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Thread: [M] Anima Mundi IC (Namingtoohard and Headwrapper)

  1. #451
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    A warm breeze whistled passed the large, grassy mound upon which Mec stood. All around him was nothing but rolling hills, rising and falling among the sea of green that extended far beyond what he could see. He had never been in this place before, yet he felt an odd sense of familiarity in the ocean of grass. He felt safe, content, and whole. A flock of swifts soared above his head, flying off into the ever expanding, pale blue sky.

    He let out a loud shout when he suddenly began to move backwards. Rather, he was not moving backwards at all, but the hill suddenly lurched forward from under him and sped away. All the hills seemed to soar passed at unfathomable speeds, while he stood still. The air around him swirled violently, threatening to sweep him off of his feet. He shielded his face with one arm, while he pressed his shirt down with the other. The blue sky above him began to turn red. It started with a gaping red wound at the center of the pale canvas up above, which blistered and bubbled with malice. Soon, the red began to bleed outward, staining the sky until there was nothing but crimson overhead.

    A light flashed, followed by the crackling of thunder, and then rain. But the rain was red, like the sky above, and it, too, stained all that it touched. Without thinking, Mec began to run. He ran and ran, until his legs, sopping wet with the scarlet rain, would not let him run any more. He pressed on, trudging at a meager pace. Eventually, he grew tired. With a wave of a hand, he willed a small sapling to life. It died almost immediately, reduced to nothing but a long stick that protruded from the reddened earth. Mec gave it a tug, breaking it, and used it as a walking stick as he continued onward. Onward, towards what? He wondered.

    Do not continue, warned a raspy, whispering voice. You will find naught but blood and death. You will bleed the lands dry, you will tarnish the sun, and you will bring the mankind's final frost!

    He pressed on, quivering at the loud shrill that resounded in his head. Even as he continued, the cries still persisted.

    Blood and death! The final frost!

    His clothes, reddened and damp from the scarlet rain, grew heavier and heavier. Without giving it a thought, he began to shed the articles as he walked, leaving them behind. Even his shoes had begun to deteriorate in the torrential downpour, and just like his shirt and trousers, he chose to peel out of them and leave them in the muddied earth behind him.

    Without warning, there was another flash, but there was no lightning this time. The bright, white light lingered as he tried to blink his sense of vision back. Only when he could finally see could he feel the salty air flying passed him as he fell... fell... fell. It was not until he could see the dark blue ocean beneath him did he let out a frightened scream, which was silenced when he suddenly collided with the sapphire waves. The force of the collision did nothing to slow him down, and he continued to quickly descend into the depths, dragged down by an undetectable, yet eager, force. As he was pulled further and further down, the ocean around him grew darker, darker, and darker still. He felt no need to breath here, and yet he could sense the danger the darkness around him brought.

    What is happening? he thought, finally able to will out a conscious thought. G? Can you hear me? Are you here?

    Blood and death! The shrill voice returned, and with it, the need to breath. An immense pressure weighed on Mec's temples, and his lungs convulsed, begging for air. He thrashed about, fighting the urge to breath, unwilling to fill his lungs with the salty water around him. He fought hard, even as dark clouds began to creep into the peripherals of his vision. Eventually, there would be nothing for it, as he watched the dark haze overcast the last of his vision.

    He felt his body rising back towards the surface, faster than it had descended. The clouds were pushed out of his sight, as if a gust of wind had blown them away. That same gust seemed to fill his lungs with sweet, sweet air, which he inhaled eagerly. As he escaped from the ocean's depths, he was surrounded with light once again. The rocks, anemone, and creatures he did not recognize seemed to zip by. There was only one constant sight, which was the pale face pressed against his, lips tightly locked against his own. Mec could hardly make out the face, his eyes burning in the salt. Was it a woman? A fish? A monster?

    He was launched from the surface of the waves, sent skyward by his mysterious savior. Mec blinked the sting away from his eyes, but could only catch the glimpse of a green and blue tail as it disappeared back into the water. Suddenly, the area of water where the tail vanished began to blacken... An alarmingly large area of the water. The water seemed to roar as the large jaws emerged violently, erupting from the surface of the water. The full span of the gaping, black, mouth was longer than any building Mec had been in, and the rim was lined with three rows of white, sharpened, teeth.

    He felt himself begin to descend back towards the water, with the jaws between him and the ocean below. He croaked, lacking any more strength to shout as he fell towards his inevitable fate.

    Again, he was wrenched away from doom by someone else, or something else, that he could not see. Firm hands grabbed him from beneath the arms, and he suddenly soared. Away from the jaws, away from danger. Mec hardly managed to glance upwards to catch a glimpse of the creature. Save for the large, white wings that protruded from his back, it seemed to hardly be a creature at all. Rather, it was a man, with a nearly perfectly chiseled face. Long brown locks streaked behind him as they soared, and his squinted eyes focused onward towards a specific goal.

    "What is happening?" Mec managed to cough. "Who are you? Who was she? What was that!?"

    The winged man did nothing to respond. There was no reason to, either, as an island had come into view, and he began to descend. Once they neared the the island, he let Mec drop, and he plunged straight towards the earth.




    The magician jolted upright, gasping loudly from his spot underneath a large oak. His eyes whizzed around, dashing from side to side as he searched around him. His palms pressed hard into the ground on either side of him, confirming the presence of solid land. "It was a dream? It was a dream..." He almost sobbed as he rolled onto his front and buried his face in his hands. He sat silently for a long moment, holding his face in his trembling hands.

    When he finally caught his breath, he pushed himself from the ground, picking up the crumpled paper that was underneath of him. It was part of the map he had traced, routing the way towards the safehouse. He gave it a long glance before folding it, and stowing it away in his pocket.

    Back in town, Mec changed his clothes, taking a moment to wipe away his sweat as he did so. There was much to do, in preparation for the Misfits' first large performance in Demue. The square had no stage, but elevation was needed to enhance the appearance of the performers during the night's act. So, Mec, along withsome of the others in the troupe, got to work together their portable stage. The work was almost automatic to him now- each board had become familiar. The worn patterns in each board served as a unique fingerprint, a way to identify where they go and how they fit into the overall build of the stage.

    The ability to work autonomously, without thought, allowed Mec to lose himself in his thoughts. The dream he had was still fresh on his mind, stubbornly refusing to dissolve into nothingness like most dreams. Even still, the dream was not at the forefront of his mind.

    You have to do something, without any more delay, he could hear Clair's voice echo in his mind. This... wait, this... impending sense of doom, lingering over my head like a dark cloud... It's almost just as bad as any curse could be. I can not keep losing more sleep over it. There is too much to do, too much at stake, to let this go on any longer. This is urgent, Mec.

    Mec had assured her that he was doing all that he could. His ability to stave off the curse, despite his lack of experience, was a miracle on its own. They had already tried to experiment, to find ways to do more, with only frightening results. The best course of action was to brave the storm- continue to stave off the curse's effects until Mec could find help, or learn how to deal with the curse himself. Sometimes, such assurances were suitable. Other times, Clair would push more, demanding more and more from him to no avail. Then, usually, she would break down, and Mec would have to try to build her back up. Sometimes, he was able to sooth her with the use of his magic to manipulate her mood, but other times it was not possible for his meager skills, and so more conventional means of calming another person were needed. He spoke to her gently, with kind words and calm assurances. If words alone did not work, he pulled her close, letting her rest her head on his shoulder.

