Force and Fury

O R I F L A M M E

Act One: The Defense of Relouse____ __ _ _

Chapter Two: Cometh the Southmen_________ __ __ _ _

𝅘𝅥𝅮

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It was well into the Hours of Echeran when it began. The sun sat low in the sky, not quite setting, though it would soon begin its final plunge. The people of Relouse - those who remained - huddled in their homes, their cellars and the great redoubt of the keep, deep in prayer. Ringing out across the fields and the deep rolling waters of the Baie de Relouse, came the bells of Notre-Dame du Cap. Footsteps thundered on the wooden stairs as monks hurried up the belltower of the church of Dami, Père Sage. Finally, those of Saint. Defrois cathedral itself sounded the alarm, and the knights, soldiers, and magicians of the Grande Armée knew that the time was nigh. They said their final prayers and prepared themselves for battle. The Eskandr had come.

A mile and a half off of Cape Redame, the leading ships of the Great Heathen Army crested the horizon: over a thousand of their striped and patterned sails silhouettes in the light of the dying sun. The waves of the Parrench Sea roiled and snapped at their dragon-headed longships, spitting spray and fury in their faces. It was as if even the very waters of this place were fighting them, the strange gods of the Pentad protecting their peoples.

Clad in the great dark cloak for which he was named, stood Hrothgar the Black, king of Eskandr kings. The deck below his feet pitched and rolled in the heavy seas, but his was the Gift as few others possessed, and he remained steady and planted with a preternatural ease. Yet, this was not some mere show of strength, for on the deck with him were twenty-four of the greatest shamans, magicians, and holy men that his nation could muster. All of them were straining to their very limits in the throes of a duty that they had been training and preparing for months ahead of time. Anyone watching from the cliffs of Cape Redame would not see his ship. They would not see the colossal spell that their enemy had planned, or... rather, they would. Amid the immense strain of the Arcane, the king of kings managed a small, toothy smile. These greenlanders would not know what had hit them.

Yet, up on the cliffs by the monastery, there were some who knew all too well what was coming. Yet they stood unafraid as the enemy fleet drew nearer. They had all lived enough to be skeptical every time they were told that a 'great army' of Eskandr was headed their way. Yet, some glanced nervously amongst themselves. Others made the Sign of the Pentad. The longships just kept coming. The Parrench had expected to have a numbers advantage, as they often did, but there were not hundreds of ships. Not even so few as a thousand. A chill traveled up more than one spine. Were they to believe their eyes, the enemy fleet seemed virtually endless.

The battle was joined some three hundred yards from the grey cliffs. The longships were strung out in a great line, stretching well past the horizon. There were simply too many of them to land all at once. Nonetheless, as the leading edge of the fleet came within range, the catapults and ballistas opened fire, their projectiles empowered by the magic of Chune and Echeran. These rained death upon the Eskandr and their own magical defenses were at a full stretch to deflect or absorb as much of the determined Parrench barrage as possible. A half-dozen of the dragon-headed ships exploded into flames or splinters, masts toppling, people screaming, steam rising as they were consumed by the waves.

Yet, there were so many more, and they unleashed a withering return fire. Fireballs, lightning bolts, and telekinetic slams hammered the dogged defenders, and many were forced to take cover. Hundreds of arrows took flight, many dropping short but many more finding their mark. Great chunks were carved from the cliffs. Rock gave way and hit the seas with an erupting splash. The very ground collapsed from under a catapult and the soldiers and monks manning it fell to their deaths. A fireball struck one of the towers of the old Avincian era church, and it collapsed in a shower of boulders and dust, bells letting out one last discordant cry. Chunks shot out in every direction, spraying the defenders, and the king's banner that had flown atop it disappeared from view. This was far more than they had expected - far more than the defenders closer to the city might be ready for. More than one rider suggested sending word before it was too late and the armies had met.

Meanwhile, the Eskandr had filled the fleeting gaps in their line with ruthless efficiency, each ship's decks loaded with warriors shouting and beating their chests, rabid with the bloodlust of the coming battle and the chance to carve their names into the history books. For those who didn't live to ask in the glory awaited the Visitor's great table at Grønhalle: a fine consolation. Finally, from out among their great many number began to spread a mist: an unnatural one that left them room to maneuver close to shore but that obscured the next waves of the attack.

The small advance party at the Cape found itself significantly outgunned. In particular, there must've been a Thunder Warlock*¹ of extreme power. Lighting flashed down from the heavens with stunning power and precision, striking ballistas, catapults, and towers. It cooked knights in their armour and melted spears to slag. Yet, as the mighty attacks from the sky became more frequent, others began to tail off. A final few ships trickled out from the mists, which lingered, yet to dissipate, and the fleet that had so terrorized the Parrench now occupied the Bay of Relouse in its entirety. Though perhaps not quite so large as the defenders had feared in their initial anxiousness, it was nonetheless an enormous force, far outstripping that of any conventional raid.

Racing back already from the first, indecisive engagement, some hoping to hit the landing enemies from an unexpected direction, came the surviving members of the force from Cape Redame. They watched as the very first of the enemies leapt from their longships in the shallows, struggling to make landfall in a land that was not their own.

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Meanwhile, quite a ways distant, by Bridal Veil Falls and hidden amongst the swamps of the Witch Woods, a rear guard comprised mainly of yasoi and Drudgunzean allies waited, ready to defend the camp against a flanking maneuver or diversionary landing or even to be called to shore up any gaps in the line should they be needed. That the main landing was taking place some ways down the beach was evident. Already, those not too deep in the foliage could hear the sounds of battle and see the flashes of fire, lightning, and other magics being employed. For many of these people, the war being fought was not theirs, but they recognized - variously - the danger that the Eskandr posed to all should they succeed here, the opportunity for profit, or the word of Lady Talit'yrash'osmax, the fifth wheel dervish who would someday likely inherit the title of Baroness of Loriindton.

So, imagine their surprise when, from around the point of the Île Contrefort and the little cabin perched on the rocky islet there, rolled a great, all-consuming mist at an unnatural pace. From it emerged longship after longship, hurtling with immense speed toward the cliffs. The Force magic expended was palpable. Grappling hooks shot out by the hundreds and other warriors - those skilled enough in the Gift - leapt the hundred-plus feet and landed on Parrench ground. The final sliver of sun perched on the sea, its light shrouded and diffused by the mists. Then, an enormous warrior, clad from head to toe in black armour crafted from dragonscale, landed in a crouch, a spiderweb of cracks in the ground spreading out from where he now stood. There were some who did not know who he was, but he nonetheless cut a fearsome figure. Those who did, however, would recognize Kol, the Death's Hand: King of Sturmreef.

Clinging to the tallest tree that she could find with one hand and the heel-spur of her climbing boot, Lady Talit scanned the emergin force. This was it, then: the Eskandr gambit. They would draw off defenders by sending a small force under Death's Hand around the back. Attack the camps, harry the Market Gate, make people panic and commit too many troops to stopping them. Reaching out with a fifth wheel's Blood Magic, she grabbed hold of hundreds of branches within a three hundred yard radius, twisting them into a series of signals:

Fight. Here. No. Backup. Avoid. Enemy. King.

She knew who she had. None of them could match a monster like that, not with four moons in the fast-darkening sky. Better to frustrate him with movement and illusion, pick off his forces, and grind down their will. One did not face yasoi in the trees and survive. She would take out as many as she could. Then, she would deal with their king. Still, she thought, as she pushed off of the tree and latched on with her grappling chains to the next, they keep coming. This was... very large for a diversionary force.

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Sir Rodric Danneman of Lindermetz had come ostensibly to make up for his shame in not besting that pagan woman mercenary in single combat. Indeed, there was still the remnants of a bruise near his temple, nearly faded, to act as a reminder.

Yet, he'd have found a way to be here regardless. His mother was Parrench. The Parrench were a civilized people. The Eskandr were not. Most of all, though, he just enjoyed putting his skills to use.

The first wave landed amid a hail of magic, projectiles, and traps, yet they were not stupid. They began with fire: great cleansing coordinated blasts of it that burned away wooden obstacles, sent defenders reeling, and even dried out much of the ground itself. Eschiran! That's some serious Arcane power! the knight thought. Yet, for all of their flash, they were still ruthlessly mauled. Mostly older men and some women, hair greying, strength fading, sons and daughters well raised, Rodric knew what they were: the sacrificial vanguard, fighting solely to die bravely and take their place in Groan-Hall or whatever it was these heathens called it. So be it, decided the Linderman. He would send many on their way.

Like a hot knife through lard, he scythed through these Eskandr, the power of illusion allowing him to step past one's guard and the next. They died screaming the names of their bloodthirsty gods, some crying tears of both fear and joy and Rodric found himself disgusted. All around him, the first line of the Parrench king's forces were engaged with the Southmen, and the line was holding. The Drudgunzean knight reached out then, with the Gift, to search for what was next. So chaotic was the battlefield that he did not trust his more mundane senses. It was hard not to feel confident. There were many more Eskandr to come, but they were being effectively funneled and had not yet gotten past so much as the beach itself.

Then, Sir Rodric blinked. He redoubled his efforts, blinking again in confusion. He cast about and, already the clamour of battle seemed to be fading. People normally had energy: essence, force, and arcane most simply, and he had sensed a great deal of generalized energy from the onrushing ships as they had approached, but he sensed none from their direction now. A cold, icy ball congealed in the pit of his stomach just as a distinct pattern of lightning strikes flashed in his far right peripheral, up near Bridal Veil Falls and the Witch Wood. We've been taken, the knight realized, as the first of the ghost ships hit shore and dissipated. Just like Vitroux: Hook, line, and sinker.

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In the lee of a series of great boulders, both ancient and recently carved from the cliffs off of Cape Redame, Hrothgar the Black smiled between his gritted teeth. The first of his ghost fleet had reached shore and the hardest part was over. They'd released the miasma of heat and essences they'd conjured in the water to fool those looking for energy among the nonexistent ships. The king took a moment to let his eyes dart about. Two of the warlocks had collapsed. A shaman was throwing up over the side of the boat. It had worked, though. He breathed a bit, still focused on reaching out and bending the light. Let the illusion continue. Let them grow accustomed to it. Let it make them uneasy and afraid to commit. Kol would've landed about now, and many of the outstanding warriors his old brother in arms had drawn to himself, like the Twice-Born and that huntress of Ulven, would be with him. That his other old comrade from the days of Mørkt Fjell were here, he did not know. Things were more complicated with the Drudgunzeans these days as their kings turned sour and they fought internal struggles for the soul of their nations.

