help but notice how Clara wasn’t so lucky as he was sent flying.

Worried, he wanted to help her out, but it seemed like Etoile had not only beat him to the punch, but she seemed to be in good hands.

Zestasia evaded another vine that came for him on the side, but he kept dividing his attention to where everyone else was, trying to pinpoint where his brother was, where Pythia was. And then he went back to Clara.

IT was a habit he should break, but unable to maintain his focus, especially in a life-or-death situation was always something Anatoli tried to help him improve. But right now wasn’t the time to focus on that. Or maybe it was and Zes was too worried for Clara.

So, with the right intention behind it, his blue eyes met where Etoile and Clara were, but this time he didn’t focus on to see if Clara had gotten hit or if she was injured. No, there was something that caught his immediate attention.

“Wait…” His became dry and hoarse all of a sudden and his heart was pounding increasingly fast. “But that’s--”

_WHAM!

Zestasia was suddenly hit on his side by one of the God-forsaken vines, sending him rolling around in the grass, crashing hard into a tree. Through a hail mary or something, Zestasia directed whatever ignis ether he could into his back moments before the point of impact, which thankfully cushioned it for him, but that didn’t mean he came away from it unharmed.

“Yeah, that’s gonna hurt later on,” he muttered, slowly getting himself up. His back felt sore and every joint in his body had that feeling of when you sit or lay down for too long and it gets all tense.

As he stood up, even though the backdrop of the battle should have his full attention, the blond teen couldn’t bring himself to look anywhere but the armor Etoile had on. That armor with that specific design has haunted his nightmares for over ten years. The memories of seeing men and women arrive at his master’s shop, taking him away has been an image that’s haunted him since.

But why was Etoile wearing it? What could she possibly benefit from wearing their armor?

Zestasia didn’t know what her reason could be. And all he could see was red. “This is your doing, isn’t it?” He heard himself say and couldn’t stop. “You’re planning on delivering us to the Inquisitors, aren't you?” Zestasia tightened his fists, gathering his ether as blind rage made way for hysteria -- or at least he wanted to, but, goddamn it. He probably had a few bruised ribs and one of the people he thought he was running away from the inquisitors from may very well be one. To top it all off, there was hardly enough sunlight for him to help in any significant way. “Goddamn it all! We're all gonna die, aren't we? Yeah, we're totally going to die.”

[Taka]

PAGONIA

"Watch out for the vines!"

The word echoed through the air, catching the group off guard including Pagonia's usually keen senses. Malum permeated the area of the forest surrounding the young swordsman, vines reaching out to place him six feet under. This was all happening at the absolute worst time, only a few hours after the korvar fight; Pagonia's left arm still reeling in pain. He had to shake the pain to defend himself. His mind raced at the thought as Zes or anyone here being injured; they weren't exactly friends but, he considered everyone here as a comrade. Suddenly his instincts kicked in, his hand raced to his sword, pulling it from the sheath to sever a vine only moments after it entered his space.

"Aw hell. Just one bad thing after another."

The golden eyes of the eldest Calore brother darted around the area, scanning and taking in the environment. Every action ran through his mind, the world slowing down around him. This was how Pagonia saw combat, his body reacting almost automatically to danger. The blade of Durandel cleaved through another vine as Pagonia dashed forward. The initial plan was to help Zes fight off the vines as he figured that the lack of sunlight would be an issue. The problem was that Pagonia's completely underestimated how dangerous the situation was, Clara and Zes both getting injured. Pagonia stopped dead in his tracks, finally tired off everything today.

"I won't let you take him from me."

A cold wind began to encircle Durandel, ice forming over it like frost on a window. Pagonia's body shook ever so slightly from his own inner anger. He wouldn't lose Zestasia again.

"Glacies Subcinctus.." Pagonia lifted his sword in front of him, placing his hand upon it's blade before sliding it across, "ZWEIHANDER!"

Ice coalesced together upon the blade, taking a solid form, expanding outward in the image of the sword. Sharpening upon completion of the ice sword, this blade was huge in comparison to Durandel but, lacked any of the weight that would accompany a sword of its size. Taking a single step forward, Pagonia dashed forward with a burst of energy. One swing of his sword covered a wide arc, the ice severing the vines like the blade it covered. His movements flowed into one another like a wave in the ocean, flips and tumbles to avoid the vines, a swing of his sword cutting through the opposition. This was the Way of the Sparrow, the style Pagonia had honed for years, now being reduced to fighting plants.