    His heart pounded with guilt at the thought of Clair's pleading face, her eyes moistened with tears as she stubbornly demanded a solution. She was the very symbol of the Misfits, the famous traveling troupe known in almost every town. Confident and beautiful, charming and clever, and in those private moments, vulnerable and puffy eyed. The woman was not accustomed to harboring such fear, and was too proud to show it to anyone- save for Mec, if only out of desperation for him to just do something. On the bad days, she concealed the dark circles under her eyes with makeup, and wore her hair down so that a loose curl or two would conceal the worry her face may betray. She would play her part as the troupe's leader well, but was more likely to distance herself during the slower times, when she would usually find opportunities to bond with the others individually. Mec had even overheard the gossip, from Ella of course, that Clair hardly batted an eyelash at the desirable men in the taverns they visited, and hardly entertained such men's advances anymore. Mec prayed that Ella's observations stopped there. The last thing he desired was another wave of rumors about him and Clair spreading, like they had with Sean's announcement that Mec had found a way to make Clair "feel good" upon his introduction.



    The magician placed the final board of the stage himself, stepping back to admire the neatly stacked planks, the mark of a job well done, with his peers. He felt Godrich's firm hand press firmly against his shoulder.

    "So, tonight's the night. Shallan finally gets to have her first big performance! Is she ready?"

    "I think so, but knowing her, she might be feeling butterflies right now," Mec said. "She's going to do great. She's been working so hard, and Sarah has been steadfast with her training... What? Why are you grinning at me like that?"

    "It's... it's nothing," Godrich chuckled, slapping his shoulder again before wondering away.

  2. #452
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    The dress that Sarah eventually settled on was nothing short of breathtaking. Cut in a one-shoulder style, it left Shallan’s other shoulder and both of her arms totally bare. The upper half of the dress hugged her figure closely, highlighting her chest and waist both, before the lower half billowed out slightly. Not so much as some ridiculously formal ball gown might, but enough to be noticeable. The fabric itself was a gentle gradient of colors. The upper half was the color of a morning sunrise, whilst the lower was the deep purple of twilight. It looked as if someone had painted the same section of sky, from dusk until dawn, and somehow imprinted every shade that it had shown into the fabric. More impressive, however, was the ornamentation. Several familiar stars and constellations had been stitched down the sides of the dress in luminous gold thread, so vibrant it seemed to sparkle.

    All the beauty of the sky, frozen in time. Captured in silk and thread by a master craftsman, and given to her like it was nothing. As Shallan admired herself in the mirror, she wasn’t sure how to feel. The girl that looked back was stunning. So much so that Shallan couldn’t quite bring herself to believe that it was her. She looked the sort of beauty that bards wrote songs about. That storybook kings would set aside their crown for. It wasn’t her. The reflection wore her face, but it was still unrecognisable. She didn’t deserve any of this. Yet here she was, all the same.

    “All this started because Clair heard me singing the Moonwalker’s ballad, and now I have a dress of stars. Fitting.”

    As she stood there, Shallan turned back and forth, slowly. She watched as the fabric shifted, watched as the patterns shimmered and danced. Slowly, a small smile began to flicker across her features. She wasn’t this person, but...maybe she could be. Could become her, if she tried. She didn’t deserve this, but Sarah and the other seemed to believe she did. If she performed well tonight, made them proud, proved that their trust was not misplaced…well, then maybe she could prove to herself that she did deserve to be here after all.

    “If you could see me now, mother, would you recognise me? Would you be happy for me? Would you be proud, even after I ran away?”

    A sharp knock distracted Shallan, before her thoughts could turn sour again. With a measure of reluctance, she turned away from the mirror, just in time to see Sarah poke her head into the room. She wore an encouraging smile, and the look in her eyes was incredibly warm. She looked Shallan over, but at no point did she feel scrutinized, in the way that she expected from the crowd. She slipped in through the open door and moved to stand a few steps behind Shallan, who returned her attention to the mirror.

    “How are you feeling?” It wasn’t the question Shallan had expected, and it took her a few seconds for her to come up with an acceptable answer.

    “Good. Nervous, but good. I think.”

    “You’re ready for this, Shallan. As your instructor, I should know. There’s nothing else holding you back.” This time, Shallan’s smile was wider. More genuine.

    “Not anymore.”

    ~~

    After Sarah had finished walking her through some warm-up exercises, Shallan felt that she was as ready as she could ever hope to be. She followed close behind as Sarah led her out of the inn, and into the cobblestone street that lay beyond. They weren’t far from the town square – just two blocks away – so they didn’t have far to go. As they began their stroll, Sarah was quick to inform her that the others had already finished setting up the stage. In fact, a crowd had already begun to gather, and the musicians had already started to set the tone. The timing had worked out perfectly, thanks to Sarah, who had been busy acting as liaison whilst Shallan had been admiring her own reflection.

    “How am I supposed to get backstage without anyone seeing me before my performance starts?” Shallan posted the question in earnest, but Sarah chuckled softly at it nonetheless.

    “You’ve seen us do public shows before, haven’t you? We can’t get you close enough unnoticed, so we’re going to lean into it.”

    “You want me to do a crowd walk? For my first major performance?” Shallan wasn’t able to hide her shock. Sarah, however, remained unbothered.

    “Don’t worry too much, Shallan. We have a handful of Misfits waiting in the crowd, dressed as patrons. When you arrive, they’ll make sure everything goes according to plan. Remember, we’re professionals. And now, you are too.” She gifted Shallan with a brazen wink, just as the two of them arrived at the end of their street. Sarah took moment to peer around the corner, and make sure everything was ready. Shallan, conversely, spent a moment looking around. She couldn’t believe that nobody had seem them yet, but it seemed that everyone was so focused on the stage, nobody was left to catch them out.

    Then the music began to rise, and Shallan knew her wait was over. She made a conscious effort to correct her posture, straightening her back, lifting her head, and pulling her shoulders back. She stepped up to the corner, and took a deep breath.

    “I’d wish you luck, Shallan, but I don’t think you need it. Remember your lessons, and break a leg.”

    Sarah stepped aside, and then Shallan could delay no longer. Squashing the queasy feeling in her stomach, she rounded the corner, and stepped out into the courtyard beyond.

    The crowd didn’t seem to notice her, at first. She was greeted by the sight of their backs, the bulk of their attention focused on the stage, as the musicians played the sombre notes that made up the song’s opening. Shallan tried to keep her pace leisurely, despite the need to keep up with the music. With slow and graceful steps, she moved until she was just behind the crowd. She opened her mouth, and the first few words of the Moonwalker’s ballad flowed forth, her voice bright and clear and golden.

    The crowd couldn’t help but take notice now. Those nearest immediately turned, their eyes going wide as they beheld Shallan in her gown. The plain-closed Misfits sprinkled throughout the crowd did their job admirably. They stepped to the sides, and the rest of the crowd quickly followed suit, providing Shallan with a clear walkway leading to the stage. She continued to sing, the first verse spilling out as she stepped between them, and began the stroll down her impromptu runway. She didn’t break stride and her voice didn’t falter, despite her earlier apprehension. Now that she had started, momentum drove her onward, and left Shallan wondering what she had been so nervous about earlier.

    As she strolled through the crowd, Shallan wanted nothing more than to scan the sea of faces that surrounded her, searching for Mec. She wanted the chance to gift him a smile, or a wink, or any sort of acknowledgement. Knowing that he was here, urging her onward, would have done her a world of good. Now that she had started, however, Shallan dare not turn her head. She kept her gaze fixated on the stage, and focused on keeping the song going, as the stage drew ever-closer.

    She cleared the crowd just in time for the first verse to end. Moving at the same stately pace, Shallan climbed the steps, made her way to the center of the stage, and turned to face the crowd, just in time for the first chorus to begin. She closed her eyes, tipped her head back, and tried to forget about the sheer number of eyes watching her as her first performance truly began in earnest.

    ~~

    Shallan slipped through the curtains and into the ‘backstage’ area behind their makeshift stage, the applause of the crowd still roaring in her ears. Her cheeks were flushed, and her chest was heaving, but she couldn’t seem to wipe the smile from her face. As soon as the curtain fell closed behind her, she was set upon by Tanya and Ashlyn. The two of them were as excited as Shallan had ever seen them, practically squealing as they offered up their praise. She caught a glimpse of Sarah, who was waiting a little further back, wearing a proud smile. Unable to help herself, Shallan let out a loud laugh.

