act complete Angelcynn: The Myrcian Conflict - Act 3 Reunion

[Vestige]

Alain approached the pond slowly, meticulously searching the area for a spot where the dirt hadn't soaked up the water and turned to mud. He found a dry spot and settled down among the unknowing, or uncaring villagers. Some were children, most were elders. It was a quaint place that he hadn't really expected to come across in Magonsaete, the "barbarian's land". But it was a nice place. Unlike the city of Hull, which had it's own charm sure, the village was quiet and peaceful. It was a nice change of pace from the bustle of the city.

Lost in idle thought(s all alone), Alain hadn't noticed the slow march of the approaching ducks who seemed keen on getting into his small bag of bread. "No rest for the wicked, it seems," he chuckled. He tried to shoo some of them off, though they didn't seem like they cared much for his gestures. Not much sense in keeping them waiting I suppose. He reached his hand into the bag and pulled out a decently sized crumb. Though, "crumb" seemed like a poor choice of words. It was a sizable piece and it almost seemed like a waste to throw the whole thing in at once. He thought about breaking it apart, but ultimately decided that the first piece had the right to be the biggest. "Go forth ducks, and seize your treasure," he said, sending the piece of bread spiraling towards the middle of the pond, eager to see which of the ducks would try to lay claim to the bread of breads.

[riariadne]

Sidney blinked a bit in surprise. "Caring side? I see..." She took a moment to think over the elderly woman's thoughts. It wasn't that they didn't make sense, but... it was quite different from what she had known. "Is Engel's judgement not an important part of how he sees over us all? Of course he cares for those who are not evildoers, but you say punishing the unjust and rewarding the faithful are not equal to him?"

[Shin]

Closer to Home

Leaving Rashid and his assortment of unusual weapons behind, Emmet had managed to find a source of more conventional arms. It wasn't much more than an anvil next to a shed, but the man hammering away seemed to know what he was doing. Wiping his brow, he looked up at Emmet. "Howdy, stranger. It ain't much but welcome to the village forge." he greeted, extending a gloved hand. "I've got a bunch of fairly simple stuff ready. But if you wanted something more special, give me enough cash and a day or so and I'll get something sorted. Met two men earlier, I thought I was seeing double! They looked exactly the same."

Blacksmith is revealed on the sheet!

Easy Watch

As Freya approached the guard outpost, she could hear a gentle snoring sound. The outpost wasn't any more spectacular than any of the other buildings, it was a glorified market stall will walls around it. Inside sat a middle aged man, wearing a rusty helmet with a spear by his side. Opening one of his eyes slowly, he yawned sleepily, taking a good few moments to notice Freya.

"I'm awake, I'm awake." he groaned, stretching his arms. "Haven't seen any trouble all day. That weirdo skulking about town has probably wandered off, a good day in my books... can I help you at all?"

Bidding War

Rashid watched curiously as Cass inspected his wares, not taking much issue with her hands on approach. "It was crafted with the finest steel from my homeland. It is a glorious country, where the pure white sand stretches for miles and the sun brings passion to those that it touches." he replied, standing proud. "It is many miles away, it took me two months to travel to this village."

Another man, most likely one of the villagers, had approached the stall, eying the sword Cass had been inspecting. "Excuse me, but are you intending to purchase that?" he asked Cass, removing a small pouch from his belt. "I've never seen such a sword so exotic... I would be willing to pay fifteen hundred pieces for such a weapon."

The prospect of a higher price seemed to tempt Rashid, his eyes swapping between Cass and the man. "Hm... that would benefit me greatly. I did not bring much coin from my home country, I was not sure that they would be accepted here... this does prove a predicament, it is the only of its kind that I took with me."

Meanwhile, Claire felt someone bump into her, passing her without as much as an apology. They had however left a piece of paper in her hand. A small note with only two words on it. "Library" and "Alone".

Tiny Bargain

The boy stopped for a moment, weighing up his options. "I don't know, a single day isn't worth that much. I've worked more than I can count... although that's only as many as I have fingers." he pondered, tempted by Angus' offer. "Pa's a busy man, people come to him for all sorts of help. He'd much rather help someone in the village than complete strangers.

"Then I'll do a day too." Esclabor proclaimed, desperate to win the boy over. "Kearney will do tomorrow and I'll work the day after that. That way you get two days. Every single chore that was yours, we'll handle. You won't have to pay us a single piece."

That had been enough to win him over, clapping his hands in delight, he turned around, pointing towards a fenced area, one with a house right in the middle of it. Beckoning them forwards, he began to walk towards the house, and presumably his father. "I'll take you both to see him, you can bring your friend too. Just remember who you're talking to when you get there."

Esclabor shook his head, choosing not to share some choice words. "I'd like to give him a good whack over the head with that shovel of his... I can't believe we're at the mercy of that runt." he complained, keeping his voice low. "Let's just hope he's doing this because he's bored... and not because he has a lot of work."

