Flight From Ironheart IC

[The_Snark]

Marisiel

There ought to have been some reaction, Marisiel felt. Shock, a sudden realization like having her legs kicked out from under her. Horror, because now she knew why the Queen's hostility had always seemed so personal, that Titania really did hate her more than any other servant of the Valkyrie; or shame, because that hatred was not without cause. She could have been indignant on Istomilo's behalf, defended him against the Queen's accusations as Ysora had, because whatever he might feel for her, he was a good man. She could have met Titania's anger with her own, although she could hardly have matched the Queen's fury; she had never heard so much hate contained in a single voice. She could have been angry, or surprised, or guiltily pleased, any of a thousand things. Surely a revelation such as this deserved something.

Yet all she felt was a kind of... dullness, a leaden resignation at being forced to acknowledge something she already knew.

Because she did know already, she realized without any real surprise. She simply hadn't wanted to admit it, because then she would have to do something about it, and she had not the faintest idea what that something should be.

After the cacophony of the battle outside, the quiet that settled over the room seemed stifling. Everybody was waiting on her: Istomilo anxiously, Titania with a kind of feral glee... not poor Ysora, admittedly, who was in too much pain to expect anything at all, but everybody else was waiting to see what she did, herself included. The silence stretched on for unbearably long moments, punctuated only by the distant sounds of battle. And she still didn't know what she should do. She couldn't keep denying it; that obviously didn't work, and it would be dishonest. Apologize? She had wronged Titania by stealing someone she loved, even if she didn't intend it; she had also wronged Istomilo by refusing to see this for so long. She could see both fear and hope in his eyes as he looked at her; should she answer it? Admit to returning those feelings?

The problem was, she wasn't sure if that was true. She respected Istomilo, yes. Liked him, enjoyed his company. He was a good man. Was that enough? The way humans spoke of it she had always assumed there was something more, a vast and overwhelming feeling, obvious as the sky suddenly turning green. But if it wasn't- how would she recognize it? Her sister Genevieve would have known, for she had felt it. But Genevieve was gone, and most angels lay the blame for that squarely at the feet of mankind.

Duty told her she should forge onwards. They were here to end a war, and compared to that, Istomilo's love was not truly important. What the three of them felt was not important. Duty had always guided Marisiel aright in the past, and so once again she listened to that guiding will; but not without reservation. She was afraid.

She took a deep breath and broke the silence. "I'm sorry," she said, and though she was looking at Titania she had no idea which one she was really speaking to. "Truly. But we didn't come here to talk about- it's not about the three of us. What you have done is unconscionable, Titania." Even to her it sounded weak, sounded like she was afraid to talk about it—which was true, but—oh, why couldn't it sound like she wanted it to? Damn her voice for shaking!

"There is a war going on," she continued, and though she couldn't quite make her voice hold steady at least she sounded passionate now, not flustered. "And it must end. Since you will not end it peacefully"—she paused here, as if hoping the Queen would contradict her; but it lasted only the barest of moments, because Marisiel knew it for a false hope—"we must force you. Better to finish it quickly, and be done with it. One way or another."

[Baerdog7]

Grandmaster Ander Windrivver

Ander kneels down next to the angel's corpse with Miriam.

Miriam, this is what the Council is doing to your angels. Kidnapping them, torturing them, and branding them. The result is a brainwashed automaton ready and willing to do the Council's bidding. Three of them attacked me at Dawn's Hope monastery while I was meeting with the Abbot. Several paladins were killed in the fight but before I slew this one, she was able to regain enough of her senses to tell me that Exarch Greyson is the one responsible for this heresy. Ander gestures at the soulstone in Miriam's hand. I sent one of the bodies to Grandmaster Milner for study. He believes that the angel's tortured soul may reside in that stone but we have no way of reliably communicating with it. I was hoping you may be able to help us do that.

He stands up and walks back over to the four Grandmasters.

My Lady, these four Grandmasters had the faith to listen to my case against the Council and join me for an audience with you. Unfortunately Exarch Crane has influenced the other two Grandmasters to remain on the side of the Council and has declared that he will try to excommunicate us from the Church.

I worry that even if we have the strength of arms to challenge the Council in combat that it will not be enough to cleanse the Church of its corruption. Crane and the others will use my status as a heretic and our excommunication to turn the public against our cause and without all the paladin orders behind us I fear our platform is weakened. He heaves a heavy sigh.

A schism will not help us to purify the Church, it will destroy it. But...if we can learn from this angel where Greyson's facility is, we may be able to find evidence that not even Crane will be able to deny.

[Gorgondantess]

In that case, it's a good thing he's staying behind.
She lays a hand on his shoulder, giving him a stern stare. "Remember that what happens here, from now on, is on your own head. Failure will garner you only retribution.
And... one piece of advice: don't push these people. One revolution is quite enough."

At the word 'dispose', she snaps her head to glare at him. "No. That being is invaluable to me; there is little price one could pay to let me part with her."

She glances at him, perturbed as he leans close, but doesn't make a move to shy away; it wouldn't do to show discomfort, but his presumptions were rather annoying. However, his news is... intriguing.
"Tell me more; where can I find this person? I'll want a rendezvous."

Meanwhile, she gets all the missionary volunteers allocated, having her Proselytizer (the original high priest) organize them. He has him find her the largest area near where she might meet this buyer, and prepare to head out for there, the same idea as this town: make sure everyone is present at the church the next time they meet.

After this, she heads down to the church basement to check on Maurice. She doesn't say a word as she looks over her for a few minutes, but finally speaks.
"Extend your wings."
She walks over and takes hold of the still good wing, and draws her sword.
She gently prunes the feathers with it, cutting them down with long, fluid motions; leaving it intact enough that it was still elegant, just very, very small, and useless for flight.

That done, she unchains one of Maurice's arms from the wall, taking off the chain and connecting it to her left hand, then forming a collar at the end around Maurice's neck. It's not at all tight or constricting, but still impossible to slip out of.
That done, she unchains Maurice's other hand from the wall, tests the collar a bit. "I don't trust you alone, so until such time as I decide to release you, you'll be coming with me."
With that, she focuses for a few minutes, digging up the ground for additional mass & energy, the reaches forwards and lifts up Maurice in a tight cradle. She stomps out of the building and takes to the air, heading towards wherever this buyer of angels is supposed to be located.

Spoiler

Show

If I can't get a location, I'll do similar, but just follow along with the missionaries.

[OverWilliam]

~Tare

At first they walked through the labyrinthine alleys and byways in silence, Tare trying to think while also tripping down memory lane; though the muscle memory that had been perfect familiarity with the city's underbelly so long ago had atrophied somewhat, it still served him well enough and before long he'd oriented himself. As they walked, Tare subconsciously moved into a protective stance, moving up beside Melcara and remaining on steady alert as they moved. For a while they simply made their way across the cityscape, him occasionally speaking a word of warning or instruction when they passed across a thoroughfare, ducked through a crowd, or took a shortcut through a peddler's shop and out through a different entrance. Melcara, to her credit, learned quickly and reacted perfectly to Tare's two or three word advisements, allowing him to share a measure of his returning street savoir faire between them. At the same time, though, Tare's body language had shifted noticeably; his strides were confident, almost meant to be intimidating, and when certain people passed (exactly what was the common thread between them Melcara may not be able to spot) a momentary clash of wills was almost visible through pointed eye contact before the two would break off and continue on their way.

Tare was so distracted by thought and the sudden regaining of his street instincts from which he'd been separated for so long that he did not, at first, notice what he was doing. "Oh--" He realised, a while later, and for a moment his mannerisms reverted as he made embarrassed eye contact with Melcara. His stride faltered for a moment, but he regained it a moment later and gave his companion an apologetic glance. "I'm sorry, I... The last time I walked the city like this was with..." His voice broke, and it was several steps before he got it back. "...Sometimes, not always, but sometimes, when one chooses to walk with... an attractive young woman in certain parts of this city... Well. If one projects even the impression that one does not... deserve her graces, one risks... losing her. Violently." Tare glanced back and forth, then breathed, "Hold up," And put his arm out to keep her from being bumped into by a large, absentminded pedestrian-- a glancing blow that might've knocked down a mortal girl of her size and figure, but that, Tare had to consciously remind himself, would likely not have caused the Archangel to blink unduly. "We're going to see a 'Friend'... Expect him to be 'Friendly' toward you particularly. He's... that sort. He's interested only in himself, but he knows a lot of people who don't all know each other, so he's useful as a connections man and an information broker. Being loyal to absolutely nothing but one's self has the unintended, but marketable side effect of making one relatively Impartial. He's tolerated more than liked, but as long as you can be used, it doesn't matter what anyone thinks of you personally..." There may be more riding on that statement than Tare wants to admit. "...Anyway. In this case, his self-interest is going to work to our advantage. Listen closely while we're in there, and I'll explain it later."

About this time they arrived at a moderately sized indoor Curio shop, which Tare entered without hesitation or reservation-- probably another bluff, carefully engineered to project exactly the impression needed. Tare enters the shop, keeping Melcara within arms reach, and waits casually to be noticed by the resident bilge rat and store owner-- Larry Gekko, fixer, fencer, connections guy, and loud-mouthed sleaze.

[Inspectre]

Meanwhile

Beyond the Ironheart mountains, deep in the forest that the elves called home, a second force set out north. This force was even larger than the one that Tur Villid commanded, but consisted of mostly mounted troops. It did not have any siege equipment, for that would only slow them down. Although the army’s commander was unsure how to navigate the mountains with his mounts intact, he knew the effort had to be made.

The increased ground his mounted force could cover in a day would be invaluable once they were on the other side. They had to catch up with Tur Villid as soon as possible. That was their final order, whispered by their king on his death bed. They also had one other objective – locate Crown Prince Teareal, and inform him that his father was dead. The Elven King was dead. Long live the Elven King!

*********************

In the cave he had chosen for refuge, the cowled figure known as Istomilo smiled. He could see through his crystal ball that the little bitch was sleeping – and no doubt dreaming. He wasn’t sure the dreams would totally restore Marisiel’s memory – the Baron had evidently been quite thorough in crushing her spirit, such that she thought of herself as a mere human girl. But the dreams would be a good start – Marisiel had to remember and understand what she had done before she could pay for her crimes. And then Istomilo would break her all over again – again and again and again.

But he was getting ahead of himself. First, he had to restore Marisiel’s memory, and these dreams were just one of his tools for doing so. He could afford to be patient now – after all, he had waited so long for his chance at revenge – he could wait a little longer. Savor the experience, which he had bought at a high price from that odious Baron. On the plus side, with any luck the Baron would reap Istomilo’s vengeance against the gods for him. Then Athelion would know the pain of losing the one He loved, and everything that went along with it.

A soft chime tinkling in Istomilo’s ear warned him that someone had just breached the wards surrounding his little home. Not surprising – they weren’t there to protect him, just warn him – Istomilo was more than capable of taking care of himself. More than likely, it was just some bumbling shepherd. Whoever it was, however, they had interrupted his entertaining session of watching Marisiel peacefully sleep – and imagining how rare that opportunity would be for her soon enough – and this intruder was going to pay.

Returning the crystal ball to its stand and returning it to nothing more than a ball of murky crystal with a single gesture, Istomilo stood up and moved swiftly to the cave’s entrance. With another quick gesture and muttered word he rendered himself invisible to all but the most acute senses, and then peered out. To his great surprise, the intruder turned out to be a mere girl – although appearances could be deceiving – striding unevenly through the mountain snow towards the cave mouth. She seemed uncertain, pausing several times to tilt her head as if listening, but the cave was clearly her destination.

Hoping to maintain the advantage of surprise, Istomilo retreated back into the cave and waited. When the girl appeared at the mouth of the cave, he pounced.

“Hello, Istomilo? I –“ Was all the girl managed to get out before she was slammed into the cave wall by a blast of force, followed by an immobilization spell that threatened to crush the breath from her lungs. Istomilo was surprised, more from the fact that the girl apparently was just a pathetic human girl than that she apparently knew his name. Revealing himself and stepping forward, Istomilo raised the girl off the floor, holding her several inches off the ground and turning her to come face-to-face with him. He grinned as the girl’s eyes quickly turned from dazed surprise to fear.

“I will give you one minute to explain yourself and why you are here. After that, if I am not satisfied the only sound that will escape your lips for the rest of your admittedly short life is screaming.”

His threat delivered, Istomilo lowered the girl back down onto the floor and released his immobilization spell. To his continued surprise, the girl seemed to collect herself rather quickly, taking a deep steadying breath and pushing a lock of dirty blonde hair behind one ear before speaking.

“My name is Maya Weyborn, daughter of Lord Ode Berron. I was sent here by Queen Titania to find you and deliver a message.”

Titania. The word was like a sword shoved through his heart – and he knew exactly how that felt. This had to be a trick – Titania was dead, lost to him forever.

“Titania is dead.” Istomilo replied, angrily forcing away the hope that threatened to rise up and engulf him. With a bitter laugh, he managed a shrug. “Alright, let’s assume for a moment that I believe you. What’s the message?”

“She wishes to speak with you about an important matter. What that matter is I was not told, although I was informed that you are a former servant of hers?”

“Oh, considerably more than that my dear. And also . . . considerably less.” Istomilo retorted, another pang of regret passing through his chest. It made him angry, but also curious as to how this miserable slip of a girl knew such things. Fortunately, the answers seem forthcoming as the girl continued to explain.

“Her realm is that of the spirit world. I could lead you there, and from there to her palace, if you wish. Or just . . . return with your refusal?”

It was clear that the girl was serious, at least in her belief that what she was saying was true. But that was impossible, unless . . . of course! How could he have been so stupid!? All these countless centuries, spent in futile mourning, when all he had to do was step into the spirit realm personally. Of course, none of the spirits he had ever summoned mentioned any such thing. Perhaps Titania had forbade them from speaking of her? Yes, that would make a certain amount of sense – no doubt she would wish to hide and lick her wounds, so that Miriam couldn’t try to finish the job. The fact that she was willing to reveal herself to him now spoke volumes . . . perhaps? Would it be too much to hope for forgiveness as well?

This was monumental if it was not some sort of well-crafted, cruel joke from the Baron. But . . . what to do about Marisiel? He couldn’t abandon her now, not after so many years of waiting for his chance at revenge.

A slow, truly disturbing smile spread across Istomilo’s face as he realized what he would do. Yes, he would return to Titania, but he would return with a gift. A gift that would undoubtedly do much to heal the rift between them. He didn’t have much time after all, then. Things would have to be accelerated quickly. Fortunately, he had an idea on just how to accomplish that.

With a nod, he signaled to his pet construct – a mass of serrated metal he had forged back home in the Hells. The Hell Knight appeared from its invisible perch behind Maya, grabbing the girl harshly by the arms and holding her aloft in the air.