    “That was quite possibly the best thing I’ve ever done in my entire life” Shallan offered between breaths, when her friends gave her enough room to squeeze a few words in edgewise. The others finally relaxed their grip on her, enough for Shallan to try and catch her breath. She scanned their small group, unable to stop herself from enjoying the attention. This was what she had spent her whole life dreaming of, and it was every bit as thrilling and intoxicating as she had imagined.

  3. #453
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    Mec wandered casually amongst the throng of onlookers who approached the stage. The crowd was hungry for the performance to come, having grown overly familiar of the local entertainment and eager for something new. Something that a only traveling band, whose stay would be fleeting and temporary, could provide. Mec blended in well with the crowd, dressed rather plainly. He wore a pair of pants that were a dark olive color, and a loose-fitting white shirt. He hid his brow beneath a dark colored cap, which lay flat atop his head. It would not be long before the performance would start.

    The magician waited patiently within the crowd, listening idly to the chatter surrounding him. The attitudes and discussions around him varied wildly. He overheard young maidens giggling with excitement for the upcoming show, wealthy couples poised to critique the show while quickly drawing conclusions based on the construction of the stage, and rowdy vagrants who were much more interested in seeing some young women than the plot of any silly production. The town's diversity was evident. Not too rich, not too poor, not too lordly and high, and not too lowly and crude.

    Mec could pick out other troupe members dispersed throughout the crowd, dressed just as simply as he was. Occasionally he would catch gazes with one of them, and they would exchange a nod before going back to their business. Anyone else would likely have grown bored with simply waiting and staring, but Mec had much to preoccupy his mind. Boredom was the last of his worries. His thoughts weaved in and out of a variety of topics, most of which were the same as the ones that troubled him earlier that day. The vivid and horrifying dream he had, during a nap no less. The difficulties surrounding Clair's curse, and her urgency behind finding respite. The rest of the journey northward, which was routed in the paper in his pocket, which promised to reward Mec and Shallan with safety and a place to settle for a while.

    The drumming of Mec's thoughts was eventually tuned out with the sounds of music, which had gradually begun to crescendo from the stage. As was customary, Godrich marched onto the stage to present the crowd with the night's agenda. Mec did his part, paying attention in order to initiate applause at the right moments. Moments later, Godrich dismissed himself from the stage and the music's volume rose to take back over. The Night of the Moonwalkers began.

    Mec would occasionally cast a knowing glance over his shoulder from time to time, visibly growing impatient. The wait was not long before he heard an angelic voice rise from beyond, flowing across the crowd. Like many of his counterparts, Mec took a wide step back, inviting others to move with him. He stretched his neck to observe with an exaggerated interest, trying to get a good view of Shallan. Upon catching sight of her, his eyes widened, and he hardly noticed the air escape his lungs. He was left breathless, stunned.

    The woman who walked by was Shallan, and she was as gorgeous as he had ever seen her. His face grew flush as he watched her walk by, nearly unable to move his gaze away from her figure, which her beautifully colored dress had presented so well. When he did move his gaze, it was to observe her face. Her makeup exaggerated her best features, which Mec quickly realized were his favorite ones. Her eyes sparkled, gleaming almost as much as the golden eye shadow she wore.

    It was only once Shallan had passed that Mec could feel air in his lungs again, and he could not help but let smile broadly as he watched his friend approach the stage. Shallan's performance was being well received, and it was well deserved. Although Mec thought he had an appreciation for all of Shallan's efforts, the skill she displayed, the way she captivated the crowd, and the beautiful intonation in her voice were far beyond what he had expected. He was proud and happy for her, and wondered how she was feeling in that moment, could not wait to see her bask in a job well done afterwards.

    Once Shallan's performance came to its conclusion, Mec was quick to initiate the applause, both out of duty and out of appreciation for his partner's efforts. The show continued on, but he paid it little mind beyond Shallan's involvement. In fact, he eventually found himself drifting back to his thoughts, a new one planting seed in his mind. Like any other performance, The Night of the Moonwalkers drew to its conclusion, and having done so, the performers who had participated returned to the stage to give one last goodbye to the crowd. Godrich reemerged onto the stage to bid the final farewell, wishing everyone a good night and the gods' blessings.

    Once most of the crowd had finally dispersed, Mec assisted with dismantling parts of the stage. It was decided that the props and items atop the stage needed to be put away, but the overall stage was to stay for the time being to accommodate the performances over the next few days. He hoped to catch sight of Shallan, but she had managed to slip away with most of the other performers. Like she ought to, he thought.





    "Oh, that was wonderful!" Clair exclaimed, stubbornly picking away at her own corset without any help. "After all the rehearsing, we finally... ugh... finally brought the Moonwalkers back!"

    "Just let me hel-" Sarah began to reach out a hand, but quickly pulled away once Clair suddenly spun towards Shallan.

    "And Shallan! Shallan! What a performance, love! You were so beautiful! If only... mmh ... if only Mother Teresa were here to have seen it." She giggled, finally letting Sarah untie the corset. Clair let out an audible sigh upon removing the restrictive garment, exposing her bare skin from underneath the thin liner that had been layered in between. She practically skipped across the room as she put away the clothes she had performed in, exchanging them for looser and more comfortable garments. Only once she was back in her comfortable clothing did Clair begin to pick away at her accessories, her earrings, bracelets, and the ornaments that had been woven into her hair. "I do believe," she started as she unhooked the last earring. "That we are entering a new era for the Misfits. What say you all?" She turned back towards the rest of the girls who were utilizing the same room in the inn to change, brown eyes beaming from beneath her pink eyelids.




    Once the crowd has dispersed and any work packing up the stage was done, Mec made his way back to the inn. There, he found himself sitting alone at one of the tables in the main hall, for a little while. A particular thought, or idea, rather, stubbornly preoccupied his thoughts. He drummed the table with his finger tips, resting his cheek against his fist as he did so. He knew he should find Shallan, share in celebration of a fantastic performance. Unless... she would be too busy celebrating with the other performers, perhaps? The others who shared her interest in the art, who also had the potential to draw in the attention of crowds with their skills and beauty. Perhaps, or perhaps not.

    Stop making excuses, he thought to himself, rising from his seat. Finding Shallan was trivial now, for him. So, he did, following the familiar aura, the strand of Anima that he could so easily identify. When he finally found her, the normal Shallan, not quite as decorated as she had been as when he last saw her, he stood awkwardly with a small smile. "I was looking for you," he said quietly. "You were amazing."

  4. #454
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    Once the performers had bid the crowd a cheery farewell, Shallan joined the others in strolling back to the inn. Now that the show was over, most of them were eager to change out of their costumes, and back into more casual clothes. She, personally, had mixed feelings on the subject. Her dress was beautiful, and a part of Shallan didn’t want to take it off. It felt like doing so was akin to admitting that her moment in the sun had come to an end, in a strange way. At the same time, however, it was both heavy and cumbersome. Impractical for more routine moments, and certainly not fit for whatever celebrations the rest of the Misfits had planned for the night.

    It wasn’t long before she found herself tucked away in the same room as before. This time, however, the small space was infinitely more crowded. Several other Misfits were present, each of them removing their own costumes, or putting away their instruments, or helping others do so. The door seemed to swing open every few seconds, either to let out the performers who had finished, or admit more who still needed to do so. It was in the middle of such chaos that a stubborn Clair and a frustrated Sarah found her. The praise offered by the troupe’s leader was enough to make Shallan blush, but inwardly, she was glad. The knowledge that she hadn’t disappointed them was worth the embarrassment brought about by their praise.