Eager Beaver

"Odd jobs?" the barkeep asked, rather puzzled by Serge's offer. "That's awfully kind of you, but we don't really have many spare rooms. Probably one or two, but they're not huge. You and your two lady friends could probably squeeze into one, but it'd be easier to pay."

Larissa wasn't entirely sure that they'd have much luck, especially if they had to cram the entire party into one room. Maybe it had been too ambitious to find a place for all of them to stay. However, one of the men at the bar seemed to have a solution to their problem. Slowly rising to his feet, the elderly gentleman drew attention to himself with a cough.

"I think I might have something that could keep you busy, youngster." he announced, grinning like a fool. "I've got a fence that needs fixing up... there's broken panels, needs painting too. If you could sort that out for me, I'd be happy to lend you my house's hall. Easier than finding enough coins to pay someone!"

Quack Attack

The duck troupe had been ready to close in on Alain, but his offering of bread seemed to be more than enough to take the heat off himself. Swarming his loaf like a pack of vultures, it was a free for all among the fowl. No longer were they united in their attack on Alain, but were instead at each others throats. Alain could here an unsettled huff from beside him, one of the pegasus sisters had joined him at the pondside.

"Those ducks are idiots, things were going fine until they saw what they wanted. Some of them spoiled their chances entirely." Morta complained, her criticisms extending even to birds. "It's like that Esclabor, he would have been fine if he didn't try to push further into Magonsaete, no wonder he got caught."

Love and Peace

"Engel wouldn't have made people if he were going to ignore half of them." the woman mused as they walked into the chapel. Wiping her brow, she took a seat on one of the benches, rather out of breath from the short walk. "If you punished everyone who didn't follow his teachings, you wouldn't have time to be grateful for those who do. Even if our brothers and sisters stray from the path we take, there's more than one way to get to a destination."

Edited October 10, 2016 by Shin

[SB.]

Claire had been lost in thought until she was knocked slightly and had a short message pressed into her hand. Go alone? She turned her head to try and get a look at the sender, but they were out of sight before she could so much as glance at them. A sigh escaped her. Just perfect.

She stood for a moment, simply staring at the message, pretty much clueless as to who the sender would be. Why would it be her, of all people? She couldn't think of anyone travelling with them who would resort to such a weird note. Maybe Morta still thought they had a score to settle over Angus or something? The mage frowned, completely stumped.

Well, there's only one way to find out. She thought, walking back towards Cass, who seemed to have picked out a sword she was interested in. "I'm just going to check something in the library." Claire informed her. "I'll be back soon." She didn't wait for a response setting off in the vague direction of the library. She wasn't exactly sure where the building was, but it only a few minutes walk away.

It was a fairly small building, which made sense - Magon could hardly be expected to have a library the same size as Hull's - and strangely quiet surrounding it. A slight frown formed on her face as she pushed the door open with one hand - the other holding tightly to her tome. This was a little weird.

[Nanami Touko]

"Burning white sands of passion, is it? Hmm..." She eyed the sword until Claire said she was leaving, turning to give her a wave. "Be safe!" Perhaps a bit too worrisome, but considering their recent adventures, it didn't hurt. What did was this sword being suddenly eyed by another villager. "Excuse me--" but Rashid had been tempted by the offer. What a problem. Cass had wanted to bring Owen back here and have him inspect it to see if it had been something he would've enjoyed, but it seemed she was to make that decision now, instead of later.

"Seventeen hundred," she said, holding the sword tight. "That's my offer. I'd like to give this to someone special-- and yes, I know a sword might be an odd gift, but... We've been through some tough times recently, and this sword looks incredibly well crafted. It would help to keep him safe... So that's my offer-- but! Rashid." She stared at him after giving the villager a passing glance. "I want to know more about your land. A lot more. Even if I have to meet you after your stall has closed for the day. Can I?"

[Frostivus]

“hello, cLaIre.”

The sign on the library read ’closed’ on a weekday afternoon.

The librarian had not yet returned from his break, tea now cold on the table after only a few sips.

Human-shaped chalk drawings were drawn across the floor. Shelves had been emptied and overturned, half-opened books piled messily. There was not much room for anything else; something big ran across the gamut and took it all.

It covered the whole floor, even the walls: pages hastily torn from books, connected to each other with red string and nailed to the surface to form a building-sized conspiratorial board. One end of the wall illuminated a church tapestry’s illustration of the Fountain of Life, now vandalised with mad scribblings. On the opposite side of the network was a litany of counter spells and anti-magic stratagems. And so much more. Anatomical diagrams of the heart. Cremation proceedings. Post-mortem transcripts. A list of all the deceased from unnatural causes in the year 812.

where

beware the quiet ones

life for a price

All of the scribbles and pictures converged into a single point. Somehow she had managed to procure a portrait of the mage.

