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

  1. #471
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    After Shallan's departure, Godrich continued to stand watch near the building that Clair had been cooped up in. Nervously, he searched up and down the street, watched the entrance of the building, and stalked the guards that were perched nearby. There was little else he could do. The fear of Clair's demise did not allow him to leave, but he could not risk raising suspicion and putting the enforcers on high alert by approaching. All he could do was wait until Shallan returned with word that they could execute their plan, or until nightfall.

    Eventually, he succumbed to the urge to sit, finding himself an acceptable space atop a short stone fence. He was but a helpless bystander, at least for the moment. The feeling was familiar, and he did not have to ponder for very long to remember when he had last felt this feeling. "Will it always come to this?" he said, eyes transfixed on that building, that fortress. "Will I always fail to be their shield?"

    The memories rushed forward like a tide engulfing the shoreline. They violently crashed over and sent Godrich back to that time, only years ago, when the Misfits lost their previous leaders. To that time when he had also tried so hard to save and protect those that he loved and trusted. Enric had grown ill, his body slowly faltering and growing thin during the Misfits' travels. One night, while the Misfits were traveling between cities, he completely collapsed off of his horse, the majestic chestnut that he always rode. They hurried to the closest town, a small, derelict place, to seek help. Although they eventually found lodgings with some kind peasantry, there was no doctor in town, and the nearest doctors was several towns away. Godrich himself took the reigns of his mentor's chestnut, forcefully kicking it with its ankles and spurred off on a mission to bring back a doctor. When he did eventually return, it was too late.

    It had not been much more than a year later when Teresa had also begun to succumb to her own illness. Her passion, her memory, her mind, quickly began to fade after Enric's death. Eventually, she reached a stage in which she spent the majority of her days lost without her memories. Everyone had become a stranger, she never recognized where she was, and a fear would seize her. At the worst of it, she required sedation in order to calm her fears to prevent her from tumbling out of bed and wandering off, or injuring her weakening body. Other times, there were moments of clarity. They were rare, but Godrich was present for some of them. Those were nearly as harrowing as the other moments, as Teresa's rational mind would try to seek help with one thing: to join her beloved Enric. She was eventually rewarded her wish. No one knew if she had help, or if the gods had taken pity on her.

    The waves of memories rolled away when Godrich was grounded back to reality, staring down at a pair of children that stood in front of him. They watched him curiously while occasionally brushing off the dirty from their skin and clothes. The smaller of the two children, a tiny boy with freshly sheared brown hair, held out a large leather ball to him. When Godrich hesitated to accept the offering, the taller of the children, a girl who was slightly older than the little boy and sporting a pair of pigtails, spoke up. "Are you okay, mister?"

    ~~~

    Vana tugged lightly on the reigns of her bister horse, slowing it to a stop. She stared down at the device of wood and glass in her hands so intently that she did not notice Gaxeel pull up next to her on his own dark-haired steed. They remained halted for a while, stirrup to stirrup, while Vana continued to carefully observe the compass. Finally, she looked up. "It seems our luck with our supposed path has run out. We have two goals, to deliver a message to the Silver Priestess and to locate the puppet or whatever magical artifact has an attachment to this compass. So far, were lucky that the directions were one and the same, but it seems that has now changed. The compass points westward, towards the forests, while the path to the the priestess's temple remains northward."

    Gaxeel remained quiet for a long time, mulling the sentiments over. "We should continue northward," he eventually concluded. "Our objective there is a known, finite distance away from us. Once we have succeeded, we can focus our remaining energies on the compass's target, no matter the distance." No longer restricted to having Vana lead the way, he gently squeezed his stirrups and urged his horse forward, towards the path of the grand city and its temples.

    "Wise," Vana concluded out loud, glancing down at the compass one last time. It would be even wiser for her to continue to watch the artifact as they hurried forward, in case she noticed any strange changes in the direction it was pointing. There was a small chance... a very small chance, but one that existed all the same... that they may pass by the compass's target. She kicked at the horse beneath her, urging it to spring forward and catch up with Gaxeel.


    ~~~

    "So much for plausible deniability." Ella's voice rung out from behind Shallan. She shut the door behind her before approaching her former member of the troupe she now led. "What the devil are you making? Potato sacks?" Her wet eyes watched Shallan calmly while she patiently listened to the explanation of Shallan and Godrich's intentions.

    "I think I have seen some of these temple stewards not too long ago," she commented, glancing down at the work Shallan had done so far. "Pathetic looking things, they were. Such droll bowl-cuts, fingers worked to the bone, and so scrawny and bony. It's no wonder they are abstinent, lest they keel over from over exertion. But I digress." She ran a hand over the outfits. "Godrich is a rather large lad, so you will want to make sure he appears much thinner than he actually is. Have him hunch slightly, but not too much as to reveal his musculature through the robes. Speaking of which, one of these will need to be much looser to hide that woodman's frame of his. You both will want some makeup to help convey the sickly, pathetic appearance of those tired, and probably sun deprived, stewards. Not anything quite as visible and obvious as something we would need for stage work, but just enough so that anyone who is face to face with you recognizes that doggedness without noticing the use of flesh paint."

    She quickly got to work mixing up such examples of makeup. She combined ingredients, occasionally stirring vigorously while working towards the right colors. Occasionally, without warning, she would smear a glob of liquid or dusty paste on Shallan's cheek or arm, and eye the color critically. The "No, no," she would say, turning back to her work. After only a few attempts, she would finally click her tongue in approval, and turn to bottle up her concoctions. "Here, this should be helpful. One bottle for the skin, and one to help feign puffy, tired eyes." She set small glass bottles before Shallan, before rising to turn away. "Godrich's skin is much lighter, so tell him he does not need to use very much of the first bottle. If he does, it will give away that you are wearing makeup."

    Having concluded her explanation, Ella rose. "I will leave you to it then," she said.

  2. #472
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    A few minutes spent digging through the Misfits’ costume trunks was enough for Shallan to find some material that would serve her purposes. The plucked it from the pile, collected a few supplies from nearby, and quickly got to work. Sewing was not among her many gifts, but the outfits worn by the temple stewards were incredibly basic, and Shallan had gotten enough practice while helping Sarah to manage a task as simple as this. In a way, her lack of skill served them well. Ragged edges and shoddy construction wouldn’t seem out of place among the temple stewards, and might even serve to make their disguises more believable.

    Shallan measured and marked, cut and stitched. She worked at a mediocre pace, but pushed on tirelessly, determined to finish their outfits as soon as possible. There was no telling when Clair’s execution would begin, so if she couldn’t work faster, then she would work relentlessly. The only time she paused was when Ella announced her presence. The woman’s voice was so unexpected that it made Shallan jump, accidentally jabbing one of her thumbs with the needle in the process. She swore softly, but a quick glance was enough to reveal that she wasn’t bleeding. A small blessing.

    Ella’s unexpected mention of abstinence was enough to get an unexpected chuckle out of Shallan, despite their circumstances. Otherwise, she nodded along with the new troupe leader’s explanation, filing her helpful advice away in the back of her mind for later. When she began to work on mixing makeup for them, Shallan threw a surprised glance in her direction. A part of her wanted to object, bring up the arguments they’d made last night, but Shallan bit her tongue. Applying makeup was one thing, but mixing up new shades was beyond her current skills. As much as she wanted to keep the troupe’s hands clean, rejecting this particular bit of help seemed unwise.

    Shallan continued her work as Ella began hers, pausing momentarily whenever her new companion needed to check or test something against the shade of her skin. She made sure to adjust her plans based on the woman’s advice, altering the size of the costume intended for Godrich. When the troupe’s leader concluded her preparations, Shallan set her needle and thread down just long enough to accept the two bottles from her. As she listened to Ella’s final notes, Shallan found herself struck with an unexpected wave of emotion. They’d been trying so hard to avoid implicating the troupe, and Ella had been so against helping Clair, but here she was, taking a risk of her own. Despite how callous she seemed sometimes, this was as clear a sign as any that Ella really did care about more than her own position. Shallan’s eyes began to water, just a little, as she nodded her agreement.

    “Thank you, Ella. This makeup very well might be the difference between success and failure. You might have just saved Clair’s life, to say nothing of ours.”

    Shallan would watch the troupe leader depart, before setting the bottles aside, and turning back to her own task. She was almost finished now, and it wouldn’t do to falter now, after a display such as that.

    ~~~

    After stashing the costumes and makeup in their room, Shallan did a quick sweep of the inn, searching for Godrich. When it became apparent that he hadn’t yet returned, Shallan set out once more, diving back into the people-infested streets with all the enthusiasm she could muster.