"Zestasia." Pagonia stood in front of his brother, sending away another vine. He took a stance like a knight protecting his king. The only goal for the swordsman was to get the younger Calore to safety and help the others. "Zes, get to Etoile and Clara. We can discuss things later. ETOILE! Watch out for Clara and Zes, I'll take center stage." Pagonia narrowly avoided a vine, the air from the plant blowing his hair back. How long could Pagonia stay in top form? Even he realized he couldn't fight for an extended time, his chest started to throb and his left arm felt weak. No matter how this turned out, he wasn't leaving his brother's side again.

[mickilennial]

Location: Ifrise Forest, Sovereignty of Dryadalis

---

“That’s enough of this.”

Lazulin’s comment was clear as day to Pythia as she jumped back, dodging another lunging vine.

Whether it was the inconvenience of the fight or the sheer stupidity that was engulfing the group, the red-haired magi was in complete agreeance. Clara had been caught off-guard and thrown to her back. Etoile’s... uniform… had been revealed as she moved to Clara’s aid. All while Zestasia instead of focusing on the vines screamed at the blonde-haired magi. In everything it appeared the only ones she could rely on to keep their cool was Etoile, Lazulin, and Pagonia. Lightning sparked in her eyes as it engulfed the entirety of her sheathed sword. Nobody was going to die. Nobody was going to die and it wasn’t going to be her fault. Not again.

Her fist clenched the hilt of her sword tighter as Lazulin cast his hand out toward one of the treants. Pythia took aim at the opposite one. Terra was resistant to lightning, but malum had changed the creatures well enough. Vines and trees required aqua to live and thrive. Aqua was weak to fulgur.

Impetus.

The old word murmured in the back of her mind as the build-up of her magical energies shot out from her sword like a sustained bolt of lightning, right into the treants gaping maw. For a brief moment the treant screeched out in agony, paralyzed by the energy at its heart. The vines went limp and left an opening. As she did so it appeared the treant that Lazulin had accosted had done similar, though for different reasons as he used the inherent malum magicks with it to destroy its lifeforce from within. That aside, they could not do it alone.

“Stop bickering, morons! I can’t hold this forever!”

[Matsuri]

C L A R A

---

IFRISE FOREST — SOVEREIGNTY OF DRYADLIS

---

Fragments of red scattered around Clara, and another agonising scream left her body. Her back was planted to the grass now, arms laying limp at her sides and all semblance of ether control gone. Had her crystal been a second slower, her left forearm — which had taken the brunt of the attack — would've been more than a little broken.

The vine rose up, readying itself for another strike. Clara couldn't move. Only the sound and sensation of her quickening breaths were keeping her consciousness from being sucked into the soil.

Then the vine came down again. Even in her last ditch effort to channel ether into her working arm, there was no way she would be fast enough. Clara couldn't take another hit.

But then the hit never came.

The vine was sliced in two like a knife to butter, crashing into the undergrowth just metres away. Even when smaller vines dove in to resume the attack, they would never reach her; something was shielding her body. Then someone grabbed Clara and pulled her up so fast that it took what little control she had left over herself to not be sick again. It was Etoile.

Clara met the woman's frantic gaze. Grey eyes, like the sky in a raging summer storm, she remembered from when they were on the barge. Back when Etoile had told her to leave her be, when her cloak had slipped and the sunlight caught her metal arm, when she blasted the carriage door open with one of her wind spells in front of the passengers.

Upon looking down and seeing Etoile's muddied inquisitor uniform, the first thing Clara did was shove the woman away.

Clara eyed Etoile in that moment, silently, cautiously, as if the slightest movement would invite death by the woman's sword. Her breath stuck to her throat and her entire world came to a complete still. If her jaw were to clench any harder, she was certain it would break.

A sting of pain from her fractured arm stunned Clara back to reality, and she quickly looked away. With a weak pull of the sash around her waist, she tried wrapping the fabric over her arm to bind it. She hissed and cursed and hissed curses whenever she tugged too hard, though it was apparent she wasn't doing it hard enough if it was still hanging loose like that.

In her delirium Clara felt another pain, a different pain, as she saw the vines swarm Pagonia and Zestasia. Now her chest was starting to ache.

"Etoile… The kid, you…" she spluttered through ragged breaths, refusing to meet Etoile's eyes as she continued fiddling with her sorry attempt for a bandage. "You have to get the kid."