What was not as complicated, however, was what would come next. Soon, the illusion could be dispelled. The landing would be complete and he would join the battle. That Parrench boy-king with his disgusting beardless face that looked like a young girl's would be met with Hrothgar's sword. This, he swore to Brother, that the Parrench kingdom might be destroyed and his people left to live the way that they always had.

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Posting Information

The Battle for Relouse has begun! The following is a primer on what to expect and how to play this.

Factional Goals

1) The Parrench are seeking total victory. They will neither give nor expect any quarter to be given. Their central goal is to protect Relouse and keep the town from falling. Their secondary goal, if possible, is to repel the Eskandr landing entirely.

2) The Eskandr are also seeking total victory. Their central goal is to take Relouse from the Parrench and consolidate control over the South of Parrence. Failing this, they at least aim to land successfully and break out across the countryside.

3) The Parrench's tentative allies in Lindermetz and Enthal have sent small forces in support and are evaluating the Parrench response. If they think that their neighbours to the northeast have a solid chance at victory, based on what they see, they may throw their full support behind the war effort.

4) The Eskandr's allies in Kressia are supporting the war effort in the hope that the Eskandr will recognize their strength and not attempt to interfere with their claims in the southwest of Parrence.

5) A small group of yasoi within Parrence have allied with Arcel's forces, though it is more simply because they do not trust the Eskandr not to also attack yasoi living within these lands. They have no real loyalty to the crown, for the most part. There may also be a small number of yasoi on the Eskandr side, though they're much less likely to go out of their way to spill their blood in human wars.

Personal Guidelines

1) Many characters have secondary characters attached to them. If you wish for these to fight other players or their secondary characters, please list your secondaries in a hider at the bottom of your post. Speak beforehand with any other player you wish to interact with - enemy or ally - and work out what you'd like to happen.

2) In general, you may place your character where you would like her or him to begin, also contingent upon your opening post. This can be in either Eskandr force, or by the beachhead, on the city ramparts, at Cape Redame, or in the Witch Wood.

3) Please consider what your character, in the place and moment that an action is happening, would know when posting and not what you've learned as you read or know from the discord chat.

Action Opportunities

1) Feel free to have your characters take part in the actions described. Any unnamed NPCs are cannon fodder. Make them up, fill them out as much as you'd like, and blast 'em. Show us what you can do!

2) If you want to engage with a named NPC like Rodric, Hrothgar, Arcel, or Tali, you may. However, you should not write any outcomes for actions taken that affect them without first consulting me.

3) Describe the tense moments before battle and during it! Describe any injuries you took or inflicted.

4) There are decisions to be made by Parrench and allied players regarding whether they'll rush over to the Witch Wood or remain at the beachhead. There are mixed calls coming from above. Some lords are urging their people to defend the second front. Others, mostly generals and some lesser knights, are claiming that the king says to hold their positions.

5) This cycle will end on Wednesday, June 22. Remember that I'll be away until this Friday evening and only available to a very limited degree on discord. After that, I can help out with any questions of collabs. Happy posting!

_{1) Sweyn Thunderspear is one of King Hrothgar's ten elite warriors: the Æresvaktr. A fifth wheel thunderchild warlock, he specializes in thunder magic, with secondary abilities in blood and force.}

SANDSTRIDERS: A Lost Land

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Azar was normally... a light sleeper. She'd learned to be over the past few years. So, when her door reeled open and the guards marched inside, she was already leaping to her feet. The good things didn't last. They never did. She stood there, robe gathered about her and fists clenched as she listened to the Imit's - or rather, his servant's - accusation. You stupid, lying maggot, she thought, but her eyes turned not to Mamuno, but rather to the servant girl. Her temperature rose. Flames quietly licked and writhed along her skin.

For a moment, Azar was about to angrily protest her innocence in the traditional way. She had not done the deed, of course, even though she'd briefly considered it. Yet - Damn it! - she knew a setup for what it was. She knew it because... in other capacities, she had done nearly the same thing. She glared unflinchingly at the servant through a gap between two of the guards' heads and her rage built. She let out a quick, angry snort from her nostrils and her gaze flicked Mamuno's way. "Your worship," she admitted, struggling to keep her tone composed and just about succeeding, "If you have your men check this room right now, you will almost certainly find jewellery stolen from this household." Her chest heaved with anger and anxiety. Her fists clenched so tightly that they hurt. Lying bitch! screamed a voice within her. Burn her to ash! Make her suffer! Some of that anger even leaked over onto the Imit himself, but she had enough of a primary target that she could deflect it - hide it. "I cannot say where: maybe even under the pillow, if this thief or her accomplices were stupid. Unless they are merely trying to frame me out of personal vendetta, there will be more that they do not find."

Azar took a couple of steps forward, but no more. If she could get around the guards... if she could, her mind's eye visualized what she would do, how she would burn this lying wretch alive, how the girl would scream and beg for mercy and regret her ploy in her final moments. The ayiralite's hands trembled with fury. She unclenched and clenched them again. "I say this because I have done it. I am ashamed to admit that I have not always followed the Gods well, may they offer me mercy, but I would not abuse the generosity of a gracious and - more importantly - powerful host." Azar shook her head. "It is the oldest trick in the book, your worship, and a man of your wisdom should well know it." It killed her, grovelling like this, but something within her burned with a desire to be exonerated, to see the one who deserved it and not herself be punished. Then, everything else could rot, for all she cared. She spread her hands. "You sssteeeaal something," she hissed, eyes locked on the cowering servant girl. "When you find a guest who looks... conveniently untrustworthy." Her voice slithered and snapped like a snake's. She paused and her tone changed for a moment as she glanced toward the Imit. "And let's be honest: I look like a thieving wretch; I well know it. Then," Azar concluded, raising a pointer in the air, a lick of flame flaring from its tip, "you blame that innocent person for what you or your accomplices did. Profit!" she snarled.

She began to draw, then, from the plane, fire and fury filling her veins. "I am not your enemy," she began evenly, "Truly, and I make no claims to whatever you may find in this room, but should anyone seek to harm my person, the ayiralite warned, her eyes flashing at the guards like those of a very dangerous, very cornered animal, "I will return his violence thousandfold!"

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O R I F L A M M E

_ __ ____Battle Map of Relouse____ __ _

Full Interactive Battle Map of Relouse and the Surrounding Environs

The Hourglass Order

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D E S E R T E D

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They saddled up at the gatehouse and it was telling that the animals the small convoy mounted were camels and not horses. Lingering in some minds as they gazed out across the desolate terrain may have been the Warden's response to Ysilla's strange question from a few hours earlier. "Everyday," he had said, narrowing his flinty eyes, "I have nightmares of this place being consumed: swallowed by the shifting sands of los Páramos Sin Fin."*¹ He had shaken his head and his voice had lowered. "You do not know it like I do, girl. I pray you never will." He had moved on quickly.

It was near to midday as they set off, canopies above their heads, a couple of supply animals loaded down mostly with water. A distant breeze undulated across the shallow dunes, ghostly waves of sand writhing in its embrace. When it reached the group of ten - for Marceline, two guards, and a quiet, leathery-skinned ranger named Escarra were with them - it did not provide any relief. Hot air blasted them and they were forced to shield their eyes and clasp their lips shut until Jocasta drew from the desert and forced its winds to swirl around rather than through them.

As they ventured further into the desert, the midday sun beat down on them and Escarra stopped to check his map more than once, consulting with the guards or Marceline. The latter smiled and nodding, pointing this way or that, clearly happy to be out of the Refuge or perhaps to be in his company. The ranger, for his part, said few things once he had finished teaching some who had never ridden a camel before how to do it. He perched upon his camel like a lizard on a rock: barely moving at all but seeming to see everything. Occasionally, he would call out with a word or a hand gesture to marshal them to stay close. Given his taciturn nature, understated competence, and what they had already seen of this place, there was little argument.

The swirling sands gave way to something rockier, as outcroppings rose into the burning sun. Sips from flasks were stolen at increasing opportunity and animals were spotted here and there in the distance, particularly halassa. Marceline explained with great enthusiasm that windier days like this one were idea for them, as many smaller animals preferred to shelter or spent time shoring up their burrows and nests. It was easy hunting should they seek meet and there were more roots exposed should they have favoured that.

It wasn't long before the group's first encounter, and it was a harrowing one. As a set of low cliffs and hoodoos rose up around them, a pack of five halassa started to come uncomfortably close. These were driven off twice by Escarra and once by one of the guards. Then, one made a grab for one of the baggage camels and the crack of a rifle echoed through the dry air. Spooked, the giant tortoises backed off, only to begin doubling back some thirty seconds later. There were five of them and it would not be a pleasant fight. "Be ready," Marceline warned the others, and a few of them started to gather their magic. Escarra held a hand out in a placating gesture, however, and they saw him pull out his rifle. To his lips, he brought the whistle hanging from a colourful string around his neck.

The halassa came closer and he blew a strange, deep note on it. Frozen for a second, the lead beast took a bullet perhaps an inch above one of its eyes. It grunted and snorted, flinching belatedy, and the entire pack scampered off into the desert. "Missed your shot, old man," teased one of the guards: a young guy with a large nose and a resting smirk.

Escarra shook his head and spat. "I didn't." They continued into the heart of los Páramos Sin Fin and the winds picked up further. The grizzled ranger pointed in the direction of some shallow cliffs and the convoy turned to follow his lead. "Hey Manuel!" called Marceline, "Are we gonna stop up there?"

Escarra nodded.

Taking that as a cue, the guard who'd teased him spurred his mount on and took the lead. "Exploraré por delante."*² The senior ranger clucked his tongue and those closest to him could see his face tighten, but he said nothing.

Moments later, the lead guard and his camel went still. From around a small rise came a great angry snort. They had mere seconds to react before a Rhinodon came charging out. The foolish young guard who'd drawn its ire at least managed to save himself, but the angry herbivore continued its charge, forcing people to dodge or dive away. Even Zarina's attempts to calm it did nothing, and it skidded to a stop, turned, and began lining itself up for another charge.

It didn't follow through, however. Sniffing the air, it flicked its ears and its tail back and forth, before trotting briskly away. "The hoodoos!" shouted Escarra, "now!" and he coaxed his camel into a gallop. In the distance, what had seemed a large hazy ridge revealed itself as the leading edge of a sizable sandstorm. It gained on them with frightening speed, but they had enough of a lead that they reached the hoodoos, slipped in through a small gap, and were able to hunker down and ride out what ended up being a rather brief storm.

Interestingly, the winds had revealed ruins among the cliffs, built right into them and it was in the shade of these that they took an early afternoon meal - not deep inside, though, Escarra had warned, for there were a great many animals that liked to live in places such as that, and it was their domain now.