    “I’m glad you approve” was all the response Shallan could muster. She would’ve liked to say more, but Clair didn’t give her much of a chance. Within seconds, she’d turned her attention to the rest of the room, making a declaration that brought out a round of cheers. Shallan was, unsurprisingly, quick to join them.

    Once the excitement had died down, after Clair had finished up and slipped away, Shallan once again found herself the sole recipient of Sarah’s attention. The Misfits’ manager picked at the lacing that ran down the back of Shallan’s dress with steadfast determination, slowly and surely picking them apart. She could do little but wait for Sarah to finish, and speak. Making herself heard was a little more difficult than she would have liked, with so much background noise, but Shallan was determined to manage.

    “So…do you have any sort of feedback for me? I feel like I was a little bit weak around the second-ow!“ Her attempts at communication were quickly cut short when Sarah paused her work just long enough to flick Shallan’s ear. She tried to glare at the woman, but Sarah grinned, unapologetic.

    “Clair was right, Shallan. You did a wonderful job. We can talk specifics tomorrow. For now, just try and enjoy yourself. You’ve earned it.”

    Unable to argue with that sort of logic, Shallan fell silent. Once Sarah had finished unlacing her, she slipped out of the dress, at long last. She tried not to think about the fact she were wearing nothing but her slip in front of so many other people. The others had all changed this way, and none of them had said anything, or even seemed to mind. She was one of them now, truly. Shallan was surprised to realise that she actually felt as such, now that she had taken to the stage alongside them. Despite all the work she had put into helping the others at previous stops, she’d never been able to forget that these arrangements were temporary. But now, it felt as if she had found herself a second home.

    ~~

    It wasn’t long before it was Shallan’s turn to slip out of their makeshift changing room, and into the hallway beyond. Glad to be free of the crowd, she took a brief moment to compose herself. It felt good to be back in her own clothes, even if Sarah had left the hair and makeup untouched – at Shallan’s request. The effect was so flatting that she didn’t want to change it before tonight’s celebrations, if she could help it. Many of the other Misfits didn’t like to be recognised once they were off-stage, but since it was her first show, Shallan had decided that she didn’t mind the possibility. She’d allow herself to enjoy any attention it might bring, just this once.

    She began to make her way down the hallway, fully intent on checking out the taproom. Shallan wanted to see if she could find any familiar faces, so that she might join them. When she ran into Mec, spotted him coming the other way, she was nothing short of delighted. Her smile was like the sun itself, peeking out from behind a smattering of clouds. She rushed to meet him, eager to hear what he thought of her show. The praise that followed was more or less what she had expected, but it felt different coming from him, somehow. Despite how prepared she felt, Shallan felt herself blushing again, regardless.

    “I’m glad you enjoyed it” she offered, her tone soft, but warm. Almost instinctively, a hand went to the necklace she wore, before she caught herself. Sarah had been right – this was a night for celebration, not embarrassment. If she’d finally convinced herself to stand up in front of a crowd, then she could accept some kind words from her best friend with a modicum of good grace. “It’s a good feeling, knowing that all the time I spent practicing was worthwhile. Sarah and Clair definitely knew what they were doing, hm?”

    All smiles and sunshine again, Shallan reached out and took and took one of Mec’s hands. She’d hesitate for just a moment whilst she mustered up her courage, before she’d step towards him. The girl would lift herself up on her tiptoes, so that she could plant a quick kiss on Mec’s cheeks, before she’d step back again.

    “Thank you, Mec. For believing in me. I really appreciate it. Now, let’s go join the party, yeah? There must be at least one person down there willing to buy the Misfits’ newest star a drink or two.” She’d grin a little at her own bragging, offering Mec a sly wink whilst she were at it. Without any further ado, Shallan would step past Mec, pulling him along gently by the hand. Down the stairs, into the taproom, and towards whatever waited beyond.

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    The Misfits' trusty donkey, Charlie, gave a loud snort as the lot approached yet another stop. The venture had proved to be rather simple, considering the long distance they had traveled. The aching and tiredness that edged at the forefront of the group's minds was typical for the long journey, and it was fortunate that only such common troubles had bothered them. They slowly marched down a gently descending hill with the breeze at their backs, easing them along towards the long bridge that lead into the city down below. The donkey was clearly delighted with the ease the descending slope provided, bobbing his head and twitching his ears as he continued onward.

    "Easy now," Mec, said calmly, with a stern, trained, voice. He gave the donkey's neck a light brush with his hand, and was unable to stop the edges of his lips from curling upward at the sight of the animal's excited bobbing. He tightened his grip on the animal's lead, reaffirming his control as they pressed onward. Although the donkey continued to huff and twitch his ears, it followed Mec's pace obligingly. Only then did Mec turn his head to observe the city down below.

    Even from afar, the city seemed massive. Large, old buildings towered over the smaller residences and shops below. He could not guess what such large buildings were. Temples? Hospitals? Libraries? He wished heavily for the last one, as the last few towns since Shallan's first major performance had been lacking in such regard. When he was unable to practice his magic arts without suspicion, reading and transcribing provided him with a good out, a place that allowed him to continue to educate himself in some way. After all, if he was to learn how to wield his powers for the betterment of people, he needed to learn about the shortcomings of modern technologies, medicines, and philosophies, in order to identify the gaps he was best suited to fill.

    Aside from the towering buildings, another obvious and grand feature of the city was easily identified from afar. A large wall surrounded the city from all sides. Solid, white walls of stone with no visible gaps other than the gates on each side of the city. The walls contained the entire contents of the city inside of a square, making the city look rather unnatural among the rolling hills of grass and the surrounding forests. As the group approached, they saw signs posted on the road directing traffic to either the eastern or western ends of the city, as entry from the north or south was forbidden. Those roads, Mec eventually gathered, were for exiting traffic only. The consequences of such redirection of the masses became clear as the group approached the long line of travelers awaiting entry to the city, fenced in a long road that lead straight to the gate. Merchants, messengers, freight haulers, and all were funneled towards the town's western gate, and the crowd had already been growing impatient.

    "It can't be helped," Clair admitted begrudgingly. "We've passed too many towns due to the sudden trend of fining or heavily taxing unlicensed entertainers. Fay'Telle is one of the only major cities I've been told are still free of such penalties. We're also here at a good time. This city is expecting a visit from renowned nobility from outside kingdoms, whose tasted in entertainment is rather refined... And expensive. There is no group in the land better suited to deliver than us."

    Following orders from Clair, the group waited their turn. As time passed by, they began to funnel in closer and closer towards the gates. However, it was at a snail's pace, and the crowds ahead and behind them were growing crabbier each minute. "By the mother! It is almost noon!" a merchant shouted.

    "You are letting goods go to rot out here!" added another.

    "This is madness! Can the city afford the markets to be empty for so long?"

    Clair tilted her head slightly. Her eyes were wide as she seemed to observe with an mystified expression. As young and beautiful as she was, such an unsure expression made her look even younger. She stood like this for a few long seconds, before blinking and turning around suddenly. She smirked and her eyes squinted slightly, and she gave few of the surrounding performers a knowing glance. Some of them understood immediately, setting to grab their instruments. Ella quickly untied her flaming red hair from the bun she wore it in, shaking it loose so that it fell below her shoulders. Godrich grabbed a lute and mounted himself on top of the wagon, elevating one leg on the side walls so that he could rest his instrument on his knee.

    "And one, two, three, and four!" Clair declared cheerfully, deliberately embellishing the words with a feminine chirp. Godrich strummed at his strings, introducing the impromptu performance with a fervor. His strong, powerful voice rang out, beginning a familiar tune that was often hummed by travelers.

    "Oooh, once in our land, t'was a maiden fair! A maiden fair, with cherry-red hair! I brought her rubies, gold and more, but she never let me wed her!"