    The trip back towards the prison district turned out to be a nerve-wracking one. Every time Shallan passed a city guard, a twinge of worry stirred in the back of her mind. It felt like her heart was beating so loudly in her chest that they were bound to hear it, despite the fact that they were just going about her business. Shallan tried to remind herself that she hadn’t done anything wrong yet. That they had no reason to be suspicious of her. The next time they were out of sight, she stopped. Leaned against the wall of the nearest building, and forced herself to take a deep breath. Freaking out like this during the escape would put them all in danger. She’d need a great deal more composure if their plan was to have any chance of succeeding. Scolding herself for such weakness, she pushed onwards.

    It didn’t take Shallan long to find Godrich. Just as expected, he hadn’t left his post yet, and was lingering near the place where she’d last seen him. Reminding herself that they were just two normal people again, and that the guards had no reason to suspect anything was amiss, she set off towards him. Once she drew near, she offered him a small nod in greeting.

    “The costumes, makeup and scripts are all finished. We can begin our performance whenever we’re ready. We may have another problem, though.” Shallan turned her head to the side then, allowing her gaze to sweep over the buildings. Over the guards going about their business, and the people hurrying past. Tried to swallow the lump in her throat. What was the best way to describe this, without risking them being overheard? “I’ve been thinking about the role of the temple stewards.. They’re rather scrawny, and seem to carry very little authority on their own. There’s no way the guards would release a prisoner into their care without some sort of escort. It just isn’t believable. Which gives us another problem to solve.”

    If the prison sent one guard with them, they’d need to figure out a way to subdue him quietly, without attracting attention, before they’d be able to slip away with Clair. They’d also need to make sure nobody found out and raised the alarm before they’d managed to get Clair out the city gates, or things would get…complicated. Worse, if they sent an entire group of guards with them, the two of them would be helpless. They wouldn’t be able to do anything but march to the church with them, where their ruse would doubtless be uncovered. That’d be jail or death for everyone involved. At the same time, Shallan hadn’t yet come up with any ways to mitigate these risks, without taking more time or dragging more people into the equation. They could just try and hope things worked out in their favour, but…well, she’d prefer to avoid taking that gamble if necessary.

    There was plenty more Shallan could say on the topic, but not without implicating both of them. That wasn’t a major problem, though. Godrich had proved himself capable plenty of times over, and she trusted that he’d pick up on the full implications of what she were saying. Hell, there was a decent chance that he’d see more problems that she’d overlooked…or come up with possible solutions, if she were lucky. That said, there was no reason to linger here now. After a moment, Shallan would turn her gaze back to him good and proper.

    “There’s no point in talking about it now, though. We might as well head back for now. We can discuss it properly while we’re getting ready.”

  3. #473
    The Moonlight Knight
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    Upon witnessing Shallan's return, Godrich rose from his spot. He still wore a frown as he looked from Shallan, to the building he had been watching, and then sun above them, which continued to remind them of their limited time as it traveled across the sky above. "Good work," he said. He nodded as he listened to Shallan's concerns. "I've been thinking about the same... and I think I found a solution. It's not the way I would normally handle these things, but we do not know how much time we have, just that we're running out of it. Let's discuss it later, like you said."

    Before they headed back to the inn, Godrich gave the building a long, final look, before steeling himself and hurrying back. When they returned to the inn, they hurried to where they could prepare in private. Godrich looked over the garments Shallan had prepared, nodding in approval. "As humble as one would expect," he commented, feeling the coarse and rudimentary fabric between his fingers. "So, tell me more of this Priestess and her stewards," he added, before pulling away at his clothes to change. Underneath of his tunic, which he removed first, a thin leather strap was wound around Godrich's waist. On one side was the handle of a small, hidden knife, kept secured and concealed by the slender scabbard that was embedded to the leather belt. When he threw on the imitation garb, the strap was completely concealed beneath, just as invisible as it was before.. He listened carefully to Shallan as he continued to work on putting on his disguise.

    After some discussion and some time to change into the disguises and carefully apply their makeup, Godrich sat down to address Shallan's concerns from before. He reached for a pair of tattered sandals, and began tying the straps around his feet. "So, I made acquaintances with a few street urchins while I was on watch," he explained. "We talked for a little while, and I saw a certain... potential."

    The pair of young children that had interrupted his thoughts earlier were not unlike Godrich, Ella, or even Clair. Godrich spoke to them for a short while, long enough to get the general idea of their situations. They were a brother and sister, orphaned by the unexplained disappearance of their mother. They only had each other, basically, and did what they could to eat and survive. Godrich had asked them why they did not go to the church for help. They seemed like they were eager to help those in need, after all.

    "Freedom," the girl had told him. "If we rely on da church, we'll be stuck there forever and ever. Bad times like this are temp... temper... tempor...ary. So, one day when we are older and bigger and stronger, we can be free to go wherever we like."

    After describing what he learned about these street urchins, Godirch watched Shallan cautiously. "Maybe we can talk to these kids... Give them a little something to cause a distraction of some sort if they see us with a guard or two. We can use the situation to peel ahead towards the church, and vanish once we're out of their sight. Then, as much as I feel bad for piling so many responsibilities on her so suddenly, Ella could take the young ones in? Supposing we can convince them that a life with the Misfits is what they want, anyway.

    They discussed the plan for a while longer. There were many downsides to it, but there were enough benefits and so little time to spare that they needed to move forward with it. Godrich wrote a message to Ella, describing a time and place to wait for a pair of children that would be looking for a woman with fiery red hair. Finding that many of the Misfits, including Ella, were out of the inn, he slid it under the door of the room that was reserved for her. Then, Godrich and Shallan hurried to their tasks.

    As they neared the prison area, Godrich stayed on the lookout for the children he saw before. It was only by some dumb stroke of luck that he happened to hear the sound of a partially deflated, leather ball, bounce off of a nearby wall. From the alleyway the sound originated from, he caught a glimpse of the younger of the two, the small boy. His stumpy, short legs carried him backwards, and after a small pause he hurried forward to kick the ball against a wall of a nearby building.

    After glancing around momentarily, Godrich drew long strides to approach the child. He began to slow down when the boy looked up and noticed him, and seemed to freeze up in fear. Fortunately, the reaction was a silent trembling and not a full on outburst. Even so, Godrich felt terrible for making the young boy feel that way, and for the risk of danger his plan may put the boy and his sister into. "Shhh, shh, it's me. Remember?" He said as he approached, lowering down to one knee.

    Suddenly, from the darkness of the alleyway, a stone emerged. It soared through the air, straight towards Godrich's face. He hardly managed to move and raise an arm, only noticing the projectile when it drew close, and it bounced squarely off his temple.

    "Get away from 'im!" A small voice yelled, and the older sister, the young girl, came running. She carried a broken wooden stick, which looked like the broken handle from some sort of kitchen utensil.

    "Shhh! It's me!" Godrich hissed, trying to keep his voice lower. He rubbed his fingers against the side of his head, and felt the warm sensation of blood dripping down them. "I need your help... And if you will listen to us, I know someone who might be able to help keep your bellies full, and give you freedom, at the same time."

    The girl stood defiantly for a long moment, before turning her head to the side, lips parted slightly. "M-mister? Wh-why you look'n like one of 'em temple scrubbers? You di'int say that's what you do."

    Godrich flicked away the blood from his fingers, trying to be careful as to keep the blood from reaching his clothes. "I can be whoever I want to be, whenever I want to be," he said quietly. "I've been the poorest soul in the world, and the richest of kings. I've been a muted pauper, and a booming soloist. And we can teach you to do the same. Okay?"

    After some more convincing, Shallan and Godrich entered the alleyway with the pair of munchkins. Rather than go straight into what it was that they needed from them, Godrich took the time to paint the picture of the Misfits in their minds. He talked about his many years of traveling with the group, the thrills of performing, the fantastic food and drink they had enjoyed over the years. His grin grew wider, and his chronicles more exuberant, as he observed the young boy's eyes open wide and his mouth water at the marvels. Meanwhile, the older of the two, the girl, watched Shallan with a still, unwavering gaze.

    "Is she a miz fit too?" she asked, only turning to Godrich to ask the question before looking towards Shallan again. "I wish I had pretty hair, like that."