Some people talked as they ate, and Marceline joined them belatedy, unable to walk without assistance and the Gift in the deep sand. The two guards played a card game, and Jocasta disappeared into a darkened room for a few minutes before returning and joining her peers. Escarra, meanwhile, sat off to the side, separate from the others but not entirely inaccessible to them. He spent most of his time cleaning his rifle and checking his equipment. His eyes scanned the area twice every minute and he ate mostly without chewing.

"We ride two and a half more hours," the ranger said as they remounted their camels. "If we don't find it, it's not in this direction." The sun was now no longer directly overhead. It was towards the latter half of Oraff's hours and the sand, where it was not cloaked in shadow, positively boiled. Wrapped in desert whites, they could feel the heat rising from below. Those whose feet yet lived found it leeching up through their shoes.

They had been on the move again for scarcely more than five minutes when Jocasta and Marceline exchanged a look. The former rode towards the back of the group in a modified saddle, useless legs strapped to her animal, and the latter paced her. The two women looked to Yalen, who could yet ride normally, but all three tethered seemed to have a moment of agreement. "I can feel it," announced the youngest of the trio, moving up closer to the head of the pack. She pointed further down the canyon. "Not sure exactly how far." She glanced back towards Jocasta and the older girl took a moment to catch up. "About...uh... eight miles away," she decided, and Escarra scowled, brow furrowed in momentary thought. "Then we go," he announced. "On the return, no dinner." Suiting words to action, he coaxed some more speed out of his camel, and the group pressed forward.

The ruins faded from view and their world became the blue sky above, the greyish-gold sand below, and the steady rhythmic rocking of their mounts. To either side stretched increasingly imposing canyon walls and, occasionally, they would sight some animal scampering about. Most unnerving by far were the froabasses that roosted along the top. They had thus far managed to avoid any unpleasant encounters with the beasts, but the twenty to thirty foot dragons were known to be voracious predators. "Into Ejiran's throat we go," murmured the older of the guards as a pair of them circled on the thermals overhead. He made the Sign of the Pentad.

Yet it was not the froabasses that troubled them. Two more hours and one quick water break passed in uneasy anticipation and they drew ever nearer to the aberration that was their goal. Once again, the Tethered were first to feel something and Jocasta leaned in towards their guide. "There is a wyrm," she told Escarra quietly, eyes sliding over to the others.

He nodded, unpanicked. "How far?"

"About a mile," she warned. "It was inert before. It has awoken."

"The storm," he replied, "has stirred up the animals. It hunts."

Marceline appeared beside them. "Uhhh, there's a sand wyrm," she warned. Jocasta twisted and nodded. "We know. It isn't headed toward us yet. Go tell the others."

Escarra's eyes peered out through folds of white cloth, searching for something. He twisted in his saddle. then, after a moment, he raised his arm and pointed to an area some two to three hundred yards ahead where the cliffs tumbled down into the sand and there was ample rocky ground. The group began making their way and the progress was good. Everyone had gotten to be at last competent in riding by this point, and none questioned the instructions that had kept them alive to this juncture.

Then the sand moved.

Everybody froze for a moment, and the ranger held up a fist, demanding complete stillness. Necks craned hesitantly, waiting to see if it would come their way, but fate's dice refused to take their part today and, with a great tremor the sands of la Garganta del Ejiran*³ quivered. One of the camels in the baggage train panicked and began to gallop off in a different direction. "Go!" shouted Escarra, "Go now!"

A wave of sand built behind them and they set their camels on a gallop, the beasts' instincts doing most of the work. The wave gained but Zarina was not with them. Reaching out with words and, perhaps, the Gift, she brought the stray camel back down from its panic and hurried to catch up with the others. One by one, they reached the safety of the rocks, some with perhaps only a couple tens of yards to spare. The Sand Wyrm barely slowed at the lost opportunity, plowing forward in the shallow sand, and carving a great furrow behind it. It was lost upon nobody that the aberration was less than a mile distant and the enormous sand dragon was headed straight for it.

"Don Escarra!" shouted the younger guard, "We have to stop it!"

"If it takes in the aberración," added the other, "Who knows what-"

"Shut up!" the ranger snapped, and it was jarring to hear him speak that way, so calm and steady had he been up to now. He gave the signal for complete quiet. His eyes were looking up.

Already, six or seven froabasses were in the sky, and more were joining them every moment, clacking and circling overhead. As the group watched, a pod of hibernating Sand Cows, their burrow revealed by the wyrm's path, began to stir. One of the froabases came streaking in like a comet and plowed into the sand not ten yards from the sheltering convoy. A great cloud was kicked up in the struggle and there were flashes of the dragon thrashing its prey about.

Then, came the chittering screech of a dozen more of the beasts and they hit the sand like meteors, roaring, snapping, and feeding in a blood-crazed frenzy.

It was too much for the camels. In the immediate presence of a nearby predator, they panicked and bolted, an instinct to hug the cliff walls (where the froabasses could not swoop down on them) and run taking over. Only Escarra and Zarina managed to control theirs. Everyone else was exposed, and the results were grisly. First it was the older guard, ripped from his mount, struggling and screaming, and then the younger. He cried out for his mother and was torn in two as a second froabas came. The camels fared better, but not by much. One from the baggage train and one of the guards' met bloody ends, and it was chaos: all chaos. People attacked with what they could of the Gift. A couple were thrown by their mounts. Kaspar's was snatched out from under him and the Helbahnishman avoided death by perhaps inches, slamming it with a barrier and hurling himself into the sand.

All around, the dragons flapped and swarmed. There must've been more than two dozen. Magic speared more than one from the sky, or hammered them on the ground, but the beasts were durable, quick, and had some mana of their own, making many of the tactics that the students had employed the previous evening against the mad halassa unusable.

Zarina hit on something else, though. As Escarra was controlling his camel, galloping about in a spiral pattern meant to distract the froabasses and shooting at them, one took notice and hurtled directly at him. Then, it pulled back. The closest half-dozen of the beasts did the same, tearing meat away from dead sand cows, camels, humans, and their own kin, satisfied with their meals. For a moment, it looked like the Virangishwoman had saved them.

Then, the rest of the flock sensed weakness. Plunging down from every direction they came: nearly twenty of the beasts. Escarra kept firing, praying loudly in an unknown language as he went, but even his pinpoint accuracy did little. It seemed time for the students to make peace with their gods.

The froabases went still: frozen unnaturally in place. Sound deadened and one could not even hear his own breath. The very sky itself seemed to grow darker for a moment. Then, they saw it: Jocasta. The tethered girl rose into the air, hair writhing around her like golden snakes. Energy flooded into her small body like water spiraling down a drain. Escarra collapsed into the sand, wretching. Marceline staggered and fell. The pressure was immense! So much energy! It built in people's heads. It hammered their stomachs and organs: ungodly, unnatural!

Their schoolmate trembled, drawing still more. Beads of sweat stained her skin and clothes. Her eyes grew bloodshot. Then, the energy changed. It was... more like what they had felt in the Paradigm's tower: a strange, forbidden magic. They blinked, or perhaps they did not, and the froabases were gone: gone as if they had never even been there.

A cool breeze swept the sands and whistled along the cliffs. Jocasta dropped to the ground, limp, with a light a thud. The sun burned in the sky with all of its usual vigour.

Marceline struggled to her knees, hurrying over with the assistance of the Gift. Jocasta lay partially face down, crumpled in something like the fetal position, but she was breathing. Croucching in the lengthening shadows, the others turned her over. "I tried to get the wyrm," she rasped, "but I couldn't. The froabasses are... nine miles from here, with their food. They won't be bothering us anymore." She blinked a couple of times, clearly woozy, and tried to sit up, but she needed help to do it. With a quick, brusque thanks, she brushed the hands away. "We need to stop the wyrm. It's headed for the aberration. If it gets there..." She paused. A dark look had crossed Marceline's face. Kneeling in the sand, she knit and unknit her fingers and shook her head tightly. "I cannot sense the aberration anymore," she squeaked, looking to Yalen for confirmation. "I fear we are too late."

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Translations

1) The Endless Wastes

2) I'll scout ahead.

3) Eshiran's Throat

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Action Opportunities

The group has absolutely been through the ringer. They have faced down multiple dangerous beasts, a sandstorm, and the extreme deprivation of a desert voyage of some five hours. On that note, the hours of Oraff have come to an end and the hours of Eshiran are beginning. There are four hours remaining until dark.

The situation currently stands as follows:

1) The two guards are now dead. There are eight people remaining and six camels, but one of them is the supply camel that survived. Water is not an immediate problem, but the group cannot afford to waste. A camel can support up to two riders but it will be slower unless boosted with the Gift.

2) The sand wyrm has consumed the aberration and it will go mad from this. It does not currently seem interested in the group, though it is only a matter of time before it finds its way to the Refuge. The group is excused from classes for up to a week in order to deal with the situation.

3) The warden is waiting back at the refuge for their debriefing. Amanda is ready for a visit this evening. She's had all day to think and has some ideas.

Action Opportunities:

1) Feel free to have your character describe any individual action they took during any of the fights or escapes. You have quite a bit of leeway here.

2) There was ample opportunity for social interaction with each other or the NPCs during the ride and lunch. Play this out, if you'd like.

3) Reactions to the wyrm, the ruins, the froabasses, or the reveal of Jocasta's true power are all very welcome.

4) Feel free to play out the journey back, right up to sighting the Refuge. Aside from any interactions you might have planned or want to collaborate on, it will be hurried, uneventful, and anxious. You will arrive just as dusk is fading to night and more of those accursed froabases are circling.

Happy writing!

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The Hourglass Order

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As Penny witnessed the strange girl's approach, her heart started crawling up her throat for a moment. You made a hole in my ship! she screamed inwardly, stalking towards the stairs where Tyrpano emerged. But then the hole was sealed and she knew, as a Binder herself, that it had been a fairly easy thing to do. What irked her was the tone, the entitled body language - the lording of her height - and the near-glare. It reminded Penny of the way that her mother had always addressed her and spawned an instant and intense reactionary dislike.