    Mec would have sworn that he had always heard the lyrics as "bed her" in taverns. He muttered the thought aloud, warranting a quick slap on the shoulder from the back of Sarah's hand just before the group thundered into the chorus of the song.

    The ensuing rabble helped to pass the time. The sudden cheer and disturbance had riled up the guards of the gate at first, but they were quick to let it go. The entertainment helped to sooth the travelers that had grown disgruntled with the process of entering the city, and it served well to put the guards into a good mood also. Eventually the nature of the entertainment grew more tame as the lungs of the audience grew tired and they no longer could join in. Godrich sat on the edge of the wagon then, continuing to play his lute softly to back up Ella's singing, which had a very impressive range. No longer restricted by a need to play a familiar song, they chose more unique songs to share with the audience. Eventually Godrich would add in his own baritone voice, and even coaxed Shallan to join in the songs by beckoning her over with his fingers.

    Mec watched from a few meters away, his back turned towards the city's gates. His eyes watched the large sack that someone had tied to the edge of the wagon, in which someone would occasionally drop a few coppers or even a small purse in gratitude of the entertainment. Most of the time, however, he watched Shallan admiringly. He thought back to her first large performance, her beautiful dress, those gold, shimmering eyes, and how happy she had been for the days that followed. His thoughts were interrupted when he felt his hand was squeezed.

    "The holdup at the gate is a little more than a baggage check," Clair said with great displeasure. She glanced around, before following Mec's gaze towards the performers. "They're checking for bags and papers like usual, but they're also performing a check for sorcerers." She spoke with a hushed voice, and hardly stirred even when Mec looked at her with a bewildered glance.

    "What? How would they even do that?" he asked.

    "I can't tell from here. I thought you would know more about these things." She glanced up towards him, quickly realizing he had no bright ideas either. "It might be too suspicious if you were to just turn back now, but I'm not sure there's much of a choice. The line is moving faster now. I think they brought more help to get the inspections done faster. Can you manage by yourself for a day, maybe two, until we figure out what we ought to do? Maybe there's a better way to enter... Or maybe we'll have to cut our visit short after all."

    "I can manage," Mec said, his voice as hushed and discrete as Clair's. "If I don't hear back, I will travel to a nearby town without the restriction and send a message."

    "You can't," Clair hissed, squeezing his hand. "Remember what happened the last time we strayed too far apart?" She bit her lip, hard, visibly perturbed.

    Mec cursed under his breath. "The check might be bullocks, but we can't risk it. I'll stay nearby. I think with enough focus, I can still protect you from the nearby forests. I will be safer there." He noticed Clair seemed to question how the forests would be safe, but she did not know that a wooden doll was likely stalking him from there. "Trust me."

    Clair did not have much time to do more than give Mec's hand another squeeze before it was time to shut up about the matter.

    "Oh pox on it!" shouted a man behind them, closer towards the gate. "We're all stuck here like prisoners because they're checking for mages, sorcerers? Do mages even venture around these parts? That's something for poor towns to worry about, obscure slums in the middle of forests and swamps!"

    "It's all a big showing for those visitors from Al-Shakhni," another added. "Just outrageous."

    Clair suddenly grew tense and shoved Mec away from her just before a guard emerged from the crowd. He looked the beautiful woman over once, before clearing his throat and trying to meet her gaze. "I am performing baggage checks to help speed things up. Would you mind?"

    "Of course not," Clair said obligingly. "I am responsible for this group here, if you would like to glance through my wagon, gentle sir?" She cheerfully lead the man towards the wagon, assembling the rest of the troupe in order to be as cooperative with the authority as possible. While the guard was inspecting the wagon, Clair looked over to Shallan. "Oh goodness, Shallan. The pearl seems to have fallen off of your necklace. I am certain that I saw it not long before, so you may have lost it just up the path. Mec must have spent a small fortune on it, so surely he will help you look for it?" Her brown eyes locked with Shallan's, knowing that when the fellow entertainer reached up for the necklace that she would find that the pearl had not dared to move. Her eyes flickered towards the guard, and then to Mec, before giving Shallan a knowing nod.

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    At some point during their travels, Shallan had started to find the gentle rumbling of the Misfits’ carriage comforting. Oh, it certainly wasn’t comfortable – the hard wooden slats of the wagon’s bed would never compare to the most utilitarian chairs, and it was often so crowded that even the smallest person couldn’t stretch out. Even now, every time the memory of being trapped inside one crossed Shallan’s mind, she couldn’t help but panic a little. Yet, despite all that, it had become a symbol of respite. A sore backside and cramped confines were a small price to pay to avoid excessive grime, painful blisters, and muscle soreness that could linger for days. No matter how calloused her feet became, the longest journeys were still trying, and the wagon remained their one oasis.

    With her knees hugged against her chest, Shallan let her attention bounce between the several other Misfits she was currently sharing with. Ashlyn and Tanya weren’t among them, but that wasn’t enough to keep her out of the conversation anymore. Following her first major performance, Shallan had found acceptance amongst the other performers. As her confidence had grown, so had her social circle. She knew all of the other performers by name now, and was on good terms with most of them. Her present company had arranged themselves in a rough approximation of a circle, and chatted idly about small things as the world passed them by. Together, they poked idle fun at each other. Shared the sort of mildly embarrassing stories that one could laugh about after the fact. Asked questions about each other’s pasts. It wouldn’t be long until their turn ended, and so, they all strived to make the most of it.

    That was what they thought, anyway. Discussion came to a brief pause as they crested one hill, and found that their next destination was suddenly in sight, before turning to the topic of their next destination. Shallan temporarily allowed the conversation to fade to the back of her awareness as she surveyed the grand city. It looked both , imposing and majestic to her, with it’s gigantic white walls. She suspected that this place put even the lawless performing city of Convittas to shame, as far as size was concerned, though perhaps the impressive fortifications simply made it seem that way.

    Despite it’s fearsome appearance, a familiar sense of excitement bubbled up within Shallan at the sight of it. She was pointedly aware that every metre they travelled was another metre further from home than she’d ever been before. What sort of new experiences awaited them here? What sort of new sights and smells and places would she find? Shallan knew that she couldn’t even begin to imagine, and the mere possibilities filled her with energy.

    She did find it a little bit strange when the wagon turned away from the nearest set of gates, but Shallan didn’t feel the urge to pry. She trusted Clair’s judgement on such matters. Instead, she simply turned her attention back to the rest of the group, content in the knowledge that it wouldn’t be much longer now.

    The universe was quick to prove Shallan wrong. The lengthy procession of wagons and people and working animals trying to gain admittance to the city seemed endless. They trudged along at a snail’s pace, trading hours of their lives for just a few metres at a time. What’s worse, the dark mood of the crowd quickly proved infectious. Shallan was almost glad when someone remembered that their time was up, and evicted her group from the back of the wagon’s bed, so that some of the others could have a chance to sit. She hardly wanted to stand, it was difficult to begrudge the others for demanding their turn.

    When some quick-thinking troupe musicians finally struck up a tune, Shallan’s mood quickly brightened. It wasn’t difficult to imagine that Clair simply wanted to make the best of their situation, but she didn’t particularly care. Music and song would always be enough to cheer her, despite her weariness. Shallan quickly moved to join the crowd, a small smile spreading across her features. When the crowd joined in, it was quick to grow A part of her couldn’t help but admire Godrich’s ability to manipulate them – it wasn’t an easy thing, to string them along like this, when everyone was in such a bad mood to begin with. Shallan refrained from adding her own voice to the chorus, to avoid disturbing their enthusiastic audience, but that didn’t stop her from enjoying the performance nonetheless.