“Well, Maya. You will be pleased to know that I already know the way there, and so I won’t be needing your services. I am afraid, however, that neither will you be going back there to return a reply from me. You see, I think I’ve developed a much better use for you.”

Stepping forward, Istomilo reached inside his bloody robes, and pulled out a razor-sharp blade, still coated in blood. The blade was rather long – about the size of a short sword, with a wicked curve to it and brutally sharp edge. For once, Istomilo had to admit the Baron’s lackey had come up with a good idea.

“Now, do you see this blade Maya? I’m going to use it to cut out Marisiel the Protector’s heart. But first, I think it would be a good idea to test the edge, and make sure it’s sharp enough. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Only a few moments later, and the cave was filled with Maya’s agonized screams. They didn’t last long.

*****************

Across the face of the world, Miriam watched with displeasure. Stretching Her consciousness out in all directions, the Goddess nonetheless focused Her attention on the humans in their kingdom of Narle. That was the source of most of the current troubles marring the face of Creation. Troubles which She was becoming increasingly desperate to stop before they spun out of control.

The signs were all there – this sort of disaster had happened before. With Azguloth. With Phaedra. She had sworn then that it would not happen again, and yet the cycle continued unabated. Was even She powerless to stop the cycle, swept along by the tide of Fate as helpless as a mortal toyed with by the sea?

Her daughters were all missing or gone. Ysora and Hephestia had both disappeared, almost certainly both in the Baron’s blasphemous clutches. Marisiel was gone long before that. And Genevieve . . . Genevieve the Champion had been dead for a long time now. She had always been the wisest of her sisters, and the one who had always tempered Miriam’s anger with reason. Miriam could really use her guidance now.

But the loss of her closest servants was not the worst of it. The rest of her trusted servants were being stolen away, one by one, by mortal summoning magic. It was undoubtedly the damn Baron, and possibly the corrupted Church as well, behind these other disappearances. There did not seem to be an easy way of stopping it other than directly at the source as well – the divine summons was an ancient rite given to the mortals to allow them to call upon Miriam’s servants in times of dire need. It had been exploited in the past, but the few perpetrators had always been punished severely in the end. And none of them had been mad enough to attempt to depopulate the entire Heavens!

And finally there was the third loss, the one that always seemed inevitable. The humans had betrayed Her trust, yet again. She had saved them, risen them from the dust out of the filthy claws of the demons, and now Her servants in the Church had turned against Her. Only Ander remained trustworthy – and how long would that last? She was asking a lot of him, perhaps more than one mortal man could deliver. What would happen should his faith in Her begin to wane?

He seemed to be expecting something from Her, as if She merely had to wave a hand to end all of this. Well, it didn’t work that way. Perhaps if She had an avatar, She could at least consider joining the struggle directly. But She no longer had that option – wait, what was that?

Her senses picked up on a faint soul, only a short distance away from the blank void of the Baron’s floating blasphemy. It felt familiar to Her . . . Elandra? No, not Elandra. It was the Baron’s own daughter, although the girl’s aura was strangely similar to Miriam’s old friend. Hmm . . . yes, perhaps it was possible after all. But it would not be easy, and the cost would be high. Was an end to this latest insurrection worth that price? Not even Miriam knew, although she felt a disturbing air of doom settling in over this whole affair. Her direct intervention would come at a high price indeed, but it was necessary.

Reaching out with Her mind, Miriam touched the girl’s own psyche, and told her what to do. Now it was up to her to decide the world’s fate. Meanwhile, it seemed that Miriam had guests . . . Ander and some others, including a faint presence that somehow seemed . . . familiar. Feeling anger swell in Her heart at the very thought of what that faint, lingering aura might well have come from, She focused Her consciousness back into the Throne Room in the Heavens.

************************

Now back in her cell, Ysora was uncertain whether to feel relief or anxiety. No one had told her the outcome of Nephilium’s fight with Cheran, but from the brief look she got of it before passing out they both were fighting to kill. It seemed unlikely that the Baron would allow one of his two sons to kill the other, but certainly Cheran seemed capable of anything. The copious amount of blood still staining the floor of her cell was testament to that. Thankfully, her wing was no longer lying there on the floor, having been reattached via the humans’ magics - the same way they had repaired most of her wounds.

The magic wasn’t nearly as good as her own natural regeneration – her wing still felt wrong somehow, and it was doubtful she would be able to fly with it. Which may have been the intention, in the impossible event that she somehow broke free of her chains, punched through the adamantite doors, and attempted to fight her way free from the depths of the Gastly Truth. Ridiculous.

Ysora could feel the beginnings of despair creeping into her mind. There was no telling what sort of cruelty the Baron and his ilk would think of next, and next time she would likely not be so lucky as to have someone there to interrupt the proceedings. Speaking of which, another torment might about to be inflicted, as the door to her cell began to groan open. To her slight chagrin, Ysora found herself greatly relieved when she saw that it was merely Nephilium.

The relief was short-lived, however, as she noted the impassive expression on Nephilium’s face, and the two large bags slung over his shoulders. The son of the Baron did not seem to particularly mind the weight, however, stepping smoothly into the cell and then turning back to the guard who had let him in.

“That will be all. I will knock when I wish to exit, as usual.” Nephilium said in a forced neutral tone.

“Ah, come on Sir Nephilium! I heard you’d be coming down here sooner or later to break the bitch. Can’t I just watch a little?”

“The vulture devours its prey alone, so others might not be disgusted with its gluttony.” Nephilium snapped, and then whirled on the man, grabbed the cell door and slamming it shut. After a moment, he paused, and reopened the door a crack.

“Open this door so much as a crack before I tell you to, and I will give you a personal demonstration of my technique. I doubt you will endure more than a minute before you expire, so it will be a very short demonstration indeed.”

And then the son of the Baron slams the door shut once more before turning sheepishly back to Ysora. He takes a deep steadying breath, and then walks to the center of the room where he deposits his two bags.

“How are you feeling, milady?” He asks conversationally, opening one of the bags and beginning to route around inside it. From her current angle hanging from the ceiling and back wall, Ysora cannot see what he was looking for. His even more bizarre demeanor than usual was starting to unnerve her, especially after recent events.

“Well enough, although my . . . my wing still aches. What happened in your fight against your brother? Did you -?”

For a moment, Nephilium paused in his search to look up, his shoulders slumping.

“Sometimes the fisherman returns with an empty net. Much as I wanted to – tried to – I was prevented from my goal.”

Nephilium clenched one hand into an angry fist, a dark shadow crossing over his face.

“One day, that man will cross the last line, and fall into Perdition. But not today . . . never today. Unfortunately, there are unfulfilled debts from his latest indiscretion that must now be paid.”

Not quite understanding his meaning this time, Ysora hoped he was referring to her.

“And you certainly have my gratitude for stopping your brother when you did. I do not know what he would have done next, and I shudder to contemplate what else he is capable of.”

That hope that Nephilium was expecting gratitude from her faded as she remembered similar mortals offering aid to her sisters in the past – and what they expected in return.

“Of course, much as I wish it, I do not think I will be in a position to return the favor anytime soon. Nor offer you anything else but my heartfelt thanks. I . . . hope you haven’t considered our relationship as anything more than a pleasant acquaintance. We are . . . still on opposite sides of this conflict.”

Better to stifle any budding romantic feelings Nephilium was developing towards her now. Although useful, especially since Nephilium was apparently willing to try killing his brother in her defense, such thoughts of taking advantage of his emotions left a foul taste in her mouth. Better to endure the Baron’s cruel torments, than allow him to corrupt her soul by forcing her to adopt similar tactics. It was harder than she thought it would be, especially after she saw the quiet pain flicker across Nephilium’s face.

“I . . . understand.” He said at last, fidgeting nervously. He resumed rooting through the bag, while adopting a conversational tone.

“My feelings for you, as I told you before, stem from you resembling my wife. I apologize for that revelation disturbing you the last time we spoke.”

Ysora remembered the flash of anger she had felt when Nephilium revealed that piece of information, and the sense of betrayal that came with it. For some reason, her anger seemed incredibly petty now, especially after being given the opportunity to calmly digest the information. Before Ysora could answer him, Nephilium pressed on, a half-desperate note in his voice.

“I never really expected you to return those feelings. Even the skunk is occasionally aware of his own stench – I knew my behavior was foolish. But . . . I did it because I wanted to, and I value our . . . pleasant acquaintance. Which is why I feel you deserve the details of my wife’s death – I was on my way to tell you when . . . Cheran . . .”

Furrowing her brow in confusion, Ysora risked another concealed warning.

“I’m not sure there are many details that would cause me to look favorably on your actions Nephilium. Unless you mean to say you did it in self-defense . . . which, no offense, but I would find hard to believe.”

“She died in child birth.” Nephilium replied bluntly. “I pushed her to have the child, even when I knew she could very well die. I lost them both, mother and child, because of that. I’ve never stopped blaming myself.”

“I . . . am sorry, Nephilium. Both for your loss, and for believing you were capable of such a thing.”

A flash of anger crosses Nephilium’s face.

“But you are WRONG! If Father had said to me, “Son, I want you to gut that bitch. Do it slowly.” I would have done it! I would do, have done, and will do whatever Father asks of me. Because Nephilium is the good son, oh yes, always quick and eager to please!”

In a blur of furious motion, Nephilium yanks out from the bag what he was looking for, and had just found, and stands up. Curled around his one hand was a long whip, covered in cruel metal barbs down its entire length. Despite herself, Ysora felt a shiver of fear race through her at the sight of it.

“Nephilium . . . what are you planning to do with that?”

“I am here because father TOLD me to come down here. He said to me “Son, you are going to go torture Ysora. I want to hear her screams even up here on the Bridge.” And Nephilium is . . . a dutiful son.”

“What . . . I don’t understand . . . you . . . you always have a choice, Nephilium. You don’t have to do this!” Ysora argued, her mind racing with how she could possibly get out of this sudden second session of torment from another of the Baron’s sons. It did not seem likely that there was any way of it, as Nephilium unfurled the whip and extended it to its full length with an expert snap of his wrist.

“No, you don’t understand. Thus why the fool always offers poor advice!” Nephilium snapped back in response, cracking the whip against the floor a few times experimentally. “Father does not offer a choice in these situations. He hand-selects the best possible outcome, and presents that to you as your orders. Fail to obey them, and the far worse alternatives rear their ugly heads!” Nephilium adds, his voice softening.

“I’m about to be brutally tortured by one of the only two people I’ve met since entering captivity that have shown me any kindness. I’m not sure there’s a worse scenario?”

“Cheran.” Is the one word offered reply.

“Ah. Umm . . . yes. Yes, I suppose you have a point there. I certainly can’t stop you, and I can’t offer you any alternatives. If this is what you feel you must do, what you want to do . . . then do it. I-I . . . I won’t hold it against you.”

Slowly, Ysora closed her eyes, gritting her teeth against the inevitable blow to come. Sure enough, a moment later the savage crack of the whip echoed through the room, but to her surprise no pain was forthcoming. Indeed, immediately following the crack of the whip was a soft shriek of metal on metal, coming from just above and behind her right ear. Forcing herself to open one eye, Ysora was shocked to observe Nephilium deliver several more cracks of the whip to the floor at his feet, seemingly in a mad frenzy. The son of the Baron raises one hand to his head, pulling on a tuft of hair and shaking his head as he quietly grounds out, “I . . . can not . . . I will not . . . harm you. This one thing, I will not give to Father upon his asking.”

Then as if suddenly seized by a mad fit, Nephilium grasps the whip with his free hand, running his hand down a short length of it in the decidedly wrong direction. The whip’s barbs tear open the palm of his hand as easily as they would have done to Ysora’s own flesh, and she can only watch with horrified shock as Nephilium lifts his mangled hand away from the now bloodied whip.

“Nephilium – what!?”

“Ssshhhh!” Nephilium admonished her with a pain-filled hiss, striding over to stand directly in front of her with purpose. Reaching up, he began to smear the blood from his palm across her right cheek and down the side of her neck.

“I need you to do something for me – scream.”

“What –“

“I SAID SCREAM, YOU FILTHY ER, FEATHERED WHORE!” Nephilium shrieked in her face, followed by using his uninjured hand to snap the handle of the whip several times, cracking the barbed tip loudly against the wall next to her several times.

“Er . . . aaaaaahhh?”

“I SAID SCREAM! THE RABBIT SHRIEKS OUT ITS LAST BREATH IN THE JAWS OF ITS PREDATOR!!”

“AAAAHHH! OH GODS, PLEASE – AAAAHHHHH!!”

Some time later, a considerably paler Nephilium stood swaying on his feet before a blood soaked and hoarse Ysora. He had methodically gone through each of the tools he had brought inside of both bags – and there were a considerable number of such devices in each bag – and supplied evidence he had used them via himself. Given the racket both of them had made while doing this, the warden outside would undoubtedly likewise act as a reliable witness. The only way the Baron would ever discover his son’s act of defiance was if he had some way of seeing into the secure cell, used magical means, or simply deduced it somehow using his terrifyingly keen intellect. But for now, Nephilium’s secret seemed safe . . . as utterly unfathomable as it was to Ysora.

“Why did you do this?” Ysora whispered as Nephilium slowly put the tools back into the bags, clearly struggling to remain conscious.

“Because I wanted to.” Nephilium said slowly, a slight smile of triumph on his face. Putting the last tool back into the bags, he hefted them over his shoulders with a great deal of effort and staggered up onto his feet.

“This was the only way I could protect you. It is my final gift. Father . . . he does not wish me to see you again. And I do not think I could circumvent that particular order.” Nephilium said, still threatening to topple over from the weight of the bags he had not so difficult of a time carrying in.

“I’m not sure I understand, but . . . thank you, Nephilium. And . . . I am sorry I ever doubted you. You have the potential to be a great man, if you would move out from under your father’s dark shadow.”

“Perhaps. But Nephilium is the dutiful son. And despite his one act of rebellion, he shall go on as such. Until his duty to family his fulfilled, and he may once again choose his own path.”

“I do understand that. Goodbye, Nephilium.”

“Goodbye, Ysora the Teacher. Perhaps . . . perhaps you would be willing to include me in your prayers? Nephilium can use all the help he can get.”

“I’m not sure that wouldn’t be counterproductive, but I would be happy to do so.”

And without another word, Nephilium turned and staggered to the door, drawing upon hidden reserves of strength to appear normal as the guard opened the door in response. He even manage to make a crude joke in response to the warden’s reaction upon seeing Ysora, which was cut off by the cell door slamming shut once more. Ysora wished him all the luck in the world. They would need it all and more if the Baron ever discovered his son’s disobedience.

****************************

Inside the deepest depths of the Gastly Truth, the Baron entered into the chamber that housed Fury. No one save himself and the specialist mages required to keep the trio stable were allowed entered. Today there was a team of them working to finish repairing the inconvenient damage Incom had caused. One could only hope the benefits ultimately proved to be more than the costs of keeping him around.

