So worried right now. My brother just got admitted to the hospital after swallowing six toy horses. Doctors say he's in stable condtion.
8
likes
3 yrs ago
Nice to meet you, Bored. I'm interested!
7
likes
3 yrs ago
Ugh. Someone literally stole the wheels off of my car. Gonna have to work tirelessly for justice.
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Bio
Oh gee! An age and a gender and interests and things. Yeah, I have those. Ain't no way I'm about to trigger an existential crisis by typing them all out, though. You can find out what a nerd I am on discord, okay?
For a moment, Manfred locked eyes with Eun-Ji and nodded. He'd been counting on her intervention and she hadn't let him down. It was refreshing to have at least one reliable element within the larger scope of this disaster. In the background, the Kerreman could hear Zarra going on like a yappy little dog, but he shot a glance back and saw that the shifty Perrenchman was actually following orders for once, so the rest was immaterial. For the time being, maybe two reliable elements, he conceded hesitantly.
Then, a new cluster of rioters broke into the rear atrium where the group was standing. One was swinging a table leg like a club, smashing gambling tables, mirrors, and light fixtures. Another was using arcane magic to melt into a safe, a third was smashing lockboxes and scooping coins into a sack, and a fourth went straight for the liquor behind the bar, drinking some and throwing bottles, lighting a few on fire. "Why the fuck don't we get a sniff!?" a smallish labourer bellowed. "Where does all the money go?" screamed a woman. A great big beast of a man was taking a sledgehammer to the walls. "Bread and circuses!" he shouted. "Bread and circuses," in an endless refrain. Upstairs, footsteps could be heard racing about, doors slammed, and shouts pierced the night. At this rate, it was not a matter of 'if' but 'when' things would get out of hand and the ship itself would be critically damaged.
"You!" bellowed one, leveling a pickaxe at Manfred like a pointer, "Rich boy!" The cut of Manfred's clothing, even though it was not ostentatious, gave him away. "Who's side are you on?"
For a moment, he was taken aback. There were six of these people, and at least a couple had clearly displayed some use of the Gift. Manfred did not give the unease that he began to feel any rent on his face, however. "I'm on the side of 'the Rednitz are kotzbrocken and so are most noble folks, but I'd rather not see anyone else die on this ship'." As he said it, however, the idiot who'd been shouting "bread and circuses" like a broken cuckoo clock, managed to finally stick his sledgehammer right through the wall and also the outer hull just beyond it. Cold, dirty water began to pour in and cracks started to form. Manfred's eyes widened. In his head, he recited the extraction words that he and Eun-Ji had been entrusted with, but there was time yet to save matters here. "I would also like this ship to not sink!" he added with some urgency, as the rioters stumbled back, wide-eyed and flinching away from their handiwork. "We can take your demands ashore and force them up the asses of those Rednitz pigs, but this sort of thing-" He gestured at the hole and the water pouring through it "-will only lead to many more labourers like yourselves dying and your overlords being able to sit there on their powdered arses confirming to each other what mindless brutes you all are!"
Drawing on the motion of the water, Manfred lifted the same chandelier cap he'd used to knock out that arcanist earlier and shoved it in there with a kinetic blast. It just about fit, but it was clear that it wouldn't hold for long without some reinforcement: magical or mundane. The water had spread all along the floor now, but was leaking through planks and lower into the cargo hold. Just to think about it: how many incidents like this one were happening elsewhere in the ship? We have to drop everything, he thought, and stop this riot, or it will be the death of hundreds! He had seen Leon, of course, throwing the Lyre. The performer was a wildcard, maybe even daft, but he was not outright mad. Mostlike, it was another illusion, and Manfred had to trust the instinct that told him so. He also reasoned that he should trust the one that told him to put a stop to the riots. It was right about then that he turned to look for Dory in the hopes that she yet stirred. He wanted to apologize to her for his drastic actions and see if he might enlist her in his endeavour. Fiery and - at times - unreasonable though she might have been, she cared about the people of Feska and about being seen as someone who would fight for them.
The only problem was that, when he looked, she - along with Zarra - was gone.
The sun set, leaving curtains of moody orange, fuchsia, and purple behind. As these graduated to midnight blue, the Eskandr offensive died a horrible death upon the beaches of Relouse.
One is told to fear old men in a profession where men die young, yet these ones died without posing much threat at all. They fought honourably. They fought ferociously, in many cases. They earned their places in Gronhall. Yet, they fell to the Perrench defenders and, were this the quality of the entire offensive, there was little doubt that the Quentics would hold out.
As the Eskandr on the beaches petered out, the defenders grew in confidence, shouting paeans to the gods, taunting their failing enemies, and striking directly against the seemingly endless fleet that approached, bottlenecked for some time by the wreckage at the cape. Yet, those strong enough in the Gift or perhaps simply clever enough, soon realized that something was wrong. It was around that time that panicked reports began flashing in from the Witch Wood of a large force making land there, scaling the cliffs or using the Gift to bypass them entirely. For some, visions of Vitroux danced in their minds' eyes. Others maintained that it was a diversion and that the main attack was on the beach. Yet, while there were longships, there were no more invaders. They simply stopped coming. The ships themselves, instead of sliding up against the intertidal cobble, dissipated once they reached land.
That was when the real panic began to set in. Columns abandoned the beach in droves, rushing north to where the small contingent of yasoi and Drudgunzeans were badly outnumbered. Some, however, opted to stay the course. Contradictory orders were shouted. Perrench soldiers, knights, and lords argued. Units became tangled up in each other. For all of its mighty size, the Grande Armee was a nightmare to actually command.
Yet, it was not long before riders arrived from the cape, including Baron Arslan himself, demanding an audience with the king. They swore that the Eskandr force was far more spread than what could be seen from the city, and that it had split. They urged people not to abandon the beach, for worse was coming: far worse.
Then, it happened: first, a massive lightning strike that battered the town's walls. Then another, a third, and a fourth. Sheets of it ripped across the sky. Tendrils splintered and spidered along the aged stone, blackening it. Onagers, catapults, and ballistas splintered. Thatched and wooden roofs burned.
But there was the rain, and the fires did not last against it. What had started as a persistent drizzle had been given time tor grow, to be nourished by a hundred other users of the Gift. It was now a mighty tempest, providing not only nourishment for the heaven-splitting thunder attacks but also drenching the the battlefield, lashing attackers and defenders alike with powerful winds, battering the fast-approaching longships.
Suddenly, they were real again. The first few defenders were caught unawares. Most of the beach's traps and preparations were gone. The first wave had lived and died solely for the purpose of exhausting them. When the ships did not dissipate and real flesh and blood Eskandr leapt from them, it was a cold shock to those who thought that they were merely here to guard and mop up. Less so for the prepared.
The city's defenders rained hellfire from the walls, then. Those on the beach organized and kept their shape, but this, now, was the true strength of the Great Heathen Army that they faced. Walls of flame rolled out from the approaching longships, decimating much of the small, tangled mangrove forest that had grown there over the past few hours. Chains and blades scythed across obstacles, defanging them. The water itself went nearly still where the ships sailed and massive agglomerations of energy made themselves felt. Then, the wind whipped back, reversing rouce into the defenders' faces. The air grew cold and the ground frosty and hail replaced rain. This came screaming at the Parrench now, blinding and pelting them. The Eskandr were nothing if not masters at using their environment to their advantage.
Still, the lightning came, the frequency of the strikes dizzying, and the city suffered. From the walls, arcane mages returned fire, smashing Eskandr ships before they could land, lancing through chests, limbs, and heads with beams of light, sending great roiling fireballs out into the night. The Tourarre horsemen raced back and forth, dodging enemy fire as they went and fighting when forced to as they relayed messages. It was heavy going and the Parrench found themselves pushed back to the harbour, the seawall, and the Porte-Bonheur.
Then, the King appeared, in full regalia, standing atop the parapets. A great bolt of lightning snaked across the sky to strike him, but disappeared before it could reach its target. Arrows disappeared. Eskandr as far away as the Witch Wood and the final few ships rounding Cape Redame collapsed, clutching their heads, chests, and throats. From his sheath, Arcel pulled Sanguinaire, the legendary sword of Echeran. "Hommes et femmes de Parrence," He roared and, somehow, everybody on the battlefield, no matter where they were, could hear him, "tenez ferme contre l'ennemi! Les dieux sont avec nous!"*1 With a grunt, he deflected another lightning bolt, this one aimed at the Harbour Gate. "Allez à la plage," he urged. "Défendez la ville!"*2
As he spoke, the soldiers of Parrence found themselves almost preternaturally buoyed. Fresh vigour flowed through their arteries. Doubt and fear dried up in their minds. Those near the beach found themselves further lifted as Queen Eleanor joined them, clad in shining plate armour. She waded into the thick of the onrushing barbarians, and their attacks, both mundane and magical, seemed to have little to no effect. Yet, the Southmen, how they flocked to her, each seeking the glory of having brought down the enemy's queen in open combat, each eager to sit near the head of the table in Gronhalle. By the dozen, she deflected them, pummeled them with great bursts of force, and flung them back into their allies or the frothing waters. The Parrench rallied around her banner, pushing back against the onslaught and defending the gate. They gained ground.