    When the focus of their show began to shift, and Godrich invited her to join in, Shallan was quick to accept. Grinning like a fool, she stepped forward and added her voice to the rest of the group at long last, loud and elegant and unashamed. The song wasn’t quite as sophisticated as the Moonwalker’s Ballad, and without a chance to warm up, it wasn’t going to be her best performance. Even so, it was enough for this crowd, in this place, at this time. It was strange, to think that once, she would have shied away from such an opportunity. Let her dreadful lack of confidence and fear of embarrassment stifle any desire she had to play along. Never again.

    Shallan was so engrossed in her performance that she barely noticed that Mec and Clair were speaking. Even if she had, Shallan would have been hard-pressed to hear them over the sounds of their song. The arrival of one of the city’s guardsman was a little more noteworthy, but didn’t make for particularly interesting information all on its own. It was only between songs, when Clair seized upon opportunity and singled her out, that Shallan really took notice. The troupe leader’s words were enough to make her raise a hand to her necklace. She brushed her fingers against the pendant quickly, and realised immediately that her pearl wasn’t missing at all. Why would Clair lie about something like that? Shallan was quick to put two and two together. She wouldn’t lie about something like that without purpose. Something was wrong here, and there was a role that Clair needed Shallan to play.

    Shallan was quick to put her acting lessons to good use. She clutched the fixture tightly in one hand, concealing the pearl from view. With wide eyes and an open mouth, she was the very picture of a farm girl on the verge of panic. When she spoke, she even went so far as to add a little bit of a tremble to her voice, just to make her performance extra believable. “Oh, gods above, no. I can’t possibly lose such an expensive gift. I…I have to go back. I just have to find it.” Without stopping to give the other performers her regards, Shallan seized Mec by the arm, and turned away. She led him off at a frantic pace, heading back the way the wagon had come. Ducked and weaved and brushed by individual members of the crowd, as if in a great rush.

    She would slow only when they had gone a good way down the road, and she could be fairly certain that the rest of the troupe – and the guard that was with them - was no longer in view. She’d walk a small distance with her eyes fixated on the ground, as if she were searching, before finally deciding that they’d come far enough. She’d sink to her knees, as if getting down for a closer look, heedless of the way she was dirtying her clothes. She’d tug on Mec’s sleeve insistently until he got the message and joined her – the two of them searching together was a convenient excuse for them to draw close, so that they could speak softly, with less risk of being overheard.

    “What happened back there? Do you have any idea why Clair would send us away like that? The only possibility I can think of has to do with…well, you know.” Her voice was soft, little more than a conspiratorial whisper, but her gaze remained focused on Mec. She dare not say the words out loud, just in case they were overheard. The hasty precautions she’d taken were far from foolproof.

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    Having been shifted away from the guard's attention, Mec watched from several paces away as Clair lead the man to the troupe's wagon, beguiling him with her ever-present charm. The magician did eventually approach, but maintained a position somewhat behind the guard in order to offer some presence with directly drawing attention to himself. The inspection itself seemed to be going smoothly enough. The wagon contained nothing illegal or dangerous, and most of the props were relatively harmless.

    Upon hearing Clair's concern to Shallan, Mec glanced over to his companion quickly, managing to secure a quick glance at the pearl before Shallan covered it with her hand. He swallowed hard, and felt a tingling crawl over his arms, up his neck, and over his temples. Having conspired with Clair only moments earlier, Mec was quick to pick up on the ruse, and what it would mean. He would have to part ways with the troupe, for at least a little while. It would be wiser for Shallan to enter the city with the group, and, for the first time since beginning their journey, leave Mec truly alone for an unknown length of time. We will figure it out, he reassured himself. I'll find Olenna and make shelter, or someone will find a way to get me into the city.

    With a much less convincing expression than his practiced partner, Mec feigned a concerned expression as he let Shallan pull him away from the group, back up the road they had traversed before. After they had distanced themselves from the group, Shallan had dropped down to the ground as if to search for the pearl. Mec raised his eyebrows, glancing around questioningly as he wondered if fully playing out the act was even necessary. Shallan quickly pulled on the sleeve, to which Mec yielded and dropped down to join her. He looked into Shallan's eyes, holding the gaze for a few seconds after she was done questioning him with a voice no louder than a breath. Then he cleared his throat and shook away the tingling in his arms and neck.

    "I won't be joining the rest of the group entering the city," he said, equally as hushed as his partner. "Because of the same possibility you're thinking of. Searching the wagons and bags is the first of two inspections, understood?" He glanced down at the ground, and even slid his fingers gently over the dirt of the road for a moment before continuing. "We'll need to take our time, let the guard finish searching the wagon. He might catch on if you go back and I'm not with you." He observed the patterns he drew in the dirt as he spoke. "Pay close attention to whatever inspection they perform at the gates. We need to know if they are a real danger, or just some kind of baseless protocol."

    They shuffled along the ground for a while, gradually moving locations. After what seemed like a sufficiently long period had passed, Mec finally rose to his feet and carefully helped Shallan to stand. "I am going to go back up the road a ways, before going into the forest. I'll try to make shelter somewhere near that large tree there, with the large roots peeking out of the ground around it. I can tell that I will find an owl there, so I should be safe." He gently raised Shallan's hand to his lips, and gave the back of her fingers a light kiss. "Be seeing you."

    After they said their farewells, Mec continued back up the roads, just as he said he would. He wandered for a while, until he was so far up the road that he was sure no one within the crowd that piled in front of the gate could see him. Then, he continued for a while longer for good measure, until he finally branched off from the road and towards the line of trees bordering the nearby forest. His attention moved towards the skyline as he trekked, increasingly aware that time was not on his side. It would take hours for him to reach the forest and eventually arrive near the area he had pinpointed to Shallan before. Some extra time to find a discrete way to prepare shelter for himself. I better hurry, then, he thought, moving along as he raced against the setting sun.



    Clair continued to wear a charming smile as she answered the guard's questions as he inspected the troupe's belongings. "Oh?" she sighed mellifluously, looking up at the guard with doe eyes when he finally turned away from the wagon. "Would that be all then, sir?" She asked.

    "Yes, I thank you for your cooperation. Now once you arrive at the gate, the guards there will perform a much quicker inspection before you enter the city. It will take only a few seconds per person."

    Clair thanked the guard for his time, watching him leave with a large, girlish smile. The moment the man was preoccupied checking another traveler's belongings, the troupe leader's smile vanished and was replaced with a subtle frown. Her brown eyes glanced around the crowd, scanning quickly for signs of Shallan or Mec. She exhaled heavily, noticing that they were well out of sight for now. I must take the first opportunity I can to find a way to bring him into the city, she thought. No, first we have to determine if it would even be safe for him to be near this city. Who knows what else could be going on if they are checking for mages at the gates...

    She calmly waited for their turn at the gate, remaining quiet and holding calm, impassive expression all the while. She did not allow herself to show it, but she worried. She worried badly, painfully, desperately. She worried for Mec, having sent him away to hide alone. Worried that the search for mages may extend beyond a crude inspection at the gates. Even more, she worried for herself. What might happen if Mec strayed too far, or worse. If she was lucky, she would fall ill. She would dream disturbing dreams, dreams of that thing. What if she was not so lucky? She almost shuddered at the thought, the memory of disturbingly close it had felt before something happened, the second time Mec had arrived during one of her spells. Even now, she could not quite pin down what was going to happen, just that something was about to happen.

    The fretting seemed to pass the time rather effectively. The troupe's turn was coming up quickly. Clair could make out the line of guards standing near the gate, processing the travelers through with tired, labored movements. They held an instrument of some kind, shaped like a wooden quill, and would quickly guide it along the forearms of those they inspected as if to write on them. This must have been the method used to identify sorcerers.

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    Shallan knew full well that the paper-thin ruse she had chosen depended on the two of them maintaining appearances. Even so, she stilled momentarily as Mec caught her up, and her brain tried to digest all of this new information. The guards weren’t just checking the contents of people’s wagons for contraband – they were also checking that every single person who wanted to enter the city wasn’t a mage, somehow. That certainly explained why the line to pass through the town’s gates was so long. Was such a thing even possible? Why were the people of this particular town so worried, when the others they had passed showed no signs of concern whatsoever? Both were good questions, but ultimately irrelevant. Coming up with answers wouldn’t change facts. She needed to focus on the problem at hand.