  4. #474
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    Once Shallan and Godrich had returned to the inn, and sequestered themselves away inside a private room, she joined him in getting ready for the long afternoon ahead. Before they’d joined the Misfits, the very idea of changing in front of someone else would’ve been enough to make Shallan blush. The time she’d spent as Sarah’s apprentice had helped thicken her skin somewhat in regards to such matters, though. The aspiring performer reminded herself that while Godrich was a man, he was just as much a professional as any other Misfit. He certainly didn’t seem to mind, and she’d still have her underclothes on regardless. With that in mind, Shallan turned her back towards him, and set about changing into her costume.

    While Shallan prepared, she began recounting her experiences at the church that afternoon, per Godrich’s request. She spared no detail, covering everything from the church’s appearance to the contents of the sermon the Silver Priestess had given. Once she’d finished getting changed, and had started doing their makeup, Shallan moved on to reciting all the stories and prayers she had heard, as best as she could remember them. The aspiring performer sincerely hoped that it wasn’t necessary, but it seemed better to be prepared, just in case circumstances required them to prove their ‘faith’.

    When she had finished with their makeup, Shallan sat back and took a moment to admire her own handiwork. Between Ella’s instructions and all the practice Shallan had gotten over the past few weeks, this part had gone much more smoothly than her attempts to make their costumes. They both looked just like the overworked, sleep-deprived, malnourished aspirants that they were supposed to be imitating. Godrich’s build was still something of an issue, but the oversized costume helped. So long as he hunched his shoulders appropriately, they’d be fine. Or so she hoped.

    Then it was Shallan’s turn to sit back and listen as Godrich explained his encounter with two of the street urchins, and the role they might play in Clair’s escape. The aspiring performer chewed on her lower lip idly as she pondered the idea, expression uncertain. She didn’t really want to put the kids in danger, but maybe their upbringing meant they had experience slipping away from the city guards. On another note, if Ella took them in, and the guards recognised them after the escape, it could implicate the Misfits. The odds of the same guards being at the gates when the Misfits tried to leave down were pretty slim, though, and Shallan didn’t doubt that they’d have a better life with the troupe. Besides, they didn’t have many alternatives. So long as everyone knew what they were getting into, and all parties agreed, then she wouldn’t object.

    With the vast majority of their preparations complete, Shallan left the inn alongside Godrich, and followed him back to the prison district. The nervous anticipation she had felt earlier only seemed to grow the closer they got, until it had filled her chest completely. Hopefully nobody who saw them approaching the jail from the wrong direction would think twice about their presence, or consider it noteworthy enough to remark upon.

    When they reached the alleyway, Shallan lingered by the entrance for a moment. She cast a nervous glance around, before hurrying after Godrich. The aspiring performer was more than happy to let him lead the way, but she tried to stay close, lingering just a few steps behind. Shallan’s heart seemed to break in two at the sight of the small boy, so small and dirty and scared. One of the urchins that Godrich had met before, presumably. The aspiring performers stayed quiet when her companion struck up a conversation with him, desperate to remain as nonthreatening as possible. Shallan avoided making a sound until the moment when a rock struck Godrich out of nowhere, at which point a soft gasp slipped from her lips unbidden.

    Their attacker appeared from the far end of the hallway, but Godrich seemed undeterred by the incident. When he began to regale the children with stories from his time as a Misfit, Shallan couldn’t help but smile. She knew what Godrich was trying to do, but he was highlighting so many of the things she loved about the troupe, she couldn’t help but feel enthralled by his stories nonetheless. It was like falling in love all over again. Was it really any wonder that she’d spent so long of her life aspiring to this?

    Shallan was so absorbed by the storytelling that she was a little shocked when the little girl mentioned her, even going so far as to compliment her hair. She was quick to recover her composure, though, and a small smile graced her features. Shallan had enough experience as a performer to recognise an entrance cue when she heard it, even when they weren’t working from a script. “I’m another Misfit, yes.” Her voice was calm, warm, but not overeager. Shallan took a few steps forward then, crouching down alongside Godrich now that she’d officially been invited to join the conversation.

    “You know, it was the Misfits who taught me to do my hair like this. They also taught me to sing, and dance, and dress up pretty. They could teach you all of these things too, if you wanted. We just need you to show us how brave you are first.”

    ~~~~

    “Okay, that’s long enough. The kids should be in position by now. Are you ready?” Shallan would tear her gaze away from the prison entrance to throw a sideways glance at Godrich, a single brow arched. Oddly enough, now that the big moment was upon them, the majority of Shallan’s nerves seemed to have faded. It was just like every time she was about to take to the stage; in the final few seconds before the curtain went up, she stopped thinking about what might go wrong. Everything else seemed to fade away, leaving her with nothing but excitement. The anticipation and euphoria that accompanied the roar of the crowd, mixing together in blissful harmony. Apparently the fact that multiple lives were at stake changed nothing, and she couldn’t help but wonder if Godrich felt the same way.

    Pending his confirmation, Shallan would take a moment to get into character. She’d roll her shoulders one last time before adjusting her posture, hunching them forward and ducking her head. She reminded herself to look awkward and nervous, to fidget openly and never meet anyone’s eye for more than a second. She practiced her ‘lines’, repeating a few of the sayings she’d heard at the church until she was certain that she had the cadence down right. Then, without delaying any longer, Shallan stepped out of the shadows, into the street, and cut a beeline for the prison’s front entrance.

    The guards out front of the drab building glanced in their direction, but looked away almost immediately afterwards. Neither moved to question or stop Shallan and her companion as they slipped in the building’s front door. Apparently the outfits were enough to placate the guards, even if they didn’t recognise the people wearing them. Were these executions so common that visits from the church’s attendants had become routine, or did they simply not care? Either way, Shallan found herself grateful for their apathy. Hopefully the rest of the guards would be cut from similar cloth.

    Shallan resisted the urge to look around as they crossed the foyer. It was supposed to seem like they’d done this several times before, and she didn’t want to hint at their inexperience, even in such a subtle way. It wasn’t long before she found herself standing before a plain wooden desk, manned by an older gentleman dressed in casual clothes. Not a guard himself, then. Just some sort of administrator, probably. He continued to look over the register in front of him in relative silence, adjusting his glasses idly with one hand, as if he hadn’t noticed their approach. Shallan waited patiently for a few moments, before finally speaking up.

    “Blessings of the Silver Priestess upon you, sir. We’ve come for the demon-touched.” When Shallan spoke, she did her best to find the line between sounding meek and having purpose.

    “What?” The man startled, looked up from his work, only to relax when he saw them. Shallan met his eye for a brief moment, gave him a wan smile, before looking away again, imitating sheepishness. “Oh. I wasn’t aware that there was going to be another execution so soon.” He turned his gaze back to the documents in front of him, mouth narrowing into a thin line. Shallan felt herself break out into a cold sweat while her mind scrambled for something to say.

    “We don’t question the will of our priestess, sir. We only do as she bids us.” The man glanced up at her again, and Shallan couldn’t help but squirm and fidget a little beneath his gaze. The seconds that followed seemed to stretch for an eternity, until the administrator let out a soft sigh and rose to his feet.

    “True enough. Wait here a moment.” The man made for a door set into the wall behind him, leading further into the depths of the prison. Shallan waited until he was out of sight before shooting Godrich a nervous smile. It only lingered for a moment before she turned away again, wary of being caught.

    So far so good. Or so it seemed, anyway.

  5. #475
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    Deep within the prison, she waited. Clair, having been deemed magical and sentenced by the white-tipped quill at the entrance of the city's gate, had been waiting for what felt like ages. She waited tiredly, calmly, and quietly. The cell walls that surrounded her we made of cold, coarse, stone. The air was damp and musty, having grown thick with years of relative neglect and poor ventilation. The rickety wooden cot Clair sat upon creaked as she shifted her weight, repositioning herself so that she could continue to watch through the metal bars that were aligned just ahead of her. She watched warily, refusing to shift her gaze away from the hallway.

    This is no place for me, she reflected. She felt her muscles tighten when the memory of the past days events resurfaced. Memories of being hauled off to this dungeon, the aggressiveness of the men as they shoved her into the cell. It was only after they had tossed her in here that they brought the chain-linked cuffs, made of iron, but decorated with accents of white metal. She did not fight back when they took her arms and cuffed her wrists together - there was little point. The so-called witch hunters that brought her here were armed men, and much stronger than she was. Even so, it did not prevent them from being aggressive, asserting themselves as they handled her.