And then there was she.

Idly lounging atop her veritable throne of crumpled paper in the centre of it all, heavy with sinister purpose, was a young girl with rainbow-coloured hair. The secret behind how she had managed to orchestrate this by herself could be easily deciphered by the purple bags underneath her eyes (which also gave a telltale tick) - sleep had escaped Susan for days. She glared right at Claire and straight through her, as if she had one foot in reality, another somewhere else. A memory?

“I’ve been waiting for you.” Her lips parted piteously; a cluster of deceptively meek, submissive gestures that only the acting experience of a skilled bard could muster.

“You look tense. It’s me, Scuttles!” Susan was on her feet in one graceful movement, taking steps towards Claire. She tinkered with the shiv in her hand, flaking the rust down onto the papers as she trod mud on them. “It’s funny. I don’t think I’ve ever talked to you since I met the group. You know what they say, beware the quiet ones,” she tittered at her own (joke?).

Edited October 10, 2016 by Frostivus

[SB.]

Claire wasn't sure what to expect after receiving the note, but this certainly wasn't it. There was so much wrong with the room that the mage couldn't keep track of it all - although upon realising that Scuttle had somehow procured a portrait of her, she very quick step backwards.

"I... erm," she stammered, eyes falling to Scuttle's newly acquired weapon, in complete disbelief as to what was going on. Claire had thought Scuttle was a little weird, but... definitely not like this. Thankfully, this revelation did not stop her from sprinting away as quickly as she could in the opposite direction.

By this point, she really wished that she'd taken Cass' advice.

The girl had no idea where she was running, or how close behind her the bard was. She only knew that she wanted to be far, far away from her. Maybe she could fight Susan - it wasn't as if she was stuck in Malaphar's world again. But somehow, Susan's world managed to be every bit as strange and terrifying as the wizard's. And so she ran.

Edited October 11, 2016 by SB.

[Jotari]

"Something more special hmm." Emmet took Pinaka out from beneath his cloak. "This is a personal weapon of mine, very precious. However the sight's been knocked slightly off center" (Or I made it that way. Both seem equally probable) "How much would it cost to fix it up?"

[riariadne]

"Of course not half," Sidney agreed. "But the justice of Engel against those who would stray towards darker paths, or waver. The punishment of sins. You think that those aren't as important as just... living life as is normal?" The thought seemed to trouble her somewhat. "You said someone changed your view just a few years ago. How so?"

[Frostivus]

"Claire, please tell me your experiments with the substance didn't turn up... Is this why Apellon and Arteria are still alive? Because of this fucking liquid? Gods, please..." She tried to rein in her voice, but she wasn't having it, obviously shaken by the woman still being alive.

Scuttle made her peace with Javier's death a long time ago. But long time ago, she didn't know she could still bring him back.

She had wanted to believe in his legacy. In the phoenix ashes of his grave there had risen a generation of new heroes, people who could honour his sacrifice and protect his name. Big shoes to fill, and Scuttle knew that. Even when every voice of reason screamed in her head that they could never live up to her expectations, she tried her best to fool herself into thinking that they did. People believed what they wanted to believe.

The Baron of Bears. The Girl on Fire. The Spectre. The Duchess of Dougistan. The Axe-Flinging Princess.

She had roped everyone else into the delusion with her stories, which only gave it more weight. Big fish tales that grew into beliefs grew into truths with every company of fool she dragged down into the fantasy world of hers. It made life without Javier bearable. This was her way of coping with his death.

They were Javier's last gift to her. And just like him, they would be virtuous and just.

"You really are taking after Father."

In that moment months of bottled sadness and rage uncorked itself. Never again will she believe in them.

They were not Javier.

we broke you we broke you

There was only one way to bring her back, and that was to bring him back. Scuttle was nothing without Javier.

Now they taunted her with this one chance. An elixir that had been with them all along.

After that fallout in the fort and learning about the elixir of life, Susan had slipped from the group, and she had gone to look for Claire's bedroll. She ransacked it and found nothing. All clues pointed to her, talks about experiments and vials and the dead. The way she fidgeted around her pockets during the meeting meant only one thing: it was with her.

She had poisoned the librarian with a mushroom extract that would leave her unconscious for a day. She had paid a boy to send a letter to the girl named Claire when they arrived.

She had combed the library for every story about the Fountain of Life, dissecting witness reports and testimonies. The oldest source of it predated even Wyke's founding; motifs of it already existed within holy books of several religions that have never historically exchanged dialogue. There were stories of visits by dead relatives, empty graves.

Then she had looked to find more about the details of those encounters. Were the resurrected people only from certain kinds of deaths? Did it work on cremated people as well? How long did they last for? She had pored through tome after tome tirelessly in the ruddy glow of the midnight oil, reading tales as farfetched and ludicrous as her own.