That's when the shouts started: "Le roi!" screamed one. "Le roi tombe!"*3 Some turned quickly and witnessed the sickening sight of the young King Arcel tumbling from the top of the walls, an enormous lance through his midsection. Limp and bloody, he fell into the river and sunk out of sight. A cry went up from some. Others, unengaged, rushed for the spot and dove in. There were those who reached out for the energy that might've denoted his presence, but it was extremely difficult in the heat and press of battle.
From a stillness in the storm emerged a great dark ship, twice the size of the others, with black and gold sails adorned with a horned kraken. A young woman with silver hair leapt off, streaking through the air on blazing tail of fire and landing in a crouuch. An old man in simple robes was next, clutching a gnarled staff. The very trees seeming to bend and lean towards him. There came a berserker next: lean, shirtless, and corded with wiry muscle, rushing past the others, two axes in hand and another four whirling through the air about him. Finally, there was Hrothgar.
The Eskandr king of kings stalked forward, great shadowy bats and vultures circling him, enfolded in spreading tendrils of darkness. His eyes glowed demonic red and the air itself seemed to recoil from his presence, cold and gusty. The darkness spread to engulf Parrench knights as they screamed and writhed, and when it touched his own soldiers, they swelled and howled, turning into snarling, slavering beasts.
Directly in his path stood Genevieve Chalamet, Baroness of Chambroix, and she was not cowed in the slightest. Lightning to rival that of the the as-yet unseen Eskandr master leapt from her palms and the sky alike. This struck the figure of Hrothgar and, for a moment, he stilled. It arced and sparked from his body and smoke rose from him. Then, he continued his march, drawing a great poleaxe and an even greater amount of energy from the sea behind him. The first he wirled efoore him, ever faster. The second, he slammed into her with such force that she hammered against the city walls and went limp. For a moment, the young baroness stuck fast, crumpled armour and ruined stone holding her up. Then, the battered figure slid down, leaving a trail of smudged blood, and dropped into the river.
Hrothgar cast his gaze about the weakling Greenlanders and there were those who stood in defiance. Yet, many shrank from him, their soft Gods unwilling to reward the glory of a death in battle. He seized upon the Queen's position and began drawing.
In the woods to the north, however, the concerns of the beach and the city walls were too distant to be relevant. The Eskandr were landing in ever greater numbers, probing deep into the forest. Their veteran rangers, under Vali the Twice-Born, called on all of their skills and power to survive the garden of horrors that had grown here and the relentless guerilla strikes of the yasoi in the trees. The very forest itself stood against their march, harbouring poisons, grasping thorns, and relentless illusions to confuse and terrify them. The storm above their heads struck at them with lightning, much of it redirected lovingly by the yasoi thunder practitioners hidden in the branches. The rangers did not lose their cool, however, and struck back where they could, even mustering illusions of their own to inflate their apparent numbers.
Yet, the real armies were coming. The majority of the cliff force, at least a couple thousand strong, arrived under Kol, the Death's Hand, and these followed his blood brother into the forest, a smallish, handsome man with gold hair and a cruel smile racing ahead with blinding speed, daggers in hand. The Strumish king's presentiment that they were marching into the web of some great spider proved correct, however. Among the yasoi lurked the someday-baroness of Loriindton, Talit'yrash'osmax. As she moved towards her enemies, the very fabric of reality seemed to come alive and follow her directive. She would appear, out of nowhere, in one spot and then in another - sometimes even seeming to be in two places at once. The roots and branches of the trees leapt out at Eskandr, dagger-tipped, to tangle, stab, and skewer them from every direction. Knives of hard water lashed up from the puddles, bogs, and ponds that had been born in the storm. The rain itself turned hard and sharp: a thousand tiny daggers that punctured skin, eyes, and eardrums. The water turned red with blood and the roots of the Blackbriar Trees grew engorged upon it. Those strong and brave enough to launch attacks saw them batted away effortlessly, the yasoi only having to lift a hand from her crutches maybe once or twice. Yet, the Southmen kept on coming and it was clear that this was no mere diversion. For the dozens that fell at the fifth-wheel witch's foot, came dozens more, each eager to claim for him or herself an honoured place in Gronhalle.
Elements of the Grande Armee, peeled off from the beach, drew near now and engaged the Eskandr in earnest. The king among them roared his battle challenge and carved a swath through his enemies. Yet, now his force found itself at an increasing disadvantage as numbers were concerned, even with some of the Grande Armee turning and rushing back towards the beach as the main invasion force began to land there. It was clear that the Parrench and their allies would have to hold the Eskandr here, else the city would be attacked from two directions and its already-battered defenses split. It was equally clear to the Eskandr that they would have to do something - anything - to alter the tide of the battle to the north: one where they were outnumbered and outgunned. Then, they came face to face: the king and the 'spider' he had sensed. At least... for a moment. Then, she was nowhere to be seen.
1) Men and women of Parrence, hold firm against the enemy! The Gods are with us!"
2) Get to the beach! Defend the city!
3) The king! The king falls!
1) There are four mighty warriors of the Æresvaktr present, and each will need to be dealt with if you are Parrench or an ally or assisted if you are Eskandr or an ally. They are:
Thorunn Silverhair: crown princess of Heglelich, her father was the one who was sent to the Visitor's tale in the opening chapter. She is in competition with her two brothers to distinguish herself in battle and win the crown. A complete pyromaniac, she is the arcane witch who sent that wave of fire forward that wiped out much of the forest.
Olaf the Aged: an elder shaman, Olaf has survived countless raids and battles. He is a master of the forest and the weather, a weaver of spells and poisons, and a healer of the land and its people. Chanting paeans to the gods, he has landed on the beach, turning much of Nettle's work against her allies.
Hrolf Bloodaxe: A tall, wiry berserker, he has leapt from his ship and raced ahead of his allies, cutting a swath of destruction through his enemies. He is an absolute wildman: extremely quick, nimble, and vicious. He dual wields axes that he both chops with and throws, calling them back to his hands with the magnetic powers of Thunder magic. He generates further crude axes by Blood drawing from fallen enemies and forming them. At any given time, there will be at least four (and up to ten) other blades under his control, forming both an offensive and defensive kill zone.
Sweyn Thunderspear: The foremost Thunder warlock of Eskand and perhaps the known world, the stern, towering figure of Sweyn, with his great forked beard and bristling eyebrows, remains hidden, as he is also an illusionist of some ability. He continues his relentless strikes against the city and any targets wearing conductive armour. His power and precision are not to be underestimated.
Horik the Gold: a deadly illusionist and assassin, Horik is small, wiry, and muscular, with long golden hair and a neatly trimmed beard. He uses powerful Force magics to boost his speed to inhuman levels, and Essence magics to suffer no ill effects while rendering his enemies, sluggish, ill, and impotent. Fading in and out of sight, he kills with knives and shortswords, licking the blood of his enemies from them in a macabre ritual. He has landed alongside Kol and Vali near the Witch Wood.
In total, the Æresvaktr is made up of:
1) The Nashorn 2) Horik the Gold 3) Hrolf Bloodaxe 4) Brunhilde of Hegelo 5) Sweyn Thunderspear 6) Olaf the Aged 7) Thorunn Silverhair 8) Kol, Death's Hand 9) Gudrid Fangtooth 10) Bjørn Coldfist
2) Queen Eleanor is a Priestess/Paladin type and an absolute defensive powerhouse who focuses on protecting her allies from harm. A near-fifth wheeler, she is very potent, but less versed in single combat with others of similar power. She will provide Force and Blood shields to anyone near her in need of them. If you'd like your character to slip up or nearly die without consequences during this chapter, now is a good time. She'll give all Parrench and allies one get-out-of-jail-free card via a shield.
3) In addition to his fiendishly strong Force abilities, Hrothgar is a grandmaster level illusionist, and he has a team of fellow illusionists, hidden within his forces, who are helping him to enhance his display. They are employing both Internal Essence (brain chemistry) and Arcane (light-bending) in this endeavour. This plan would be known to any Eskandr who attended his small council before the ships set off. He is much fond of psychological warfare and trickery. Some say that he is an avatar of the lesser god Joken, the trickster satyr who taught Sister much of her magic.
4) Not everyone has seen Arcel fall. It appears to mostly be high-ranking individuals who will give orders and affect the tide of battle. Those who dive into the river will not find a body. Eskandr in the distance continue to mysteriously drop dead. The death toll is over two hundred now. Some have started praying.