As the group of specialists hurriedly filed out of the room to grant the Baron his privacy, he examined the second of the trio, the Maiden. Technically, she was the last of the trio that came into the Baron’s possession, but she was between the other two in age and in purpose. For this part of acting as the bridge between the other two minds, she was perfect.

Idly, the Baron wondered what Korram would have thought had he taken the Baron up on his offer. His wife was deathly pale and emaciated, although here and there the features that had once rendered her reasonable attractive still remained. Of course, Korram no doubt would have argued that he had married her for her other qualities – her keen wit and warm smile or some other sappy dreck. Then again, the Baron had chosen her for exactly the same reason, so perhaps for once he would have to concede that argument. Enough idle thought. He had come down here for an explicit purpose.

“Fury, show me what’s happening down in the Brig, Ysora’s cell.”

There was a moment’s pause, and then the response.

“Unable to comply.” The three comatose women mouthed, following along with the synthesized voice delivering the actual audio message.

“Explain.” The Baron demanded, feeling what little remained of his good mood evaporating considerably.

“Considerable damage inflicted to communications system. Viewing subsystem also non-operational until repairs are 100% complete.”

“Oh bull****!” The Baron growled, his eyes narrowing as he reviewed Korram’s escape. “And what about the mysterious sealing of the barricade doors during Korram’s escape?”

“Review of the logs revealed there was an erroneous report of a chemical spill.”

“A chemical spill across multiple chambers, eh?” The Baron hissed, shaking his head. If Fury was not willing to cooperate, he had ways of “correcting” such errors. Unfortunately, it did mean he would have to take his son’s word for it that he did as he was told to do with Ysora. But no matter. Nephilium was usually trustworthy, and he knew that if it was later revealed he had disobeyed his father, there would be Hell to pay. Stalking over to the slab of metal and tubes that housed Korram’s wife, the Baron leaned over to whisper directly in her ear.

“I know, somehow, that you can still hear me. Just as I know, somehow, you are responsible for saving your husband and daughter from recapture. And now defying me and using this minor damage to your systems as an excuse to inconvenience me. Well, I just want you to know that I am still the one in control. I am sending my Hand after your husband and your little tramp daughter, and they will not be gentle at finishing the Alstan line when they find them. Oh, and by the way – the next time you think you can manage this ship in any other way than how I tell you to, I will have you lobotomized. I don’t need you to be capable of thought to continue managing my ship.”

Then, the Baron turned away and stormed out of the room. But because he was still, for all his power, just a man, he failed to notice the three women, as one, reflexively clench their right hand into an angry fist as he left.

[Inspectre]

Dawn’s Hope - Monastery

Baerdog7

As you explain, Miriam continues examining the angel, no doubt using senses beyond mere touch and sight. Nonetheless, a moment after you conclude, Miriam extracts the crystal from the dead angel, the same way one might pull a pebble from a stream. As soon as the crystal leaves the angel’s body, it collapses into a foul dust, scattering across the previously immaculate floor of the Throne Room. For a moment, Miriam looks down silently at the red crystal balanced in Her palm. You are certain you had never seen such an anguished expression on your real mother’s face, a poisonous mixture of sorrow and disgust. Then as if flipping a switch, your mother’s face hardens, and you are looking at Fury Incarnate.

“This tortured being knows little, beyond it was underground, beneath the central Cathedral of Light, and that there are countless more of her sisters being “inoculated” there. She was resistant to telling ME even this much – I had to tear it from her mind.” Miriam grounds out, a note of surprise entering Her voice at mention of the angel’s refusal to cooperate. Slowly, the goddesses curls her fingers around the crystal.

“Was that helpful to you Ander? And do you honestly think that those who have turned a blind eye so far will be swayed by this latest [b]blasphemy[b/]!? One of my daughters has been violated in mind, body, and soul so thoroughly that she is irrecoverable! It is now a Mercy that I visit upon her sullied remains!”

The goddess clenches her fist, grinding the crystal into a fine powder that spills through her fingers like grainy drops of blood. The powered crystal joins the ashen remains of the angel on the floor of the Throne Room. As the crystal shatters, you feel a terrible sense of loss sweep through the room – a divine soul had just been utterly destroyed. Or perhaps not utterly, as you feel the ever so slightest presence emanating from each crystal grain – a soul shattered into as many pieces as the crystal itself. It was almost as complete a destruction as the likes of the Herald of Azguloth Himself could accomplish.

“TITANIA!!!!” The image of your mother howls, as Miriam throws Her head back to stare upwards. The echo of Her roaring is enough to shake the very foundation of the Heavens, and quite possibly reach down into the mortal realm and beyond. “I KNOW WHAT YOU HAVE DONE, AND THIS TIME YOU WILL NOT ESCAPE JUSTICE!!!”

And then the Valkyrie lowers Her gaze to focus on you and the other Grandmasters.

“I created the Church to free the mortal world from the tyranny of Azguloth’s servants, an enslavement that you mortals brought down upon yourselves eons ago. Through the Church, you would redeem yourselves and earn salvation from the Hells. But now I see that you mortals will never learn. The darkness holds an irresistible lure for you all, and even if you manage to avoid it, you will blithely watch as your neighbor rushes headlong into the void, damning you all!”

Miriam’s booming voice cracks like a whip as she jabs an accusing finger at you and each of the Grandmasters in turn.

“There is RIGHT! There is WRONG! And there is no in between! The day is fast approaching when once again all mortals shall stand on one side or the other for judgment! Those who will not stand beside you willingly, they stand against you! I can look into each of your souls and see your failings – your doubts, your crisises of faith, and those moments when you were faced with a choice and made the wrong one!”

Miriam gestures at you.

“Of you all, only Ander followed his heart, and abandoned the twisted monstrosity that My Church has become! The rest of you remained, knowing in your hearts that something was wrong, but turning a blind eye to the evil festering all around you!”

At this point, Belroar coughs loudly.

“Begging your pardon, ma’am, but Ander didn’t exactly have a bug up his butt about cleansing the Church of this corruption until he died, and you sent him back for just that purpose.”

For just the briefest moment, Miriam’s fury fades into sorrow.

“Yes . . . you are quite right Belroar. It is only further proof that perhaps My Church has fallen irrevocably into darkness. Is that what will be required, then? Do you intend to bring more people to see me Ander? Everyone who does not believe you, who doubts the righteousness of your cause and sides with the Council out of fear or nostalgia or a myriad of other reasons?”

Miriam’s voice is cold as She presses on.

“No. If the public’s faith is not strong enough to realize the truth when it is spelled out to them by my representative, then it will never be strong enough to stand the test of time after this is ended. But if you believe that it will require my personal involvement to convince the mortal world of the truth of your accusations . . . then you shall have it!”

Miram glowers as the assembled Grandmasters stare in shock.

“Tell the world that I am coming, Ander. The day of judgment is almost at hand, and I will come down personally to separate the good from the wicked. In preparation, finish what you have started – cleanse my Church. And if you cannot – burn it. BURN IT ALL.”

Archpaladin Zousha

At mention of your past work, Emma quirks an eyebrow.

“Indeed? Well then, you have some experience with this sort of thing, even if this is considerably bigger than anything you have ever seen. Hopefully your familiarity with the Church will give you an advantage in sneaking about – otherwise, your best hope is probably that they just kill you quickly.”

Turning about in her chair, Emma nods at Katashiko up at the bar. She seems to be currently engaged in a drinking contest with two men – for each round of drinks they did, she took two. Judging by the sagging faces on both of the men, they had either been already borderline drunk before the drinking game got started, or they were guzzling down tankards of ale as fast as they could be brought. Either way, Katashiko did not seem affected in the slightest.

“So, what do you want me to do about her? Unless she’s some sort of con artist or very clever, you aren’t going to be able to take her down there with you. Of course, you also did swear an oath to keep an eye on her.”

Emma looks thoughtful for a moment.

“If you want, I suppose I would be willing to look after her while you’re busy . . . for a little extra coin.”

The old beggar woman smiles.

“Of course, outright preventing her from doing something is probably going to be difficult at my age, but I might be able to keep her entertained enough to keep her distracted . . .”

Emma holds up a hand as a thoughtful look comes across her face. And then a smile tugs at the corners of her lips.

“Distracted . . . yes. Perhaps you could convince her to act as some sort of distraction, to keep the guards off-balance while you slip inside? Or, if you would prefer a less violent but less successful alternative, perhaps as a prisoner? Does she have any special abilities to back up her psychotic nature? You might be able to convince the guards she’s some sort of demonic-possessed woman, and you’re taking her into the Reliquary to be exorcised. Of course, you and her both would have to be very persuasive for such an attempt to work.”

Emma looks back to regard the former Ironheart prisoner, who had already managed to drink one man under the table, and was beckoning to a third, massive brute of a man nearby to come join in.

“You might not even have to lie about it . . . that is an impressive collection of tankards she has there.”

The old beggar shakes her head and turns her gaze back to you.

“Well, in any event, I will go get in touch with my contacts about getting you the necessary papers. You just sit here and figure out how you want to get in, and what should be done with your . . . ward, shall we say.”

And with that, the old beggar woman is up and limping off to make the preparations to get you into the Reliquary. The most heavily guarded place within the Church, filled with elite fanatical paladins who would not hesitate a moment to kill you dead if they thought you were a threat. The next couple days would likely be very interesting, if they didn’t lead to your death.

Stonefall

The_Snark

At your words, Titania gives another cackle and shakes her head.

“How typical! Changing the subject to divert attention from yourself yet again, are we? You’re as gutless as my former consort! But how refreshing to see that there is something even you fear, whore. I –“

Here Titania is interrupted by another coughing fit, holding one hand up over her mouth. More dark blood splashes out between her fingers, and then the coughing fit fades. Titania holds up her now bloody palm for you to see.

“Do you see? I am dying. I was dying ten years ago, and it was only through my “blasphemous” practices that I have lived this long. But even my power is not limitless – Miriam’s little disagreement with how Phaedra was being run would have been solved peacefully in another couple years at most! BUT NO! INSTEAD, She sends YOU! To STEAL the one man I ever loved, to THREATEN my daughter with complete oblivion, and to EXTERMINATE my people! So THIS!”

Here Titania spreads her arms wide, no doubt gesturing to the battle raging outside.

“Has EVERYTHING to do with the three of us, or at least you! But you’re right . . . this conflict should now come to a decisive end.”

Music - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ncKRm...eature=related

Titania adopts a defensive posture.

“If it’s the last thing I do, I will end you, Marisiel!”

At that moment, Titania’s spell finally loses its hold on Ysora, and your sister leaps forward, bounding up off the floor and flying only a few inches off the ground. Titania greets Ysora’s charge by gesturing at her throne, lifting the piece of heavy stone furniture, dias and all, up from the ground. Another gesture sends it flying up, and then hurtling down, into Ysora’s path. The archangel collapses to the ground again in the midst of a heap of rubble. Still, even this fails to have the same effect as Titania’s magic did a few moments before, and Ysora struggles back up to her feet as you rush forward to join her. For his part, Istomilo listlessly watches, seeming unable or unwilling to participate. His dead eyes follow your every movement.

You and your sister had fought countless battles, both separately and together. You had faced down the legions of Azguloth time and time again, and always emerged victorious. And yet here, in this deathly sick, bitter woman, you both may have finally met your better. Despite her apparent frailty, Titania moved with a speed and grace equal to your own, her body unquestionably augmented by magic. When you struck her, her skin and clothes changed to rock, barely feeling the sting of your blows. Fire, ice, lightning, and even pieces of her throne and sections of stone torn from the very walls are all hurled at you.

You and Ysora both weathered this storm of attacks, healing from each injury almost instantly, hoping to wear Titania down at the very least. But in her mad fury she seemed almost as tireless as you, and the battle dragged on at a furious pace. Finally, with another explosive blast, she hurls both you and Ysora away from her. Bruised and burned, this time you found it difficult to push yourself back up off the floor. You were exhausted, and your regeneration was starting to fail. Titania, still looking much the same as she had at the start of the fight, cackles as she rips apart the last of the wall supports and lifts the very roof up, revealing the dark skies above Phaedra.

“Now you will learn what death feels like!” She taunts, but then the roof wobbles, apparently slipping out of her control as it slides to one side, careening down the side of the castle and quite possibly crushing some unfortunate people fighting outside.

“No, not now!” Titania cries, before sinking to her knees in another coughing fit. This one seems the most violent yet, and dark blood streams out of the Queen of Phaedra’s mouth as her entire body convulses. Despite being a terrifying foe that could match two archangels a moment before, now she seemed like nothing more than a pathetic mortal.

“Marisiel! Finish this!” Ysora cries pointing at the crystal Istomilo had given you to trap Titania’s soul, clearly too drained to push herself up and end this with her own crystal.

The Island of Dr(?) Sohssal

Iethloc

At your mention of the stasis spell, Omega gives a slight nod of agreement. The demon-human hybrid then closed her eyes, and a moment later seemed as if sleeping with your spell in full effect. As you suspected, the stasis spell worked very well at preventing the blood from spreading. You would still have to work somewhat quickly, but at least you could actually work. And, you had far more resources at your disposal now than a mere letter opener.

What you saw after opening up Omega’s skull again was concerning. Once again it seemed as if her spliced together flesh had pulled itself apart – something you were able to easily fix with the supplies on-hand. However, it seemed as if her human half was being to reject the demonic flesh and organs. If you were unable to stop this rejection, this sort of problem would occur again and again, gradually growing worse until eventually, Omega literally fell apart.

Presumably her “father” had already considered this possibility and had a plan to avoid it – a likely reason why he had felt Omega was as-yet incomplete. Of course, with the good doctor dead, extracting those plans would be difficult.

You could try to return to Ironheart and find them in whatever ruins were left of his laboratory – he was bound to have kept a written record somewhere. Although the thought of returning to that dreadful place was hardly at the top of your list.

You could start trying to come up with your own measures and demon implants, bumbling along on your own until you eventually killed Omega or set her body back into equilibrium. Or . . . hmmm.

You could also attempt to call the doctor’s soul up from the depths of the Hells – human souls went to only one of two places after death, and given his field of study it seemed unlikely that he had gone up. What you could offer him in return for the information, however, was another question. He may or may not have Omega’s wellbeing in mind, given his current situation and her aid in placing him there. But then, you had various coercion methods of your own.

In any event, for the moment your work was done here. Omega would recover quickly enough, and remain useful for the time being, despite the current inevitability of her body failing in some fatal and spectacular fashion later on. That might also be interesting to watch, now that you think of it – and certainly less bother.

Outside the Capital

Dorizzit

Katrina listens intently to your words – hardly a masterful speech, but heartfelt at least. At your suggestion to get moving, Katrina nods.

“You’re right. Enough whining. Let’s go kill us a Baron!”