    A guard walked passed, and paused to stare into her cell. Clair remembered him. His black, beady eyes, his greasy lips, which he licked hungrily as he stared at her. She knew what he was fantasizing, what he thought of a beautiful and helpless woman, bound and vulnerable in front of him. She knew that the only thing defending her from his desire was the superstitions that were spread amongst the witch hunters. The night they chained her up, that man had not hesitated to tear at Clair's blouse and squeeze at her breasts. "Get off'er, you hog," another witch hunter told him. "Don't you know witch's don't need hands to cast spells? She'll use her mouth or her cunt to melt your cock right off, if yer not careful. If you're so backed up, get yerself a tavern wench, when you're off duty, like any decent bloke."

    Clair knew that same warning was ringing in his ears now, but she still held her breath uneasily. She only acknowledged him with a wary glance, but did not react otherwise. Eventually, the guard grew bored and pecked at the air with his greasy lips, before marching onward to return to his business. Clair sighed silently, feeling the tensed up muscles in her back relax again. She swore silently under her breath, trying to distract herself from the red, itchy skin of her wrists. Like the white quill, the cuffs caused an irritating reaction on her skin. She tensed up again when she heard the sound of another approaching, signaled by the jingling of keys and light, purposeful footsteps.

    A man with thinly framed glasses approached the door of the captive's cell. He slowed to a halt, pressing his heels together when he did so. With a motion of his hand, he recruited two of the guards to approach. "You wait right there," he told Clair through the bars calmly. His tone was neutral. It was not pleasant, by any means, but it was the least aggressive tone that had been directed at Clair since she had been brought to this place. Of course, she was not naive enough to take that as a signal to plead her case - that she was not magical and did not deserve to be incarcerated.

    The lock of the cell door clicked loudly as the man unlocked it, and the door slowly swung open with a shrill screech. The pair of guards, the greasy one and another that Clair failed to recognize, stepped into the cell. They pulled her up by the arms, which made her quiver in pain as the white metal of her cuffs slid against her skin. They pulled up her hair, a little too tightly, in order to link together a metal collar around her neck. The metal did not burn her skin like the cuffs, but it felt dreadfully heavy against her collar bone. A long chain was linked to the front of the collar, and once the guards ushered her out of the cell, they handed the chain to the man with glasses.

    Without wasting any more time, the man took the chain and started down the hall. "Come," he commanded. Clair hesitated to move, and the chain grew taught.

    "Go, wench," one of the guards growled, shoving her forward. She complied, having been sagacious enough to know that any more protest would do more harm than good. She followed, solemnly. Occasionally, she twitched or shook her head to move her hair from her face. The guards followed so closely behind her that she sensed them. She avoided glancing into any of the other cells that they walked passed, and instead focused on the man with the chain. Where is he taking me? she wondered. To trial? Judgement? I need to find a way to get help. Godrich, Ella, Shallan, Mec, anyone...

    Who she saw next, when they emerged from the doorway at the front of the building, surprised her. It was as if she willed for them herself. Despite their convincing disguises, she immediately recognized Shallan and Godrich. Her eyes lingered on their figures for a long moment. The look of amazement worked to her advantage, as once she caught her bearings she knew her role to play. The chain grew taught again as she turned to face away, and the clerk pulled it, hard.

    "Here is your witch, your demon-touched," he said, handing the chain to the greasy-lipped guard. "These two will will ensure your safety as you take her back to your Priestess. Also, if you would sign these." He expertly leafed through a few folders, and presented a few leaflets of paper. He wrote the date on a few lines, before turning the pages and placing them in front of Shallan on the wooden desk. "You do know how to write, yes? Does not always seem to be the case with your lot. If you can't sign in the common language, then your temple's sigil would do." He placed his slender fingers on the register again. "And of course, the fee. A couple of silvers to cover our costs. Or two hundred coppers, if you would prefer."

    Clair watched quietly as her companions signed and paid for custody of her. Well, supervised custody, anyway. The guard holding the chain linked to her collar stepped forward to join them on the journey to the Silver Priestess, or so the conversation between the fake stewards and the clerk would have him believe. Clair was powerless to do more than follow the tug of the chain, and follow the guard, Godrich, and Shallan in silence. She would have to trust in her companions. Trust that they have come to her aid with a plan, and trust that they did what they could to minimize the risk of putting the Misfits in any danger.


    ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

    "It's moving again" Vana said to Gaxeel. Their horses had been carrying them at a casual pace as they approached the city of the Silver Priestess. She held up the compass, angling it as to eliminate any glare on its glass face. Look, it is pointing in the direction of those woods. For it to change so quickly, even as we are moving now... The distance of the compass's target must be inside of those woods Gaxeel. We need to head that way.

    "We are close to the city, with the gates just down below," Gaxeel said. "Have we not agreed that we would complete our objective there, first? Besides, who knows how long we will be searching in those woods? It will be dark before we know it, and we would be forced to either risk our horses breaking a leg or setting up camp so close to friendly walls."

    Vana audibly ground her teeth, watching the needle on the compass start to turn as they continued onward. Of course Gaxeel was in a hurry to get to the city. A soldier of renown like him is not used to roughing it on the hard ground, in the wilds, at night. No, he would prefer the comforts of a tavern, a stream of ale going to his gut. He wasn't like her, raised to hunt, track, and make use of what the wilderness offered on a regular basis.

    "And if our target moves?" Vana asked after a bit of silence. "You can go on ahead. I would like to see if I don't find any foot tracks aligning with the compass's direction."

    Gaxeel's dark-haired steed sped up suddenly, turning to stop in Vana's path. "It is too dangerous to separate," he said. "If you stumble into the hands of that machination, or worse, its master, you may not survive. Once we stop in the city, deliver our message, and trade our horses for fresh ones, we can make quick work of it. Now come, that's an order."

    Vana, whose expression had been rather neutral and conveyed a sense of boredom up until this point, stood up straight in her horse and squeezed her eyebrows together. "I do not, take orders from you," she hissed. The angry lines of her furrowed brow ran at an angle with a few of the tiny scars that lined her tanned face. "I was brought here to hunt down what you failed to capture. We are not routing an army, Gaxeel. This is an honest hunt, between us and a single target. This is a fight to survive, which I intend to win with this pretty bow and its pretty matching arrows. I have decided."

    She turned her horse spurred it onward, hurrying towards the woods.

  6. #476
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    Shallan wasn’t sure how long they’d been waiting for, but the lack of distractions made it feel like every individual second was dragging on. With nothing to occupy her thoughts, the anxiety that had plagued her earlier returned, its strength increased tenfold. Some treacherous corner of her mind whispered threats, suggesting that they’d already been caught and just didn’t know it yet. That the jailer had sent someone to fact-check their story, or that he’d known they weren’t true acolytes straight away, and had just been playing along. That when he returned, he’d do so with an entire company of guardsmen at his back. Guards that would have no trouble throwing them in cells of their own. If they weren’t just killed outright, that was.

    Her extensive stage training was the only thing that stopped Shallan from breaking character prematurely. The aspiring performer clung to her fake persona the same way a drowning man clings to a bit of driftwood, using it as refuge. She forcibly reminded herself that the thrall she was playing had nothing to fear, because nothing was amiss. That she’d best play it out, because if she slipped up, then they’d be caught for sure. From within the mind of her nameless acolyte, her own fear and panic felt strangely muted. Distant. Manageable, even.

    The door creaked as it swung open again, and when she caught sight of what lay beyond, Shallan’s breath caught in her throat. She paid no mind to the jailer, or the two armed guards who accompanied him. The aspiring performer only had eyes for the familiar face who accompanied them, bound by chain and shackle. Shallan saw the look of surprised that danced across Clair’s features, and knew that she’d recognised them immediately. Had she not been buried so deep within the mind of her character, Shallan might’ve thrown her head back and laughed. Relief washed over her, sweeter than the ripest of fruits. That one moment alone made her feel like all the stress was worth it.

    Even if the plan was working so far, though, it was too early to celebrate yet. Shallan quickly squashed any enthusiasm she felt, and prayed that any slip in her demeanour hadn’t been too noticeable. She forced herself to turn away from her friend and back towards the jailer proper. At his request, Shallan stepped forward to settle things between them. She didn’t know the church’s sigil well enough to try and replicate it, but picking a fake name was easy enough. She picked the name of a character from one of the Misfits’ plays, albeit one of the more realistic ones. Shallan was sure that both of her companions would appreciate the irony, but now wasn’t the time. The aspiring performer made sure to scribble it in a shaky hand, as if she didn’t have the opportunity to practice writing often.