Susan had heard enough lies not to fall for them again.

This vial may not even come from the fountain. The fountain may even be a fake.

Either way, she needed to test it and see it work with her own eyes. For that, she needed two things: the vial and a test subject.

Susan pulled her gattling bow and quiver from underneath a loose plank. She pulled her string taut, arrowhead aimed for Claire, and fired.

Edited October 11, 2016 by Frostivus

[SB.]

She had been afraid of what was going to happen to Slappy. She had been afraid of Malaphar and what he could do with his magic. And now she was afraid of Scuttle and her ridiculous rainbow coloured hair.

Claire finally chanced a glance over her shoulder at the maniac chasing her, just in time to see the arrow embedding striking her in the back of her lower left leg. She stumbled and cried out in pain, dropping to floor as she inhaled ragged breaths. She had been injured in battles before (they all had) but she'd never been alone like this. Even in Malaphar's world, when all hope was lost, she'd never truly been alone.

She tried to prop herself up against the street wall. "Why are you doing this?" she managed, firing a desperate surge of wind magic back towards the bard. But she didn't expect an answer, and she didn't think one spell would solve all of her problems. There was nobody around now, probably because of Scuttle's work, and the lunatic was closing in on her.

Is this really it? Was this just fate's idea of a sick joke, or was it some kind of karma finally catching up to her? It didn't matter either way. She didn't want to look at her wound, but just from the corner of her eye she could tell that it wasn't pretty. The terror in her eyes was plain to for Susan to see, and she shook violently as colour faded from her face. Her attempts to plea for help wouldn't come out, her throat suddenly far too dry to speak, and she slipped down to the ground, absolutely defeated.

Edited October 11, 2016 by SB.

[Dandragon]

"A fence, huh?" Serge placed his hand on his chin. They didn't have fences back in his village. At least, they didn't really have enough trees for wood around there, and with what they had it was more for keeping them warm. Still, it couldn't be too hard, right? "Alright, sure. I can do that." He nodded, removing his hand from his chin and holding it out for a handshake from the old man. "The name's Serge, by the way. Serge Molenli."

[Ether]

One last stroke of the sharpening stone. Adeltrudis looked down at her axe... about as sharp as she could make it, any more and she'd just degrade the quality. What a bother... with a sigh, she put away the tool, as well as her Nacht, and stepped off of the stone she'd been using as a chair. What now, what now? All that was really left was to go into town, though she wasn't sure she really wanted to. Perhaps something would let her mind wander, at least a little... or so she thought. Something caught her eye as she was about to move into town... an odd structure a small way outside of it. Well, structure was the wrong word, it seemed to be more of a camp tent... why would someone set up camp so close to town? Was there no inn, or was it full? Adele was mildly curious over the matter, so instead of moving into town, turned away towards the tent.

[Frostivus]

i used tO be an adVentUreR like You

"Why are you doing this?" she managed, firing a desperate surge of wind magic back towards the bard.

Pain defined Susan, in a way. It formed her world much like her other senses did. If she smelled a flower or looked at a sunset, it was the same sensation, only less intense: flowering fibres through her spine and into peripheral endings. Like sight, touch, hearing, taste. Pain was normal, a part of her. From that perspective, maybe pain wasn't so bad.

From a more pertinent perspective though, it really was.

Razor wind surged through Susan, lacerating her skin with a thousand shallow cuts. The initial hit started the pain, and her fall to the ground fanned it. She staggered back onto her feet and spit a wad of blood onto the ground, the only indication of the wind attack on her being a flash of annoyance.

She sauntered over to Claire's limp body. Blood was oozing profusely from her leg wound, staining the dirt road. Blood didn't stain unless there was a lot of it. Susan could see the mage drifting in and out of consciousness already.

"I need you awake for this."

She raised her right foot and pressed the metal heel of her boot straight into Claire's gash, letting it sink deep into muscle and sinew.

"You have something she needs. Where is it?" Susan grabbed her by the collar and pulled her in close, clutching her so tightly her knuckles went hot-white, until all of Claire's world was the fire in Susan's eyes blazing phosphorescently. She shook her violently, "The vial, Claire. WHERE IS IT?!"

[SB.]

[spoiler=remember]

Even as a child, Claire had been a fairly quiet girl. Sometimes she would play with the children of her father’s friends, making up stories of heroes and knights and great wizards, but most of the time she was on her own. Well, not on her own, but her mother was more of an entity that existed in the same household than a person she could actually connect with and feel close to - no matter how much she tried.

When her father was home, everything was different. He was, by all accounts, the center of the family. When he was home, her mother felt closer - still not perfect, but not this unattainable thing that she shared space with. And Claire herself adored him. He was kind, he was caring, and listening to his stories made her the happiest girl in the world.