Grimacing, Katrina tears off the other sleeve of her dress, and cuts a strip of cloth off of her skirt. The sleeve she uses to wrap her burned shoulder, while she wraps the strip of cloth around the hilt of a dagger. Then, she wedges the cloth-covered hilt between her teeth, and firmly grasps her broken finger. With a quick, painful snap, she resets the finger, and then spits the dagger out and removes the strip of cloth to use to tie the broken ring finger to her middle finger. It was far from a perfect treatment, but you had done such things yourself many times before.

Taking a few steadying breaths, Katrina sheaths the dagger and then pushes herself back up onto her feet. She gestures at the forest.

“So what’s the plan after we’re out of here? We going after the Baron again, or falling back to lick our wounds.”

Yet another first you had seen from Katrina, a look of concern crosses her face.

“Of course, if we don’t hurry, the Baron’s going to marry Amelia – I mean, the Countess, off to Cheran. And that’s one marriage that I don’t think is going to end well at all – for her, anyway.”

Apparently, Amelia had managed to use their time together in the Baron’s clutches to make a good impression on Katrina, after their initial rocky meeting. Unfortunately, that also meant that Amelia was still in the Baron’s clutches, and she didn’t have much time left. Which was a problem, given how few resources you had right now. You needed to find more allies, and do it before the wedding happened. About the only good news was that the capital was a big place, and so it would be easy to blend in and disappear, even for a one-armed man and his tomboy revolutionary daughter. You also knew a few people there that you had done business with in the place – weapons merchants and the mage who implanted Calcifer, for example.

Lonna

For a moment, the woman considers your offer, and then nods slowly.

“Of course.”

Without further discussion, she removes a silver ring from one of her fingers, and hands it to you. A quick glance at it tells you that it is a ring of woven silver bands with thinner strands of platinum woven in as well.

“That should get you around a hundred gold at one of the jewelers, even in this town. Perhaps a little more. Once you’ve finished negotiating with your fellows, come see me at the Ruby Sunset Inn. We will get you fitted in one of my dresses so that you look the part, and then set out for the capital immediately. I have already arranged a meeting with my husband at noon tomorrow, so there is no time to waste. Afterwards, we can meet back there afterwards for the rest of your reward.”

The woman smiles, more of a leer, as she nods at the ring cradled in your palm.

“There is a lot more where that came from, after all.”

Despite your strong misgivings about this woman, her generosity could not be denied. At this point, your only real options were to agree, refuse, or pretend to agree and attempt to flee with the ring. It seemed likely that this last course of action would merely anger the woman, and you had enough experience with nobles by now to know that most flew into a violent rage after being outwitted by some commoner whore. With the Baron already doubtlessly looking for you, making another noble, or at least filthy rich, woman your enemy seemed like a bad idea.

And as for saying no . . . you weren’t sure why, but the words just wouldn’t form in your throat. Perhaps it was just the woman’s mysterious aura, but you were intrigued by her, and wanted to find out more. And, having been hunted like a dog for some time, likewise felt some sympathy for her plight. In fact, you felt a bond of camaraderie with this woman – like you had been friends for years. Wait, that was not right!

“Why don’t you try the ring on? I bet it would fit perfectly.” The woman’s voice intrudes upon your thoughts, suddenly heavy and racing back in on themselves. Mechanically, you extend your right ring finger, and slip the ring on. It fits perfectly.

“Perfect.” The woman says, still not smiling, and then she utters a single word. You feel the carriage fill with magical energy, the finger now around your finger flare to searing life, and what feels like a thousand heated needles stab into your brain. Then, you blissfully slip out of unconsciousness.

*******************

On several occasions, you half wake fitfully from the depths of your own subconsciousness. Your mind is sluggish, leaving you only dimly aware of your surroundings. You are aware that you are a prisoner in your own body for the moment, it acting with a mind of its own. It is usually only a moment or two later that the woman speaks the word again, filling your finger and mind with pain again before you find yourself once more in limbo.

On one occasion, you manage to become half-way cognizant of where you are. Apparently, the woman was distracted, currently working on a set of clothes and clearly imbuing them with some sort of magic. Meanwhile, you were standing there dumbly, while the woman’s horseman roughly dressed you in those articles of clothing already ready. To your shock, the woman was no longer old and grey, but instead an exact mirror image of you! Looking up from her work, the woman stares at you, and for just an instant you can see a bit of strain work itself across her (your?) deathly pale face.

“My, but you’re a strong-willed one. It’s unfortunate that I was unable to run into you sooner – you would have been fascinating to study. But I no longer have time for such distractions.” The woman says, her fangs(!) flashing in the moonlight. Then she says that damned word again, and your mind is forced back into the ether.

***********

You awaken to find yourself in the carriage again. You are now dressed in a rich and elegant ensemble – elbow-length gloves, soft slipper-like shoes, a full-length red silk dress, and a short length cape, with a simple cotton blouse and breeches underneath. The woman, who looks like your evil double and even more like a vampire now in the full sunlight (shouldn’t she be burning up right now?), is currently winding a red scarf tightly around your neck and mouth.

“Ah, and now you are awake again, I see. I do apologize for what you are about to go through, both over the next few minutes and after my husband decides what to do with you. You might be “happy” to know however, that your efforts will help ensure my continued freedom, and ultimate death. So – you will not be perishing alone, at least. I understand that is of some cold comfort to mortals. Now, fortunately, while I need you somewhat alert for this deception to work, your direct input won’t be required at any point – the lovely clothes I’ve provided will do all the work.”

Finished with the scarf, the woman sits back for a moment, examining you with a critical eye. Beneath the glove, the ring still around your finger smolders, which would make you wince in pain if you were capable of controlling your facial muscles at the moment. At least, however, you were not being driven into unconsciousness while the woman continued to play dress-up with your body like it was a doll. You note that there does not seem to be any satisfaction on the woman’s face – if anything, she seemed completely bored with the entire proceeding, her face flat and expressionless.

Apparently satisfied, the woman pulls out a folded letter.

“Now, when my husband does finally catch up with you, you will hand him this letter.”

She tucks the letter down the front of your dress, and then holds up a long, black metal spike.

“And, after he is finished reading it, you will stab him in the heart with this.”

The woman begins fixing your hair, bringing it up into a bun, in the middle of which sat the aforementioned spike. You note that she seems to be less talking to you now, and more to your clothing, which twitches with a life of its own at her words. A moment later, your evil twin throws open the door to the carriage, and your body moves to obey, stepping out into the bright sunlight.

You seem to be on the outskirts of a bazaar, people milling all about. A few of them throw a few glances your way, although most of them are either out of barely concealed disgust at what was probably a noblewoman in their midst, and a few with even less concealed lust. The scarf over your mouth flutters in the breeze and tightens a bit, which would stifle any cries for help – assuming you could even manage such a thing at present. Around your finger, the ring still burns, although you can feel it slowly begin to fade to a dull heat as your mind becomes more alert, instinctively fighting against whatever magic the woman was using on you to make you nothing but a puppet.

Behind you, the carriage begins to pull away, and your body begins walking into the bazaar of its own accord. It seems to be about midday, and there are easily hundreds of people in the bazaar, making progress through the throngs slow. Eventually however, you come to a relatively clear area, a courtyard where the majority of the stands were around the rim, leaving the middle clear of shoppers. From across the courtyard, you see a tall attractive man with dark hair and green eyes step out from the crowd. This is undoubtedly the husband of your evil twin, as you were starting to think of her, judging by the reaction of your clothes. You can feel all of them begin to activate magic, pumping energy of some sort directly into your body.

Thankfully, the ring’s magic has almost faded completely, and you might begin to start taking control of your body back in another few minutes. Whether or not you would get those last few minutes, however, is the question as you lock eyes with the strange man. Your clothes seem to take this as a signal, and immediately force you to turn around. And then, you are bolting back out of the bazaar at a high-speed run, nimbly dodging aside large crowds or just shoving straight through them with superhuman strength. It would almost be fun, were it not for the fact that you were being used as bait that your evil twin didn’t think would survive (assuming you didn’t get lucky with that spike), her husband could very well be as powerful as she was – and quite *angry* when he caught you, and you were completely helpless to do anything about it, trapped in a cage of fabric! No . . . there had to be something you could do! THINK!

Dark Falls

Kasanip

At your admission of teleportation not being your strong suit, Theresea nods.

“Very well then. We shall make camp here in the forest for tonight, and then be on our way to wherever it is you’re going next.”

You manage to find a relatively secluded grove to spend the night in, and even get a small fire going after Theresea confirms doing so won’t put you in undue danger. She also seemed hopeful that the sight of the fire *would* draw demons in, so that she could kill them. Perhaps there were less demons roaming the forest now than she thought, or they were able to sense Theresea’s intent, as nothing disturbed your sleep. In the morning, you wake to find Theresea already stirring the previous night’s embers back up into the proper fire.

“Go ahead and cook yourselves something. I’ve already had a simple breakfast of jerky, that does not require fire to prepare.”

Theresea grimaces.

“It does not taste particularly good, but it is fast to consume and, as I just said, does not require preparation.”

Having not packed for an extended trip out in the wilderness, you and Carlain did not have much fancier food for breakfast. But, the fire was still a welcome addition, as it meant you both got a warm meal at least. And then, you were off on the road back to civilization.

As your father had said, the travel to the capital required several days, even after you returned to civilization and began using level roads rather than uneven game trails. With Theresea along, you were forced to continue maintaining your disguise. Revealing yourself to be something other than a teenager would doubtlessly only raise Theresea’s suspicions of you all over again, and so for now you would have to keep up the illusion. You had maintained the shift to your younger self for extended periods of time before, although this would likely become a new record for you.

Along the way, you taught Carlain more of the Canticle of Autumn’s history while on the road during the day, and taught him simple spells while at camp during the night. He still didn’t seem to understand that focus and patience were key in practicing magic, but at least it kept him out of trouble.

Finally, you reached the capital, or rather the small hamlet a few miles outside the city where Cynthia Whitehall had made her home. You had heard a few things about her during your time as an agent of the Canticle, although had never worked with her closely. She was an older mage, already on her way out by the time you were beginning your career. Still, she had served the Canticles for a number of years within the Barony of Gast, and so had the best idea of anyone who might be responsible for the warlocks getting out of Ironheart. And more importantly, how you could prove it.

There was one thorny issue, however. Certainly, Carlain should be allowed to join you in speaking with Cynthia. Theresea, however, had already proven herself to be confrontational around mages. She was also an outsider, and by allowing her access to Cynthia, she might overhear important information during your conversation that the Canticle would not want to get out. How to convince her to stay outside while you went in to talk with Cynthia, however, was a problem. She very clearly expected answers, and her trust of you and Carlain was very low at the moment.

The Capital

WhiteKnight777

For several long moments, Mellita stares down at the note of paper. Then she looks up and smiles.

“I don’t . . . I don’t know what to say. Thank you, Lord Umber. If we ever meet again, you will always have an ally. And if we do not . . . best of luck, wherever you go.” And then, you turn away and leave, already mentally preparing yourself for the confrontation with Fianna. Hopefully, in this confrontation, the conflict will remain a civil debate, and somehow you will be victorious. For if you do not, it seems likely that there will be blood – Fianna’s blood, at the very least.

You had lived thousands of years without her – why shouldn’t you be able to live another mere sixty, barring another success at extending your life? And yet, the fact remains that you had done this – all of this, really – for her, and without that your life would ring hollow. Not empty – you were not some love-drunk sap – but life would be less without Fianna. How interesting that you had all these hundreds upon hundreds of years to idly dream of how to cure her, and now you had a mere twenty-four hours to come up with a plan, and convince her that it would work. For surely, that would be the only way outside of force that you would be able to coerce Fianna into postponing her own plans.

**********

The noontime comes quickly, far too quickly for your tastes. Still, here you are, in the midst of the bazaar, the unwashed throngs of the unimportant surrounding you. Thankfully, most of them seemed to sense that within you was the wolf to their sheep, and so they steered clear of you.

Then, the crowd parts, leaving you standing on the edge of a small clearing free of people, in the middle of a courtyard deep in the bazaar. From out of the crowd on the other side, strides a woman in a striking red dress. Despite the scarf covering the lower half of her face, it is unmistakably Fianna, her hair practically aglow in the sunlight. Her green eyes lock with you for but a moment, and then she turns and runs. Moving at superhuman speed, she dashes through the thick crowd surrounding the outskirts of the courtyard, and speeds down a side alley. You are only able to follow her movements from the disruption that her passage leaves behind her in the crowd. A particularly thick crowd that is now standing in your way, as Fianna grows ever farther away from you.

OverWilliam

“I see.” Melcara says dryly to your explanation for your suddenly aggressive stance. She gives you a heartily slap on the back, not enough to throw you off-balance but enough to sting a little. “Well, I don’t think we have to worry about anyone stealing me. Unless you want me to play the part of helpless, dumb, eyecandy draped on your arm.”

Melcara offers with the hint of a smile. Your thoughts naturally drift back to that moment in Vylethar’s home, when Melcara perfectly played the player devil.

At your explanation of who you are going to visit, the fallen angel nods but doesn’t say anything. A moment later, and you find yourselves in Larry Gekko’s shop. The place is just as much of a cluttered mess as you remember it, The Gekko holding court behind a small counter – really more of an engraved table than anything. For a moment, The Gekko freezes as he sees you, and then leaps into action.

“Tare! Tare, is that really you, MY MAN!” Larry grunts, shifting his ponderous bulk up out of his padded chair. He does not leap over the table, but rather seems more to roll over it – still an impressive feat of agility for him. You note that he does not bring the concealed handcrossbow hidden beneath the table with him – that was a good sign at least. It meant that Brock had probably expected Ironheart to take care of you, and didn’t put out word you were “out”. Out, in the sense that any of your old acquiescence n the Thieves Guild would probably be obligated to try and kill you. Then again, Larry always was more of a flirter than a fighter, as evidenced by him stopping in mid-stride when he notices Melcara. The Gekko recovers quickly enough to turn his slack-jawed stare into a laugh.

“Well man, when I heard stories about you out in the Great Desert, raiding gnoll tombs, I never expected you to come back with a desert flower! Larry Gekko, pleasure to meet you milady.” He says, thrusting out a hand at Melcara, and then when she reluctantly extends her own hand, taking it and raising it to his lips.

“I have some exquisite dresses from across the globe in the back – very fashionable and comfortable. Perhaps I could interest you in trying a few of them on later?”

You had seen the aforementioned dresses once – a few strings and strategically placed veils for some, and even less than that for most of them.

“Uh . . . sure!” Melcara says, giggling as she demurely extracts her wrist from Larry’s grip. “That is, if it’s okay with Tare. We came down here to see you because he wanted to talk with you about something.”