    Once they’d settled things with the jailer, Shallan led their party out of the prison and into the street beyond. She ushered them down the most direct path towards the cathedral, but kept the pace leisurely, out of respect for Clair’s restraints. The aspiring performer wanted nothing more than to speak to their friend, or give her some sort of sign. She refrained from doing either, though, lest she accidentally give them away. The rattling of Clair’s chains and the lingering presence of their unwanted escort was enough to reassure her that the others were following, at the very least. If they hadn’t been, the way people were stopping to stare at their unwelcome procession would’ve done the trick. Now they just had to hope that the street urchins were ready, and that the distraction they’d planned would be effective.

    In the end, the two children they had recruited picked their moment well. They waited until Shallan led their motley group off the main streets, and down one of the smaller , less crowded side roads. She didn’t even realise they were there until she felt something fly past her, followed by a sharp yelp of pain. A cacophony of angry curses reached Shallan’s ears, and when she turned, she was rewarded with the sight of the beady-eyed guard holding a hand to his face. When he pulled his hand away, Shallan saw that his face was marked with fresh blood. His eyes were filled with murderous rage. Hatred burning so hot that it made her wince, even though it wasn’t directed at her. By his feet lay a small rock, and Shallan suspected she knew where it had come from.

    That girl really likes throwing rocks.

    The thought was so ludicrous that Shallan almost laughed again, despite the realities of their situation. She turned her attention towards the nearest alleyway, and sure enough, there they were. The older sister stood tall, another rock gripped in her hand. The younger brother cowered a few steps behind her, holding a rock of his own and looking rather pale. They’d brought friends, too…or recruited an army of sorts. Several other street kids stood beside them, all covered in grime, and armed in similar fashion. Shallan barely had time to wonder what the girl had told the others before the leader gave a loud cry, and the air was filled with flying stones.

    Shallan turned away on reflex, raising an arm to cover her face. After that, she felt the rocks more than saw them. Her right shoulder blossomed in pain first, clear and sharp, before her ribs and one of her thighs followed suit. A soft cry slipped from her lips, short and sharp. A part of her couldn’t help but curse the kids for this, even if it was necessary. She had no idea how many of them actually knew of their deal, but it would’ve been too suspicious if she and Godrich had been left unharmed by their attack.

    When the volley ended, Shallan hesitated for a few seconds, before peering out from under her arm. She was surprised to see that the children had scattered, and were retreating as fast as their little legs could carry them. They were being pursued by the guard with the beady eyes – the same one that she’d seen hit earlier. He’d drawn his truncheon from his belt, and tore after them with reckless abandon. The other guard that had accompanied them called out to his companion, took a handful of steps after him, but went no further. He looked back at the rest of their group, indecision etched into every line on his face. Shallan could practically hear the wheels turning in his mind, warning him that the ‘demon-touched’ was too dangerous to be left without a proper escort.

    “There’s no way a group of children would attack such a procession unprovoked.” The words flowed out of Shallan’s mouth easily, fueled by a burst of unexpected inspiration. Thankfully, she retained enough presence of mind to maintain the same tone and speech patterns that she’d been using earlier. As soon as she spoke, the guard looked her way, and the aspiring performer knew that she had his attention. “Someone must be manipulating them. Either with magic, or by more traditional means. Either way, I fear for anyone else who crosses their path.”

    Unable to do any more without appearing suspicious, Shallan prayed to any god who might be listening, silently begging them to tip the scales in her favour. Hoped against hope that the guard would give in, and take the bait that she had offered. She needed the man to assume that Clair was no real threat, bound by her anti-magic shackles and escorted by two acolytes. Needed him to decide that the children and his partner were the bigger priority, and join the chase. Then, she saw it. A subtle shift in the man’s expression and body language that suggested he’d made up his mind.

    “Continue on towards the chapel, and don’t stop for anything. I’ll catch up with you as soon as I’m able.” Shallan nodded her agreement, but the gesture was pointless. As soon as the guard had finished speaking, he’d turned and dashed off after his companion, without waiting for any sort of response. The aspiring performer waited until he’d reached the far end of the alley, until he’d rounded the corner and disappeared from sight, before she let herself believe it had worked. She let out a shaky breath, shoulders slumping as the tension drained out of them. She offered silent thanks to whichever god had answered her plea, before turning her attention back to the task at hand. That had only been the first hurdle, after all.

    “Are you two alright?” Now that they were alone, Shallan finally dropped her guise. Her gaze flickered between both of her companions, searching both of them for any serious injuries. When she found none, Shallan turned her attention towards Clair good and proper. The Misfits’ former leader had certainly seen better days, but now wasn’t the time. Shallan wanted to explain everything to her, but they really didn’t have long until the guards circled back, and discovered they were missing. Just was worrying was the general public. Shallan could already feel their eyes on their little party, and hear them whispering to each other. Who knows what sort of problems their attention might cause? They needed to get moving, and soon.

    “How fast can you move with those things on?” She nodded towards the shackles and chains Clair wore. They could probably have Godrich carry her, if need be. Better to avoid that if they could help it, though.

  7. #477
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    Clair watched with curious awe as the second guard ran off after the first, after the tiny miscreants who attacked them with rocks. During their little march, she had wondered what Shallan and Godrich had been planning. She still was not completely clear on the entire plan, but she was taken aback by the lengths they were going to help her. If those children were part of the ruse they were playing at, she hoped that the little ones would not get hurt or in trouble because of their roles in scheme.

    "Hey, you okay?"

    Clair suddenly snapped to, finally looking at her convincingly disguised companions. "Oh, yes. Just trying to wrap my head around this."

    Godrich nodded. "How fast can you move, with those?" he asked, repeating Shallan's question that Clair had been too distracted to hear the firs time.

    "Not much faster than the pace we have been going, I'm afraid. The material they use to make these shackles hurt like hell to touch." Clair glanced around during her retort, watching for any onlookers that may still have been interested in their little ring. "All the more reason to continue onward, yes? Truthfully, I am concerned with how whatever plan you two have hatched up is going to work, but we do not have time review. Do we? Better to put my faith in you and move on, I'm afraid. It can't be any more dangerous than lingering in that cell was. These witch hunters are brutes, and I'd venture to guess they've captured and tried as many non-magical lasses and lads than they have actual sorcerers."

    "Then let's get a move on, yeah?" Godrich said, moving along. He murmured to Shallan as the moved, suggesting that at the first opportunity they diverge from their current path to hide. From there, they can work on freeing Clair's restraints and disguising her properly before they try to flee the city. He looked down at his hands as he walked, where he lightly held the chain linked to Clair's large, metal collar. Although he did his best to keep as much slack in the chain as possible, walking delicately to match his friend's pace, he could not help but feel disgusted by the feeling of handling such a device. It made him look like the jailer, the imposer on his prisoner's freedom. To boot, the prisoner was none other than Clair, the leader of the Misftis until recently, who symbolized and projected freedom itself. The sooner they could work at freeing her bonds, the better.

    Just when Godrich began to fear that they were getting too close to the priestess's temple, the opportunity they were searching for had presented itself. They passed rather ordinary building, built out of red brick. The sign on the door showed that the building was an auction house of sorts, and that there was no auctions being held that day. After checking for any watching bystanders, he lead his companions to the alley that lead to the rear of the building. He quietly explained his plan as they walked through the narrow throughway, that they would find a way inside the uninhabited building and prepare in there.

    With Shallan and Clair standing guard, Godrich managed to pick through the lock of the building, and he ushered them inside. The inside of the building was dark, without a single lit candle or torch in sight. The door creaked as Godrich shut it behind them, as did the floorboards as he tread upon them. They went to a small room that had a few tables and chairs strewn about. It would suit their task just fine. "Shallan, can you watch that door?" Godrich said, not even bothering with disguising his voice as a temple steward any longer. He ran a thumb along the slender metal picks he used to open the door, feeling for any bends or dents, then rounded the room in search of a lantern.

    After locating an oil lantern, he perched it gently on an end table and got to work. He tried to start by releasing the collar around Clair's neck, but she shook her head slightly, rattling the chain. "These first, please. They... hurt." She raised her wrists, shackled together by the peculiar metal cuffs. Even in the dim glow of the lantern, Godrich could see that Clair's skin was red, agitated, even scarred, where the metal had been sliding against her wrists. Even with the most diligent care, it was impossible to work through the locks without pushing the cuffs against Clair's skin, which caused her to hiss and yelp.

    "Fuck, I can't," Godrich eventually said, setting down his lock picks. "Maybe I can find something else in here to help work them open."