5) Nettle's storm around the beach is too far for her to directly control, so it has been co--opted by the Eskandr, particularly Olaf the Aged, and has been used against the defenders to a significant degree. If you have a character who can fight back and retake control of it, this is their time to shine!
6) Hildr the Red, a Kressian Knight of some renown, has declared for the Eskandr side and is present in this battle. However, she is not wearing her distinctive armour and heraldry and will be difficult to spot among the regular troops. Beware.
7) Lady Tali, a fifth wheel caster, has rolled a natural 20, 19, and 20 on her three big attacks and a 15 on her defense. The dice have spoken. If you are an Eskandr player in her vicinity, you are advised to be very careful and avoid facing her directly. There is a real chance of serious injury or character death. She needs to be stopped, from your side's perspective, but trying to overcome her with brute force is going to backfire disastrously.
1) For Parrench-aligned players, feel free to have your character engage with either mooks (which can be killed without approval) or the Æresvaktr. Just make sure that, if two or more people are going for the same target, you coordinate.
2) For Eskandr-aligned players, it is time to support your king(s)! Kol is under attack from the yasoi monster known as Lady Tali and could probably use an assist, despite his own legendary strength. Hrothgar is marching up the beach, crushing the Parrench as he goes, seemingly invincible, but he will not only be fighting Queen Eleanor, he will be a target for all sorts of opportunistic attacks. Don't forget about the assassin, Sir Rodric, and the many player characters.
3) For yasoi, the baroness has struck the enemy a mighty low and given you some breathing room, but the Eskandr keep coming. Now, the relief force from the Grande Armee is arriving. How will you capitalize? Will you fight your own battles, assist Lady Tali, or take on a dangerous enemy in single combat?
4) There are still plenty of PvP opportunities and I encourage this over fighting NPCs where possible. Just make sure that you collab and determine your ending.
5) The main thing this round, aside from reactions, is to pick your fights and start playing them out!
Talit’yrash’osmax sat among the branches of a yew tree, feeling the enemy’s approach, and began to draw energy to herself. Unlike those less practiced, unlike the humans, she did not draw all from one source, draining it, but rather in increments from many. Even so, such gentleness was difficult: akin to picking up fragile insects without harming them. With a deep breath, the yasoi rose and continued drawing. She could do this more quickly, of course, but she did not wish to disrupt her allies’ magic and the Eskandr host was taking some time to congeal anyhow.
Murmuring the words, Tali made the sign of the Pentad, calling on each of the five Bringers in turn. Her left hand, she brought to her right shoulder, feeling that arm fill with power. “Ypti,” she whispered. Her right hand came to her left shoulder, and it too crackled with magic. “Shiin.” That same hand shifted down her body and pointed to her leg. “Oirase,” she said quietly and all types of energy filled it. “Exiran.” Her left hand gestured at her stump. “Damy,” she concluded, bringing both hands together over her chest, pointing up towards her head. Her eyes fairly glowed with magical power, pupiless for a moment. Today, this would all be used in the service of Exiran, yet Tali was not at pains to offer him further prayer. He had already taken her right leg - the one dedicated to him – as offering long ago. Ever since that fateful girlhood misadventure, the death god’s blessings had flowed freely and vigorously, such that she could almost not begrudge him the loss of the limb, inconvenient though it often was.
The yasoi took another breath, her moment of meditation over, and knew that she was filled. She stretched her awareness out across the battlefield, where her people were now starting to engage the southern barbarians who refused to leave their northern neighbours alone. Otios, she remembered, the Thunder user. Lyen, the Maledict. Nettle, the puny half-blood. It was the last who had conjured the rains that now coated the forest. These three had proven memorable upon meeting and Tali bowed her head momentarily, offering words to Vyshta that they might emerge unhurt from the coming danger.
The Lady of Loriindton sunk onto all threes, crouched low on her branch and ready to leap from it. The musty smell of Exiran’s favoured tree surrounded her, as did its deadly red berries, like lanterns to guide lost souls through the burgeoning night. Like a great spider at the centre of her web, Talit searched for energies that stood out in power and purpose. Two such, she found. Peering into their chests, she could feel the racing of their hearts. “Will you walk into my parlour?” she whispered into the rain, the steam of her breath wispy and then cut to ribbons. A wicked, toothy grin split the lower half of the dervish’s face as she found her target. Long, flexible tendrils of steel snaked out from the bracers around her wrists, and she leapt.
Hey all! Sorry for the slight delay. Work, life, and THO have kept me a bit busy this week. I should have Chapter Three up either tonight or earlyish tomorrow. Thanks for your patience!
@Tackytaff Awesome character! Pending the couple minor edits that I mentioned in discord, feel free to post him over to the Characters tab and come out with an intro post. Welcome aboard!
Nobody would've seen her from where they were. Marceline was behind her. The camel's head blocked the others. They would not have seen the fear that slipped through Jocasta's mask of very real exhaustion. They would not have noticed her pawing at her lower midsection with a sort of resigned desperation. She was, though. Another piece of myself, she thought dully, lost for good. The numbness had risen, another centimeter or so past her hips, and more of Jocasta or Consuela or whoever she'd been before that was gone. Why had she done it? She'd overdrawn - the worst possible thing for a Tethered - to save people she hadn't even known twenty-five hours ago. She'd taken months off of her already-shortened life for them. Yet... a lot could change in a day. She knew it better than most. People who'd meant everything to you could become part of the past. People you'd never even met could become part of your future.
Yet, now, Bitch was stealing hooded glances back at her and whispering in the ear of Ayla, foolishly unaware that a trained assassin would notice and that it was second nature for Jocasta to play harmless in whatever form was open to her. You, I should've let be froabas food, she thought darkly. Zarina would always be an implacable enemy, she decided then and there. One out of five wouldn't be too bad, would it? Yalen, too, had said not a word, but he'd been looking. Inwardly, the Tethered shook her head. One day, it had been. She'd gotten carried away. These were not friends, and they never would be. Some were good people, she allowed, and would help in this undertaking so long as they did not truly know her, but only a fool gives of herself for others: only a fool, unless there is something in it for her. There was not. This had all merely been some diverting attempt to play-act at being a 'normal' teenager.
Jocasta took a handful of deep, steadying breaths and Marceline twisted to look at her concernedly. "Sister?" she asked in a quiet voice. "Sister," the older girl responded.
"Are you alright?"
"I was not," Jocasta admitted. "Now, I am."
"That sounds... anomynous."
"Ominous, Marci."
"Ominous."
"And it isn't," the Dorvalishwoman assured her. "Most of these aren't bad people. I think they'll even help us. They're..." she trailed off for a moment. "Just not friends: not people we trust with our deepest secrets, alright?"
There was a bit too long of a pause. Jocasta had been deadening the air to sound, subtly enough that it would be difficult to even sense. "Sister, you haven't said anything about Father, right?"
"Never, on my life!"
"Shhhh, Marci."
"Sorry, Sister."
"It's alright. I'm glad I have you." Jocasta leaned forward, hesitant for a moment, wondering how much she would feel the loss of a bit of core strength. She rested her chin on the teenager's shoulder and smiled. "Besides, they heard nothing."
True or not as that may have been, the group's conversation did not end there. Ayla stretches out as she provides an unamused smile, rather grumpy as she soon discovered that sleeping on a camel is near impossible feat. Not only does she feel she is going to be thrown from the humps, the coarse hair seems to stab her repeatedly like needles, and the smell... if there was an alternative reason her family raised horses and not camels, it would be this. It didn't help the regular Ptooey of the camel spitting was as unflattering as the rest of the animal. After the camel ride caused her to endure an experience of becoming far more intimate with the girl behind her that she ever planned on being, she moves her hands upon the reins. “Can we pull up alongside the others?”, she tilts her head to look towards Zaz as she points towards the rest of the class. The ranger seems to be scouting ahead at this moment of time, would allow a good opportunity for a class reunion after the multitude of events that led them to this point.
His sense of duty was the only thing that kept Yalen from fainting on the ride home. Kaspar appeared to have fallen asleep the moment the two of them saddled up, and was now drooling on his shoulder like a baby. This meant that despite being on the verge of collapse himself, Yalen had to control their camel.
Unlike Kaspar, the young monk had escaped mostly unscathed. His body was just sore and exhausted from back to back life or death scrambles. He had a few scratches here or there from falling down so many times, but nothing serious. In order to make the ride more pleasant for his friend, Yalen was using whatever energy he could spare to numb Kaspar's pain. Freecasting a simple chemical spell was not too difficult when the other person was so close to you.