He told all kinds of stories to her - some real, some fictional and even some of his own experiences as a royal knight (with some details omitted, obviously). He was enthusiastic and made all of the best voices. Some of them made her laugh, and others made her hide under her bedsheets with her eyes peeking out just over the top of it - as if trying to hide from the big scary villain as he did something generically evil. But no matter what the story, those moments were the happiest of her life.

With that in mind, it wasn’t surprising that the girl didn’t take her father’s illness very well. At first, his coughs and more frequent stays at home didn’t worry her. In fact, she was glad to have him around more, although she didn’t understand why her mother insisted on pulling her away from him so that “he could rest”. When healers came around to their house and she saw the devastated look on her mother’s face after they left, that was when she started to get worried.

Her parents had began to sleep in separate rooms by this point, and that night Claire could hear his coughs and splutters much more clearly as she laid awake, staring at the ceiling. In the early hours of the morning, during a particularly bad bout, she rose from her bed and quietly made her way to the side of his makeshift bed in the front room.

“Dad?” she whispered, face plastered with worry. He’d grown much paler over the past few days, and sweat dripped across his forehead as he squinted at her. “Are you alright?” By this point, even at the age of nine, she already knew the answer.

“Claire?” Came a dazed, raspy voice that sounded nothing like her father. Just hearing it pained her more than any arrow ever could. “What are you-” He began, before another hacking cough interrupted him. “Shouldn’t you be asleep? I’m fine sweetheart, really…” He gave her a pained smile, before another escaped him. “Go on now, back to bed with you… Don’t let your mother catch you up at this hour.” With that, his head flopped back onto the pillow, leaving his daughter stood still for a moment.

She wanted to stay by his side that night. To sit with him, even in his feeble, pitiful state and tell him that everything would be alright. But Claire could never say no to him. After the tiniest nod, holding back tears, she hurried back to her room and threw her face into the pillow.

A few days later, he passed away.

But by now, the child had grown numb to it all. She cried and sobbed for days, even as others tried to comfort her, but she felt nothing. She simply went through the motions. Eating, sleeping, listening without hearing and barely speaking. She remembered little of the next few weeks - even the funeral was a blur of faces she knew and didn’t know, but none of them mattered. Claire’s eyes were on the container housing her father’s ashes. It was painful to look at, knowing that was all that remained, but she fought back the urge to run away.

That was the most she had lived in weeks. Everything else had been done without thought, out of either habit or prompting from others. The rest of her time had been spent lost in memories, of stories and her dad’s voice and his smile and how things should’ve been. But they weren’t anymore.

And so things had to change.

Leaving her house was scary, and her country was even scarier. But since his death, it hadn’t been Claire’s home. It was time to move on from this, she knew, and the colleges in Wihtwar were as far as she could go. She would learn magic, just like all of those heroes from her father’s stories. And she would become stronger, so that she never felt so helpless again. She swore it to herself, and to him.

Sadly, things don't always go the way you want them to.

Claire was nothing more than a screaming, bloodied mess on the road, hoisted up by Susan who was trying to pry information from her. The vial...? That's right... maybe I can... Her arms were trembling, tears flowed down her face and her tome had long since slipped out of her grip. She reached for her pocket, shaking wildly and moving far too slowly. She would never make it. The agony was overpowering.

Her limbs flopped to her side once again in surrender. Somehow, she had managed to stop whimpering and screaming. She had nothing left. She could barely make out what Susan was saying anymore, the pain from her leg was excruciating, and her breaths were getting more and more laboured. "I'm so sorry Dad." she choked out. The world around her began to fog over, much like the state of Malaphar's world. In the end, she had managed to find her voice again, quietly yet clearly, but in the end it meant nothing.

"I'll... see you soon." Shortly after the last word had been spoken, the pain had overwhelmed her completely. Claire's head flopped to the side, as her vision tipped and her consciousness slipped away. Somehow, she was still breathing, although it was unlikely to last for too much longer.

Edited October 11, 2016 by SB.

[Shin]

Fix it up

The blacksmith was perplexed by Emmet's weapon, he knew that it wasn't an ordinary bow by any means. Standing up, he stared intently at the bow, his face right up against it. "How unusual... a weapon like this doesn't cross one's eyes very often." he replied, returning to his seat. "I can't say I fully understand the exact workings of your bow, but it's definitely showing some wear and tear. The materials won't be cheap, but if you leave it with me, I'll try and reinforce it. Might cost a grand or two though, it's much easier to make a new weapon than try and patch together one that's falling apart."

[Jotari]

"Excellent" Emmet said. He stood there for a moment expecting the bow back before releasing the blacksmith would need the weapon to work on it. "Alright I'll come back later so." He left feeling slightly awkward. He usually carried Pinaka with him everywhere. He practically slept with the thing.