    "No, come on. You know there's no time," Clair said, defiantly. This was not an opportunity she was willing to squander, and she refused to become a prisoner once more. "Give me something to bite on, anything. Then just do what you need to do. I'm serious, quickly now! Ah, that will work." She bit down hard on the leather pouch that Godrich produced from underneath of his garments. She mumbled something incoherently, raising her wrists again.

    Godrich swallowed hard, before picking up the lock picks again. He carefully felt his way through the cuffs' locks, placing the tools where they needed to be. After counting down, he twisted the tools firmly. He heard Clair growl and moan through the leather pouch, and in an instant the cuffs fell to the floor.

    Clair spit after dropping letting the pouch drop to the floor, panting slightly. She turned to let Godrich continue to work on the other cuffs and the collar. "So now, can you tell me what we are planning? You're aware that the gates are guarded, of course." She listened as Godrich explained their rather loose and haphazard plan, letting it distract her from the occasional pain and jerking from her chains as Godrich worked through the locks. She bit her lip after learning of Ella's mission to keep the Misfits clean of the recent events that transpired, chuckled lightly at the origins of the temple steward disguises, and frowned at the leap of faith that was getting out of the city.

    "Well, it seems there's not much better that could be done, given the circumstances," she sighed. "I presume that Mec is safe then?"

    "As far as we know. But it's not like we can contact him," Godrich said, picking through the final lock. "Here's your change of clothes. And a pair of scissors. I can't make this decision for you, but I really think you should consider losing some hair to help hide your identity." Afterwards, he procured his own, second disguise, and began to change.

    Once everyone had been changed into their new disguises, they regrouped by the door they had used to enter the building. Godrich had been almost back to his usual self, with the exception that his hair remained dyed black due to the laborious process cleaning it would have been. He wore a leather jerkin, which was tight around his shoulders and fit snugly around his waist. It did well to accentuate his muscular stature, in great contrast to the shrinking effect the steward costume had. All of the pale makeup was removed, allowing the glow of a lively and healthy man to shine through from underneath.

    Clair almost seemed to glow when she stepped out of the dark building and out into the light outside. She wore a green woolen cloak that draped loosely around her shoulders, shielding her back and legs. Underneath, she wore a simple pairing of black pants and a black shirt, both of which suited her figure nicely. She felt a pleasant chill around her ears and her slender neck, which had been previously enveloped in golden hair, but were now freed by her most recent hair cut. She took Godrich's advise to heart, and instead of settling for a simple trim, she sheared most of her hair away. Her head was visible through the short blonde hairs around the sides and back of her head. Only the hair on the top of her head seemed to have any length to it, as she allowed herself to keep about a finger's length of hair there. Having been freed from the shade of hair, her slender face glowed in the sunlight. Her long eyelashes extended outward, accentuating her brown irises.

    "Well, let's get a move on, shall we?" she announced. Almost immediately afterward, she felt a twinge of pain from deep within her belly. She did not allow herself to hint at it to the rest of the group, though, as there was no time to deal with such things. My time of month has come in less opportune times before, she thought.




    Far in the distance, hidden amongst the trees of a forest not too far from the city, a hunter knocked a second arrow. She pointed it at the thicket that had suddenly sprung from the earth, which had prevented her first shot from fatally wounding her target. Even from her perch, she could hear him, panting, panicking for his life.

  8. #478
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    After nodding her agreement to Godrich’s suggestion, Shallan quickly joined her companions in marching onwards. The moments that followed were some of the tensest that she had ever had the misfortune to experience, comparable only to the time she had broken Mec out of prison, and Olenna had stuck them beneath the false floor of a wagon. It felt like every nerve in her body had been pulled taut, strung out to the point where a single jolt might cause them to snap. Shallan kept her head on a swivel the entire time they were walking, scanning their surroundings constantly, while praying that she found nothing.

    Every time they rounded a corner, Shallan found herself dreading what waited on the other side. A single glimpse of the guards they’d ditched, or the church’s acolytes, might spell doom for their entire group. Even the crowds caused her a measure of distress. Just like before, the people they passed couldn’t help but stare, and it was impossible for Shallan to distinguish their disgust from suspicion. Even if nothing went wrong, every step they took without finding a suitable hiding place brought them closer to failure, and all the consequences it promised. A part of Shallan couldn’t help but wish Mec were here, but neither would she want to damn him to torture such as this.

    When the opportunity they’d been waiting for finally presented itself, Shallan was quick to do as Godrich asked. She kept a watchful eye out as he picked the lock, and then rushed inside with the others when it sprung open. Once they were sequestered away, hidden in relative safety, the aspiring performer let out a shaky breath. The idea of going back out there still filled her with dread, but the prospect felt more manageable now. This short reprieve, and the knowledge that they’d be less vulnerable next time they went out there, helped take some of the strain off. Or it would, provided everything went according to plan.

    When Godrich requested that she watch the door, Shallan quickly nodded her assent again, and moved to do as she’d been bid. Even from her new vantage point, the aspiring performer could hear the discussion going on in the next room quite clearly. Their discussion was touching, and made Shallan feel like some sort of intruder. These two were old friends, and she a virtual stranger by comparison. Feeling slightly awkward, she did her best to tune their voices out, offering them what little privacy she could.

    Once the cuffs were off, Shallan joined the others in altering their disguises. She began by removing her makeup, just as Godrich had. Once it was gone, Shallan definitely felt more like her usual self. Ignoring any squeamishness she felt, the aspiring performer quickly changed out of her threadbare acolyte costume, and into a simple white sundress she’d taken from the Misfits’ costume supplies. The dress itself was a little plain, but of decent make. It came down just below her knees, had short sleeves, and didn’t show enough chest to be considered scandalous. Unwilling to cut her hair like Clair had done, Shallan simply pulled it into a low ponytail. She would’ve liked to do more – braid it, perhaps – but they simply didn’t have that sort of time. She wouldn’t be the main target of the guards’ search, though, so hopefully it would suffice.

    Back out into the alley they went, and then into the greater city beyond. Their little party headed straight for the city gates this time, determined to get past the final checkpoint before anyone raised the alarm. To that end, Shallan set a decently quick pace, moving as quickly as she thought they could without drawing undue attention. Most of the people they passed paid them no mind at all, much to Shallan’s relief. It wasn’t enough to banish her nerves altogether, but it certainly made it a little easier to breathe. For the first time, she dared to hope that their insane plan might actually succeed.

    When their party reached the courtyard that preceded the gate, the seed of hope in Shallan’s chest blossomed into a flower. People were leaving the city much faster than they’d been allowed to enter it, and without any sort of testing required. They were just a dozen metres and a few minutes from freedom. The end was officially in sight. They’d still need to deal with the guards manning the gate, but unlike those they’d slipped away from, these ones had no reason to be suspicious. Shallan turned to both of her companions, unable to keep the smile from her face.

    “We’ve reached the home stretch, it seems. Still, we shouldn’t tempt fate. Let’s get in line quickly, before it grows any longer.”

    Pending their agreement, Shallan would turn and begin making her way across the courtyard, slipping through the crowd and brushing past people with renewed vigour. She’d almost made it to the other side when a bell began to chime, somewhere off in the distance. It sounded like a large church bell, the sound noticeable even from so far away. At first, Shallan paid it no mind. She assumed that it was just announcing the time, or maybe the start of a service somewhere. Within just a few moments, though, several other bells joined it, from different parts of the city. Their calls overlapped, filling the air with a terrible cacophony of conflicting sounds.

    The aspiring performer slowed to a halt as dread raked its fingertips along the length of her spine. There was no way this was a coincidence. She glanced towards the gate, and saw that the flow of people had stopped. Both guards and civilians had frozen everywhere, and were listening to the echoing shouts of brass tongues. Even as she watched, some of the guards sprung into motion. A handful of them started to close the city gates, while yet more began ordering the crowd to disperse. Several of the civilians began to yell in return, pleading for leniency, or insisting that they couldn’t be held captive against their will. All the voices mixed and overlapped with the call of the bells, which still hadn’t stopped ringing.

    “Oh, no. No, no, no. Shit.” Shallan’s hope seemed to wither in her chest as understanding washed over her. Their ruse had been discovered, and the city was going into lockdown now that there was a ‘dangerous mage’ on the loose. The aspiring performer turned back towards both of her companions, while her mind scrambled for another course of action. Any sort of backup plan that would see them through the next hour safely, if not the next day. Buy them time to take stock of the situation, and come up with a real alternative.

    “We need to get off the streets. Find a new place to stay for the next couple of days, somewhere apart from the rest of the troupe. We’ll use the time to change our appearances up even more. They can’t keep the city in lockdown forever, and it won’t matter how many inspections they do if they can’t recognise us, so we just…wait out the storm, I guess.”