“Great!” Larry says with an enormously grin, although you note that his eyes are not smiling as he turns his attention back on you. Still, Melcara had deftly managed to divert his attention back onto you, even if it might have grated on The Gekko a bit that you had the fabulously beautiful woman, while he had . . . well, an entire building full of random junk, really. “So, what brought you all the way down here to see me, Tare? Especially after all this time of not hearing a peep from you. I gotta say, I’ve been hearing some really crazy rumors about ya – hell, the biggest one circulating lately seems to be that you got sent to Ironheart! IRONHEART!”

The Gekko laughs uproariously at this, prompting a glance of confusion on Melcara’s part. Evidently, her lack of recent experience with the human world meant that she didn’t understand Ironheart was a death sentence – no one ever came back from an Ironheart sentence.

Gorgondantess

The man nods fervently, hanging on to your every word. It is clear that if it is within his power, he will not fail you. Your high priest nods at your command to send out word that you wish to meet this buyer, his eyes wide at your announcement regarding Maurice.

“Forgive me – I was not aware the angel held such importance to you. In order to lure this buyer in, however, we should make it appear as if we wish to trade the angel for money. It is also possible that whoever this person is, they will be using a black market intermediary of some sort. If that is the case, I’m not sure how to arrange a meeting, especially if the person does not wish to get involve in the actual deal.”

The high priest smiles viciously.

“Of course, perhaps the black market dealer will know where to find them, since he would have to deliver the, ah, “merchandise” after purchasing it. I’m sure we could convince him to talk somehow – I doubt he has any real loyalty to whoever is using him.”

When you visit Maurice, she is much the same as you left her, except that she appears quite bored. While you examine her, she seems to examine you as well, perhaps looking for a weakness or some sign of what you are thinking. At your command, she pauses for a moment, and then reluctantly extends her good wing.

“You realize that I will not be able to fly with only one good wing. Breaking it as well is just excessive and cruel.”

Maurice blinks in surprise as you prune her wing, making it rather useless for flight.

“Oh. Hmph, so I see you have decided to keep me as a pet then. Have you made me a gilded cage to sit in as well? Being kept down in this dark root cellar has begun to grow rather stale.”

As you make preparations for transporting Maurice, the angel examines you curiously again.

“I see. And where exactly are we going?”

Carrying the angel along with you, you then set out towards where to meet this buyer. Apparently, after asking around your high priest manages to garner a bit further information. The buyer is based in the capital city of the humans, a place called Narle. It is a massive bastion of people from across the kingdom, containing many hundreds of times more people than the villages you have seen so far. You have . . . a little trouble picturing that, actually. Particularly seeing how little the humans cooperated with each other in the villages you’ve seen, how could such a massive gathering possibly live in anything other than absolute anarchy?

Of course, going into the capital city carried risks. Apparently there was a great deal of powerful humans living there – paladins of the gods, skilled wizards, and someone called “the King”. Who apparently was the nominal ruler of all humans within the kingdom, although how a lowly human managed that you weren’t sure. Fortunately, at least “the King” was already dead, meaning you wouldn’t have him to deal with at the very least. Still, your nominal advisor cautioned against going into the capital openly, as you would certainly attract a great deal of attention. Of course, despite what your advisor thought, flying over the city and announcing your intention to destroy their god might be just the ticket to garnering many, many more followers than you had currently. And surely you would be able to crush whoever came forth to challenge you over that claim – humans died so easily, and while angels did not, they did not seem any more able to harm you.

[Archpaladin Zousha]

Hondshioh

Hondshioh goes over to Katashiko and taps her on the shoulder.

"Forgive my interruption, but there's something I need to discuss with you."

After prying Katashiko away from the drinks, he takes her to a less crowded part of the tavern and explains what Emma has told him.

"I know that this may upset you, but please hear me out. As your guardian I do not want to let you out of my sight, both because I worry about the damage you might cause and because I worry for your personal safety. That may mean taking you into the Reliquary with me. I have absolute confidence in your skill and power and that is why I propose this. I take you to the Reliquary, and tell them that you are posessed by some kind of rock demon or something. That I have brought you there for an exorcism. When we manage to get past the defenses into the Reliquary itself, you have my leave to cut loose and slay anyone who prevents us from finding the information we seek. I find what I need, and you get to take out your frustrations on any corrupt priest that gets in our way. Does that sound like fun to you, Katashiko?

[OverWilliam]

~Tare

Tare winced smiled very small at Larry's exaggerated greeting, but his eyes remained distant. That part wasn't hard-- even with the full night's sleep to relieve the physical fatigue that saturated his bones, he was... Tired. Deeply, heavily Tired. Having learned his lesson about his female companion from the walk over, Tare did not interfere in the slightest when Larry, true to form, homed straight in on Melcara. If she ever needed his help, she would ask.

When the focus returned to him, Tare chuckled mirthlessly and fixed Larry with a solid handshake that communicated better than anything else that this visit was business. His smile faded meaningfully, though not completely, as he rolled the handshake to one side to reveal the branded mark burned into his right forearm. "Rumors... are rumors." He said, quietly, knowing full well what that simple mark would mean not only to Larry, but to just about anyone in the city.

Tare quite deliberately did not let Larry's hand go just yet. "I need a meeting with Brock. On a scale of hours. The fewer the better." Tare reached up with his other hand to clap the bigger man on the shoulder, his eyes still clashing seriously against his thin smile. "I've been... out of touch for a while, but I'm sure he's going to want to talk to me. I don't have anything to cover your normal fee, and I wouldn't insult you by asking you to work for charity," He chuckled, a bit more genuinely this time-- he knew full well the golden egg he'd just dropped in the information-dealer's lap, "...But in exchange the best I have to offer is a Favor, whatever that may be worth to you, whenever it may happen that you find yourself in as dire of straits as I am in now." Tare gave the rotund businessman time to digest the explosion of implications that must be going off in his shrewd-enough head at that moment.

"Can I count on you, Larry? Time is against me more powerfully than you know."

[Lonna]

Pyrene the "Good Twin"

Forcing the panic back, Pyrene tried to think objectively. Focus! There has to be a way out of this. The magic doesn't seem to be directly affecting my arms right now; it's just letting them hang. If I can get rid of the magic on that blasted ring maybe I can start getting rid of the clothing!

Some semblance of a plan established, Pyrene brought her mind into the odd state of relaxed focus that had always allowed her to catch a man, back before she knew it was magic. Letting the clothes do the navigating, she brought all her will to bear on the ring that was preventing her from using her own limbs.

[OOC: I'm going to assume here that she does in fact manage to accellerate the spell's deterioration and gets at least partial control back.]

The moment she could move her arms, she roughly stripped off the gloves, taking the ring with them, and tied them together - no involuntary stabbing of strangers for her! - before ripping away and discarding the scarf that had covered her mouth. Gripping the gloves in her teeth, she began determinedly tearing at the laces of the dress. After all she had been through, no mere enchanted dress was going to get her killed now!

[Kasanip]

Isera Harvent

The journey had been several days already, so much so that Isera had gotten used to playing the role of a teenager again. She had on occasion used the transformation spell to infiltrate locations that otherwise the Canticle could not. In particular, she had infiltrated a mage academy that had rumors of a necromancer working within, and in exposing him she had secured quite a bit of fame in the canticles. That was several years before though. Since she didn't have the finer control some mages had over their transformations (she could only turn into herself afterall), it was a limited use. But then the most she had used it was with the extended syllable. To stay in a transformation for a long time was always a dangerous thing- and many texts had been written about the dangers of body and mind, and the power of magic to tamper with them. But so far she was doing fine, and of course with the current additional traveler to the party, she would have to maintain it for longer. A new record at least.

In the meantime Isera had taught Carlain a lot of Autumn Canticle lore which he absorbed quickly- surely his time in the Winter Canticle had taught him that much. Cerise was the expert in devouring lore, and her brother had learned much from his sister. But Carlain was quick on the study of magic too. For now, Isera's own magic was limited to a great extent because of the amount of energy she had expended on the transformation, but Carlain was a quick learner and she was proud at how much he had absorbed and memorized in only a week or so of traveling.

She had even gotten used to looking up at Carlain as she was explaining things. But the look on his face sometimes was a little annoying. She had caught it once or twice when she was turning away. A subtle hint of a smirk. Patronizing? No...that was just a paranoid thought. Overconfident? Maybe that was closer. He was still a teenager she had to remind herself.

Isera sighed as they walked into the capitol. It was nice to finally be here, and looking at it this way reminded her of her travels a long time ago. Actually she hurried to a trot for a second as she remembered a street. Yes...it looked almost the same as it had so long ago. And looking in a puddle, she could see her reflection. No...she was young in that reflection and still youthful and inexperienced. Isera was a little surprised how much less weight she carried on her shoulders in that reflection. But at the same time there was a little bit of a haunting look. Memories...

She shook them aside.

Somehow they had to meet with the retired member without Theresea, but there was not an easy way to do that. If Isera tried to make up an excuse or something, it'd just create more problems later. So, she just had to be blunt and truthful about it. Theresea had seemed like the kind to prefer that kind of information rather than the backstabbing. So did Isera too.

So Isera turned to Theresea as they approached and looked apologetically.

"I'm sorry to ask this, but would it be possible for you to wait outside? I don't know for certain what will be discussed, but if it is mage business, then it might prove awkward given the tendency for secrecy and the...friction that could come from it. I promise to inform you as soon as we come out of what the deal is, and if it isn't an intrusion on the informant, perhaps it could then be arranged to discuss everything. Likewise, if you have any contact or ideas on where to gather information before we continue, please feel free to go do that. Maybe we can exchange notes afterward?"

She had to try at least. If trust could not happen here, then the last few days would have proven disappointing.

[Gorgondantess]

“Oh. Hmph, so I see you have decided to keep me as a pet then. Have you made me a gilded cage to sit in as well? Being kept down in this dark root cellar has begun to grow rather stale.”

She quirks an eyebrow at Maurice, smirking. "No, but I'll make you a gag if you keep up the sarcastic comments." It's clear from her tone that she's hardly serious, but the words still carry a bit of an edge to them.
As she makes the chain for her neck, she turns the outside layer of iron, grime and rust into gold, and grins roguishly at Maurice. She believed she was finally gaining a grasp of this "irony" she had heard about: it was quite fun, actually.

“I see. And where exactly are we going?”

"There is apparently somebody who has put up quite a price for angels. We are going to the capital, where I am going to sell you."
As she said this, she immediately wondered why she lied: of course, she had no intention of selling her trophy, and the comment would only make the angel dislike her even more: nevertheless, it felt right. Pragmatic, crafty- something a being of her stature should do. There was a method to her madness, even if she herself couldn't see it.

She drops down at the far outskirts of the city, absorbing all her inhuman apparatus into her body. She was still obscenely tall, and would likely draw some stares, but it wasn't her intention to awe the inhabitants. Yet. One thing at a time: once this mystery was solved, she could deal with this bastion of strangeness. Besides, it would be best to do some reconnaissance before actually taking this place: she had all the time in the world, and it wouldn't do to risk her power on this so important piece.

As soon as she lands, she commands Maurice to disguise herself, and treads forwards, keeping an open eye and mentally recording everything she sees.

[Iethloc]

Sohssal

Sohssal let the stasis spell on Omega end. ”You're stable for now, but it looks like your human flesh is rejecting your demon flesh...explosively. I could probably find a way to fix it, but I have depleted my magical reserves enough. I must get my lab up and running before dealing with this,” he said. He quickly put his tools away in their appropriate places, being careful with the lighter ones so they wouldn't float away. Still, he couldn't help thinking about the possible complications. Maybe some time he could try grafting human parts onto a demon to see if the same thing would happen.

Eventually Sohssal floated up out of the water and “stepped” back onto dry land. He half-expected there to be some emergency going on, but either way he was running out of patience. ”No more delays. It's time to get to work. Shanks, unless you still want to work with us, after we're done building you can take whatever art or treasure you can carry and go on your way. But until then, I need as many hands as I can get to fix my lab,” he explained. Sohssal could already feel his reserves starting to run low. If there was going to be another incursion on his land, he was going to get furious.

[WhiteKnight777]

Umber

Umber growled a mild oath as Fianna disappeared through the crowd. More games. More frustration. It really hadn't been that long, but the constant edge - the waiting, the chasing, the hunting, and above all the anticipation of the final meeting was driving him to the edge of reason. Perhaps that's what Fianna's cold, calculating logic was banking on - or perhaps she had some other trap in mind. Whatever the case was, he was growing tired of the chase. Every day, even as his vampiric prowess faded, his magic returned. It flowed in him now, like the siren song of the sea or the roar of the flame, a wellspring of arcane power just waiting to be tapped. He began tapping his foot, chanting under his breath. The rythmn was powerful, hypnotic, primal.

With every tap, time seemed to slow a little - although that was only the feeling of him speeding up. He began to move through the crowd, and it seemed as if everything around him was bathed in warm yellow light - a world trapped in amber, moving like figures of slow molasses as he drifted, his feet barely touching the ground. The spell was simple, elegant, and artful - raw force had its merits, but he did enjoy the delicate work. It was the mark of a master. Only amateurs needed brute strength. He tore after Fianna, his arcanely granted speed allowing him to make up for her vampiric abilities that he now lacked. As he ran, he sent a message speeding like an arrow towards her mind.

"No more tricks, my love, and no more games. One way or another, this needs to end - for both our sakes. Let me help you. And if I cannot, then I will join you in oblivion. I will even help you take us both there."

[Dorizzit]

Korram Alstan

Internally, at least, Korram is relieved as Katrina...well, doesn't reject his speech out of hand, which was a start. When she agreed with him that they should head out to the city, he sits back for a few seconds while she treats her self-inflicted injury, then hauls himself to his feet. He pauses as she questions their next actions.

"We should head after the Baron as soon as possible. I still owe the Countess a 'rescue,' as she put it, and whatever the Baron's up to, I don't like it. We'll head to the capital. I've got a couple of old...associates I may be able to call in favors from."

[Baerdog7]

Grandmaster Ander Windrivver

Ander's stomach churns as Miriam rants about the wickedness of men. She was so full of hate...Ander had seen her angry before but never like this.

Right and wrong? It's so easy to paint it black and white from up here in your palace while you look down on the world. I've seen white up here and black down in Hell but all I've seen down in the world are different shades of gray. Ander says softly. You speak of the wickedness of Man but perhaps if you spent more time nurturing your children and less time stewing about revenge, he points to Miriam, and sitting on your ass doing nothing, he points to Athelion, the world wouldn't be in its current state.

I will do my best to root out the corrupt elements of the Church, but I will NOT put the entire organization to the sword just because you don't believe there is still good in it! The fact that these grandmasters are here with me now is proof that there is.

He steps forward, planting his finger square in Miriam's chest. I haven't lost my faith in Humanity yet, even if you have, and I SWEAR that I will defend it as long as I draw breath. I'll defend it from the Church, from the Baron, from Azguloth...and even from you if I have to. He growls.