Having checked out all the town had to offer in terms of weapons. Emmet decided to head towards the library. He noted the day was quite pleasant as he slowly walked there. As he approached the library he heard a scream from around the corner. It looked like someone was getting mugged by a strange ruffian with brightly coloured hair. It took him a moment to suddenly realise he recognised one of the girls. He immediately reached for his bow only to realise he didn't have it. He didn't have his spare bow or crossbow either. He only bothered to carry them when going into battle. All he had was his Healing Stave. Fortunately for him, Claire's attacker was somewhat manic. She had a hungry stare on his face. Focused intently on Claire, she probably hadn't noticed his arrival at all. He gripped his healing staff and got as close as he dared before swinging it at her temple with all his might.

[Ether]

As Adeltrudis approached the tent, she noticed a few things. The pattern and make of the fabric was unlike anything native to Wyke, and certainly foreign to Magonsaete. It looked to be made of a fine silk, painstakingly hand-woven... how bizarre.

"Hello, is there anyone in here?" Adeltrudis asked, figuring it best to make herself known before investigating any further.

[Nanami Touko]

Cass' shopping was interrupted a shrill sound popped out from the direction... It's just coincidence, that's all it is, it can't be... The wizard's gone, the bandits are dead, no one's... Please, don't do this to me. "O-On second thought, Rashid, I'll have to think about it... If this man wants to purchase it while I'm gone, that's fine. Thank you for your time." She hurriedly set the sword down and started to walk off out of the marker, sprinting as she turned the corner. "Claire you can't do this to me! I don't even know if it's you-- the world can't do this to me! I've had enough of fighting and sadness and people getting hurt; when does it end? When do we deserve a break from it all!?" Cass argued with herself as she ran, axe at the ready if it came to that. This could be someone else entirely, but her worry and paranoia wasn't going to chance it.

[Frostivus]

Blink, and Susan would have missed it: a rare capture of poignantly-blended color and intonation in how the dim, scattered lights rushing in from the library's tinted windows reflected off an oncoming projectile, a heartbeat before the staff smacked into her face.

A lifetime's instinct of dodging broken beer bottles made her involuntarily swerve her head away just enough to avoid a full-blown collision, moving herself together with the momentum of the staff, but it hurt all the same. A constellation of stars pricked across her vision, and Susan was sent spinning back, dropping to one knee even as her hand reached for the shiv around her belt.

She tasted the acrid tang of iron in her mouth, and realized that the fine mist blotting her peripherals was her own blood. She breathed in a gulp of it, retching and sneezing it out, clambering back onto her feet.

She frowned, irises narrowing in recognition of her assailant.

The Mage Killer coming to save her. Fascinating how the world worked sometimes.

Susan had planned for this. A few witnesses from the village could be easily silenced. But a traveling member of Prince Owen's party required more finesse. Questions would be asked. It was going to take manipulation, deceit, and diversion -- all variants of acting that would require a thespian of high calibre.

A thespian like . . .

"Wait, stop, it's me!" Scuttle pleaded and held her hands up in a placating gesture. For the briefest of moments, there was no animal craze in her eyes or calmly-tempered rage, but the raw terror of a little girl caught in a big world. Her knees wobbled. "You're hitting the wrong person! Emmet, please, Claire was planning to run off with the vial herself!" She pointed to the mage (had she done that?). "She's been working with Dettard all along! I pieced it altogether. When I confronted her about it, she attacked me and tried to run! I had to stop her. You have to believe me! I would never try to hurt her!"

Edited October 12, 2016 by Frostivus

[Vestige]

Alain was elated to see the fruits of his labor. The ducks had set upon the piece bread at once, a feasting frenzy and an all out brawl was beginning to take place. It was a good thing ducks had webbed feet, and feathers instead of claws or the pond would have lost it's color. He chuckled at the sight, sparing some crumbs to those ducks on the fringe of the fight. He was wicked, but he wasn't cruel. There was enough bread to go around, even if the ducks didn't know it.

To his side, he was approached by a young lady he recognized, but only barely. One of the members of their Pegasus troupe, if he recalled correctly, though he knew not her name. By the sound of her voice, she wasn't particularly pleased by the ducks' display, drawing a metaphor between them and the noble that had been rescued, Esclabor. Is she even talking to me...? She seemed rather irate, and by a bunch of ducks no less. He wasn't sure we wanted to be meddling in her affairs. "Uhhhh, right you are, I suppose. They are ducks though," he noted, "I suppose them not having the intelligence to match their ferocity is a blessing in disguise, no? Rather than worrying about Deira, we might have had to be worrying about the rising Duck Dynasty," he chuckled, trying to placate her. Though he suspected playing up his own imagination wasn't the best way to go about doing that. She didn't seem the jovial type, really.