    It wasn’t a foolproof plan. It wouldn’t matter how much they changed their appearances up if any inspections involved the same metal-tipped quills that had marked Clair the first time. Discussing this in public probably wasn’t the best idea either, despite the lingering noise. Both were things Shallan might’ve recognised if she were calm, but the aspiring performer was floundering a little, now that things had gone so badly awry. If it kept them from immediate capture, though, then they’d be able to figure out the rest of the details later.

    ~~~
    With the rustling of leaves and a flurry of wing-beats, Olenna’s owl dived through the canopy, descending into the forest as quickly as it dared. The doll she had left behind sprung to life as soon as she lay eyes on it, slowly climbing to its feet. It shook the dirt and leaves from its limbs quickly, made sure all of its joints were in working order, while the owl surveyed its immediate surroundings. If there had been anyone around to watch, they might’ve noticed that the doll looked tense, Unsettled, maybe. There was an urgency to its movements, and it’s shoulders were hunched, both in mimicry of the human that was controlling it. Contrary to Olenna’s expectations, though, the immediate area seemed…empty.

    Strange. I could’ve sworn that I felt Mec call me. Perhaps he did so from a distance…or maybe it was that ‘G’ figure who reached out. Either way, something isn’t right here.

    Olenna peered into the Anima, and quickly ascertained which direction her new ward was in. Then owl and doll set off together, heading towards him. She tried to find the balance between speed and discretion, moving as quickly as she could without making any excess noise. The entire time, the leader of the mages’ underground cabal kept her guard up. Magic crackled at her fingertips, ready to be unleashed at a moment’s notice, in whatever form she fancied. Olenna didn’t know what she’d find waiting for her, but she’d be ready, just in case it wasn’t a false alarm.

  9. #479
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    Clair followed the rest of the party rather whimsically as they made their way to the city's exit, occasionally having to hurry to keep up with Shallan's hurried pace. After all, there was little opportunity to explore and take in the sights, having been imprisoned immediately upon arrival to the grand city. Beyond the empty auction house that the party had taken their short refuge in, they passed other large, purposeful buildings. A grand temple, a library, a hospital. Occasionally, Clair would notice passersby staring at her, only to avert their gaze when she glanced back. A common occurrence for the beautiful troupe leader. Still, she could not help but feel that someone might know that she is fleeing from the authorities, and finally raised the green hood of her cloak to help provide some protection from the eyes of others.

    Upon finally nearing the city's gates, she felt Godrich firmly grip her shoulder. His gaze was restless, unable to maintain eye contact as he studied the stretch ahead of them and chewed his lip. Clair thought to provide some affirmation, to say something, but Shallan beat her to it. Unlike Godrich, Shallan beamed with confidence, excited to near the completion of their mission. It was difficult to imagine that this was the same girl who was scared to share a bath, not that long ago. Clair stole another glance towards Godrich, whose nerves seemed to settle in response to Shallan's positive body language. Soon, the group was on their way.

    Soon, they were alerted by the choir of bells ringing throughout the city. The sound of Godrich's teeth grinding soon joined the orchestra, and Clair could hear her heart thumping inside of her own eardrums. She drew a long breath, before shakily releasing an audible sigh. "Yes, let's regroup. We mustn't rush... And if it is not too much of a bother, I would not mind a decent meal right about now."

    Soon, they made themselves guests around a table at a passable inn. Godrich stirred in his seat. "The inn is getting crowded. I imagine they all are going to see many more patrons than usual today."

    "A perfect opportunity to score a few extra gigs, don't you think?" Clair mused. She glanced back and forth between Godrich and Shallan during a brief moment of silence. "I'm joking, of course. But you do raise a good point. The inns are going to be quite crowded. And unfortunately, I suspect it's only a matter of time before the inspections migrate inward. They might begin mandating them at businesses, passageways, and the like." She leaned back in her chair and folded her arms. "There must be another way out of this city, yeah?" she wondered aloud in a hushed tone. "With the slowness at the gates, surely there must be some smugglers that have established routes. Maybe we can find the right connections. Oh, speaking of, what of those rug rats from earlier? Surely one of you will want to make sure Ella was able to hold up her end of the bargain?"


    ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

    "You're the final one, Eryan." The Silver Priestess marched between the pews, where she had the acolytes sit as they awaited her questioning. "No other has admitted to any connection to the missing sorceress." She stopped, standing before the young steward. Blue, icy, eyes stared down on Eryan, sending a chill through his entire being. His spine tingled. His thin, boney, fingers ached. He jerked back into the pew when the Silver Priestess lowered herself down, staring more closely into his eyes, as if searching for his soul.

    "Tell me, Eryan," she demanded unwaveringly. "Before your brothers and sisters, before me, and before the goddess, Praesia. Do you have any connection with the swayed one?"

    "No, Priestess Esbeth."

    Esbeth, the Silver Priestess, stared long and hard at Eryan. After a very long, excruciating, pause, she straightened herself and smoothed out her white gown. Her silver bracelets clinked lightly as she did so, and she silently stepped away from the pews. "You will all go back to your quarters. And pray." She stood still as the temple's main hall emptied.

    Not a single one?, she thought.

    They all told the truth, a woman's voice echoed back.

    ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

    Mec breathed hard, rattling his thoughts as he tried to sort himself. Trapped inside a cocoon of roots and branches that he created, he grew restless and claustrophobic. He could feel his own hot breath against his face, which grew sweaty and hot. Just to his right, an arrow with a silvery white tip and white fletchings was stuck between the branches. Mec did not know what warned him of the incoming projectile, but had he not frantically reacted and created this cage, it may have killed him on impact.

    He heard a soft thud, accompanied by a brief shudder from the ground beneath him as if something had fallen a great distance. "It must be quite crowded in there," a voice called out. Mec could not see the hunter moving, but their voice seemed to drift, looping around him as it spoke. "It'd be hard to stick you with an arrow while you're in there... I grew up in the woods, you know. Out there, even as a child, you learn a thing or two about surviving, hunting. How to properly build a fire without burning the whole forest down... Smoke out groundhogs and varmint using braziers made of branches and sticks. I never thought that when I was given this pretty white bow that I would need to put such practices to use again."

    Mec tried his best to slow his breathing down, but his heart pounded within his chest so hard that it made him nauseous. He had been followed, detected. His powers did not even seem to surprise the assassin that was after him. Yet, she was keeping her distance. She did not approach the ball of branches, roots, and moss. She circled around it, threatening to smoke him out so that she could finish him from a safe distance. Mec managed to work his hand through the branches and towards his face to wipe away the moisture that had accumulated on his lips, pondering his sudden realization. The hunter was cautious and meticulous with her methods because she knew that he was a threat.

    "You do not need to do this," he called out. As he spoke, the cocoon expanded. The greenery stayed coiled tightly, betraying very few cracks, but Mec could finally breath again. When the cocoon expanded enough, he stood, focusing his efforts on tightening the few gaps that he could see. "If you give me a chance, maybe we can talk. These powers of mine... I am trying to learn to use them to do good. To do more for the world than I ever could have before."

    "Is that why you are trying to warp my mind with them, you wretch?" The huntress laughed loudly. "That might work on second-rate witch hunters, but unfortunately for you, they do not pass these Magebane weapons down to just anybody."

    Mec flinched at the sound of a sudden thud against his living cocoon. One of the roots that encircled him quickly began to grow grey and withered to dust, leaving a slender opening around a slanted circumference of what had become a near perfect sphere. Almost immediately, another silvery white arrow whistled through the gap, hitting Mec squarely on the shoulder, which sent him falling onto his backside.

    Vanna knocked one more arrow. There was a sour taste in her mouth for not landing a killing shot on a target so close to her, but she did not want to give him time to react. All she needed was to immobilize him, before properly dispatching of him. Just before she had begun her approach, she paused, and returned her arrow to its quiver. She lifted the wooden compass from the belt around her waist, and watched the needle carefully. It was moving again, and it did not point at the mage in front of her. "That puppet is nearby, isn't it?" She chuckled, and let the compass drop down against her leg again. "I won't make the same mistakes as Gaxeel, though. It is far too dangerous to risk having to deal with you both now, isn't it?"

    Mec clenched his jaw and tensed the muscles in his neck. His arm grew hot, though he did not know whether to attribute the phenomenon to the wound in his shoulder or the more subtle effects of the silvery white metal of the arrow. In his panicked state, he had completely forgotten about Olenna. She was not far, and if he could buy enough time she could be his key to survival.