"Oh, hello to you too," the Perrenchwoman shot back. "You want a summary?" She tilted her head to one side, the tricorn hat nearly sliding loose. She had to keep this professional. Besides, people had been looking down on her for entire life. This one wasn't any different. She sighed. "It's a dynastic struggle. Just... played out through piracy. Amelia owns the Nera and she's using it to hit back at the Doge." She shrugged. "I avoided the Doge's Breeches because-"that's just nasty. Who'd wanna go into a Doge's breeches? She sensed that her teammate was a being bereft of humour, however, and skipped the joke. "A pair of Perrenchwomen walking into a Revidian stronghold and asking questions about attacks on Revidian ships when the two countries are on the brink of war is just daft." Penny waved dismissively. "Tried to convince Wvysen and only got silence. She's a big girl and can make her own poor decisions. I saw tracks along the shore, went to check them out, and got kidnapped." she continued. "Long story short, I broke out and did some snooping along the way. Killed a few pirates before they could kill me and stole a couple ships in my escape. Not sure how I'm not dead. Just kept going and here I am." She hobbled to the side and plucked the journal off of a stool. "Got her journal: just sitting out there to be had. It's an awful read." She arched an eyebrow. "But a very convenient piece of evidence." Penny plunked it back down and motioned with her chin beneath the stool. "There was that lantern too. I thought it could be Chune-Sept's, since I know that we were briefed on an artifact. It's probably just an old lantern or a decoy at best, but it didn't hurt to grab, just in case." She tilted her head again. "That's my side. What's yours? Long version. They're taking their sweet time ashore anyway."

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The Hourglass Order

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B L A C K F L A G

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_♪

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Amelia could sense the noose tightening. She had neither the time nor the energy for it. These people were a threat in their own right. Ingrid, whose life she'd saved, was eyeing her the way a dog eyed a steak on the table. Desmond's hand upon her was... far more threatening than comforting. He was trying to hide some kind of signal behind his back. She'd almost missed it, but she'd grown up around hidden meanings and whispered messages. She shrugged him off and backed away. Her eyes darted warily about. "You're all about to turn on me, aren't you?" she said defiantly, backing away. "But you're... not Prospero's people," she thought aloud, eyes wide and brow furrowed. She glanced about at the corpses and then back at the threatening group. "...They were." She stood there for a moment, haunted. "...How?" she practically mouthed. Amelia paced tightly then, a few steps each way before remembering that she was not among friends. "Tell me, honestly," she demanded, whirling to look at Desmond. "Were you truly sent to rescue me, and by whom?"

"We are from Ersand'Enise. We were sent here by Paradigm Hunghorasz to do three things-" Desmond stepped forward with a cold expression, losing all trace of emotion, much more like a mask as he spoke in a calm and commanding tone, seeming to hide a growing sense of anger, "-rescue Princes Amelea of Segona, retrieve the possible artifact the Maria Nera has, and kill the Captain."

As he stepped forward he looked down on her, only his eyes breaking his mask-like expression, as they seemed to relay every emotion he felt. He continued, "We lost one of our people, another one is confirmed dead, and I have not trusted you since the moment I met you. So you tell me how I would react?"

"Goddammit, now's not the time! she shouted, rubbing at her temples and half turning. "I mean: yes. Yes, I lied. I thought you were lying. I know my uncle - Prospero, that throne-stealing slimy eel - has friends at the school. At first, I thought you were just some useful idiot who might be an ally, but once you said you were from there and it was too late to just run, and I thought you were working for him, for sure. I was going to lose you in the city - fake my own death. I had... people who were going to distract you." She pulled her hands back from her face nervously, opening and clasping them, as if she didn't quite know what to do. "Oh Gods, oh Dami, oh Eshiran!" She pivoted to take them all in. "I have been less than forthright. I apologize. Truly, I'm sorry, but there is still a chance to salvage the situation," she continued desperately. She took a deep quick breath and exhaled. "My uncle, Prospero Malatesta, was to be my regent after my father and brother died. I was ten. You know the rest. He took over. He rules Segona like it's an extension of his realm: another source of people and plunder for his war machine."

Her face was flushed. Anybody who reached out to sense her energy could plainly feel the heightened pulse within her. "Maybe you have heard that I'm called 'The Ghost' by some. It is because I lived the past fourteen years under house arrest, except for when I was to be trotted out for the odd function. Godsdammit!" she cursed. "I escaped a few months ago. I came here because it was beyond the reach of the law, beyond the reach of his many, many friends... or so I thought." She shook her head, as Onarr was healed behind them and cleanup efforts continued. "My goal was to recruit loyal Segonese - we're good sailors - and to start building a resistance. It was to free myself, win back my throne, and free my people." She shook her head tightly, wrapping arms around her small figure.

"But the bastard knew, or he found out." She sighed shakily. "When he couldn't find me, thanks to my friends here, he decided to use my name." Her fists clenched open and closed. "The Maria Nera is not my ship," she hissed. "But that she were: what I could do with her!" She breathed a bit more calmly. "She is a fabrication of the Doge: a false flag creweed by his own people meant to make me an outlaw and a danger so that he can justify eliminating me without being named kinslayer." She laughed bitterly. "Ever question why the Nera sinks all the ships that she catches? Why nobody but the most loyal Revidians have ever seen her? Why every. single. target. is Revidian?" Her face scrunched up and she half-turned towards the waterfront, off in the direction of The Main. "Ask the Dorvalish, if you don't believe me." she begged, "Ask them about the registry of the ships that went missing: all Prospero's ships and his friends' ships. Ask them about the prices of goods that soared from the thefts, about who stocked up on those right before the ships were 'plundered' and 'sunk'."

Dazed, she sat on a curb. "Gods, we've been played. All of us: you, me, my allies." She exhaled, shaking her head in disbelief. "Hugo Hunghorasz and the Doge are friend, or else they pretend to be, at arm's length, for the sake of mutual interest." She chewed on her lower lip nervously. "You were sent to retrieve me so that I would poke my head out of hiding. He had his people ready to pounce. News travels very quickly here." She gestured at the carnage around them, silhouetted against the backdrop of a slowly lightening sky. "Then we have this fight and the evil rotten crew of the 'Nera' - myself and you - lay waste to the town and prove that I need to be stopped. We were supposed to have lost to those Black Rezaindians Prospero sent, I imagine: those men and women of faith, sent to bring me to justice." She looked up at the others. "We're patsies, she said simply. "He outplayed us, and now I'm sure the Nera will be coming, loaded with whatever Black Rezaindians, pirates, and mercenary mages his money can muster."

Amelia of Segona rose and dusted herself off. "I am going to fight them, one way or another, with or without you. She backed away once more, fishing a whistle from the folds of her dress and blowing it in a distinct high-pitched pattern. The sound reverberated through the air, enhanced by liberal use of sonic magic. "But I will die," the princess concluded, "by my own hand if need be - for I will not let anymore shed blood for me unless they offer it freely. I will die before I let you take me."

They shuffled into the plaza by the waterfront, then: first a handful, then ten, then dozens. Some had already been there, among the growing crowd, among the rescuers and accusers. They began to gather around their rightful queen. "But there is another way," she offered. "I know I've no right to ask you, but I can promise rich reward should we win the day." She smirked. "The Nera's winnings are substantial indeed, and whatever does not go to fund our war effort would be yours to do whatever you wished with."

It was Ismette who spoke first. "Say we do trust you," she said. "And get involved in your war." She glanced between Amelia and her fellow students. "How is this not a suicide mission? Why not run? Cut your losses, get safe, and live to fight another day? I mean..." She glanced around and tilted her head to one side, not entirely unsympathetic. "You don't even have a ship."

"That's... not strictly true," said a particularly greasy-looking pirate, stepping through the crowd. It was Xavier Falzon, the Dorvalish pirate from The Main. He crossed his arms, eyes flicking over to Ingrid and Onarr. "Sorry for rippin' yeh off before. Thought you was against the Princess here." He cleared his throat as a few more of his crew came up behind him. "I'd have preferred not to, but the Nera's market manipluation's gotta stop. Plus, I gave Lady Amelia my word and Xavier Falzon is a man who... usually keeps that." He removed his hat and bowed his head slightly. St. Elmo's Fyre is at your service, my lady."

Ketch of the Day

Before anybody could say anything, however, the sound of cannonfire reverberated across the water. A pair of ships - it looked like a large snow towing a smaller ketch - that had been nearing the port for some time drew closer, smoke rising from one of the former's guns. On board, at the wheel, was a solitary - and solitary-legged - figure. She jumped up and down and, amplified by sonic manipulation, her voice carried across the water. "Desmond!" it called. "Deeeeessssmooooonnnnnd!" The echo took a moment to fade. "I brought you a ship, captain!" One could sense the grin in Penny's voice, even if it could not be seen. She pointed to the six-gun ketch, packed full of high explosives. "It's the lil' one!

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The Hourglass Order

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Hero

Already tucked in under her blankets, Penelope was not quite ready for sleep. Part of this was simply the natural boundless energy of a six-year-old girl, but another was excitement. The child’s mind was racing through the world in the story and its endless adventures, so different from an everyday life that she was already beginning to conceptualize as mundane and confining. In particular, she was imagining herself as one specific character: a real person, if the book and Madame Touraine were to be believed.

She was kneeling now, with that preternaturally good balance she had developed on one leg, and her covers were currently sloughing away. “Mademoiselle Nelle,” the nanny declared, and she clapped the book shut. “It is bedtime and you well know what that means.”

The little princess sunk onto her haunch, letting herself slouch to the side after a moment. She gazed up at her keeper and the woman gazed down at her: kindly but stern. “Sorry,” the child apologized. “I’m just eggsited for the next part.”

“That’s wonderful to hear. Books are an important part of your education, but you know what you need to do first.” Penelope was already in her nightgown, of course. She settled back under her covers properly and lay her little head on her pillows. “I’m ready, Madame Touraine.”

The nanny reached out and lovingly poked the tip of her nose. “You most certainly are,” she chirped, “And I wonder what’s in the next part that’s so good, hmm?”

The child grinned. “Lady Talit!” she exclaimed, half–sitting up again. Truly, Nelle could read the book for herself. She was almost seven years old, after all, and quite literate. She just liked to hear other people tell the story because they used cool voices and then they got to hear about how awesome Lady Talit was too.

“The yasoi lady?” Madame Touraine inquired.

Penelope nodded vigorously. “She was my great great great great great great great great -” she paused to take a breath. “-great great great great great great great great grandfather’s wife, so that kind of makes her my great great great great great great great great -” Madame Touraine held up a hand for the girl to stop. “Grandmother,” she finished prematurely. It wasn’t enough greats and that bothered her. One needed to be historically accurate, after all.

“Your many greats grandmother was the noble Queen Eleanor, dear.”

The princess sighed. “I know, technically.” She sounded accepting as opposed to enthused.

“A great hero who gave her life to defend the kingdom.”

“But Lady Talit did all that too and lived!” Penelope insisted. She burst out from her covers. “And - and she was like… running around with her chains and her blade crutches and her magic going whoosh, smash, pew!” The child hopped about in her nightgown, adding actions to her words. She stood there, face earnest and arms spread. “Pssshhh.” She made twinkle fingers, mimicking the fallout from an explosion. “She was a dervish,” she added matter-of-factly.