"Well, never-mind that really," he said, giving her a once over, and then returning his eyes back to the feuding ducks. "I can't say I have any comments about Sir Esclabor or his method of approach towards Magonsaete's border. I'm not even from Wyke you see," he said his voice trailing off and his ears perking up to the sound of a woman's cry off to the distance. "I'm... pleased to meet you acquaintance my lady, but there's a matter that's come up that bears some investigating," he said, look off towards the north. "My name's Alain, by the way," he said, throwing a few more pieces of bread into the pond to keep the ducks busy until his return. "Sir Alain," he said, setting off towards the voice. Whether or not Morta wanted to follow him was her own prerogative. He wasn't exactly itching to converse with her, but it would have been rude to just dismiss her.

Up ahead on the path, he noticed a particular axe wielding woman looking rather distraught. It was easy enough to tell who she was by the color of her hair, and the weapon in her hands. "Princess Cassandra!" he called out, lengthening his stride to catch up to her. "Princess! I don't suppose that voice I heard crying out was you was it?" he asked. She was worried yes, but she didn't look harmed. He figured she had come to investigate just as he had. "Do you know where it came from? I was over by the pond when I heard someone scream, but I haven't heard anything since," he said, his concern growing. Nobody else was in the immediate area. Perhaps they hadn't heard? Or perhaps they didn't care. The villagers didn't seem particularly keen on getting involved, though he couldn't blame them. They were already putting up with a group of armed foreigners, the last thing they'd want to do is get mixed up with the wrong crowd. And if there was any crowd to not get mixed up with, it was theirs...

So much for a relaxing evening.

[Nanami Touko]

"Alain?" She'd expected people to be out and about on their own business, but perhaps there were enough in the area that had heard the noise. "No, i-it wasn't me... I was in the market when I heard it, barely-- voice, though? I didn't hear a scream... Oh Gods..." She hurried her pace, hoping Alain would keep up. "I was with Claire, she said she had to see someone at the library-- moment later I hear... A cry, a noise, something from that direction! I wouldn't have paid it any attention were we in Wyke, but with everything that's happened, between Malaphar and the twins, all the bandits-- I don't know what to trust anymore! So I couldn't just leave it!"

It wouldn't take much longer to acquire the source of the noise, as they turned the corner into-- "What's going on!?"

Claire was there. Out cold? D-Dead...? She wasn't moving, blood pooled at her leg, an arrow-- then Emmet, their... lovely healer, staff in hand, but it was bloodied? But there was a third party, who-- "W-Wait... S-Scuttles? Scuttle Thames...?" The girl had been missing for their entire trip, but here she was... Hair a mess, in both style and color, bags under her eyes... But undoubtedly, that was her. Cass had gotten the best look she was ever going to get at that face when she'd pulled the girl aside. Well, when it wasn't covered in blood. What happened? Who had done what? Scuttle and Emmet were both archers, but Scuttle was the only other wounded person, which left Emmet, but... Why would he shoot Claire? The vial? Something... S-Something to do with Malaphar? This is too much!

The situation at hand could wait, there wasn't enough to figure anything out at first glance. What did matter was Claire! "A-Alain, you handle this!" she barked out, unsure if he was even still there, before she slid next to Claire. Her wound was worse than Cass had expected; the arrow had been pushed in by something, the gash deeper than she was ready for. The smell of blood wasn't new, but the sight of twisted, mangled muscle and flesh, it was almost enough to shy her away from it entirely.

"Oh, Claire, what happened...!? Come on Cassandra, just... Just pull it out!" She grabbed the arrow, despite everything. With eyes closed and nerves rattled, she gave a generous tug, and the sickening sound of flesh being torn from the other side made her shake all over. "Gods, why!? We were supposed to be fine, here! Ugh..." She had to look at it to heal her, setting her axe aside and taking her staff out, hands trembling as she tried to aim the thing at Claire's wound and close what she could. "E-Emmet, don't just stand there, help me!"

[Xinnidy]

Meanwhile, in quieter pastures...

Owen had no reservations entering the seer's poorly lit room, looking around at the strange shadows cast by the lone candle --definitely the flicker of fire, but it was almost as if they were moving of their own will. There's always a different air around places like these, huh? The church, this shack... it feels like I can tell unworldly presences... He wondered why it always seemed that way. Surely it couldn't only be a trick of incense and old lady smell?

But then the world came to a stop. She'd spoken his name before any introductions were made. We've just arrived... would news go that fast? Would they already know? I guess it's pretty hard to hide my identity around these parts... Inwardly, he blamed his hair. Whether this was a display of the occult or a bluff to catch his attention, he would never be entirely sure.

"Yes... they would tell you this much, would they not?" Whether his belief on the occult was wavering or not, Owen would at least give her the respect of being treated seriously. "Is there any name I may call you by?" He slowly approached the table, a distant gaze centered towards the flickering flame as he continued. "I may be who I am, but here, I am only a man that thirsts for truth. More than I could ever put in words."