Before Miriam can reply, Ander turns and walks back to the assembled Grandmasters. Oh, and I'll be taking command of the angels when I need them, he says back to Miriam, make sure they are prepared.

With that, Ander strides out of the room with the other Grandmasters close on his heels as they return to the portal chamber back to the summit.

[The_Snark]

Marisiel

There were times for introspection and careful thought, and there were times for action. This was clearly one of the latter: Titania might recover her strength at any moment, and Marisiel was not too proud to admit that the Queen of Phaedra was stronger than she. Worse, she might die, and her soul would pass to the Hells; in her present state, it would take very little to turn her into Azguloth's servant. If she wasn't one already.

Still, she couldn't help but glance for a second at Istomilo. In a sense, he was responsible for the blow she was about to strike, for the crystal that would trap Titania's soul was a thing of his making. But in another, more tangible sense, he bore no responsibility at all. It hadn't escaped her notice that Istomilo had stood on the sidelines and done nothing while she, Titania and Ysora battled. It could have been reluctance to strike at his former wife; he clearly felt some affection for her still, and he had always been reluctant to fight his fellow humans.

But Titania had planted the seeds of doubt in her mind, and she couldn't help but wonder. What if the Queen's accusations were true, and he had taken Heaven's side in this war not because it was the right thing to do, but because of her, Marisiel? What if he held back not because he was reluctant to harm his once-wife, but because she had failed to return those feelings? It was painful to think these things—she wanted to believe he was a good man—but they would not go away.

If the Queen had not been brought low by her illness, would he have stood by and watched her die?

She spared only a moment for these thoughts; Titania had fallen, and she had a duty to perform. In the face of the war, she and Istomilo and Titania did not truly matter, could not be allowed to matter. Marisiel fitted the blood-red crystal to her sword, felt it slip into the sword's hilt and settle into it perfectly, as if the sword had been forged for it. No more hesitation.

She raised the sword, and thrust it down into Titania's heart.

[Pwenet]

Incom Morgan

Looking after Sara as she starts limping away Incom looks over towards her path, trying to sense anything that could have gotten her attention. There were still wonders in this crazed and twisted world where a little girl like her constantly had events swirling around her. As he followed her he tried to map out where she was going, seeing if there was anything along their way that she could be guiding them towards.

Even as his main focus concentrated on Sara the rest of Incom was busy. One would expect him to feel fear, yet having faced death, met one of the gods, forced back to life had burned out the fear from him. One would expect concern over insanity yet the decades of torture driving him over the edge into the void of hope had burned that out of him. Yet there was something that drove him, that was binding him together still, allowing him to focus and force his various selves to work together, protecting Sara. If he still had a gut he would say that it was instinct that somehow she would be more important than any one GHAST, warrior or Mage would be.

Let insanity come. In this war that was brewing that might be one of his best weapons.

Feeding his defiance at everything going against him, Incom channeled that towards the shattered mind of the angelic soul. If a lowly human, twisted and warped by powers beyond measure would still rise up and gives the Baron a finger and moon, what did that say for the angel. If one was doomed to die, if they were the walking dead one last act of defiance, to help rally others to the cause, what better way to go out than that?

What a pretty flower by Sara. Daisy.... Daisy....

[Inspectre]

Dawn’s Hope - Monastery

Baerdog7

Miriam seems about to speak again when you press on, declaring your intent to stand even against Her if necessary. The Goddess blinks in surprise, and simply stares at you as you and the other Grandmasters turn to go.

“Just end this!” Miriam calls after you as you leave, Her voice suddenly sounding weary.

Theme Song

In another few minutes, you and the other Grandmasters are back on the mortal plane. The dreadful silence maintaining its hold over the group is broken as soon as you are back, everyone speaking at once.

“Are you certain it was wise to insult our Goddess to Her face?” Jamkas asks.

“This is mule****! One’s just as bad as the Other!” Belroar exclaims, tearing his tabard off and balling it up to throw it onto the floor.

“This is going to get very ugly, very quickly Ander. I hope you are prepared to make those compromises you spoke of.” Norven quietly advised.

Only Withril was silent, trembling as he staggered over to flop down into a chair. His face was ashen, his eyes focused on a point far away beneath the floor as he slowly shook his head back and forth. Finally, he looks up.

“We are doomed.” He pronounces simply.

“Not yet we aren’t!” Belroar growls, turning to lay a hand on your shoulder. “Ander, lad. When you came back, why didn’t you tell us we were working for a tyrant? I’m starting to think Rickster was right, and it’s better to have a corrupt Church than a torched one!”

Archpaladin Zousha

At your offer, Katashiko arches an eyebrow. “A holy man wanting me to kill other holy men?”

Katashiko laughs as she returns to her last drink, downing it in a final gulp and sliding the mug aside.

“I have to admit I’m starting to like you, which is saying something. Alright, let’s go. Right now, or after you finish saying a prayer for all the poor souls you’re going to send to the afterlife today?”

Katashiko makes a mock sad face, pouting. Then she immediately brightens and slaps you on the shoulder – it stings a little, even through your armor.

“Well, don’t worry! Anyone we kill today will get a pass straight into the Heavens, or whatever nice place you believe in, for doing your god’s will, won’t they? Oh, that’s right – they’re “corrupt” so they go in the opposite direction, don’t they? Oh well – maybe they’ll like that even better.”

A mischievous smile spreads across Katashiko’s face as she quirks an eyebrow at you.

“So, you said we were getting in by pretending I’m possessed, or whatever. Does that mean you’re going to tie me up so I’m not a danger to anyone?”

Katashiko leans in close to whisper seductively into your ear.

“You wouldn’t have to be gentle. I can break out of anything they have available in this little city.”

Switching off again, Katashiko roughly shoves you away, returning to a business tone.

“In any event, when you’re ready to leave, let me know. I’ll be here until you do . . . unless of course you want me to cause a little scene to get this whole “possessed” thing started – help sell the story, hmm?”

Stonefall

The_Snark

As you slid the crystal into place and approached the fallen queen of Phaedra, she looks up at you in a mixture of hatred and fear. But ultimately, the hatred wins out as she raises her chin in defiance.

“I die free.” She rasps, bracing herself for the blow to come.

In response you raise your sword and strike, a solid thrust aimed straight at the heart of this blasphemous rebellion. A blur of movement from the corner of your eye catches your attention, distracting you and preventing you from pulling the blow as Istomilo appears directly in front of you. The thrust meant for Titania catches him directly in the chest, passing through his ribcage, heart, and back, as easily for him as it would have for her. Your face is suddenly warm and wet as Istomilo coughs, spraying blood onto you. Reflexively, his hands come up to grasp the hilt protruding from his chest, and as he falls backward he tears the weapon out of your grasp.

Titania’s cry is as anguished as if you had struck her instead.

“NO!” She screams, crawling over to be beside Istomilo and take one of his hands into hers. Amazingly, the former consort of the queen was still alive, at least for the moment. Perhaps the foul magics held within the crystal were responsible, keeping his lifeforce contained within his body while it drained away his soul. You could see the hilt of your blade beginning to glow with an increasingly fierce reddish light as the crystal went about its dreadful task – only on the wrong target.

“I’m sorry.” Istomilo gurgles, his head lolling over to one side to face Titania. “I . . . still love you. But . . .” Istomilo sighs, his head rolling back so his eyes could focus on you. “I have . . . always loved . . . her.”

He then raises his free hand, his entire arm trembling, up towards you. His eyes are pleading.

The Island of Dr(?) Sohssal

Iethloc

At your explanation of her condition, Omega simply nods. The repairs you had done to her body fixed all of the current damage, but that was only a temporary solution. Inevitably, her body would reject the demon grafts again, perhaps in the same spots in her brain, perhaps elsewhere. Either way, she was now living on borrowed time unless you got the opportunity to develop a permanent solution. For right now, however, you had a home to rebuild.

At your comments, Shanks nods appreciatively.

“I’ll have a looksee around at some point and figure out my cut. Do you want me to go back to the ship and have a chat with the lads there, see if anyone else wants to take you up on your offer? I imagine most of them will be wanting to get off this island as soon as possible though, eh?”

Shanks scratches at the stubble on his chin.

“Anyway, what do you need me to do? I figured a powerful . . . well, whatever exactly you are, would just have to wave its hands around to fix everything. I’m pretty good with a hammer, heh, but I’m not magic! It’s going to take me time to hammer nails or put up brick or whatever.”

Yes, I imagine you’ll want to fix the place up a bit Sohssal. But what are we supposed to do to help? By my count we’ve got a pirate, a . . . power-challenged half-demon, a ghost, and you. Whatever you want to do is going to take time.

The pirate chooses this moment to yawn.

“And I’m thinking whatever it is, it’ll have to wait ‘til the morrow. All this running and fighting has worn me out, and I’m not going to do any good all tired and cranky.”

As usual, your body was effectively tireless outside of the need to recharge your magical reserves. With your laboratory largely in shambles and all your precious elementals gone, you would also need time to regain some of your spent power. You could also resummon some creatures to feed off of immediately, but that would do nothing to decrease the fatigue of your allies. But, it seemed working alone was one of the few options you had for immediately beginning to repair your home. Even so, it would likely take a number of weeks to get everything back in order again, especially with most of the lower levels still flooded.

Outside the Capital

Pwenet

Under the encouraging barrage of images showing your resolute defiance of the Baron, you can feel the angel’s mind beginning to rally. She was still broken, shattered even more than you are, but at least now she had motivation to go on – a reason to pull together what was left of her for one last battle. An image appears in your own mind – that of an angel, horribly scarred and mutilated, standing beside your own armored body, ready to fight.

At that moment, a dark shadow loomed over the two of you, and a mad cackle erupted within your mind. It seemed that you and the angel were not the only ones with a shattered mind to go along with your broken souls. Having already endured horrific torments for eons, the demon’s mind was used to operating in pieces. And now, with you having weakened the barriers between your mind and the angel’s soul, it was now able to break free of its own restraints.

Images of torture, death, and destruction flood your mind. Together, you could wreck such havoc upon the world! Forget the Baron, forget the years of constant struggle to survive! You were free now, you could leave it all behind you! Embark on a new course all of your own – forge a new path of horror across this world that would make all you had suffered merely pleasantries! And start it with the girl – the naïve little whore! Betrayal was the sweetest fruit of revenge, and her agonizing death could be the final step down the path of darkness! The demon would even do all the work for you – you just had to silently give your approval and watch!

With single-minded purpose, the bits of the demon’s mind shifted its focus onto your body, commanding it to begin moving of its own accord. Your body continues to lumber after Sara, only now one shaking arm begins to rise, the wrist blades starting to extend in preparation of the slaughter to come!

Oblivious to the war now suddenly raging in your mind, Sara continues into the woods, drawn on by some invisible hand. The fragments of your mind devoted to analyzing her course were unable to determine what was calling her, but it did detect a small clearing directly ahead. A minute later, and Sara has passed into the clearing, you crashing through directly behind her. The demon was now in even more control of your body, its single-minded purpose not swayed by the efforts of the angel, who was like a child pulling at the hand of a giant. You prepared to pounce, coiling your legs and readying your weapons as Sara stumbled into the middle of the clearing, falling to her knees.

A bright stream of light pierces through the meager cover provided by the trees ringing the clearing, enveloping her. Sara screams as the light becomes blinding, and then a moment later stops as the light fades to that of merely a bright day, filling every shadowy corner of the clearing. In your mind, the demon screams a curse, recoiling and abandoning its cause completely as it flees to the deepest, darkest recess of its own soul crystal. The angel likewise recoils, seeking to hide – she did not wish to be seen like this!

“Incom.” Sara says, her voice the same but subtly different – more confident and mature. As the girl rises and turns to face you, you can see her eyes aglow with inner light.

“I do not have long – this link will not last. It is I – Miriam – do you remember Me?”

You can feel a familiar calmness settle over you as Sara approaches, the same calmness that you felt when meeting Miriam on the verge of death within Ironheart. But it is not quite the same as it was then – you had still been alive – barely then. Now you had died, and been reborn has a monster, forced to share a mechanical body with a broken angel and a demon. It seemed unlikely that your day would get any stranger.

“The Baron will pay for what he has done.” Sara/Miriam promises. “But first, I need you to do something for me. The link between myself and this girl must be strengthened. I have already told her where to go. A hallowed spot within the mountains – near where Ironheart stands, in fact. I need you to escort her there, protect her. Once she is there, there will be nothing more to fear. I will destroy the Baron, and if you wish it, either restore you to life or give you the peace of oblivion.”

Dorizzit

Katrina nods, falling into step beside you as you begin to pick your way through the forest. It would likely take you a day at least to reach the capital, possibly two if you chose not to follow the main roads. It seemed unlikely that the Baron would post regular patrols along the roads so close to the capital – he technically did not have the authority to do that.

Then again, this was the Baron, and even if he did not attempt to usurp the king’s authority in this matter, he could post subtle guards to watch the roads. Those guards in turn would alert him of your position, and then he could use a precise strike to finish you. That sounded the most like his sort of strategy, especially since he knew you were coming. There was no way you would abandon the Countess, possibly your still very-much alive wife, and your own chance at revenge.

Hmmm . . . perhaps there was a third, even faster, way into the capital. You had made a number of friends within the capital, mostly low-life scum who made their own living feeding off of revolutionaries like yourself. You provided them with money from your raids, and they saw to it you got whatever you wanted – weapons and information mostly. Without them, your efforts against the Baron would have even been more hopeless and short-lived than they had been. Still, you made attempts to forge contacts with only the nobler and least self-interested individuals in the field.

One such individual was a man known as Fernard. He had done some very unpleasant things in the past, but seemed to be attempting to turn his life around when you met him. Although he wanted to leave his former life behind him, he agreed to supply you with what aid he could. You had lost contact with him shortly before going into Ironheart – perhaps he had gone into hiding, or perhaps his old life had finally caught up with him.

You still knew where to go to get in touch with him, however – an upscale bar in a hamlet several miles outside of the capital. Once you left word there, it should only be a matter of hours before Fernard got in contact with you, if he was still around. It would be a simple matter for a man like him to smuggle you into the capital, assuming he could be trusted. As far as you knew, Fernard was about as trustworthy as you could get. After you got into the capital, however . . . what would you do then? You would need allies to stage a rescue of the Countess, and your friends loyal enough and brave (foolish?) enough to challenge the Baron were few in number these days.

Dark Falls

Kasanip

Theresea looks at you, her face drawn into a blank frown. She is clearly contemplating the likelihood that you were preparing to betray her in some way. And finally, after a long pause that had drawn on for almost too long, she speaks a single word.

“Fine.”

The amazon roughly pushes past you, walks several angry paces down the street, and then stops to turn back.

“But you had damn well better tell me anything you are able to find out. At least anything that doesn’t endanger your precious secrets.”