    When it came time for the two of them to rise, Shallan accepted the hand Mec offered with as much good grace as she could muster. Her gaze flickered out towards the forest when prompted, and quickly settled on the tree she thought he was referring to. With her lips pressed into a look of displeasure, she nodded her reluctant agreement. Leaving Mec alone out there, without any sort of supplies, and only Olenna for company, left a bad taste in her mouth…and yet, what other choice did they have? She might not have trusted the archmage’s intentions, but she could believe the woman wanted to help keep Mec safe, if only because it suited her own designs. That comfort would have to suffice.

    “Be seeing you.” Shallan repeated Mec’s farewell softly, her disappointment obvious, before she watched him disappear into the crowd. With the feeling of his lips against her skin fresh in her mind, she lingered for a moment, even after he had disappeared from sight. Then, at long last, she turned away, towards the front of the line. Began to weave her way through the crowd once more, heading back towards the rest of the troupe, pearl on full display once more.

    Shallan had to walk a long way to catch up with the rest of the troupe. She reached the spot where they had parted ways, only to find that everyone else was gone. It were unsurprising, really – naturally, they’d kept moving down the line whilst she and Mec had been stalling. The aspiring singer kept walking, and soon crossed into the shadow cast by the town’s walls. One step, and the sun seemed to vanish from the world, as if there were an eclipse. Shallan cast her gaze upwards, and found herself awed by the height of them. Of how much larger they looked, now that she was close. Ahead, she could see the gate itself – a massive archway, with a heavy iron portcullis hanging overhead. The entryway itself was a mess of people, with guards trying to usher everyone into orderly lines. Presumably so that they might be tested. Afraid of being left behind, Shallan picked up the pace.

    The troupe’s familiar wagon soon caught her eye, and Shallan made a beeline towards it. She caught up with the rest of the performers just as they were lining up, under the watchful eye of another nearby guard. Naturally, her late arrival meant that she were near the back of the line, condemned to be one of the last. Only Clair was left behind her, and only by choice. Shallan presumed that the troupe’s leader was insisting, to make sure that nobody was forgotten. The two of them shared a knowing look, but Shallan didn’t dare speak on what had happened – not with so many guards standing so close.

    Just like Clair, Shallan managed to fret away most of the time that remained. Every person that passed through the checkpoint ahead of her was step closer to her turn, and the closer they drew, the faster her heart seemed to beat. Realistically, Shallan knew that she had nothing to worry about. She wasn’t a mage. Not by any stretch of the imagination. Her singing voice might have been magical, but that hardly qualified…and yet, what if traveling with Mec for so long was enough? What if he’d rubbed off on her somehow? It was an absurd thought, but it was difficult to silence. Some treacherous part of her brain wouldn’t stop whispering possibilities, wouldn’t stop trying to convince her that the worst was inevitable. There was no way she could turn back now without appearing suspicious, however, so she had no choice. Shallan just kept her head down and shuffled forward with the rest of them, humming softly to herself to soothe her nerves.

    Soon, there was no more waiting to do. Shallan found herself standing at the front of the line, before a large, burly guard. Her attention quickly flickered to the object in his hand. It looked like some sort of strange wooden quill, but tipped with metal. The same type that had messed with Mec’s powers previously? Shallan couldn’t be sure. It was only when the guard standing before Shallan cleared his throat that she realised she’d been staring, and hadn’t heard whatever it was that he’d asked. She quickly shoved the thought aside, and slapped on a small, fake smile.

    “I’m sorry, what was that? I zoned out for a moment there.”

    “Hold out your arm for me please, miss. This’ll only take a moment, and it won’t hurt none.”

    After just a brief moment of hesitance, Shallan held up her right arm, offering it to the man. He wrapped one meaty hand around her slender wrist, not unkindly, before running the strange quill down the inside of her forearm, as if trying to ink a single straight line onto her skin. The metal nib glided on without leaving a mark – something Shallan took as a good sign. The guard’s reaction quickly confirmed it. He mumbled a half-hearted welcome and gestured for her to move past, then turned his attention to the next person in line, before she had even moved on.

    Thankful that nothing had gone wrong, Shallan slipped past the checkpoint and into the city beyond. She was glad that was over, but it was too soon to feel relieved just yet, with Mec still trapped outside the city. Still, she couldn’t do anything about it now. They had other matters to attend to first.

    On the other side of the gate, she was greeted with an entirely different sort of chaos. People rushed away from the gate in throngs, glad to finally be inside after such a lengthy delay. Others jostled with each other for space, shouting and exchanging curses as they tried to get their horses stabled, or unload their goods. Thankfully, it appeared the other Misfits’ and their wagon had already managed to carve out a space of vacant ground. A temporary holdover, whilst they waited for the rest of their members to finish up and join them. Shallan quickly began to walk in their direction, totally unaware that disaster was following her, just a few steps behind.

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    From her vantage point at the back of the line of troubadours, Clair had plenty of opportunity to observe as the guards performed the check for sorcerers. The technique was rather simple: the subject would hold out their forearm with their palm facing upwards, and a wooden instrument with a white, metal tip was slowly swiped along the entire length of the forearm. The guards seemed to inspect the skin for some kind of reaction to the swipe, and upon finding none, would usher the visitor through the gate.

    It was surprising that such an inspection could be so trivial, and completed with such an elementary instrument. Mages, it was always said, were mysterious and dangerous beings that brought about plagues, war, ill omens, and... well, curses. Could a simple swipe of a quill possibly protect the masses from such cunning and villainous monsters? Clair pondered the thought for a while, considering the conspiracies that she overheard from the chattering crowd while she had waited for her turn.

    The time eventually did come, and Clair obligingly extended her arm for the inspection. The guard, a man old enough to be her father, wore a thick mustache and deep wrinkles ornamented the corners of his dark brown eyes when he smiled. "Well hello miss. And what brings you to our beautiful city on this fine day? Work or pleasure?"

    "Both," Clair replied with a smile of her own. She watched as the man quickly wiped the white tip of the wooden instrument with a handkerchief.

    "Ah, wonderful," he replied, looking up from his seat on a wooden stool. "Now this will be quick." He took Clair's wrist gently, raising it slightly to better the angle, and quickly slid the rounded metal tip up her bare forearm.

    The pain was excruciating. As the metal glided upwards, it felt like it had torn a ribbon of skin along with it. Suffering from the pain of having her skin carved from the muscle, Clair struggled to swallow back her groan before it could escape her lips, and she squeezed her eyes shut as she waited for the shocking pain to dull. "I did not know it was supposed to hurt," she choked out, just before she blinked away a few tears.

    She looked down at her arm, finding the damage was not as severe as the pain. A pink line, tender like a mild burn, laced her arm from her wrist to the inside of her elbow. Clair stared at the line for a long while, surprised to find the inspection had physically harmed her.

    The guard quickly stood, the wooden stool falling backwards. "It only hurts your kind," he said gruffly. His cheerful expression had vanished, and the pleasantries had vanished. "Lieutenant!" he called out to a man standing watch from just behind the gate.

    "What is going on?" Clair asked, more direct in her tone. "What has happened, what did you do to me?"

    "Don't. Make. A. Seen." The guard looked at her coldly as he grabbed both of her wrists and pulled them together.

    The other man, the lieutenant, had come rushing over. He appeared more decorated than the guards, wearing a more formal uniform embroidered with emblems. "I got it. You, come with me." He quickly bound Clair's wrists using metal cuffs, and quickly pulled her through the gate and away from the crowd.