Everyone else was beaten up in some way or another, but the one that stood out the most was Jocasta. She and Marceline were riding a ways behind the boys camel, engaged in a conversation that was strangely inaudible. It was obvious to anyone who cared to notice that the tethered girl was not doing well physically. After going over events in his head, he began to fully realize what she had done and what the consequences of her actions would be. Regardless of what he suspected of her, Yalen was one of her kind. He knew more than anyone here the kind of debt they owed her.
Spurred by these feelings of gratitude, Yalen slowed his camel's pace a bit so that he and Kaspar were alongside the two tethered girls.
"You and I share the same curse, so I know what is happening to you right now. I know what you had to sacrifice to save us. I don't even know how to begin thanking you..."
Zarina had no issues staying up. She had her little, dreamless naps before the adrenaline rush back at the canyon, and now she was diligently keeping guard at the back. The small lion rested before her had shifted a bit too much for the journey to remain comfortable for everyone, but the Virangish kept quiet. She made sure Ayla wouldn't fall over during some of Daoud's more uncertain stomps on the sand, which prompted the large saddle to move a little, ”Hmmm?” she remarked the Torragonese girl's hands springing to life and seizing the reins Zarina had been holding until now, ”Uhm.” she looked over at the group, giving particular attention to the Tethered wagon before pursing her lips, ”... Fine. But we stay behind, just a little.” the camel was steered toward the group and pace picked up with a couple of taps from Zarina's leather heels against its sides. She kept herself quiet, as Yalen began to express his gratitude.
Kaspar’s awareness was swimming in and out of the desert sands. He could feel the movements of the camel beneath him and was faintly conscious of another shape in front of him, but it took much more effort for him to focus.
He blinked a number of times before recognizing the blonde hair before him. Yalen? …Unless they’ve put me with Jocasta, but… No, not with the way she was just after, he thought, words broken up in his mind.
It seemed the priest was in the front, guiding their beast, and Kaspar felt a smooth burn of shame on his cheeks at being so incapable of caring for himself. But rather than act on the shame, he shoved it away. He’d felt enough for today—the overwhelming fear that preceded death, the near-intoxicating power of creating energy straight from the flesh of another being, and the shame that followed that as well.
His arms twitched, and tightened a bit around Yalen’s waist. Kaspar turned his hands so they could clasp his own wrists, avoiding any contact with the other boy’s skin. It was strange, to feel the body heat of another so close, and he knew it would be alarming if he had consciousness enough to care. For now, his primary concern was staying on the camel by whatever means necessary.
He registered when another camel came into view—had it just appeared, or had it been there the whole time?—and heard Yalen speaking softly. Talking of shared curses and… Jocasta? Is… does he mean the Tethering? Kaspar knew little of the affliction, but Yalen seemed to believe there was some detriment in the actions Jocasta had taken. Somewhere in his fading mind, the binder made note that he would need to thank her, after they had rested.
Jocasta had made up her mind. She was ready to conk out now and recover as much as one could from overdrawing. Marci's shoulder was a nice place.
Then, Yalen decided to be not-afraid of her and she wished he hadn't. It was easier when people were things to amuse you instead of things that you cared about. For a moment, she mulled his words over. What she had done to herself for these... borderline strangers had been... so many things, really: stupid, selfless, necessary, and utterly unnecessary. She looked over at him dumbly, unsure how to express all that she was feeling and all that was begging to be said. Instead, something else came to mind and she got away with saying precious little. She grinned tiredly. "You can start by lettin' a girl get some sleep," she chirped. Hmm?"
Yalen smiled sadly, unsure if she really was tired or purposefully trying to distance herself. Maybe he'd talked her head off for too long last time and annoyed her.
"Sorry about that. I'll let you rest." With that said, he flicked the reigns of his camel and created some more distance between them. Without even trying to, he somehow directed the animal to pace alongside Zarina and Ayla.
"How are you two holding up? Do you have any wounds I can help with? I'm not as good as Kaspar but I do know a little binding. I can also treat your wounds the good old fashioned way."
Ayla arrives up to the scene as she with a cheery “Hola” though quietens as she listens to the conversation already happening. She decides to share a joke to enhearten the spirits, “Only if the fleas allow us to sleep on these things, cannot wait for the comfort of a good bed. Perhaps a warm bath for our saviour too... might not able to send you to Varrahasta with a click of my fingers, but got my own ways to recreate that experience.”, she moves her hand to tug lightly upon Jocasta's hand in an affectionate way.
She shakes her head towards Yalen, “Thankfully the one targeting myself is probably singing 'Green Perrence' right now.”. Her smile continues towards Jocasta as she gives a squeeze of her hand, whether she is listening or not. She does twist the air with her other finger as she causes that tell-tale echo sound.
Ayla's voice does drop into a more quieter tone, “More seriously, we need to consider coming up with a plan. Don't think these events will remain quiet for long.” she indicates with her head in a certain direction as she speaks, “Might be worth grouping up tonight whilst we sleep. You join us as well, Marci”.
Zarina kept to herself, watching the others express themselves toward Jocasta. She could only watch in silence, marinating on the words she had exchanged with Ayla just moments ago. The overwhelming thoughts kept her mind occupied, to the point where she had left the planet, so to speak, until Yalen addressed both her and her travel companion, ”Oh, no. Thank you, Yalen.” she shook her head, although the thought of injuries prompted her to brush her hand over her abdomen. There would likely be some bruising there, as she had taken one of the Forabass' tails there.
”They won't. They'll have to know about the Wyrm at some point. Preferably right as we arrive.” she tugs on the reins to slow down her steed just a tad, encouraging the others to back off a little more, away from the odd one out at the head of the troupe, ”And what about you, mini-Padre? All good? Body and soul?” she nudged her chin in the young Priest's direction, eyes trailing through his being to assess how he was, ”And you, Kaspar?”
Ayla shakes her head towards Zaz's comment, making a point of correction, “My concern is not for Shai-Aberração, though there is a plan for that. There are other concerns...". She keeps it somewhat cryptic at this point as she looks towards Marci, as indicating their previous discussion in the aqueducts with current events.
Jocasta had intended to separate herself, but it would not stick. How genuine any of this was, she could not say, and much of her training told her to either avoid or destroy sources of uncertainty. She couldn't. She was so fragile that, in one day, years worth of purpose was coming undone. "Normally I would make the fleas sing Green Perrence too," she laughed, "but I'm a bit tapped out at the moment, and I fear there are too many anyhow." She turned to Yalen with a smirk. "Or perhaps we can get Padre here to regale them with an earnest entreaty. How would they resist?"
The blonde girl's smile was back. There was something about these people that... stabilized her. Well, most of them. "Kaspar!" she called. "Yooohooo!" She straightened, still feeling a bit strange and weak. "By Vashdal, I wish I could sleep like you, big guy, minus the drooling."
Then, things became serious and Marci looked her way. Jocasta sighed. "We were sent out here not just to find the aberration and report back, I think. Weren't we, Marci?"
The fourteen-year-old shook her head and swallowed nervously. "We were supposed to absorb it." She looked pained. "That was why ten of us were sent."
"That would've driven us mad," Jocasta replied, shaking her head. "We were sacrifices!" Her eyes burned into Escarra's back. As if sensing them, the ranger twisted to look back at the gaggle of teens conspiring.
"I will say only this," Marci added quickly, before gesturing for Ayla to drop the sonic dampening. "Escarra is a good man, and we did not take the fastest route there."
Indeed, Jocasta had not noticed those distinctive hoodoos on the way back. They had avoided the ruins too. "Hola!" the ranger called, shifting back to draw in close. His eyes told them that he knew much, but his voice did not say so. "We are..." He squinted. "An hour and a half out. When we arrive, you let me do the talking. There will be danger. Now, I will take the rearguard. Zarina, you to the front."
"I'm doing fine surprisingly, though I'd like to avoid negotiating with fleas if at all possible. Their terms can be rather one-sided." Yalen joked, his attention divided between Zarina and Jocasta.
He was about to say something else when he felt Kaspar stir at the back of the camel.
It was Ayla's voice that shook Kaspar first, and the boy straightened as though he had flinched, mumbling, "Don't sleep well with others," before he even seemed to be conscious of his reaction. He blinked, bleary crimson eyes swinging to face the girl, barely registering her form before his forehead came to rest on Yalen's shoulder. His back seemed to heave as though he were inhaling deeply, and he heard other voices but his mind was processing their words slowly.
It had all just been so much. He felt like he was falling out of his own head now, mind trying to flee as though this were simply a nightmare. As though he'd been good at escaping those, too. Some part of him, a part he deemed childish and naïve, longed to bury his face in Yalen's back and just soak in the presence of another person. Not for the priest specifically, but for the comfort of physical touch. His arms tightened, ever so slight, as he let himself have this one moment of weakness. But they loosened seconds later, as Jocasta's voice registered in his mind.