Theresea sniffs once in disdain, and then storms off, leaving you and Carlain alone in front of the residence.

“Well . . . shall we?” Carlain says with a sweeping gesture towards the door. To your slight surprise, rather than taking the lead he respectfully drops back a step, allowing you to be the first to reach the door. A quick knock provokes a creaking voice from within to call out, “Coming! I’m coming, just wait!”

A few minutes later, you hear a brief clatter on the other side of the door as locks are undone and bolts are slid back. Then, the door opens a crack, framing a wrinkled, decrepit face. The woman’s weak blue eyes look out at you, peering past to look at Carlain as well.

“Yes dearie, what is it?”

Her eyes seem to take note of your subtle insignia of the Canticles, and her eyes light up briefly.

“Is something the matter? And do you need to come inside to discuss it?” The woman, who could only be Cynthia Whitehall, inches the door open a bit wider.

The Capital

Lonna

Focusing all of your willpower upon regaining control, you manage to shatter the ring’s weakening enchantment. A few quick movements later and you have stripped off both the glove and the ring beneath it. The ring immediately is discarded, while the glove writhes disgustingly in your grasp like a live thing, trying to pull itself back over your hand and up your arm. This prompts you to throw it aside as well, leaving it behind you in the street as your dress and breeches force you on.

Unfortunately, without the strength enhancements from the glove, you find that you cannot pull the other glove off your arm. The edges of the glove grip your skin tightly, refusing to budge at the probing of your bare fingers. The scarf likewise successfully resists your efforts to dislodge it, at least until you employ your still-gloved hand. There, the still-augmented strength of your hand is easily able to pull the scarf off, although the piece of fabric does not surrender so easily. It begins to wrap itself around your arm, curling and preparing to slither up your arm back to its proper place. You narrowly manage to shake it loose by wildly flailing your enhanced arm, leaving it slithering about behind you in the street as well.

Unfortunately, the laces of your dress are the most formidable opponent yet. Even as your fingers pull them loose, they pull themselves back into place and reknot themselves! You would have to find some sort of cutting implement. Fortunately, as your legs begin to burn at the incredible exertion they were putting forth, you slipped down an alley into a backdoor butchery. The proprietor of this establishment curses as he stumbles back, narrowly avoiding getting run over as you hop over a table covered by rough cuts of meat and duck under a low-hanging side of . . . some dead creature. (You can probably snag a knife buried in one of the nearby tables as you run past).

You are nearly at the end of the alleyway when you feel another presence touch your mind.

No more tricks, my love, and no more games. One way or another, this needs to end - for both our sakes. Let me help you. And if I cannot, then I will join you in oblivion. I will even help you take us both there.

Looking back, you see the husband, the man you were supposed to meet – the man you are supposed to kill, rounding the mouth of the alley. How he was able to keep up with you at this pace – beyond a dead sprint for you – you had no idea, although he seemed to move with a similar incredible speed and grace. He begins making his way through the butchery, and you duck around the corner, out of sight. Nearly running smack into a mirror reflection of yourself!

The girl looks exactly like you – same color hair, same manner of dress – only she is still fully clothed, most of her face obscured by the scarf wrapped around her face. Her body moves like a robot, racing past you down the street, crossing in front of the alley just before the strange man arrives. You continue running, your legs propelled by some sort of foul magic, even as they begin to ache from the effort. You round a corner, out of sight, just as the man appears – you do not think he saw you – no more than the briefest glimpse, anyway. Whether he did or not, you continue running on, towards some unknown destination.

WhiteKnight777

The world around you slows as you speed up, racing through the crowds towards the opposite side of the bazaar. This sort of magic was extremely powerful, incredibly useful in this sort of situation but very draining. With your growing but limited reserves of magic and your diminishingly vampiric body, you are uncertain how long you can maintain this pace. But then, you aren’t sure how long Fianna can maintain it either – certainly not if she wishes to continue fighting when you eventually catch up to her.

Rounding the corner, you are greeted by a strange sight – one of Fianna’s gloves is lying in the street, writhing around in its death throes. As you approach it, it stops moving and bursts into all-consuming flame. That was fortunate – that meant it was just a mystery and not a trap of some kind. As you race past the ashes, you catch a glimpse of the fleeing Fianna, now tugging furiously at the scarf obscuring most of her face. It was a truly bizarre sight, one that you didn’t see more than a moment of before the figure ducked into another alleyway.

Coming to the mouth of the alleyway, you see that the scarf was now on the ground, suffering the same fate as the glove before it. Looking down the alleyway, you see Fianna leap over a butcher’s table, nearly land in the arms of the startled butcher, and continue on at a dead run. Reaching out with your mind, you deliver a message to Fianna, effectively a surrender to her terms, if she would just stop and discuss this with you. The figure continues running, moving out of sight down the alley perpendicular to the end of this one. With a sigh, you maintain your pursuit.

Theme Song

You are just coming to the mouth of the alleyway when the madness truly begins. Fianna runs past, going in the opposite direction this time, no more than a few feet in front of you, just beyond reach. This wasn’t a complete surprise – it was possible she had hit a dead end, and had been forced to reverse her course in this way. Unlikely, but possible at least. What was simply impossible, however, was that she had managed to conjure another glove and scarf! Fianna as she left your sight the first time was clearly missing a glove and a scarf, both of them having turned to ash in front of your eyes. Yet now here she was again, fully clothed once more, sporting a glove on each arm and a scarf draped around her face!

As you step into street proper, you catch a glimpse of a figure ducking out of sight off to your left, while Fianna continues to run down the street off to your right. Suddenly, she ducks into yet another alley, only to reappear a moment later! Only she does not reappear at the mouth of the alley, oh no! She suddenly bounds into sight on top of one of the nearby buildings, racing down the street along the rooftops! What the hells is going on!?

OverWilliam

While Larry had previously been jovial and carefree, you can see the subtle switch to his business mode. His smile and easy-going manner remained, but the wheels were turning rapidly behind his eyes, measuring and weighing your information and offer carefully.

“I’ll see what I can do.” The Gekko offers non-committedly, with a nervous laugh. If he hadn’t been afraid of you before, he was now.

“Brock is a very busy man these days – running the whole guild keeps him busy, as you can imagine. There’s still a few holdouts from some of the splinter gangs, but he’s got the city pretty much down pat!” Larry gushes, perhaps trying to buy you off with a tidbit of information. Already known to everybody else, of course, but useful in your situation.

“I’ll see what I can do though. I’m sure he’ll want to see you right away – you always were one of his best men.” Larry continues, nodding. “And now, well – this is a big day, Tare. Very big day.” He says, pointing one finger at your arm.

It seems likely that this meeting was over, and in another few moments Larry would timidly attempt to escort you out. Usually his dismissals were even more curt, as he wandered off into his shop with an empty promise of “being right back!”. However, it seemed that your day as usual was going to take an abrupt turn.

The door to the shop jingles open again, which Larry greets with a quiet curse as a man steps into the room, pulling a dark grey cowl off of his head. Revealed as the cowl falls back is a sharp face, with close-cropped brown hair and flint blue eyes. The man carries himself with a deadly grace, and his eyes sweep the room quickly, analyzing and cataloging potential hiding spots. A moment later, they settle on you, and you can feel the man’s cold dead eyes probing your very soul. Then the eyes are moving again, skewering Larry briefly before settling on Melcara. He seems quite fascinated with Melcara, as he settles back into the doorway, blocking it.

“Hello Larry. Did you find out that information I asked for?”

The man gives a mirthless smile, his eyes finally breaking away from Melcara to skewer Larry again.

“And who are your friends?”

“Tare, you promised me a favor and I’m calling it in right now. Get rid of this guy – please?” Larry hisses into your ear.

“And who are you?” Melcara asks back, taking an involuntary step backward as the grey eyes of death settle on her once more. The newcomer takes several steps into the room, reaching into his cloak and pulling out not a weapon, but some sort of gold symbol, attached to his belt by a gilded chain.

“Inquisitor Albert Silverton, ma’am. At your service.”

Silverton lets the symbol falls back onto his belt, and then crooks a finger at Melcara and you.

“Now, it’s only fair. Names.”

Melcara looks down at the floor, absently twirling a lock of hair around her finger. She seems properly chastised, although even you can’t tell if she is faking it or not.

“S-sally.” Melcara murmurs, shying back from the still advancing inquisitor.

“Sally? Hrrmm, interesting. You don’t look like a Sally. Sally who?”

Now only several paces away, the inquisitor stops suddenly, freezing up as if taken with a seizure. You can see his nostrils flare, and his eyes narrow with suspicion. He immediately attempts to play it off by waving his hand in front of his face and pretending to gag.

“Whew! Larry . . . Larry Larry. I thought your little filthy bolthole couldn’t get any worse, and now here is this smell! Ugh, so revolting! What did you do, invite a few chickens in to lay some eggs, and then forget all about them?”

Larry looks completely confused, apparently not having as acute a sense of smell as the inquisitor. You didn’t notice it either . . . but as a cold hand grips your stomach, you remember smelling something similar upon your immediate arrival in the Hells – the entire placed reeked of sulfur.

Gorgondantess

“Oh really? And what does a being such as yourself, who can form riches out of thin air, need with whatever gold my future “owner” is offering?” Maurice asks incredulously, clearly not buying your lie. There was a note of something else in her voice – fear, or perhaps hope? It was still difficult for you to gauge emotions, particularly where Maurice was concerned. Although the angel clearly had a few trigger issues, she was quite crafty – perceptive but difficult to read herself. At least she seemed to have taken your gag threat seriously – on the flight into the capital she was silent.

The two of you land in a dark and thankfully deserted alleyway, a thick layer of filth and refuse covering the ground. Maurice sniffs in slight disgust as she catches her balance after you dump her out of the cradle position, forced to lean her one shoulder into the nearby wall to keep from toppling over. For a moment after commanding her to resume human form, the angel merely looks at you, but then shifts, her body glowing faintly as the wings melt into her back.

“I do hope you realize that slavery, by and large, is illegal in the kingdom. As such, much as it might amuse my buyer for me to arrive in gold chains, someone very well might try to stop us.”

Maurice sighs and frowns, clearly not happy about what she is about to say. She holds her manacled wrists up towards you.

“Alright. In the interests of saving the life of whatever brave soul would attempt to intervene, I’ll make you a deal. You remove the chains, and I give you my word that I will not use the opportunity to escape.”

Maurice shoots a glance out at the street – several humans had walked past now, but all of them had their heads bowed, none of them even looking down the alley in your direction. The ones you had seen were dressed in poor clothing, made from cheap fabric with some rips here and there. Rabble, no doubt . . . your promises of wealth and power had so far proven most useful in recruiting rabble. Although of what use they would be remained to be seen – you had to admit that your enemy had an eye for selecting servants if other angels were similar to Maurice.

“Of course . . . we seem to be in the slums.” Maurice comments, having seen the same handful of people, in ones and twos, rapidly pass by the front of the alleyway. “You might very well get away with allowing your buyer to have his way with me in the middle of the street and no one would raise a peep of protest.”

[Archpaladin Zousha]

Hondshioh
He regards her gravely.

"They're not holy men. Not anymore. They are traitors who turned away from the true path to serve their own wickedness. I suppose I should get my hands on some chains. Just keep out of trouble until I return. I should be able to figure something out. You won't need to make a scene, I doubt they'll turn down a chance to take someone else in to break. And Katashiko? Thank you for taking this risk for me. You don't need to do this if you don't want to, but the fact that you're willing speaks a lot for your integrity...and your bloodlust," he adds the last bit with a weak chuckle, hoping to amuse her a bit.

[WhiteKnight777]

Umber

Umber growled, pushing himself. His magic, only recently reborn inside his newly-mortal shell, was being taxed to its limits. But Umber had never been interested in limits. They were things to be broken and cast aside. All that mattered was the will.

He leaped up on the roof of a nearby house, scrabbling briefly for purchase and cursing his newly mortal frame with vitriolic passion. He wondered at the mystery of Fianna's flammable vestments - was it a trap? Or was it supposed to be a message? He racked his brain for any hint as to what it might portend as he ran on, crossing the rooftop in an attempt to cut Fianna off.

Then he stopped, cursing himself for a fool. He was playing the game exactly as she desired. He stopped, hunkering down on the rooftop and relaxing, letting his spell of speed lapse. This clearly wasn't working. And why should he exhaust himself, when she was clearly doing the same?

Instead, he picked up a pinch of ash from the ruined scarf, putting a peck of it on his tongue, letting the magical resonance flow through him. He sent his thoughts coursing along the strings of magical resonance, searching for Fianna. He began to move again, but with the slow deliberation of a predator. Let Fianna exhaust herself, and he would catch up to her when she did. And then they could end this - for good and all.

[Kasanip]

Isera Harvent
Not at Dark Falls now I think

Isera winced a little as Theresea left and stopped a sigh.
Yes she would tell her, but the untrusting relationship was not going to make this work.
Carlain seemed to approve at least, and he even stepped behind Isera to her surprise when she knocked.

The old woman who greeted Isera was quite well retired. She had lived a tough life, and her eyes still held some wisdom - at least this was what Isera felt when seeing her. She was old enough to make Isera feel young.

Well, younger than she seemed right now.

"There have been some difficulties," she answered at first. Isera would look to see if the woman also wore a symbol of the Canticles, and if she did not then she would also ask "Are you Ms. Cynthia Whitehall?" and take the embroidered rings on her jacket in her hands. It would look like she was just figiting or fixing her coat to some people, but the subtle sign of her touching the mark would be more a kind of 'password' for a Canticle member. Carlain hopefully would do the same- it was one of those secrets that was important to such an organization.

(ooc: to assume that she is)

"I'm Isera Harvent, and this is Carlain. I apologize for the intrusion, but we are in need of some assistance. Specifically, information. Would it be possible to bother you for a little while?" Isera asked. Of course to speak inside was preferable.

And once the two were inside and the woman was ready, Isera would inform her of the things she needed to know.

[Gorgondantess]

She just sighs at Maurice's incredulity, not bothering with a reply. It was enough to give the angel something to think about... or, better yet, to give her something to think about as she pondered Maurice's thoughts.
"Penny for your thoughts? Or all the gold in the world, if you'd prefer."
She smiles at herself, and the use of the idiom.

Once they reach the ground, she narrows here eyes at Maurice's suggestion, then breaks off the collar. Immediately she snaps her hand forward and grabs Maurice by the wrist.
"If you try to escape, I will be very cross."

At her later insinuation, though, she ***** an eyebrow at Maurice. "Have his way with you?"
"Anyways, as you have no doubt guessed, I have no intention of letting you leave my grasp- this is merely an academic foray. Please, do tell- just what do you believe this buyer intends to do with you once he has you? I believe I'll let the transaction go just far enough to allow for that, though your musings on the matter would be good to know nonetheless."