“Penelope de Perrence,” the nanny said sternly. The girl threw herself under her covers following two great bounds, and tucked herself in. “I’m sorry, Madame Touraine. I’m just eggsited… Queen Eleanor was pretty neat too,” she added after a moment.

“What is it with you and this Lady Talit?” asked the nanny with a frustrated sort of fondness.

The child blinked, starting to sit up again and thinking better of it. Madame Touraine had been very patient with her, but she sensed that another interruption would be a bridge too far. “She was like me,” Nelle said quietly instead.

“That’s a much better bedtime voice,” the nanny approved. “But she was yasoi, dear, and lived eight hundred years ago, and was very different from all of us, I fear.”

It wasn’t that. Sometimes, Nelle wondered if Madame Touraine was actually all that smart. Mother had said that she was “plenty smart enough for your needs”, but mother also wouldn’t allow her to leave the castle grounds with her brothers and sisters. “Yeah, but she was like me in one way,” the child mewed. She half sat up and freed an arm, aware of but ignoring the nanny’s warning look. Instead, with her funny hand, she patted the empty space under the covers where everybody else had a leg.

Madame Touraine blinked. “Oh my dear little Nelle,” she said softly, reaching out and stroking the side of the child’s face. “How thick I fear I am.”

The girl snorted. “Yeah, that was pretty dumb, Madame Touraine.”

The nanny pursed her lips.

“Sorry.” She laid back down. “I just wanna be like her,” Nelle whispered, trying to be extra quiet to make up for her bad behaviour.

“Of course, precious,” the woman responded, gently reopening the book. “She did many amazing things and, someday, you will too.”

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She came to on a beach, gazing up at the star-filled sky. For a moment, there was only peace, and Penny was happy. A crab skittered along somewhere close to her head and the waves heaved in and out at her foot. Then, she felt the aches and pains and it all came flooding back to her: being knocked out in a sneak attack, the throbbing pain in her head, the temporary blindness, darkness, and abduction. She'd cast off the chemical magic and fought her way out. She winced and moaned as she tried to take a deep breath. This is what broken ribs feel like, the Perrenchwoman thought. She lay there for a moment, giggling stupidly, but it hurt. She'd never broken a bone in her life. She'd barely even gotten a scrape. Climbed a rocky shore? Fought someone to the death? Her heart pounded at the thought of it. It was crazy: bloody and violent and terrifying, but she'd done it: thrown her strength against a half-dozen hardened cutthroats and overcome them all. Tears streamed down her cheeks, dying in the sand. She found herself strangely compelled to pray.

A Princess' Prayer

In Nomini Ipté, Chune, Orpahe, Echeran, et Dami. Amen. She made the sign of the Pentad, flinching as a badly sprained triceps was forced to flex. Thank you, most divine Pentad, for giving me the strength, wisdom, and good fortune to prevail against those who sought to do me harm and who have harmed so many others. I further give my thanks for the station you have chosen for me: the blood that flows through my veins is that of legendary kings and queens, and some of their strength is mine; the hardness of my mother and father are fires that have tempered me into the weapon of your justice. I shall ever be your faithful servant and endeavour to live as a beacon of your light. She made the sign once more, just as she had most every night since she'd been a little girl, just as Benedict the Blessed had before the Battle of the Plains of Abnegation, as Arcel the Victorious had in his hour of need against the Eskandish hordes of eight hundred years ago. In Nomini Ipté, Chune, Orpahe, Echeran, et Dami. Amen.

Penny managed a deeper breath and, with great pain, forced herself to sit up. The glove over her weird hand was tattered and one of her fingers was broken. Her ankle was twisted and her right triceps howled in agony when she tried to move it. There were scuffs, scrapes, and lacerations everywhere she looked. The youth closed her eyes and drew from her surroundings, finding ample energy. This, she applied first to her ankle and her finger, but she was dazed and the effort was clumsy. She let the rest slip and her ribs and triceps remained a source of pain. Again, she reached out, this time gripping the small medallion of Dami's Hammer that she'd worn for this mission. Scrapes healed over, soft and pinkish. Lacerations closed themselves, and the tear in her muscles eased somewhat. It was then that Penny heard the distant voices of what she could only assume were more members of the crew that had tried to kidnap her. Pushing off, she rose to her foot and cast about for her crutch. Dammit! she cursed inwardly. All of the Gift in the world but she was far too dependent upon a stupid stick for basic mobility.

Straining into the distance, Penny spotted something bobbing in the water. Gingerly, she hopped a few steps forward and recognized it for what it was. Taking another painful breath, she stretched out with Kinetic Magic and called it forth from the waves. It arced through the air and snapped straight into her hand. The waves were such a source of power that she continued to draw from them, concentrating as she converted their energy into binding. This, she used to reinforce the bones of her ribcage and the pain began to fade. She took a deep cautious breath. Good enough. There remained yet a painful bruise on her legless hip and a pinch in her right arm, but she was well enough to function and that's what was important.

Peering off into the darkness, Penny couldn't make much sense of anything. It was an unusually black night: only one moon was up, and she still felt a bit woozy. She stumbled around for a bit, searching for some clue, and found herself wandering further up the beach. Then, she saw them: footprints. They were the distinctive mark of a foot and a crutch on sand and they could only be hers. They stretched off into the distance and she now knew a way out. She started to walk.

A Risky Play

Yet, something else grabbed her attention, and the Perrenchwoman twisted suddenly at the sound of paddles meeting water. Voices rose over the crash of the waves and a small pinnace made its way through the shallows. Adrenaline burning through her arteries, Penny ducked into a small rocky alcove and pressed herself up inside of it motionlessly. She could not make out any of the words for certain, but there were more people back where she had escaped from. The small stone building she had destroyed in the process was clearly not all that there was. As she stood in silence, her mind could not help but wander. By the time that the likely pirates had passed her by, the youth had decided to head back and at least try to get the lay of the land. She could not be useless. She needed to return to the others with something to show for her misadventure.

So it was that Penny found herself hurrying along a black sand beach. The tip of her crutch dug in and her boot squelched with water. Quietly, she clambered over the rocks, grimacing as her still-tender arm was forced to flex and strain more than once.

The smoking ruins were a site of investigation as she approached them and, like second nature, the girl gathered energy from their residual heat. This, she put into a powerful illusion, bending the meagre light filtering in from the moons and a couple of lanterns. Sound covered by the waves, Penny slipped past without drawing any notice. Her heart thudded in her chest with a nervous anticipation and she continued onward, in the direction that the investigating seamen seemed to have come from.

She found a narrow stone path over the volcanic rocks. Palm trees swayed in a gentle breeze and mist from a small waterfall dusted her skin. Carefully, the interloper placed foot before crutch, feeling herself a charlatan and a fraud as she continued to bend light around herself. You have one leg, you dumb girl. Certainly, it was slow going and, more than once, she stumbled or had to use magic. More than once, she had to scramble off-path and crouch in the shadows as people passed by. Something had seized the once-spoiled royal, however, and she was determined to press on.

Pay Dirt

She rounded a small promontory and then it lay before her: the mouth of a vast grotto, so tall that a sizable ship might go in and out. Penny let out a soundless whistle. Pay dirt. She grinned and pressed on, senses on high alert, heart racing. "I jus' said keep yer eyes open, man!" came a female voice. Two pirates were approaching. "Eyes open for what?" shouted her partner, frustrated. "A woman?" he snorted. "'spose I should keep me eyes open fer you?"

"I told ye' already, Seamus: A bloody one-legged woman! Can't be easy to miss!"

And yet here she is, thought Penny impishly, slipping right past you. She kept to the shadows and went still as they drew near. It was far less work to bend the light that way. Nothin' to see here, Wingus and Dingus, she willed, and soon she was watching their receding backs. "She's oughta be long gone by now," the male pirate grumbled. "Else dead as dirt."

There was a large ship in the cavern, lit by a number of lanterns. It hovered, phantasmal in the murky near distance, and appeared to be mostly out of the water. Crew members crawled over its surface like crabs, probably scrubbing the hull of worms and barnacles, Penny decided. Its hull seemed unusually dark, and she counted at least thirty-five cannon. This has to be it, she realized, the Maria Nera. There were too many people there, even with many of them outside the grotto picking through the ruins or searching for her.

However, she noticed a second item of interest as she came up to the channel that had allowed the ship to slip inside. Some ways from the Nera was a sizable sub-cave, its entrance well-lit by torches. A handful of guards were talking outside.

Muffling her footsteps and slowing to a snail's pace, the Perrenchwoman slipped smoothly inside. Sure enough, there was a massive treasure trove, much of it in Revidian coinage. She took a moment to tune into the guards' conversation. "Cap's bringing the goods home," promised one. "Nothin' to worry about!" There came a second voice. "Just hope they understand why. It looks bad from the outside. Everyone thinks he's a hero, you know: busy kissin' his arse." This kind of eavesdropping would only ever provide her with an incomplete picture. Penny needed more than that, so she decided to go deeper. The cave branched, and curtains covered one of the branches. Well, if that's not something worth investigating, she thought, then I don't know what is! On a desk in the small, well-appointed room, she found a captain's log. The flag of Segona hung upon the wall opposite wall above an unusually opulent bed: a more battered version of the sort of thing she might've slept on at home. Penny took a moment to open the journal. The handwriting was very neat - feminine, she imagined - and there were plenty of details, particularly something about a 'fight for freedom' and a 'dastardly uncle'. The intruder decided that she could read it all later. She palmed the small journal, stuffed it into her belt, and turned to keep exploring deeper.

There was the expected treasure: gold, spices, medicines, and valuable stones. About to leave, the Perrenchwoman paused. There was a midsized lockbox, shoved off in a corner, conspicuous only in its pointed inconspicuousness. Creeping up to it, she drew from the lock mechanism using binding magic and it shattered. She took a moment to apply some of the repurposed matter in healing her arm and her stump. She rolled and flexed the latter and propped the former on her crutch handle. Inside the lockbox, however, lay only disappointment: an old lamp and nothing more. It was the simple kind too, with only a candle and some old-style glass: a Chune Lamp, people called it, for that's how the Seeker of Knowledge's holy symbol was always portrayed. Penny thought about bringing it along. Wouldn't it be something if that was the actual Lantern of Chune? She shook her head to clear it, rolled her eyes, and decided that it was probably time to get out of here.

Before she could make it more than a couple of steps, however, the sound of approaching footsteps threw her into a near-panic. Penny darted into a darkened alcove and held her breath. "Coulda sworn I heard somethin'," one of the pirates insisted. The other's eyes swept the room. "Aye, I think she doubled back, sneaky lil' wench." They were talking about her! They were onto her! A cold, prickly shot of adrenaline shuddered through her veins. If these two spotted her, even if they shared their suspicions with other members of the crew, it could be very bad. They would come swarming for her by the dozens and she could not hope to fight them all off. I'm sorry, she thought, but you have to die.