    "Godrich, Godrich! Look!" Ella vigorously tapped at Godrich's shoulder, and pointed towards the entrance of the city. "Is that?"

    Godirch followed Ella's finger towards the gate until he found what she was pointing at. "Clair? What?" He looked back towards Ella and the other Misfits immediately nearby. "Wait here, I will find out what's going on." He hurried, ran even, after Clair and the uniformed men that were dragging her off. "Clair!? Where are they taking you?"

    Clair's blonde hair flowed like waves as she turned her head to face Godrich. Her eyes were wide, like a doe facing a hunter's bow. Her mouth hung open, but no words came out.

    The lieutenant paused to look back towards Godrich. He snorted loudly and motioned to one of the guards, before continuing onward, pushing Clair in front of him. The guard he motioned to broke away from the march to approach Godrich. "Listen, son," the man said quietly, standing close. "You are better off leaving it alone. That woman, well, you might not know, but she be a witch of some kind 'er another. The quill proved it at the gate. She will be trialed as such. Maybe, should she not proved dangerous, they will let you speak to 'er at the dungeons before she's tried and executed."

    "A witch? What rubbish, I've known her all my life," Godirch blurted looking passed the guard. "No no, that toy of yours was wrong sir."

    "Son, please. Drop it. You don't want to be a sympathizer around these parts. Believe me." The guard rested his hand against the club that hung on his belt.

    Godrich eyed the weapon nervously, sighing heavily as he took a step back. "Fine. Where... Shaun, no!"

    Thunder boomed with each step as the large simpleton charged by, running after Clair and the guards. "No!" Shaun roared, just before fully tackling one of the guards, crushing him beneath the large stagehand's weight. It took but a moment before the other guards descended on the fool and beat him senseless, shouting obscenities all the while. They only relented once the lieutenant raised a hand and shouted over them.

    "Leave him," he would say. "It will be a while before the face of his heals up. Besides, the gods punished him enough having rendered him a natural fool."

    Godrich's heart pounded hard in his chest as he watched the guards leave with Clair in tow. He let go of Sarah, who had come rushing after Shaun just moments after the altercation. The skin beneath her fingernails was bruised, and she tightly grasped a torn piece of cloth was clearly ripped from Shaun's shirt when she tried to stop him. "Fuck," he said with an exasperated gasp. Finally, he turned away from Shaun and Sarah to address the rest of the troupe, who had moved closer during the altercation with the guards. He could read thousands of questions on their worried, confused, exhausted faces.

    "We will overcome this," he said. "We are Misfits. Our home is not a place we go to, but what we create together. We must stay together, because our fears are naught as long as we protect each other. There must have been some confusion with Clair, but I will make sure she returns to us by nightfall. Do not fret. In the meantime, we all have work to do. Get the wagon secured and the donkey stabled. There will be no performance tonight. Ella knows the way to the inn, and Sarah and I will find a doctor for Shaun. Get to stepping!"

  10. #460
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    Shallan remained blissfully oblivious to the drama that was unfolding behind her at first. She strolled towards the rest of the troupe at a leisurely pace, weaving her way through the crowd automatically, whilst her mind wandered further afield. It wasn’t until the aspiring performer got closer to her companions that she realised something was wrong. Specifically, it was the way Godrich and Ella were behaving that tipped her off. The worried look in their eyes, and the way Ella was pointing, were enough to clue her in. Shallan turned, let her eyes roam the crowd, but saw nothing of note at first. When Godrich ran past, he followed him with her gaze, until her attention snagged on Clair, who was being escorted away by guards, with her hands bound in metal shackles.

    The sight alone was enough to make Shallan’s heart leap into her throat. She stared, dumbfounded, as Godrich held up the guards, and began speaking with one them. Arguing on Clair’s behalf, presumably. Even from this distance, their joint desperation was clear. She had never seen dependable Godrich look so flustered, or stalwart Clair look so shaken, even when gripped by her curse.

    That was the cause of all this, wasn’t it? Yes, it had to be. It was the only explanation that made sense. The curse that afflicted the Misfits’ leader was enough to make the test flag her as magical. The guards couldn’t tell the difference, and were treating her as if she were a mage herself. For a moment, Shallan wondered if that information might make the difference. If she went over and explained Clair’s curse to them, would they let her go? It was only a moment before she discarded the idea. At best, the guards would think that Clair had duped them. Much more likely, they would arrest Shallan herself as a collaborator. Suddenly, Mec’s decision to remain outside the city seemed much more prudent. Thinking about what might have happened if he had tried to enter dredged up memories of his near-hanging. Was that the fate that awaited Clair now? The mere possibility was enough to make Shallan feel sick.

    Caught right on the cusp of indecision, Shallan found her trance interrupted by footsteps, loud as thunder. The crowd seemed to part for Shaun as he threw himself at the guards, driven by blind loyalty. If Clair’s arrest had gone mostly unnoticed before, the struggle that followed was definitely enough to draw the attention of the greater crowd. Shallan winced every time the guards’ clubs rose and fell, but she found herself unable to look away from the grim spectacle. It was like watching a carriage crash in slow motion – the horror of it all transfixed those who stood nearby, demanding to be acknowledged. Finally, it occurred to her that she were still standing around, doing nothing. She turned away, and moved to join the rest of the group at speed.

    When Shallan reached them, she ran straight into Ashlyn and Tanya’s waiting arms. They both looked stricken by the horrible events that had unfolded, and spoke only to make sure she was okay. The three of them listened with the rest of the crowd once Godrich returned, but for the first time, Shallan found herself doubting the validity of his claims. The promise he made seemed impossible to fulfil. Most people were terrified of mages, and their test ‘proved’ that Clair was one of them. It would take a miracle to see her free of them. Heck, a miracle would probably be cited as proof of magic, and further justification for her death. That was the cold, harsh reality of the world that they lived in, no matter how much Shallan liked to pretend otherwise.

    Still, when the rest of the troupe began to move, spurred to action by Godrich’s words, Shallan joined them. Under circumstances like these, there was nothing else she could do. She’d just have to play along until that evening, when Godrich returned with fresh news. Then they could figure out what they were going to do next. In the meantime, she cut a line through the crowd, heading towards Shaun. That was where Sarah was going to be, following Godrich’s earlier declaration, and Shallan wanted to be a part of it. Offer whatever little help she could. Such a display of loyalty, however foolhardy, deserved all the help and kindness she could muster.

    ~~~

    Once the sun had begun to set, painting the sky in brilliant shades of orange and yellow, Mec would make good on his earlier promise to Shallan. The large tree with the twisted roots would find itself playing host to a solitary owl with familiar markings. The bird would alight on one of its lower branches, fixing its too-intelligent gaze on Mec without even bothering to settle. It let out a single hoot, low and soft. One that could almost pass for an invitation, with a little imagination. Then the beast was off again, flitting across to another nearby branch. One slightly further into the forest. It would turn its head and watch, wait until Mec followed, before darting to yet another. A process that it would repeat, over and over, gradually leading the young mage further from the road, and deeper into the trees.

    Within the forest’s hidden depths, Olenna’s doll waited. It hadn’t bothered to hide, or attempted to disguise itself. Hidden by the trees, with her magical senses to warn them of interlopers, there was simply no need. It stood between two trunks, indistinguishable from any others, and turned to face Mec when he drew close enough. The owl would swoop down to land on one of the doll’s shoulders, its task complete, just in time for Olenna to speak through her creation.

    “You were wise to avoid entering the city.” Apparently the cabal leader saw no need for pleasantries, and had instead chosen to get straight to business. Once she had realised Mec had stayed behind, she’d sent her owl to collect information. A single pass over the checkpoint at the gates had been enough for her to put the pieces together. “I would suggest that you continue your journey north tomorrow, before the guards start taking a more…proactive approach. If you need supplies before you move on, just say the word, and I will arrange whatever it is you require.”

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