He laughed something breathless and humorless. "Not so much sleeping," he replied, voice soft and slightly lisping around his bitten tongue. "More like... Falling, without ever leaving your seat." He glanced to Yalen's shoulder, eyes taking in the small spot he had left there, and huffed in amusement. "It's more blood than drool, I think," he muttered. "But looks like more blood than it is." His lip was split and swelling a bit, as they could likely see, but thanks to Yalen's chemical intervention, it was not causing the boy too much pain.
Zarina conferred a brief glance toward their head of the line, and then to the two tethered after Ayla had considered another issue at hand, ”Right.” she inhaled until her lungs were full and sighed from her nose without any sense of manners.
Jocasta's more upbeat attitude, and the mention of the Dreamer, allowed Zarina to limit the plague of overthinking that ruled in her mind at this very moment. Perhaps she had been a bit too cautious with this one, or maybe her position was what they would need to get through this endless streak of conspiracies and secret. And now, another one of those unraveled, ”Students from Ersand'Enise are that expendable these days?” she raised an eyebrow at Marceline's observation, ”I'll fully admit to you guys, I wouldn't throw myself away over some horror in the middle of a shithole desert.” she claimed boldly.
The Virangish nodded at Escarra's order and raised her hand to manifest her okay. The fact that the Tethered vouched for him did not appear to appease the tall teen's mind. She brought her camel to the front, unhooking the supply carrier from Daoud and passing the rope over to the ranger for him to safeguard, ”Keep it South-west? I don't recall the landmarks. The Desert never was my terrain of choice.”
Escarra nodded. "The ridge down that way." He pointed. "Stay parallel until you see the Refuge." With no further words, they switched places.
Ayla couldn't hide the wry smile as Zaz mentioned about 'expendable Ersand'Enise' students. Who would have thought that as she reflects upon her own story of arriving to the academy. It appears that her concerns were somewhat founded and yet at the same time dismissed as Marci vouched for Escarra's integrity, lowing the sonic dampening naturally as he approached to minimise the obviousness of her actions. She wishes to have greater opportunity to talk more, but perhaps that will come later for when they meet Amanda. Her fingers gently release from Jocasta's own as the camel is being brought forward by Zaz towards the front, taking her away from the others. Perhaps in an act of defiance, raises her voice, "Last one there is huevo podrido!".
"All this talk of a conspiracy has me lost for words... I feel like I'm the only one here who doesn't fully understand what's going on here, and it frightens me. I hope one of you will be willing to enlighten me later." Yalen commented. It didn't feel good to be so out of the loop. Perhaps he should have spent more of his free time investigating the refuge on his own. There were so many things he wanted to talk about but didn't know where to start. Zarina and Ayla surely had more information to share with him, and Marceline and Jocasta were on an entirely different wavelength. Yalen was clueless in comparison.
He felt Kaspar's arms tighten around him some more, but not uncomfortably so. It was endearing in a way. The monk spent a lot of time entertaining kids and didn't mind the excessive physical contact. Toddlers didn't have boundaries after all. Yalen mentally resolved to have his outfit washed a second time, as it was more sweat and blood than fabric at this point.
After a few minutes of absentmindedly guiding his camel, Yalen had a bit of a eureka moment. He recalled a brief exchange between Marceline and Escarra. The ranger's first name was Manuel. He pulled out a wooden medallion he found earlier while scrambling for his cloak in the sand.
"Mister Escarra, does this belong to you?"
Marceline looked Yalen's way sympathetically. "I promise we will tell you everything, Yalen, when we sit down with m - Amanda tonight." She nodded. "You deserve to know."
When he pulled close to Escarra and asked his question, the ranger went still. He reached into a small satchel and felt around for a moment. Furrowing his brows, he held a hand out in the young monk's direction. "Thank you for finding that," he said softly. "It has great value to me. A gift from my niece," he added after a moment.
Yalen gingerly placed the keepsake in Escarra's hand with a smile. "Of course. We should thank you as well, for all you've done up until now."
The funny coincidence of Marceline's Amanda and Escarra's Amanda possibly being the same person was not lost on him.
The remainder of the ride back was uneventful: silent and filled with anxiety. The Wyrm had swallowed the aberration and everybody knew, at least in broad strokes, what that meant. People rationed words and water alike, the sun glared at them in hues of orangish-pink, and froabases started to circle overhead as it pulled itself under a blanket of sand.
In the event, the animals did not attack. If they had, perhaps Jocasta would've seen to the tragic loss of a tall Virangish girl. Not truly, though, she told herself, for it would hurt the others, and that was no longer something that she could bring herself to do. She sat up and made a show of rolling her neck back and forth as they neared the Refuge. Its lights burned, yellowed orange, into the burgeoning twilight: a beacon of light and warmth to those who didn't understand the poison that flowed through its halls.
The gates creaked open and men with torches and wary eyes ushered them in. The crowd was smaller than the night previous, made up less of curious children - though there were still many - than of teens and young adults 'on three' or 'on two'. There was an anxiousness. They had either sensed it or Marci had sent them a message. "Did you find it?" they shouted. "Is it headed here?" one pleaded. "Did you stop it?" another begged. Yes, yes, and no, Jocasta thought, as further entreaties poured in. And you had the gall to tell us that these people knew nothing, she thought at Warden Ortega, wherever he was.
The guards ushered the crowd away much more aggressively than before and it was an effort not to say something. It was an effort, too, when they did not place her wheeled-chair beside the camel. The others dismounted easily enough, even Yalen managing after a fashion. Jocasta shot him a concerned look and a little push of Kinetic energy to free his foot brace from the stirrup as it became momentarily caught. She flashed a shy smile and, when a couple of guards approached to help her down, the twenty-year-old heaved herself to the side, gathered the gravity from her fall, and hovered in place, floating over the wheeled-chair and settling into it.
Everyone else stood around for a moment, Ysilla looking... less than right. They had spoken so little to each other and, for some reason, that set off alarm bells in Jocasta's mind. Kaspar, who had suffered the whole way through, appeared relieved. Yalen was adjusting his braces, and Zarina hovered momentarily close to Ayla. Marci was leaning against a camel, retrieving her crutches. Escarra was solemn, like he usually was. A cardinal showed up and handed him a message. "Don Escarra," she said, "Don Ortega requests your immediate presence."But not ours, Jocasta mused. With a nod and a scowl, the head ranger brushed past and stalked down the hallway, saving a brief look back for his companions.
A trio of magpies were there too, as pigeons saw their animals off. "As the hour grows late," said the most senior of the three, "We would like to offer you a belated supper if you are hungry." He bowed his head. "It can be delivered to your rooms, if you would like, where a warm bath is being prepared presently."
Jocasta bowed her head in return. "That would be greatly app-appreciated, caretaker. Should the warden need anything of us, l-let him know that we eagerly await his call."
"The warden wishes you nothing but a sound sleep. Matters of import will be discussed on the morrow, over breakfast. Now," the man in the monastic cut robe concluded, clapping his hands together in a manner reminiscent of the warden, "if you would be so kind as to follow us..." He trailed off, gesturing in the direction of his fellow magpies.
"Caretaker Herrera," Marceline offered, "I don't mind leading them. I'm sure you have many more pressing matters to attend to."
"Thank you, Marcelina," said the caretaker in a kindly, patient voice, "but these orders come from the warden himself. He also wishes you an early and sound sleep."
The look was so quick that perhaps some among the group of young people may have missed it, but Jocasta noticed. Essentially, it said, 'obey... for now.'
So, that was what Jocasta did, good obedient girl that she was. She returned to her room, removed the soporifics from her dinner with a bit of Chemical magic, and did the same for her peers, however secretly. The food was almost always drugged. She ate and took her bath, using the Gift to speed things up and dry her hair. Forty minutes had passed by the time that she rolled silently out into the colonnade and closed her door behind herself with a soft 'click'. She was not alone. Kaspar was there and their eyes met. They gathered the others and then Jocasta put hands to wheels and led the way almost wordlessly to the Red Tower. "Guards," she said, partway through their journey, ducking around a corner and pulling on the tendrils of light around her to fade into the night. She let the cardinals pass before reappearing. Up ahead, from the shadow of a pillar, emerged Marceline. Smaller and less certain than the older teens, she glanced their way as if for reassurance.
The eldest of the group stopped in front of her, eyes darting around warily. "You got away clean, chiquita?"
Marci nodded. "I checked. Don't worry."
