Calia makes her escape as quickly as she can short of outright running away, clutching Kyria's magic bag in her hands. Her cheeks feel like they're burning. The thought hadn't even crossed her mind and now - well - it was doing a bit more than crossing. She removes one of the unlit torches on the wall and replaces it with her own everburning one, then walks into the middle of the room. She pulls open the bag, reaches in -
Her backpack begins to shake. She reaches for it with one hand, gropes blindly. The metal pyramid, etched with lines, is on top, and she has just enough time to wonder why before
[RECORD START]
Kal'vere Air-Dusk-Builder
Tanji'ra Swift-Plane-Strider
A fortress falling from the sky
Ash and dust and so much death
Pyramid floating, a vault she recognizes now, remembers, a chill that has nothing to do with cold
Pillars high above, shimmering white metal, seams lit blue
[RECORD END – NEURAL LINK TERMINATED]
…
…
…
[FIND US]
Find us
find us
The pyramid falls from her fingers, clattering on the ground.
Calia opens her eyes to an expanse of dusty wood. She's on the floor. She doesn't remember falling. Her mouth is bone-dry, which gives her just enough time to remember not to scream. If she had the breath to. She isn't sure she does. One more thing to tell Arran tonight. Her knees feel like gelatin. Getting up seems like an insurmountable task, so she doesn't, instead inverting the bag and groping inside until her shaking hands clasp around a metal-clad ankle. Theral is heavy, more so working alone, but the impossibly small bag divulges its contents one limb at a time until the draconic woman is laid on the floor. Her eyes are still open in shock. The blood on her plate armor is dark and tacky. Calia shudders and gets to work.
Sword first, fished out of the bag once more before it punctures something. The armor next. Stiff arms and clotted blood make it difficult, but at last the plate is piled neatly. Scrolls next, for Elara - laughing, smiling, this is not the time. Calia forces herself to her feet long enough to put them aside on a shelf, clinging to the wood in an effort to steady her shaking limbs. Cloak, piled up - no reason to fold it when it needed to be washed anyways. An assortment of accessories, necklace and ring and bracers, all heavy with magic. Stripped of her possessions, Theral seems so much smaller, though by no means weak. Her shirt is soaked through with blood. Gingerly, Calia lifts up the hem, peeks under the collar. She knows what should be there, but not where it should be, and she'd really rather not explain why Theral's corpse is naked in addition to everything else.
Spoiler
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Obviously, looking for the illuminated crescent brand,
[roll0]