Rising up behind them, the Blood Mage pulled with all of her might. The two men disintegrated, heads first, and she watched them die. Immediately, she hunched over, hands on her knee, and swallowed back the bile rising in the back of her throat. Those were someone's children, she thought, maybe someone's fathers. Holy shit! She stood uneasily and gulped a couple of times. Magic power coursed through her veins and she used it conjure some light, doing a final sweep of the caves, that lantern still nagging at the back of her mind. It began to dawn on the one-legged woman, then, that she was playing a very dangerous game. It was time to get out of here. Making haste, she darted out of the cave, glancing about as she went. With the coast looking clear, Penny took a couple of steps, but then she was falling. The world spun and she hit the ground with a painful smack. Her lip split and her vision blurred. The journal tumbled away to the edge of the water, its pages getting wet, and she lay there, stunned, her crutch clattering on the rocks.

Now or Never

She blinked and started to regain her bearings. Idiot! She'd missed a step: simple as that. Hissing in pain, she clambered to her foot, retrieving her crutch. There were pirates coming now: a pair of them wading through the shallows, but there might be more at any moment. The youth's mind burned with adrenaline and she called the journal to her hand. Ahead was the channel, and beyond it a sandbar and eventual freedom. "You there!" shouted one of the approaching enemies, "who are yah?"

"Ay! Stop!" warned the other. Drawing from the current, Penny unleashed an Arcane Lance that skewered the first through the head. Her body dropped with a splash into the shallows. The second, she was only able to wound, and he opened his mouth to scream a warning at the top of his lungs. His friend's killer, however, drew from the current for a second time and dampened the sound all around him. His cries did not leave his immediate vicinity and her stomach coiled up inside. She felt like a monster as she reached out with a telekinetic fist and snapped his neck.

Then, as she began wading though the deepening water, preparing to push off and swim, things took a turn for the worse. A pair of sharks, drawn by the blood, entered the shallows. Instantly, Penny knew that she could not outswim them, and she did not feel confident trying to fight them in the water. Instead, she drew energy from their very motion though it, backpedaling as quickly as she could, and used that to alter their primitive brains. Induced to fear, the beasts fled out the grotto's entrance, startling a second pair of pirates who'd been sauntering closer. Their potential victim breathed a sigh of relief. Nobody else was coming for her. She sat on the rough, gravelly ground at the sub-cave's entrance for a moment, steadied her nerves and...

It was like the damned thing was calling for her: that lantern. Penny stood, retrieved her crutch and hustled back inside. Prying open the lockbox, she fished it out. I hope you're worth it, she mused, turning on her heel and making haste out. Diving once again into the water, she found that it was not easy going. She stumbled on a protruding rock almost immediately, and both book and lantern were splashed. Glancing over her shoulder, the interloper could see the pirates who'd been scared off by the shark earlier, making their way over. Their eyes wandered in her direction and one leaned in towards the other. She kicked off, trying to gain some momentum, but it was a struggle to hold both book and lantern clear of the water while swimming. She needed a new plan. They'd seemed to notice her now. They were pretending not to, but one's hand was resting on the hilt of her sword.

---

♪

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Penny drew, then, with everything that she could, from the stone of the grotto itself. Rock began to crackle and a couple of large chunks plummeted from the ceiling to land with a splash. Shouts echoed through the dimness and people scrambled about. Up above, cracks began to form and the youth's stomach went cold. Too much! Driven by desperation and adrenaline, she turned the repurposed energy into Kinetic and rocketed out the channel, past great crumbling pillars of stone. A small section of the grotto outright collapsed, but she was past it, riding the wave. She found herself bobbing up and down beside her crutch in the cold dark waters of the ocean. Another moon had risen and it was brighter now. The lantern and journal hovering above her head in a kinetic grasp, she continued to tread water for a moment. You're no fish, stupid, she chided herself, making for shore.

Opportunity Knocks

Then, however, an opportunity too good to pass up presented itself. A small bomb ketch sat there at a small within the hidden cove, completely unguarded as people rushed to deal with the collapse. Tossing the lantern, the journal, and her crutch inside first, the one-legged woman climbed aboard. At the sight of six cannon, a mortar, and crates worth of explosives, her eyes lit up. Momentarily, her thoughts turned to her teammate, Desmond. Who says you get to be the only captain? cutting the mooring ropes, she cast about for a captain's hat and any sort of noteworthy gear. Instead, she only succeeded in catching her foot on a coil of rope and tripping painfully. "Damidammit!" she hissed, rolling into a seated position. Gritting her teeth, she examined her hands and rubbed at her knee.

She had bigger things to worry about, though. Penny had read books about sailing: plenty of books. She'd always found it fascinating, adventurous, and romantic, but she'd never actually done it. She hurried about the tiny ship, using her magic to unfurl this or tighten that. Slowly but surely, the ketch started to lurch forward. Her heart leapt and she took a moment to look up at the stars for some navigational aid. With more luck than skill, she was able to make it through the gap between two rocky islets. The great wide sea stretched out in front of her. Yet... to the side lay another opportunity.

Moored at another small dock was a rather large... She paused, trying to remember the rigs of various seacraft. It wasn't a Brig... A snow! she thought. There were precisely two sailors aboard from what she could see, and the rushed over to shout at her. "Avast!" shouted one. "Aaayy! Where you going with that!?" demanded the second. They were standing right beside each other. With a puckish smile, Penny smacked their heads together. Both went limp.

Fortune's Favourite Daughter

She had pushed this far and done this much and it stood to reason that she should not press lady luck much further. Yet, she thought back to those childhood tales of kings, queens, knights, mages, and great adventurers. She thought of the hundred risky plays of Lady Talit. Her first one had cost her a leg. The other ninety-nine had brought her wealth and renown. Penny grabbed the coil of rope, wound up, and tossed it as far as she could. When it began to slacken, she lifted it up the rest of the way with telekinesis. It landed on the larger ship's deck and she followed moments later.

The thieving interloper found that she had much to do. First, she tied the ketch fast to the snow's stern. Next, she used what spare rope remained to bind the pair of guards to the mainmast. She glanced about the vessel. It wasn't large, like the big merchantmen and warships of her father's fleet, but it mounted fourteen guns that she'd counted and felt like a true ship: one that was about to be hers. With a bit of Arcane magic, Penny burnt the mooring lines apart and cast off. Sails unfurled themselves. Ropes tightened. Planks creaked and groaned. A gigantic grin split the lower half of the youth's face. All of those years of being nothing and doing nothing. They were well and truly behind her. Perhaps this was just beginner's luck, or perhaps she was merely fortune's favourite daughter, but she did not believe that either was the case.

The snow was well underway now, the ketch tethered astern of it. Penny reached out with the Gift, drawing from the endless power of the waves, and created some wind. Sails filled and the little flotilla picked up speed. With some difficulty and a good deal more luck, she left the cove and struck out along the coast towards the town and her allies. Along the way, she found a stool to lean against and, on it, a great plumed tricorn hat. This, she settled jauntily on top of her head. She couldn't wait to see the look on Desmond's face. Maybe she'd let him have the ketch if he asked nicely. Time to meet the others. A captain needs a crew, after all.

---

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The Hourglass Order

_{^{Art by acidlullaby}}

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_{^{This is not an update. It is only a solo post.}}

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🙨 ☊☋☊ ❀ ☋☊☋ 🕱 ☊☋☊ ❀ ☋☊☋ 🕱 ☊☋☊ ❀ ☋☊☋ 🕱 ☊☋☊ ❀ ☋☊☋ 🙨 ☊☋☊ ❀ ☋☊☋ 🕱 ☊☋☊ ❀ ☋☊☋ 🕱 ☊☋☊ ❀ ☋☊☋ 🕱 ☊☋☊ ❀ ☋☊☋ 🙨

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The tiles were the same: worn, patterned sandstone, they passed beneath Jocasta's wheels the same as they had six years ago, same as they had passed beneath her feet, same as they would another six or even sixty years from now, when she was long gone. She nearly smacked into Yalen, so absorbed was she, and she pulled quickly back on her wheels. For his part, the monk jumped like a scared animal.

Normally, Jocasta would have had to stifle a snicker at that, but he looked so genuinely spooked for a moment that she didn't find it amusing. She managed a quick apology as last night's actions came flooding back to her. She'd killed Gutierrez. A shiver ran down her spine. She'd killed ninety-two people so far, but none had ever been so personal. It had been six years since she'd looked a man in the eyes as he'd died. Murder was very much an abstract thing for Jocasta. Could Yalen know something? She'd fixed her eyes ahead to avoid any further near-collisions, but they slid uneasily in his direction. Would she have to kill him? She did not want to. He was a religious fool, but a good person. Her world started to seem a little bit colder.

The others were in various states of walking, most of them rather quiet. It was Kaspar's and Ysilla's default state. Zarina was nowhere to be seen. Yalen remained oddly silent, though, like a frightened animal, and for a moment, it made her want to hurt him. What are you all vulnerable and timid looking for? Who pissed in your porridge, you little bitch? She knitted her brows together, took a breath, and decided that the thought had been unnecessarily mean. Still, a deep kind of anxiety settled in the pit of her stomach, right down close to where her feeling ended, to where she wouldn't be able to feel anything in a couple of years' time. Jocasta didn't want to think about that. Death was inevitable. Her clock was ticking, and it ticked so much faster than the others'. Gods, she hated this place. She hated the oil lanterns that hung on their chains from the ceiling, the pale greyish-yellow of the colonnades and tiles, the way the heat rolled in from the desert in waves that distorted the air. She could breathe in the dust: that same smell she had known as a child. She did not want to be here. 'Here' was a place that should not have existed and, even if she destroyed it all, she knew that she could not heal the damage that it had done to her and a thousand other people.

Ayla looked lonely and needy, though perhaps it was just the Tethered girl projecting her own weaknesses onto the Torragonese. She was small and sweet, though, and Jocasta made an effort to come up beside her and take her hand. Wordlessly, she flashed a little smile and knitted her fingers into her teammate's.

Their morning meeting was a mundane enough affair at first, but it shed some light on where the aberration might be. It's far. She'd reached out for it and hadn't sensed it. She was sure that the Warden had already had his people reach for it too, but he wasn't about to risk his cash cows out in the desert. Somehow, his call for help had reached the Paradigm, and quickly. The bigger questions, quite frankly, were just what an aberration of that size was doing way out in the desert and how on Sipenta the Warden planned to dispose of it. More likely that he was hoping some animals would take it in and their group would dispose of the animals. Let them suffer for human failures. She gritted her teeth and, it seemed, was gritting them forevermore after that. With each lie and dismissive remark from the Warden, her anger grew, tempered only by the fact that they genuinely did not seem to suspect that Gutierrez was dead, much less that she'd done it. She had only Yalen to worry about, potentially, and if he did know, the fact that he hadn't said anything yet meant that he likely wouldn't until confronting her. She would tell him the truth, then. She would see how righteous his religion truly was. If he accepted the necessity of what she'd done, then there would be no problem. If he didn't, then she might be able to live with herself should she have to do what she did not want to.