"Not even for a second." Jocasta smiled. Backing up a push, she took in the others. "We can get there slowly," she whispered, "through locked gates and doors, or quickly." She reached out again for the threads of time and space, hands of energy raveling and unraveling them. Hundreds of boys and girls flashed by in time's memory: a young Amanda, a little Marceline, and a nine-year-old version of herself, but many more that she did not know. The great orange tree shifted between sapling and elder. Staff changed. She gained visions of the stables, the pool, the secret training grounds, and the Warden's office. Ortega was there with Escarra. The two men looked tense. Then, her mind's eye was in the Torre de la Soledad. It flipped through a dozen dying souls and found Amanda. A tear in spacetime - not so grand and stable as the paradigm's, but just as functional - opened, and Jocasta let out a breath that she didn't realize she'd been holding. "'W-will you walk into my parlour?' said the s-spider to the fly," she asked, rolling through with a teasing smile and a glance back.
There on her bed, leaning cross-legged against a corner, was the slender figure of Amanda. Her room was lit by an oil lantern and a candle. Moonlight streamed in through a small window. As Jocasta entered, a large smile creased the older woman's lips. The palms of her hands, which lay open on her lap, lit up with an arcane glow. "Hello... Jocasta," she said softly, her eyes going to the others, "I take it you're the friends that she mentioned."
Jocasta nodded, coming to a stop. "I see your powers of deduction remain strong."
Amanda smiled and let out a little snort. "Ah!" she chirped, "and Marci!"
"And Marci."
"I'm not a friend?" the girl protested.
"You're much better than a friend, mija. Come here and sit beside me."
Marci more or less threw herself onto the bed, snuggling delicately into Amanda's side, for just a moment so utterly unlike the precocious girl they'd gotten to know to this point. "Mom," she said softly, laying her head on the older woman's shoulder. She grinned. "Hey, isn't it past your bedtime?" Amanda planted a small kiss on the top of it. "Isn't it past yours, precious little pumpkin?"
"You're laying it on really thick," Marci whined, but her mother was already looking out at the others. "The expedition was a proper disaster, I trust?" She raised her eyebrows expectantly. "We have a giant, angry dragon headed our way?" She tilted her head to the side momentarily.
Marceline, beside her, nodded glumly. A limp-wristed hand reached up to stroke her hair. "Don't worry, little pumpkin." The girl flashed her a stink-eye, but Amanda was looking at the others. "There is much to worry about, of course, for all of us, but I think I know how we can overcome this and, dare I say, a great many other problems." She pursed her lips, and the glow in her palms lit her face from below with a certain dramatic flare as her expression morphed into an enigmatic grin. "First, though, I imagine you've questions and ideas of your own and you've received precious few answers in this place. I have lived here thirty-one years and I'm an open book."
Leaning back on an ancient desk in the old Tourrare style, elbows propped against it, Jocasta pushed off. She tipped forward and her front wheels hit the round with a light 'clunk.' "For what it's worth," she offered, "so am I, and I used to live here too."
The expedition had been a disaster. This, Manuel knew. The aberration had gone into a wyrm and it would attack the Refuge, sooner or later. If not, it would attack the town of Hosta.
He did not need Ortega's men to lead him to the Warden's chambers, but he said nothing and let them do their job. For some people, there was only duty. They left him at the door and he nodded his thanks.
"Manuel!" came a voice. "Come in!"
"Ortega," responded the ranger, pushing the door open and standing inside of it.
The warden's eyes went to the gap and Manuel quietly closed it behind himself. "I take it there were complications," he stated flatly.
"Froabasses," the ranger replied. "Stirred up by a wyrm trapped in the Devil's Throat."
"And that wyrm: it ate the aberration, no?"
Manuel nodded. Tavio knew these things, of course, so if he was asking for them anyhow, it was not good.
The warden nodded slowly, as if processing it. "And you lost two rangers and six camels."
"We did," the ranger confirmed. "Eshiran have mercy."
"Half of my camels, Escarra, and two of my rangers," the warden said tensely.
There it was. Escarra merely nodded. "We did what we could with what we had."
"And now a crazed beast is out in the wastes, headed here."
"Or for the town."
"You were supposed to get rid of the aberration, cabron! Get the kids to absorb it. Dios mio! You had one job!"
Manuel would risk his life - that was his job - but he would not risk those of children, even if they were almost grown. He shook his head. "I judged it was too much for them. They would've gone mad."
"A tragedy, to be certain, but the sacrifice of a few for the survival of many..." The warden's mouth was making sounds that Manuel Escarra did not like. "Surely, even you can see the necessity in that."
"And if they go mad, are they not a danger?"
"If they glow with that much energy, the wyrm will eat them."
Simple, thought Escarra. The wyrm will eat them. His expression showed only a hint of his disdain. "I did not come here to kill children, Tavio."
The warden waved his hand dismissively, stepping around his desk. "Oh, don't act so holy, Manuel, you know what we do here. You know what the duke would find if he sent his people to the Refuge to save us. Besides, we both know the only reason you're here, and that will be gone in a year, two at most."
A hot surge of anger threatened to spill past the ranger's steely surface. Amanda: my lucky Clover. She was all that he had left of Armida, and she was near the end. It pained him, these days, to see her as she was. Yet, this gilipollas didn't know about Marceline and the girl herself didn't know that Manuel knew. He sidestepped the barb. "Why not call the king?" he advised simply.
"And have us be a bother?" The warden shook his head. "We are allowed to operate only so long as we are a benefit and not a drawback for his majesty, and you may not know his misgivings like I do, but they are a growing problem. We'd best stay out of sight and mind."
The Torraro, who had long ago taken this land from Manuel's people, who had made his family change their names and forget their mother tongue, were unscrupulous people, but very few more so than Tavio Ortega. Escarra scowled. "So then we teach our people how to fight back," he said hopefully. "They can handle it from much further than any of us."
The warden merely looked at him incredulously. "Have you truly lost your wits, man?" Eyes narrowed in reproach, he shook his head. "I know you have a sweet spot for that girl of yours, but do you have no regard for your life? For that of anyone here?"
"We teach some already."
"Handpicked! Biddable, desperate, obedient!"
Manuel already knew these things. He had worked here thirty-one years. Nonetheless, disgust welled up inside of him hearing them spoken aloud. "We teach other children who are not Tethered. All temperaments."
"Eejit!" the warden snarled. "Truly, you are not here because of your smarts, but do you hear yourself!?" Ortega shook his head. "Those children cannot kill you in your sleep, undetectably, from miles away."
Escarra blinked. "Why would a child wish to kill you in your sleep unless you have harmed her?"
"We do what is necessary," Ortega hissed. He stabbed the air with his pointer, skewering the ranger. "And you do too. Remember Joaquin? How you kept your mouth shut? And the many, many others!?"
"I did what I was told."
"Not by me. I try to make these poor lost souls' lives comfortable! Sometimes, that requires sacrifices. Sometimes, it isn't beautiful and the less that they know, the better!"
"Dami, Tavio!" Escarra let it boil forth now. "They could be people! They could have lives to live! Do you know how sad their existence is here?"
"That is a choice their families make. I only do what I can with the cards I am given."
"Well, you don't have enough cards for the wyrm now, do you?"
Ortega nodded tightly, jaw clenched, and there was a glimmer in his eye that Escarra did not like. "The students: how many froabasses did they take on?" he prodded. "I know the Devil's Throat. When they come, they come by the dozen. Those kids are strong. Use them, add a few of our Afortunados... we have a chance."
Manuel shook his head. "Precious little."
"If they die, it is sad, but then the school will send a few Zenos or even an Arch if we are lucky. They are being paid, after all."
"A devil's bargain," the ranger spat, "And an unnecessary sacrifice."
"So long as I am warden, I will be the judge of that."
"A fancy hat does not make you Dami in your judgement." They were standing face to face now, no more than a couple of feet apart.
"You know," said Ortega, "You are forgetting awful quickly all that I do for you, morisco. I wonder what might happen to your Amanda if you did not work for me." He loomed over the shorter man, but Manuel did not flinch. "And her Marceline." He paused. "Marcelina."
It hit the ranger like a bucket of ice water.
"Oh, come on. You think I didn't notice how much you favour her?" Ortega shook his head. "I didn't wonder why you pushed so hard for her to be chosen as Afortunado?" His voice dripped with disdain: the sort that people like him had always held for people like Manuel. "This is why I do the thinking, Escarra. It is why I am Ipte, Shune, Oraff, Eshiran, and fucking Dami here. Comprende?"
"You are not wiser, Ortega. You are a bastard, sending these kids to their deaths so you may hide your filthy secrets and continue to pad your pockets."
"Oh, no no. The money is nice, Manuel, but that is not why I do this. I am protecting these kids from the world out there and, more importantly, I am protecting the world from them. You have to crack some eggs to make an omelette."
The ranger stood there, glaring unflinchingly. He had never cared much for Ortega, even back before the man had become warden, when he was just a spoiled baron's son. He had not expected their meeting to go this badly, however. Amanda was in danger, and not only her. So was Marci.
"What are you going to do, huh?" the noble mocked. "The answer is nothing, dog. Now go. Run along to you little kennel. I will call you tomorrow, when I need you."