"The reality is those who live would much rather keep things to themselves... I have my faith in people shaken." The prince lifted his head slightly, "I look for advice, truth, information kept hidden from me for too long. The times have changed... but I can't count on the living to tell me what to do, for the sake of their own mysteries." Owen smiled faintly, "There was a man that would once in a while give me advice. Even though he didn't directly serve me, I know I could put mine, my sister, and my best friend's trust on him. If he's looking over us --as I believe he is--, I wish I could speak to him, once more." This time, Owen's tone became a bit more melancholic, though his smile didn't falter.

"I believe he's seen a lot since I last met him. He might even reprimand me on some ...recent decisions." I know I would...

[Shin]

Travelling Turnips

"Yes, my dear. I had been here for many years, managing the chapel for longer that you have walked the world." she replied, amused by Sidney's curiosity. "At first I thought he spoke nonsense, almost even heresy as his words challenged my values. But the more I thought about it, the more I wondered whether the world would be a better place if people accepted one another for who they were. He only stopped at our village for a single night, yet his words have changed how we all see Engel."

The woman laughed, wiping a tear of joy from her eye. "But you probably didn't come here to listen to an old crone tell you stories from her youth. If you feel able to speak, I would be more than happy to listen to what you have to say. Engel does not judge those who seek answers, we may never know without trying to learn."

-

Pay aTENTion

Adele had already taken note of the unusual design of the tent, its exotic patterns decorating the structure. The entrance flapped in the wind, the ties having been undone. A strong spiced aroma seeped from within it, tickling Adele's nostrils with its sharp odour. As she approached, an elderly man slowly emerged from the tent. He was unusually dressed, and dark skinned, far beyond what the harsh sun of Magonsaete could cause.

"Greetings, visitor." he wheezed, putting his hand to his mouth to surpress a cough. "I assume you are not looking for my son's stall, for it is in the village. I do not get to see many people, for my health is poor. I fear I shall not return to my homeland... Rashid will have to venture back alone."

The man seemed to be interested in Adele, something about her had sparked something within him. "Your eyes, they tell me that you have parted with those dear to you. There is a woman in this village that can aid you. Head to the seer's shack, I know that you will be able to find what you search for... and please, take this with you."

Taking Adele's hand, the man placed something within it. It wasn't very big at all, a small metallic charm on a chain.

"I do not ask for money, only for your happiness." he added, heading back into the tent. "You are kind to listen to an old man such as myself, I am very grateful."

Adele acquires a foreign charm!

-

Serge Sawyer

The old man took Serge's hand to shake, his grip firm for someone his age. "If you have any friends that could help, I would be very grateful. It's been years since I've worked on that fence, mind you. The old hip isn't so good for moving about!"

Larissa was impressed by Serge's ability to find opportunities, but fence painting handn't been quite what she'd had in mind. Emily however was more than ready to begin, already beginning to make practice brush strokes in the air. The old man laughed, giving Serge a nudge. "What I'd give to be in your shoes, youngster. Two lovely ladies following you like ducklings, what I'd give for a few quacks."

-

Beyond the Grave

The woman closed her eyes, placing her hands on her crystal ball. "This one you speak of, his soul has passed within the last month... am I correct?" she asked, her tone more that of a statement than a question. "The spirits tell me that Jeeves would be able to visit this world again briefly. His will to serve still remains even in death... but I cannot draw him forth to speak without a suitable medium. Too much time has passed for you to be able to bring him back. Your bond with him was positive, but it lacks the strength to open the gates beyond."

She stopped for a moment, staying as still as a statue for a good minute. "But... there is one among your group who possessed such a bond with him. An unconditional link that has survived his voyage to the realm of the dead. With that I will be able to grant you the seance you desire, as long as their heart is willing. The villagers know me as Celia, the Seer. Prince Owen, the spirits see great potential in your future... but the destiny you possess, it is yours to sculpt, if you choose not to give in to inherited fate."

[Ether]

"Ah, hello. I had noticed your tent from the town outskirts, and found myself curious... it is of quite beautiful make." Adele replied, as the older man stepped out, listening to him speak. His health seemed poor, he himself had made note of it... it was an unfortunate thing. It seemed his son was running a stall in the market... she'd have to take a look at it at some point, though not just to peruse his wares, as the older gentleman made note of her recent loss.

"You are quite wise... what you say is true. I recently lost someone very close to me... he was like a second father to me, forever my mentor, until his health gave way... you remind me of him, you know... it... saddens me to see you left here by your son. I do hope that he is treating you well... looking back, I regret not spending as much time with Jeeves as I could, before he passed." Adeltrudis lamented, before the man handed her a strange charm, requesting nothing of her but to move forward in happiness.

"I will go there, then. I... have felt a little lost, recently. Perhaps this seer can help... if you put your faith in her, I see no reason why I cannot do the same. Thank you very much for your hospitality." Adele concluded, giving the man a gentle bow, lingering for a few moments in case he had anything else to say.