Jocasta did not enjoy breakfast. The very smell of the churros reminded her of her breakfasts with the previous Warden: that sugary sweetness to cover up the rot. On the wall, the stupid clock ticked away and she hated it. The others probed after useless things, but Jocasta was already on thin ice. She was six years older, there were few staff left from back then, and she had changed her hair colour and skin tone. One might mistake her now for for a fair Kerreman, Eskandish, or southern Perrenchwoman as opposed to the swarthy Dorvalish that she was. Still, she did not want to draw any more attention to herself than the great deal already drawn by the mere fact that she was Tethered.

Then, as matters were wrapping up, Ayla asked Marceline for a tour. The girl's eyes darted awkwardly in Jocasta's direction and the older Tethered gave a tiny nod. They'd been planning to meet. If Father truly had an ally here, then perhaps they could move forward. Alas, it was not to be... for now. A tour...chatting and smiling with the others. That was something that Jocasta did not want and could not do, but to be on her own in this place...

The Breakdown

When everyone was finished, she excused herself and the seed of an idea started to take root in her mind. Yet, fertile soil was not in the offing. They went their separate ways and Jocasta found herself alone beneath the colonnade. She rolled up to the balustrade, posting her elbows on the warm stone surface like a reptile trying to absorb its radiated heat. She couldn't look at Activity Day with its careful scheduling and fleeting happiness. It just repeated, again and again and again! Wasted lives! Those poor young human beings: stems without roots, just like her, yanked from their soil and fed endless placebos until they just quietly died here in those little rooms for the zeros, purposeless and forgotten. Her vision blurred and she just... couldn't. Jocasta - or whatever her true name had once been - could have all of the RAS that she wanted. She could rise up like a righteous angel of death and burn this place to the ground, but what would it do in the grand scheme of things? What would it make her but a murderer? What would it make the Tethered but homeless, crippled orphans with no idea how to use their magic or function in the real world? It wouldn't change that they would all die before they truly got to live. It was something that she could not fight, or at least not with any hope of winning.

She buried her head in her arms and cried bitter tears. She wanted to live: Gods, she wanted to live, to feel the sun's glow on her skin, to laugh, to love, to run through an open field with the wind in her hair and the cool grass beneath her toes, to be young like everyone else - young with a future, like Ayla, like Zarina and Ysilla and Kaspar. Why couldn't she? In her coming years, there was no tenderly cradling a baby and rocking him to sleep, feeling the kiss of a husband, holding hands by the ocean, growing old in the arms of a loved one, watching her children become people she could be proud of. Instead, she was a heartless murderer who'd given herself to someone else's grand cause so that she didn't have to feel. Feeling hurt. Ipte, it hurt, just like this. Jocasta would be gone in ten years, her body wasting away before then like her soul already was. The only legacy that she would leave would be the impacts of her actions, for even her name would stay unknown.

She straightened, then, and sniffed, tears staining her cheeks. She sniffed again, feeling disgusting, and took a couple of long, unsteady breaths. You're fine, she told herself. That was indulgent, she told herself, but she wasn't and it wasn't. She pulled upon the Gift, tears evaporating from her cheeks, and placed her hands back on the wheels of this damned device her body needed just to move itself around without using magic. Her skin returned to its porcelain perfection, her posture and bearing dignified. Jocasta took a moment to fix her hair. If she could not get anything productive done, then she could resolve these stupid emotional matters here and now and have them out of her way. What she couldn't do, however, was be alone.

Pushing off smoothly, she rolled down the colonnade, a gentle breeze whistling past her ears. It was muscle memory: she could navigate this place blindly if she needed to. All of those blissful childhood games of tag amid the plants and pillars, until running became harder, and then even walking and she had to become an observer. Those nights spent wandering the grounds, having slipped out after curfew. The secret training sessions in the outer compound and the way she'd linger before and after.
She was decaying, but this place was unchanging.

Jocasta had just made it down the short ramp into the courtyard, when she spotted one of the magpies who laundered the bed sheets. Avoiding a small barrier and some bushes, she made haste across the packed dirt. "Hola. ¿Hay alguien llamado Amanda aquí?"*¹ she asked in her best Torragonese. The caretaker looked at her uncertainly for a moment. "Amanda," the Tethered clarified. "Ella sería un cero si todavía estuviera aquí."*²

The woman's eyes narrowed. "¿Tú... no eres un residente aquí?"*³

Jocasta's heart skipped a beat. "No. Sólo estoy de visita"*⁴

"Ah, sí, sí. Amanda..." There was an extended pause as the caretaker considered. "Ella es un poco mayor", she replied. "No sé si está viva con certeza, pero estaba en... la habitación 304 en el área de Zeroes la última vez que la vi".*⁵

Room 304. That was one of the ones with a courtyard view. She started to back away. "Muchas gracias!" she replied, turning and wheeling off. Why was Jocasta doing this, again? Why was she so bent on ruining everything just for some emotional satisfaction. Yet... it was hardly something she could pass up. Amanda was eleven years her senior. When she'd first arrived, it had been into the older girl's strong, comforting arms. When she'd left, it had been sudden, just as the first serious numbness had started to spread through her mentor's hands and she'd been struggling with the impending end of her active role.

Jocasta hurried up the ramp and from one covered colonnade to the next, grabbing corner pillars and swinging herself around them to keep up her speed as she turned. A part of her dreaded what she would see. If Amanda still lived, she would be near the end, and the end was not pretty. Still, it had lingered with her how she had just left without saying goodbye. It hadn't been intentional. It hadn't been planned, but the feeling of having betrayed an elder sister was not something that she felt good about. Plus, she needed some wisdom. Amanda had always been wise, or perhaps Jocasta had just been a child. She did not know but chose to believe the former.

Arriving at the Torre de la Soledad, hairs began to prickle down the back or her neck and arms. A tall, squarish citadel made of reddish-yellow sandstone, it seemed more fortress than residence, here in its own corner of the refuge. Meekly, Jocasta rolled up to the gate. It was unlocked during the day, though none but caretakers ever really went in or out. After the first year or so, where people came to visit and talk with them, keeping them apprised of the refuge's daily happenings, the Zeros were inevitably forgotten.

Torre de la Soledad

Reaching up, Jocasta pushed the lock and the gate slid open with a groan and a clank. She pushed her way through the land of deep shadows and shade, towards the extra wide lift that yawned like a great fish's mouth. The smell of dirt and pollen gradually gave way to something mustier and... less alive as she rolled inside. Usually, from her experience, the lifts were staffed, but this one was not. The twenty-year-old was not in the mood to work the pulley herself, so she used the Gift instead. The lift shuddered as it rose, thick ropes spooling and unspooling, light from tiny windows illuminating the dimness and the sparkling dust in the air until she reached the third floor. Jocasta reached out and pulled down the lever that anchored the lift to that floor, lest it plummet and take its passengers to their deaths. Easing out into narrow, poorly lit stone hallway, she glanced at the walls for any directional signs. A single caretaker passed by, his bearing indicating that he was not to be bothered, and so she let him pass.

Determinedly, Jocasta set hands to wheels, and made it a few yards in one direction before realizing that she was going the wrong way and turning around. The floors here were older than in the rest of the Refuge: less even and far more worn. She either hadn't noticed on the couple of occasions she'd been here as a child or it just hadn't seemed relevant. Now, however, as she craned her neck to peer up at the passing door numbers, her mind burned with questions. Maybe it had been a fortress at some point in the distant past. It certainly seemed to be older than anywhere else.

Then, she was there. So much had she been occupied with thought that she'd almost missed it. Jocasta paused and squared herself up in front of the old wooden door. It was the final one before the corner. She was going to simply push it open and roll in, come whatever she would find, but she hesitated. Amanda. It had been six years. She glanced both ways down the hallway and then gathered her magic. With some concentration and an advanced Chemical spell, her hair and skin darkened to the colours that they had been during her childhood. With a deep breath, Jocasta reached out to knock, but then then the door opened of its own accord.

Amanda

Inside, in a high-backed chair that reclined about thirty degrees, with small wheels and large padded armrests, was a woman. She had Amanda's face, but was otherwise a ghost. Gone were the strong arms and great thick shoulders that had held Jocasta up as a girl so that she could reach oranges for the both of them from Pulpo Viejo.*⁶ Her fingers were curled in, bony and twisted, her biceps and triceps withered as much as her legs had always been. Her chest and trunk, all their vitality gone, were propped up between a pair of padded side-rests, slouched slightly and awkwardly to one side. Yet, this ghost still had Amanda's sparkling eyes and, when she opened her mouth, Amanda's smile and voice. "Consuela..." She blinked in disbelief. "Have I just finally lost it or is that actually you?"

Jocasta managed a smile, closing the door behind herself. "You were never sane, Amanda. This is just the latest episode."

The woman who had been older sister, mother, mentor, and friend to her snorted. "Still with that devil's tongue of yours, hmm?" she replied.

"That's another thing you imagined, loca," the younger woman said flippantly. She pushed herself a few feet closer, stopping and trying to meet Amanda's eyes. It seemed some effort for her to crane her neck forward while her seat leaned back.

"Oh, I don't suppose this is all my imagination too?" the Zero offered, eyes roving pointedly about the room. Besides her chair, there was a bed, a window, and a particularly ancient desk in the old Torraure style. A lantern, currently dark, sat on the last of these, along with some books. There were a handful of drawings and paintings, old and yellowed, stuck to the walls with putty. With a start, Jocasta recognized one as her work from ten years ago. Amanda sighed, eyes fixed on the younger woman in wary, hopeful disbelief. "Don't break my heart," she practically whispered. "Truly, it's you, but how?" She paused awkwardly for a moment, as if wanting to pair it with a gesture that she could no longer make. "They said you ran. They said you were dead!"

Six years had passed. Amanda had been so much to her back then, but Jocasta was not one to divulge secrets now. "Reports of my demise were... greatly exaggerated," she said with a smirk.

"You sneaky little bitch," teased Amanda, "I wanna know how you did it. Maybe I can join you out there, huh?" She winked and, to the younger woman's surprise, her chair moved a bit, so that she could glance between Jocasta and the window. She smirked softly. "What? Did you forget I had the Gift?" She rolled her eyes. "Gods know I literally would've gone mad without it, these past few years..."