Escarra bit his tongue, willing himself to say nothing. He began to turn.
"Oh, and if you even think of doing anything to betray me," Ortega added. "I want you to consider your family first, hmm?"
The ranger's hand settled on the hilt of his sword. In one smooth motion, he drew it, whirled, and sunk it into Tavio Ortega's chest. The warden's eyes widened, flicking in pain and disbelief from Manuel's to the sword and back. Escarra had never had much of the Gift, but he had enough to sense the Kinetic shove coming and brace himself. Weak and desperate, it sent him sprawling across the floor, but he landed as if he were a man twenty years younger. Ortega fell to his knees, opening his mouth to scream, and Manuel scrambled to stop him, clasping a hand over the lower half of the man's face and holding it there while he struggled ineffectually. The ranger's head pounded and his vision blurred and he knew it for Chemical magic, but then it eased off and the warden ceased struggling.
Manuel's pulse thundered in his eardrums. This was not something that could be undone. He had killed Tavio Ortega. He had done it because he judged the threat to his family, the people of this Refuge, and a half-dozen near-strangers too great had the warden remained alive.
Gods forgive me, he thought, pulling the sword from his master's body. Already, the blood was spreading. He rushed to a linen cabinet for the servants and tossed the extra tablecloths on the floor to soak everything up. The body, he dragged from the office to the dressing room and then through to the bedchamber, where he dumped it unceremoniously. Checking himself in the mirror, Manuel rolled up his sleeves to cover the bloodstains. He dabbed at the blood, stuffed a thick kerchief where it had stained his shirt, and adjusted his jacket so that it would not show.
This was it, then. It was now or never for the crazy idea that Amanda had put to him. Manuel composed himself and stepped out of the warden's office. He strode down the hall, like he had a hundred times before, stopping before the stairs where a servant waited. "Don Ortega has retired to his chambers for the night," he advised, "and does not wish to be disturbed until he calls for someone."
The servant - Zavada - nodded and bowed slightly. "As you command, Don Escarra."
Manuel nodded in return, already making haste down the stairs and the hallway. He burst out into the cool night air, accompanied by the chirp of crickets and the ping and pop of crane flies diving at torches and oil lamps. His eyes seized upon a distinctive red-walled tower and his feet carried him in that direction.
1. The group continued their flight from the desert, many of them in rough shape, but they found time both for camaraderie and conspiracy. Jocasta's low spirits were lifted by the others, Marceline revealed the true purpose of their journey, and Escarra was described as a potential ally.
2. Upon arrival, it seemed that many of the residents had figured out what was going on and were desperate for answers. The crowd was rather roughly broken up and Escarra was pulled away to meet urgently with the warden.
3. After a brief (optional) bath and dinner, which included soporifics thoughtfully removed by Jocasta, the students reconvened, met up with Marci, and made for Amanda's room in the red tower.
4. It was revealed that Amanda is actually Marceline's mother. She and Jocasta promised that they had a plan to extricate everybody from the looming threat and also to be open books in terms of whatever people wanted to know.
5. Meanwhile, the head ranger, Manuel Escarra, got into an increasingly heated discussion with the Warden, Tavio Ortega, in which they disagreed profoundly about the purpose of the students from Ersand'Enise, the treatment of the patients at the Refuge, and how the wyrm situation shouldl be approached.
6. It was revealed that Escarra has a connection to Amanda and, through, her, Marceline, and was responsible for both being trained. When Ortega threatened his family, the ranger murdered him and hid the body. He is currently headed for the red tower and will arrive about fifteen minutes after the students.
1. Feel free to have your character notice or do anything on the return voyage that hasn't already been covered. I feel like it's been covered a lot, though.
2. Maybe you see a familiar face in the crowd when you arrive, or in the stables?
3. Do you take the bath and dinner or no? Do you maybe notice the soporifics before Jocasta neutralizes them?
4. Any reactions to Amanda, Marci, and the reveal.
5. Here's the big one: it's time for all of your questions and to air out your plans. Feel free to arrange any collabs as needed or to play this out in #on-campus on discord.
6. Some characters have their own internal struggles going on. Ysilla is becoming unbound from... Ysilla. Kaspar is dealing with some quasi-existential doubts. Zarina is onto Jocasta to an extent, and Yalen is too, in addition to what appeared to be a dream encounter with the Traveler. Ayla is nice.
7. You may find the 'secret' meeting joined by some people you've encountered before but really haven't gotten to know very well yet.
Location: The Crows' Nest // Date: February 25, 2057 // Time: 8:16 // Interactions: Everybbody and nobody
The sun hit her across the face and Lys barely stirred. Willing herself back asleep, she managed another indeterminate amount of time lost to its embrace. Then, Erik happened.
She'd been running and jumping from concrete slab to slab in her dream, down by the old collapsed Bank of America tower. Then, a voice had invaded her dreamscape so loudly that it hadn't even gently pulled her out. Lysandra was awake, lying on her back, hating herself. She remained there for what could've been a moment or minutes, unready to sit up or even look down at her legs, which were probably tangled in the covers. Others were stirring, though: getting dressed, opening doors, walking. Fuck off, she thought. Just fuck off. Cerise wouldn't be there. She wouldn't be there because of Lys: because she'd given in to Ajax instead of... What? Standing up for myself?
There were some people who came and went, but Cerise wasn't supposed to be one of them. She was one of the originals: a bedrock and foundation. It was... surreal that she was gone. Even more so that Lysandra had played a role in that. Some part of her mind rejected it - simply would not comprehend or acknowledge it.
She was lying on her back, she realized. She'd forgotten to wake up and turn herself over. Lys let out a groan and pushed herself up, scooting backwards. Her stupid legs were all tangled in the blankets. She'd need to untangle them, sitting here and dwelling on things she'd rather not dwell upon. She'd need to check for pressure sores too because of the way she'd slept. That filled the next few minutes. She let herself be numb to anything deeper, but it was still there, hovering just out of sight but known and dangerous, like a crocodile under her bed.
If she hadn't brought that stupid vestige back, none of this would've happened. Yet, Lysandra hadn't been able to help herself. She'd told herself that it would eventually be good for Cerise to know, helpful even. Lys had assumed that, because she was the most educated person here, it also made her the smartest. She'd made a decision on someone else's behalf and the consequences had been disastrous. To be sure, she blamed Ajax too but, as much as he always tried to act cool, she knew that he was also hurting, deep down. He'd honestly thought that he was helping, like she had. He'd thought that he knew better, like she had. She wasn't going to beat up on him not only because it would make her an awful hypocrite, but because she knew that, beneath his suave surface, he was already doing just that.
The Lysandra that closed her door behind herself and rolled down the hall towards the Telescope Room was a muted one, with none of the sass, goofiness, or assertiveness that she was known for. If there was a mission, she would not impose her deadweight on it. She would bury herself in her actual jobs at the Crows' Nest: building and repairing useful things, caring for the ill and injured, and researching the mistle. She had a live one now. She had no excuses for going off and playing crippled adventurer.
She entered the room and wordlessly took a spot leaning back against a wall some ways from the others, arms crossed protectively, feet and front wheels up off the ground. She waited.
Wvysen is dead. It should've taken Penny like a gut punch. To some degree, it still struck her. Wvysen was the most inoffensive person she'd ever met: just a normal girl from a normal family who'd wanted to spend a normal year at school. And I just left her, too. That also wasn't strictly true, however. She'd tried to convince her now-deceased classmate that it was a bad idea, but her entreaty had fallen upon deaf ears. Wvysen had made her own poor decision.
The larger truth was just that death didn't affect Penny as much these days as it once had. She had watched dozens die during the attack on her father, some at her own hands. Anesin had died defending King Horik. The Perrenchwoman had fought for her life against abductors. She'd had her brain poisoned by chemical magic, her bones broken, and her skin burnt. She had killed to survive: at first out of pure defense and then much as she imagined a soldier would. Kill them before they kill you. The girl that she had been a month ago - kind, weak, and sheltered - would've recoiled at the actions of Penny Pellegrin but, had she remained that girl, she would've died. "I am... sorry that Wvysen is no longer with us," she said quietly. "I tried to convince her to follow me." That was all that she had to say. It was all that she could say.
Trypano continued, at length by her standards, and her Perrench counterpart heard a great many things. She became struck by the pointlessness of it all. One person or another sits on a throne and, either way, other people who don't sit on that throne fight and die. Why should she risk her life for them? On a purely selfish level, what in the five hells was in it for anyone who wasn't directly affected?