    This is not her fight, boy, G's voice boomed inside of Mec's head. His tone was serious, direct. This so-called "Magebane" technology is something that transcends the others. We must destroy them, to allow humans to thrive in this world the way it was intended. Mec hesitated, and G's voice urged him again. A cold, callous sorceress like Olenna is what is needed to bring magic back into this world, it seems. Through violence and prejudice, tribalism and a willingness to cast out others to protect one's own. Maybe we should wait for a savior like that, shall we?

    Mec raised his hand to the arrow in his shoulder and gripped it until his knuckles turned white as snow.

    I entrusted you with the future of magic, the future of humanity. Rise to the occasion, boy. Prove that graciousness is not weakness. Accept the privilege of the Anima, the responsibilities it brings. Seize our future!

    From outside the mossy cocoon, Vanna heard a loud scream echo from within. She took a large step back, pointing an arrow towards the mass of branches and green. Through the narrow window she made for herself, she could see the young mage tugging at the arrow that was embedded in his shoulder. At such a close range, it was a wonder that the arrow had not gone all the way through. Despite this, the mage pulled, tearing away his own flesh until the arrow was set free. With a wave of his hand, more roots and branches sprung out of the earth on either side of his cocoon, twisting until they formed the shape of two large serpents, biting and hissing at the air.

    Vanna cursed herself for missing her chance to eliminate the mage, and being to cautiously step back towards the trees. Before she could make it, one of the serpents coiled itself, and then sprung forward, threatening to snap its jaws around her. Before it could reach, a man in silvery white armor, brandishing a sword of the same make, charged forward, slicing cleanly through the roots and beheading the serpent. "Gaxeel? You came?"

  10. #480
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    When Clair suggested they go hunting for food, Shallan responded with a solemn nod. She didn’t really feel like eating, personally. Their dire circumstances and her budding anxiety thoroughly squashed any appetite that the aspiring performer might’ve felt otherwise. That said, she wasn’t the one who had been taken captive, and the food in prison was probably little better than the slop fed to pigs. Any sort of restaurant, bar, or inn would fulfil their immediate needs just fine, so Shallan saw no reason to object. She just followed her companions away from the square, and back into the depths of the city.

    Shallan’s nerves lingered, even after their little group had sequestered themselves away from the outside world. She listened to Godrich and Clair’s conversation with only half an ear, while the bulk of her attention danced between the inn’s other patrons. The aspiring performer found herself glancing at the well-dressed merchants seated at the next table over, at the serving girls, at the locals who were playing cards in the corner. Any time it looked like someone was glancing their way, Shallan held her breath, until they inevitably looked away again. When the door swung open, she jumped a little immediately turned towards it, fearing the sudden appearance of the city’s guards. Only then did Shallan realise how ridiculous she was being. The inspections hadn’t even started yet, and she probably looked guilty already. The aspiring performer forced herself to take a deep breath, then. She told herself everything was fine, leaned back in her chair, and turned her attention towards her companions in earnest.

    “As much as I’d love to see everyone again, I’m not sure its worth the risk. If the guards remember who came in together, then the troupe will be under extreme scrutiny, and I’m not sure our trick with the costumes will work twice. We might have to forget about them, and just hope for the best.” Shallan spoke in the same semi-hushed tone that Clair had used, while praying that nobody would overhear. Hopefully the other patrons were too focused on their own conversations, and the background noise would take care of the rest. At this point, the aspiring performer began tapping her fingertips against the wooden tabletop idly; a small gesture that hinted at her nerves.

    “Searching for an alternative sounds better than just sitting around, but we’re still trapped in an unfamiliar city. We don’t have any local contacts or inside knowledge. If we ask the wrong person, they might get suspicious and report us. We’ll need to be careful, take it slow, but if the guards do start to escalate things…” Shallan let herself trail off, the implication of her words hanging heavy in the air. Then, after a moment, she shrugged. “That said, the two of you are much more worldly than I am. Maybe you two know a trick or something that I don’t.”

    The inn was well and truly full now, and the sheer number of bodies meant that it was heating up quickly. Shallan found herself craving a drink, against her own better judgement. Something that would help both cool her down and soothe her nerves, all at once. She was quick to dismiss the though. They’d all need their wits about them, if they were to survive the next few days. Instead, she tried to focus her attention on the problem at hand. The aspiring performer was convinced that there had to be a creative solution. She just needed to find it.

    “Mec could probably help us, if he knew what was happening. I’m not sure how we’d get a message to him, but smuggling a letter out of the city might be easier than three people.” Shallan spoke the words idly, more to herself than both of her companions. She missed her old friend now more than ever. His absence was like a physical ache in her chest, mild but persistent. Thoughts of his magic reminded her of Midir, and the lessons he’d taught them during their time together. Shallan might not have any sort of power, but she’d still learned a thing or two about manipulation in his company. Hell, she’d put similar skills to use already, during the breakout. She and both her companions were skilled actors, too. How much further could she push things, with their help? Shallan wasn’t sure yet, but perhaps the idea warranted further consideration.

    ~~~~

    The way Olenna saw the world, watching through the eyes of her owl, offered her some unique advantages. Chief among them was the ability observe things from a distance, without the presence of a physical body, often without detection. That skill proved useful right now. Her owl reached Mec and his attackers before the doll, providing her with a brief opportunity to take stock of the situation. It nestled amongst the branches of a nearby tree, hidden amongst the foliage, whilst Olenna considered her options and tried to come up with some sort of plan.

    A single glance was enough for her to determine that Mec was trapped inside the knot of roots and vines, even without peering into the Anima. There was no way that sort of formation was natural, and the boy had always possessed an affinity for the elements. It was clearly another of his strengths, beyond his connection with the mysterious ‘G’ and the unprecedented power of the Equinox. She arrived just in time to watch this unknown huntress launch a second mage-killer arrow into the thicket. She watched Mec retaliate in spectacular fashion, only for the knight that had destroyed her previous doll to make an untimely appearance. Now, as her doll drew closer, the cabal’s leader pondered the best way to announce her arrival.

    The information before her suggested that a direct confrontation would end poorly. Gaxeel had bested her alone last time, thanks to his special equipment, and now he had a friend to assist him. Alternatively, she could try and distract them. Step into the clearing, claiming that she wanted to speak, and attempt to tie them up for as long as possible. Olenna had no qualms about using her doll as bait again, if doing so provided Mec with an opportunity for escape. There were too many unknown variables for her to feel comfortable with that plan, though. Mec had already trapped himself, in a sense, and she had no idea what sort of state he was in besides. That left her with a surprise attack. It was a gamble, Olenna knew, and the odds of success were low. Both the hunters would already have their guards up, and Gaxeel’s armour would protect him from any sort of direct magical attack. If it worked, though, and she managed to kill one of them outright, then it would give Mec the best chance of survival possible.

    Olenna’s doll drew close, and the mage knew that she was out of time. She only had a few seconds until they noticed it was here, or the hunters launched another attack against Mec. Regardless of which path they chose, the end result would be the same, and she refused to stand by and watch another of her children be slaughtered. Before anything else could happen, the puppetmaster increased her draw on the Anima, and urged her doll into motion.

    The construct burst from the undergrowth and charged towards the mage hunters in a flurry of motion. It’s long stride was unnaturally smooth, and it’s hands were already crackling with magical energy. It thrust an arm towards the huntress and unleashed a bolt of lightning. Electricity crossed the gap between them in an instant, filling the air with the sound of crackling and the smell of burning ozone, threatening to strike the huntress down where she stood. Gaxeel’s armour would nullify the blast if he stepped into its path, of course. It had done so during their last encounter, and Olenna suspected that the knight’s previous success would spur him to do the same thing again.

    In fact, she was counting on it.

    While the lightning bolt would be dangerous if ignored, Olenna wasn’t expecting either of the mage hunters to just stand there and let it connect. It was nothing more than a diversion, designed to draw attention away from the real threat. By the time the first spell had left her hand, the mage was already casting her second. This time, she’d taken a page out of Mec’s book. A wave of roots burst out of the ground just behind the two mage hunters, erupting forth in a shower of dirt and stone. Hardened and sharpened by her magic, the roots resembled a wave of spears. They surged forward as one, threatening to skewer the huntress from behind in several places at once. It was less complex magic than the ‘living’ serpents that Mec had created just a moment ago, but no less deadly for it. With any luck, the huntress would fall here, so that she could focus all her attention on Gaxeel afterwards.

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