Regrets

They exchanged weak smiles and then a silence built around them: one built on having so much to say that one does not know what should be chosen, one built upon lives not lived, one built upon regret and a desire not to let it take the reins of conversation. "I'm... sorry, Amanda, for just leaving," said the grown woman she had known as a girl named Consuela. I just -

"Oh shut up, would you?" Amanda's eyes flicked her way, and then back out the window that she must've spent all day staring out. "We all knew what was going on. We all knew how unhappy you were, but we didn't say anything, like cowards, like we had anything to lose." Her head came round to regard Jocasta. "We thought you'd finally fought back and he had beaten you and killed you. Nobody talked about you after that. It was... too painful." Her eyes welled up and the younger woman set hands to wheels and glided up immediately beside her, casting about for something to wipe them with.

Amanda blinked the tears away "Don't worry, Chela, I'm good at making them go away." Her voice cracked.

"I won't judge you for crying them, you know." Jocasta glanced down at her lap and then her eyes found some cotton swabs on a small tray by the bed. She began to reach for them. "Not those, tonta," Amanda scolded. "I have so few and I don't get more 'til next week."

Jocasta pulled her hand back and straightened. "What are they even for?" she inquired, and the older woman's eyes went off somewhere else. "For my ears, for sleep," she replied after a moment. "For peace sometimes during the day."

The visitor snorted. "Always such a light sleeper," she teased, backing up a bit and half-turning to take in the room. "So, I see you still have-"

"It's for the screams." Amanda turned to face her, cumbersome and inelegant. Jocasta could feel the energy swirl. "Some nights, the others scream. Some days they do: they scream from the boredom, the loneliness, because they're going crazy." Her gaze became intense, suddenly, burning into the younger woman. "They beg for death, Chela. That's the reality, but nobody here will give it to them because it's a sin to kill, they say. If you go on your own, they'll ease you off into Mommy Eshiran's arms, all tender love and care. Until then... you have to li - exist like this. Just a couple more years, they say." She shook her head bitterly, "And you'll be free and happy in one of the five heavens, your suffering in life rewarded in the afterlife."

Jocasta's guts tied themselves into knots at the speech. "Mandi..." she squeaked. "I'm... sorry."

"Don't be, sister." The woman's eyes followed her. "You are... my hero now. I'm... honestly jealous. I wish I'd done it, you know, on one of those stupid missions: taken the risk and just run. Lived however long I was going to but enjoyed it!"

Jocasta paused, knitting her hands in her lap and glancing down at them. "I could still-"

"Don't be stupid, snapped Amanda lovingly. "I'm finished and I've accepted it. Maybe another year and a bit. I made my bed and I sleep in it. I have my regrets, but they're mine."

The younger woman took a couple of breaths and nodded. This conversation had long since slipped out of the realm of pleasantries, as she'd known it would. "The thing is -" She gulped. "I'm not enjoying it." She looked up. "I'm mean and miserable and afraid all the time. I wanna change the world and do great things, but I'm one person! Half a person!" She put hands to wheels and began pacing, as had been her habit since childhood. "And I was fine with it too, until recently." She paused and looked significantly in Amanda's direction. "I was working with people who I thought shared my goals. Maybe they do, whatever those are. They got me into Ersand'Enise."

"Chela, that's -"

"Amazing, right?" She nodded as she spoke and began pacing again. "And it is!" She pivoted suddenly. "I'm there around people my age again: bright people, beautiful people, smart and powerful people who are going to own the world someday." She resumed her pacing. "But I'm there like this interloper, this imposter: the one who clearly doesn't belong." She could feel the stupid tears coming again. "When I'm not busy being a snarky lil' cunt, they even like me, just like I'm one of them, a friend: another young person who has a future."

"But you don't, little Chela." Amanda shook her head sadly, an enigmatic expression resting on her lips. "You will always be a snarky little bitch. It's terminal."

Jocasta let out a snort of laughter between the tears, and shamelessly sucked up a dribbler that had been threatening to break loose and drip onto her lap. "Death by snarkiness," she sniffed. "And bitchiness." It occurred to her how badly she could use a hug, and how very long it had been since she'd really had one.

Judgement

"You know," said Amanda, tilting her head to the side, "That reminds me of Esparza." She pursed her lips for a moment. "There was some big excitement last night. When the Magpies came to check on me, they said he'd died of a heart attack." She paused meaningfully. "And then Gutierrez this morning, dead as well."

A wicked cold pulse shot through Jocasta, and adrenaline replaced prolactin. "Gutierrez didn't die," she countered quickly. "Much as I wish he had. He just ran: the coward."

Amanda regarded her evenly, though. "You've grown very much, Chela, but your acting is as bad as ever."

"You really are losing it, Mandi," she said dismissively, but her heart was hammering.

"Am I now?" The older woman was implacable. She narrowed her eyes. "Then why is your heart beating so fast? She blinked. "Why is your brain pumping out adrenaline?" She rolled forward a bit. "Why did I feel strange and very powerful magics from his room last night?"

Jocasta's body told her to back up. Her mind told her to strike now and kill. After a moment of internal struggle, she disobeyed both. She was silent and waited.

"And then Vargas, that bastard, six years ago, leaving and never coming back the day after you were reported dead." Amanda regarded her evenly.

She knows, Jocasta realized. She really, truly knows. Her 'big sister' had finished and now she needed to say something: to respond. She reached out with the Gift and deadened the sound from leaving this room. Amanda smiled coldly and knowingly. "So what of it?" Jocasta found herself saying. "What if I did kill three bad men? One who raped me, one who raped others, and one who tried to stop me from escaping." She sat tall and proud, jaw fixed. "I am not ashamed of what I did, nor should I be. Death is a part of life and I have delivered it to those who harm others."

Amanda sighed. With a small kinetic tug, she turned half away. "You're not wrong," she sighed, glancing out the window. "But you didn't do it for others, little sister." Her eyes evaluated Jocasta. "You did it for you, because you thought it would make you feel better. Did it?" she asked.

"Too early to tell," the younger woman replied evenly. "And, whatever you think my motives were, I saved more people from them."

"Mmm." Amanda nodded. "Until they are replaced with others exactly the same."

A Plan

"Then what should I do?" burst Jocasta. "I'm one person, with one life, and I have maybe six more years of being useful!" She put hands to wheels again and pushed frustratedly past Amanda to the window. "I can give my everything to the group I am part of and hope that they can help people like us, but they have others they're trying to help too, you know." She half-turned and then gazed out the window. "Or I can just accept defeat and live this joke of a life and try to be happy until I can't be anymore."

"You are not a god, Conseula."

"I should be."

Amanda let out a snort. "You cannot have everything that you want, and that isn't just you. It's like that for everyone. Sure, people like ourselves: we have it worse in many ways - you'll get no argument from me on that - but everyone struggles with the paths not taken, with the things they want that are beyond them." She rolled forward until their chairs were touching, and then her hand rose, cradled by kinetic magic. Her fingers opened in that same grasp and ran themselves along the side of Jocasta's face and through her hair. "Make your choice, precious sister, and be happy with it. Know that it's yours and that you're doing something with your life, even if it isn't everything. And... if you find you don't like it? Do something else."

Jocasta threw her arms around Amanda then, squeezing as had as she dared for fear of breaking the fragile woman. Bony arms wrapped themselves around her in return and she let herself relax into them: safe and loved. "See, this is why I came all the way from that fancy academy," she joked. "Those mages can have all the degrees and power and RAS levels they want, but none know what to say quite like you." For a moment, a pit of coldness opened in Jocasta's stomach. And soon, you'll be gone and there will be nobody, she thought, but she pushed it away. "You will find my price quite reasonable," replied Amanda. "Bruja!" wailed Jocasta. "An hourly rate of only two neskals," laughed the older woman, "With the first half hour being half-"

"You'd better pray harder, vieja. With fees like that, you're going to hell."

Amanda giggled, and they pulled back from each other, her hands slipping limply away. "That's the plan. I'd miss you too much if I went to a heaven."

Jocasta laughed. She took a moment to straighten herself out in her wheeled-chair, and swept some hair from her face. Gently, she reached over and did the same for the older Tethered. "Thank you, sister." She took a second to clear her throat. "Thank you for being you and being here for me. You really are the best."

"I know," Amanda chirped, and Jocasta blushed. "Now, I can see the way you're keeping your hands light on your wheels. I know that means you're about to go."

"Yeah," the younger woman admitted. She glanced over her shoulder at the door. "I have to go kill a Sand Wyrm." She smirked nervously.

"Echerran Mio!" Amanda exclaimed. "A fucking Sand Wyrm?"

"Well, not actually," Jocasta admitted. "Not yet." She shrugged. "But I think it'll come down to that. They haven't given us any way to absorb this big aberration, so they must be waiting for an animal to do it, and that's the only one big enough."

Amanda's face looked distressed for a moment, but she furrowed her brow and bit her lower lip in that expression Jocasta knew to mean that she was thinking. That was good, for she was one of the very smartest people that the girl had ever met. Sure enough: "I will think on it, she promised. "Be careful out there and come back to see me tonight, when you're back at the Refuge."

Jocasta was already pushing herself forward, and she paused before the door, half-turning. "Always, Mandi. Don't worry. I will see you tonight, and I may bring... friends." With a quick smile, she opened the door and peered out into the hallway. The coast was clear. She gathered her energies as she wheeled out and her skin itched and burned for a moment as she reverted it back to its usual pale colour. Her hair went blonde too. Momentarily, Jocasta twisted around and peeked back in through the crack, grinning impishly. "You never saw Consuela, okay?" she prodded, "it's Jocasta."

"I really am going crazy," replied her big sister.

Then, the door was closed and Jocasta sat in the middle of a hallway. She estimated she had been about an hour in all and had perhaps half that left: just enough time to rush to her room and grab a few things, relieve herself, and take an orange from Pulpo Viejo before meeting with the others. She found her direction and rolled briskly down the hallway. The desert beckoned and, with it, the hope that they could set things right.

---

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Translations

1) "Hello. Is there someone named Amanda here?"

2) "She would be a zero if she was still here."

3) "Are you... not a resident here?"

4) "No. I'm just visiting"

5) "Ah, yes yes. Amanda. She's a bit older. I don't know if she's alive for sure, but she was in...room 304 in the Zeroes area the last time I saw her."

6) Old Octopus

O R I F L A M M E

<Snipped quote by Dao Ma>

Past the deadline...hrrrg! I can do it!

@Siber

Deadline's next Saturday, homey. You're good.

The Hourglass Order

@Pirouette I can do two hours! Cya then!