The problem was that, while there was little to nothing to gain for Penny Pellegrin, printer's daughter, there was a great deal at stake for Penelope of Perrence, fifth in line - by letter of law - for her nation's throne. Prospero Malatesta was a sworn enemy of Perrence. He had hounded and humiliated her father. His agents had worked diligently in the shadows to spread rumours of her family's 'curse' and those rumours had so influenced her parents that they had rejected her strange body and kept her hidden from the world for her first seventeen years of life. To strike a blow against such a man was to lessen the unrelenting threat that he posed to her well-being.
Then, everything happened at once. Trypano had taken the lamp and was testing it in some manner, finding it to be surprisingly mundane in nature. Ingrid and Desmond were on their way, landing ungracefully. Amelea arrived with considerably less disruption and Onarr... the distinct crackle of Temporal magic was fading from the air, he had disappeared completely, and there was a note tucked into her belt. It was all too much. She took out the note and read it.
Dear compatriots,
I’m afraid that duty has compelled me to return back to my homelands. Trouble has come onto my doorstep and I must confront what I tried to leave behind in my past. I wish you all fortune in your quest and may you become great mages.
May happenstance favor us to meet again in good tidings.
Onarr Yidlob. Just like that, Penny's hardened shell cracked. Onarr... he'd been one of the first people she'd met, one of the first who'd impressed her and maybe even been impressed by her. They'd shared laughter and drinks and a sense of camaraderie and now... Why didn't you say anything? she wondered. I would've listened. I would've helped! Yet, Penny had only been helping herself as of late: conducting herself in a manner wholly unbefitting of the royalty that she was. She had been petulant, reckless, and self-centered, leaving her allies to die. Without consciously meaning to, she staggered a couple of steps back and sat on the gunwale. You didn't make a real effort to convince Wvysen. You saw her as a burden you didn't want to carry, so you left her alone with potentially hostile pirates. You didn't head back to the others immediately because you were too preoccupied with proving yourself. People died for your inferiority complex.
She realized that, of her original group of four, Anesin was dead, Onarr was gone, and Linah had been all-but pointedly avoiding her. Do I poison everything that I touch? Am I truly cursed to be beloved of Echeran? Penny could feel tears welling up in her eyes. No! she railed at them. Stupid weak girl!
Amelea was looking at her strangely and the Perrenchwoman did not have the energy for it. Dully, she remembered that they had met, as children: Penny, all of seven years old, during that brief period where Papa had come out from under Mama's thumb and tried to introduce her to the world; Amelia a thirteen-year-old exile from her home country, future uncertain, staying as a guest of the Perrench monarchy. "Your highness." The Segonese princess bowed her head slightly to the Perrench one, unknowingly outing Penny in front of her classmates. Something inside of her chest snapped and she responded as an automaton or puppet might, the invisible strings that had controlled her since her childhood returning. "Your highness." The secret, which had remained only among her closest friends - Yvette, Madeleine, and Carmille - to this point, was out and there was no sealing it back in.
If Penny Pellegrin was to give way to Penelope of Perrence, then the latter had best make her presence here meaningful. Further self-concern would not do. "I am who she says: Penelope of Perrence, daughter of King Rouis." Penny paused, and her eyes quickly took in the others. "It is in my best interest to strike a blow against Malatesta, for he has ever sought the ruin of my family and humiliation of my people. I have a clear motivation to support my fellow royal, but I would also pose her the question: what do each of the rest of us have to gain from siding with you? How would this benefit us beyond simple 'riches if we win' - riches that many of us possess or that can be readily manufactured at the Academy. I will risk my life for my own reasons, but I believe that our initiatives, as the ruling class, should burnish our people's quality of life, else they are just selfish and antithetical to our sacred duty. So, in short, I exhort you to be a better sort of royal - the sort that I haven't been but hope to be." She paused, regathering her thoughts. "I ask what you can offer my fellow students beyond an emotional and moral entreaty that is ultimately subjective."
Ismette had quietly appeared aboard during the intervening moments and now turned to Amelea expectantly. The princess took a step back, her eyes darting about the group. They flashed challengingly in Penny's direction. She flipped some hair over her shoulder. "I can promise that Segona will forever be a safe harbour for you and yours," she began. "I can promise to share whatever spoils are ours fairly." Amelea shrugged. "Beyond that, I promise nothing and, instead, ask you a pair of questions. First: why is it that something subjective - a thing that makes people think and feel as opposed to simply answering with a 'fact' - less valuable? It is feelings and opinions that move us to do what we do, not only the facts that they are linked to. Second, and in that vein: why are you here? Unless Ersand'Enise has changed greatly from what I've heard, I doubt that any of you were forced to come. You all volunteered at some point, either for the sake of some personal gain - which you shall receive - or, perhaps, because you wanted to have a positive impact on the world." She was pacing now. "Some agency," she concluded, nodding. "Well, you can make life better for a great many people in Segona because I am a better person to sit that throne than Prospero Malatesta. I am of those people: born and raised among them, and I know their voices and their concerns in a way that some foreign despot who visits twice per year cannot. the Doge views Segona and those who live there as simply another jewel on his crown, another resource to be used in pursuit of some grand design." She turned to them, eyes pained. "To lead my country, my people, is all that I was raised with. To see them thrive is my most sacred duty, by Dami, I swear it. I beg of you to help me set the world right - at least, the one small part of it that is my prerogative - to stop a tyrant from encroaching further, from imposing his will upon more people." She was quite worked up, it seemed. Her chest heaved as she came down from it. "That is all I can say. You are swayed or you are not."
Penny regarded her fellow royal - albeit one who was actually queen uncrowned - and felt something stir inside of her chest. She had come across as cynical, perhaps. She wasn't certain, but she found herself nodding towards the end. "I was perhaps too harsh with you, Amelea," she admitted, remembering the decency that the elder princess had treated her with some ten years prior. "and for that, I apologize, but we've little time to discuss." She pivoted to take in the others. "The Nera was having her hull cleaned in the sea cavern, but I was unable to damage her and she will surely be underway by now and headed our direction. Between our three vessels, we have the flexibility and firepower to overwhelm her. Those of us who are joining the fight had best confer with Captain Falzon and set sail. Ideas are very welcome." Indeed, he was headed over for just such a purpose at present, his skiff drawing close. "Those of you who are not-" Penny cocked her head to one side. "-Kindly remove yourselves and only yourselves from the deck of my ship."
1) This is a simple one: you're either in the fight or you hang around in town and help clean up the mess. There won't be any real storyline or updates for the latter, so you're essentially removing yourself from the remainder of the plot in Black Flag unless you create your own, subject to my approval.
2) Captain Falzon is arriving in a skiff. He, Penny, and everyone else who stays are going to come up with a strategy and then sail off to implement it. We can either propose our ideas here in our posts (you can definitely post more than once or collab, too) and then have the best one chosen at the start of the next cycle, or we can play the discussion out in #on-campus on discord.
3) The lamp appears quite mundane.
4) Desmond has been appointed captain of the ketch. Penny retains ownership of the snow, but is willing to cede actual in-battle leadership if someone clearly better for the job and more experienced wants to step up.
5) we conclude this cycle with setting sail to face the Nera. There is a nasty surprise waiting for us there, but we don't know about it IC yet.
The entire thing was an illusion. Manfred was no master of that particular art, but he was practiced enough that, when combined with situational factors, he was able to figure it out. Carmillia, apparently, wasn't. That may have brought him some satisfaction. It may not have.
Unfortunately, it didn't much matter whether the ship's arcanists understood what was going on or not. Leon had revealed his hand as a... liberator of the Lyre of Ipte-Zept and they were in pursuit. Violence: Manfred would have to resort to it again. At least they're Rednitz scum, he told himself, hating every bit of his flimsy justification even as he thought it. Perhaps they were just distracted. Maybe they hadn't yet registered that allies of Leon Solaire were no longer their allies.
Whatever the reason, Manfred did not hesitate to act. "Leave her defenseless again," he said simply to Zarra, "you will die." He stalked up behind the closer of the two arcanists, reached out with The Gift, and slammed the heavy metal cap that had fallen from a chandelier into a human head. Escheran willing, merely unconscious, he told himself, muffling the noise of his action. Striding forward in pursuit of his ally, the enemy, and Carmillia, he shot a brief, concerned glance back at Dorothea and drew a pair of loaded flintlock pistols.
Oh gee! An age and a gender and interests and things. Yeah, I have those. Ain't no way I'm about to trigger an existential crisis by typing them all out, though. You can find out what a nerd I am on discord, okay?
Stay awesome, people.
<div style="white-space:pre-wrap;">Oh gee! An age and a gender and interests and things. Yeah, I have those. Ain't no way I'm about to trigger an existential crisis by typing them all out, though. You can find out what a nerd I am on discord, okay?<br><br>Stay awesome, people.</div>
Suicharte
BlackRoseSiren
Lildear18
Carlyle
Fallenreaper
Ti
Jumbus
Silly
Echotech71
Astro