[Lonna]

Pyrene

Fighting to remove the enchanted clothing, Pyrene snatched at the handle of the closest knife as she was forced through the butcher's shop. Turning on the laces, she began to cut them away - carefully, lest she do her evil twin's work for her. She had only just started, however, when she was startled to feel another mind touch her own - not invasive as Alphonse Volesin's spell had been, but merely making itself known to deliver a message. The content of that message, combined with the glimpse of the evil twin's husband racing behind in hot pursuit, left no doubt in Pyrene's mind as to the source of the message, or the mind.

The sight of another mirror image of herself - surely not the evil twin? - distracted her for a crucial instant, however, and the presence was gone before she could attempt to respond. Grimly, Pyrene returned to cutting away the enchanted clothing. She could only hope that she could get rid of enough fabric to buy her some time to explain the situation when the very determined gentleman behind her inevitably caught up.

[Iethloc]

Sohssal

”More hands would help in the lab, but I doubt any of the pirates know a binding spire from a lightning coil. Having more people I have to direct won't be useful. Maybe later, after all the magical equipment is fixed and behind locked doors. Also, I don't have nearly enough energy to do this quickly myself. I'm going to have to work the hard way, as well,” Sohssal said to Shanks.

He was mildly frustrated when he was reminded of the limited endurance of mortals. But he couldn't do anything about it. At least it would free him up to do some of the most complex things first, without anyone to interrupt him.

”Yes, all right. Those who need to sleep can do so. You might want to do it in shifts, since there could still be dangerous things lurking about. Meanwhile, I need to work on getting my energy sources up and running again,” he explained briefly, and then departed. Not having to guide anyone anymore, he was free to move through the walls, floor and ceiling.

The first thing he decided to work on were the binding spires he mentioned earlier. Many of the demons and elementals he kept for energy before had escaped their bindings, so now Sohssal kept an eye out for any flaws in the design.

Even with just that part of his lab up and running, it would become a valuable base of operations once more.

[Baerdog7]

Grandmaster Ander Windrivver

While the other grandmasters recover from the shock of their experience, Ander summons a servant to go intercept Rickster and Oldak before they have a chance to leave and bring them to him.

Please gentlemen, Ander says calmly as he takes a seat, now is not the time for despair.

So now you have met Miriam and Athelion, the objects of our worship and have learned that they are not so much different from us after all. So what? We give up? We throw our hands in the air, bemoan our fates, and try to find someplace to hide while the forces of Darkness advance all around us?

No.

Gentlemen, as paladins we are more than just servants of Miriam we are the protectors of Mankind from the forces of evil and that mission has not changed. I have no intention of becoming a father of death in Miriam's name but the corrupt Council must be dealt with before they can bring any more evil into the world.

A huge part of our strength comes from our faith. If you can no longer put your faith in Miriam, have faith in Mankind. Have faith that most people are still inherently good and that we make this world worth fighting for. It is our world now. Not Azguloth's, not Miriam's, not Athelion's.

Go now and spread the word to your Orders and prepare them for battle. I will be going with Rickster and Oldak to destroy the Council's angel corruption operation. Hopefully if they see with their own eyes they will join our cause.

((Ander will answer any other questions they have before they leave.))

Just as the other Grandmasters are leaving, the servant enters with Oldak and Rickster.

Ah, I was hoping you two hadn't left yet. There is something I would like to show the both of you.

((Ander will not take no for an answer Rickster and Oldak, explaining the situation to them as they fly to the Capital City. Before leaving the summit he will have David deliver the Order of Dawn's Hope to prepare for battle.))

[OverWilliam]

~Tare

Tare took advantage of the inquisitor's momentary distraction to smoothly interpose himself between him and Melcara-- or "Sally" as she seemed to be at the moment. Against Larry she could well enough handle herself, and if she'd needed help she could ask; against an Inquisitor, even if she hadn't asked, he couldn't just leave her to the wolves. Besides, if for no other reason, she needed him to stick up for her if she wanted to maintain at least the pretense of helplessness. Tare flashed a smile-- the kind of smile one uses when both parties know that no smile is truly intended. "Now now, Inquisitor-- the young lady gave you her name. Truly, all Men are liars, but interrogating a young woman in the middle of a public market is nothing if not rude." Tare reached up with two fingers and placed them directly against the Inquisitor's center chest bone, applying the tiniest amount of force. "Must it be true what they say, that Chivalry is dead...?" Tare grinned, not overlooking the fact that he had dodged the Inquisitor's demand for his name, and not expecting that the Inquisitor would either.

[Dorizzit]

Korram Alstan

Korram walks in the general direction of the capital as he walks with Katrina, weighing the options left to them. Their situation could hardly be called favorable; most would have given up and run if they had an opportunity such as this. Katrina and Korram, however, are made of sterner stuff, two generations of hatred and a complex tangle of other emotions keeping them on their course against the Baron. It was stupid. They had almost no hope of so much as inconveniencing the Baron, a fact that was not lost on Korram, and he imagined not on Katrina, either. Not that that would stop them. After about a half hour of deliberation, Korram decides to seek out his old associate Fernard and consult him about gaining entry to the capital. He communicates this tersely to Katrina, then remains silent as they alter course slightly to their new destination, keeping off the main roads in order to avoid any possible spies of the Baron.

((Korram will complete the trip unless waylaid somehow, then leave word at the bar and wait to see if anything happens.))

[Inspectre]

Dawn’s Hope - Monastery

Baerdog7

(When you say capital city, I’m assuming you mean the grand cathedral, where Hondshioh currently is, rather than the capital of Narle. They are not the same thing, actually.)

The other grandmasters listen passively as you lecture them, most nodding.

“I’ll go assemble what parts of my Order I can. The Knights Errant have always been divided, but I fear this challenge shall tear it apart. Remember what I said Ander – we may have to sink to the Council’s level in order to win.” Novain sighs, and then departs the room.

Minril remains in his taken seat, simply starring down at his hands quietly. Jamkas simply nods at you and then leaves, likely to go assemble his order. Belroar grabs your arm, pulling you close as he stands up on tip-toes to whisper into your ear.

“Listen lad, well . . . I got into this to repay certain debts my clan owed the Church. And though I take my vows seriously, there are some things I just won’t do. And worship a tyrant is one of them. I’m going to help you in any way I can to rebuild your Church to how you think it ought be, but then I’m done. I’m going back to my mountain home, and I’m digging a nice big hole and try to live forever. Because I don’t ever want to lay eyes on that bitch goddess again.”

Shortly thereafter, you meet up again with Odlak and Rickster. Both of them are predictably standoffish.

“I have nothing more to say to you, heretic.” Odlak says, moving to push past you and making it clear that you would have to draw steel in order to stop him. Rickster is a bit less confrontational, crossing his arms and leaning back against the wall.

“What do you want, Ander? I can’t believe I’m even still speaking to you, but I suppose the paperwork to excommunicate you and all the other grandmasters hasn’t gone through yet. Is bureaucracy one of the Church’s sins that you intend to eliminate, Ander?”

As you explain your intent, Rickster shakes his head.

“You really are insane, Ander. You intend to go to the central cathedral, where everybody will undoubtedly know your face, and show me something that either doesn’t exist, or that the entire Council has gone to great, great pains to conceal.”

The grandmaster shrugs.

“Alright, fine. But when this blows up in your face, I get to claim that I was bringing you in to justice. That might be the only way I get to save my own hide.”

You are making preparations to leave, with instructions to David to rally the Order of Dawn’s Hope, when Minril approaches. He is dressed in plain traveler’s cloths, rather than his usual monk robes.

“Ander . . . I am afraid that I just can’t do this.” He says quietly, hanging his head. “I’ve stepped down from my place as Grandmaster. William Tidestar will be taking my place – he’s a capable enough administrator, and understands what needs to be done. What I cannot do. I am sorry Ander, but after all these years . . . so many long years. Do you know how many hours I spent in solitude, pondering the nature of our Goddess and wondering how She could allow certain things to come to pass? Now I know the answer, and . . . I don’t know . . . what to do with it!” Minril finishes, his voice breaking. He breaths a last trembling sigh, and turns to go.

“I’m going to disappear, and spend what little time I have left on this earth pondering the simpler things in life. I pray that I can forget what I have seen.”

Belroar barges in a short while after.

“What the hell are you thinking now, lad!!? You’re going into the belly of the beast itself, and expecting to pick out what it’s had for dinner!?”

Belroar examines you critically.

“You aren’t preparing yourself to be a martyr, are you lad? Maybe our little visit to Miriam had more of an effect on you than we all thought.”

Archpaladin Zousha

Katashiko rolls her eyes at your explanation of the difference between you and the corrupt Church, but smirks at your thanks.

“Oh, anything for my jailor.” She says sweetly. “Already wanting to dress me up in chains to keep me out of trouble. This is becoming more and more like Ironheart by the minute.”

Katashiko’s grin is authentic now.

“Yes it really is. Now we just have to get to the breaking loose and tearing apart every idiot who looks at me funny part. And –“

The mirth fades from Katashiko’s eyes abruptly and she frowns.

“Maybe, just maybe, find a man worthy enough to hook up with – that’d be nice, wouldn’t it? Make all our lives simpler.”

Katashiko sullenly returns to her drinking contest while you set out to take care of your remaining preparations. You manage to find a set of manacles with little difficultly, as well as several lengths of chain and locks from the local blacksmith. It should be more than enough to give the impression of Katashiko being a dangerous but controlled prisoner – which, really, was exactly what she was. You weren’t entirely sure you wanted to see what she would do once freed, but the corrupt members of the Church were all that and more. You simply had to hope that Miriam would arrange for any truly innocent dupes in the Reliquary, much like you once were, were somewhere else tomorrow night.

You weren’t entirely sure what else to pick up for your little expedition tomorrow. It would pay to be prepared for anything, but there was a limit to what you would be able to carry in with you – the guards would certainly be suspicious of anyone entering with a backpack bristling with gear. Nor were you exactly skilled in the practice of breaking into a guarded area, silently killing all who resist, and then slipping away with whatever the guards were protecting. Still, a few common sense items that you could slip beneath your uniform would always be useful. (If you can think of anything else Hondshioh would like to purchase for his little foray, feel free to list it. Going to fast forward to breaking into the Reliquary, if you don’t mind.).

At that point, it was beginning to get quite late, or early depending on how you looked at it, and it was time to get some sleep. You returned to the back alley bar to find Katashiko passed out sound asleep on top of one of the tables – apparently she was perfectly safe there, but then someone with the ability to break bones with a flick of her wrist was someone to be treated with great respect. To your surprise, old Emma was also still there, curled up in a corner with a cloak wrapped around herself. She is still awake, and smiles as you enter.

“Go get some rest – I’ll have everything ready for you when you wake this evening. You have a busy night ahead of you.”

Still a bit unsure about this whole plan, you go up to one of the rooms and collapse into one of the small, rather lumpy beds. To your admittedly exhausted body, it was still heavenly enough to let you get to sleep within seconds of lying down. Your dreams, sadly, are not quite so cooperative, full of apocalyptical scenes as you battle your way to some point that seems farther and farther away. Finally, you awaken, rested in body if not in spirit, and find that it is only a few hours before dusk.

Going downstairs you find the bar surprisingly empty, with a few tough-looking fellows standing guard by the door. They stoically continued to ignore the taunts and insults Katashiko periodically lobs their way, apparently trying to garner a reaction from them. A short time after you come down, Emma reappears, cradling a bundle in her arms.

“As promised, here is your uniform and papers. Again, I wish you the best of luck – I will be waiting a short distance away from the Cathedral, in a back alley. In the event you leave under heavy pursuit, I should know the back streets well enough to get us clear. And don’t worry – these old legs can still be quite spry when the need arises.”

“No chickening out now, holy man.” Katashiko says, smirking as she downs yet another pint of ale. And then, after another short period of time going over the plan again with Emma and making last minute preparations, as well as having some dinner (no sense in going into “certain” death on an empty stomach), it was finally time. Katashiko downs one last pint and slams the mug back down onto the table hard enough to crack it.

“Alright, let’s do this!”

You manacle Katashiko’s hands behind her back, and then use the remaining chains to pin her arms down at her sides, as well as give you a length to drag her along by. She tests the chains, causing them to creak a little, and smirks.

“Oh yes, this’ll be perfect. Just enough to give the appearance of safety, and yet – well, anyone else in the room will be death within thirty seconds, just give the word.”

Emma looks at Katashiko, looks at you, and then just shakes her head with a sigh.

“I trust you know how to get there by yourself, so I will, gods willing, see you later tonight. Good luck.”

And with that, you begin the first step of your dangerous journey – getting inside the walls. It’s a fairly short trip to the central Cathedral, due to the city being built around it, but the streets are crowded. It seems everyone had somewhere to be this early in the evening, but they still ended up giving you and Katashiko a wide berth – she say to that.

“Boo!” She screeched at yet another passerby, startling him and causing him to stagger back, and turn to start walking rapidly back the way he had come.

“That’s right, you better run! I’m a demon! I’ll eat your soul!!!”

So it was the entire way up to the gates, where the guards look down at your incredulously from their fortification above the locked and barred gates.

“State your business here, sir!”

They apparently had not yet noticed your uniform, as all members of the Reliquary defenders were regarded with great respect, and perhaps a little fear.

The Island of Dr(?) Sohssal

Iethloc

Having no need for sleep or rest, you work through the night. Without any obnoxious distractions, you manage to make excellent progress, despite the state of your labs and the fact that they were all still flooded. The seawater would eventually corrode your work, which meant getting rid of it was your next priority after regaining your power sources – fortunate that neither demons nor elementals had to breathe then.

Examining the wreckage of your previous binding spires revealed that their power sources had eventually collapsed. Apparently your binding spires were not currently capable of maintaining their prisons without regular maintenance of some sort. The possibility that the seawater started leaking in before the elementals broke loose was another possible explanation. In any event, you could start working on a new set of binding spires that would siphon energy from their contents more efficiently. It would mean you would get slightly less usage out of each contained spirit, but at least the binding spires would last longer without your presence to maintain the wards.

You are just finished building and testing your second binding spire when something unexpected, although probably anticipated given the week you were having – something enters the room. At first you think it is Roger or perhaps Omega, coming down to give you some sort of report. But as you turn, you see that it is neither, and is in fact something you haven’t seen before. Although roughly humanoid looking, the figure swimming before you is covered in scales, with a lower body that transitions into a large fin rather than legs. It seems that perhaps those old crazy mariner stories about “mermen!” weren’t so crazy after all. The creature before you regards you with equal open curiosity. Then it brandishes its trident and gurgles some sort of inanity before rushing through the water towards you. Its weapon has as much effect on your body as anything else – which is to say, the powerful thrust passes clean through your chest harmlessly, causing the merman to nearly do the same before it alters its course to go around you, eyes bulging in surprise.

Outside the Capital

Dorizzit

True to his word, you have to wait only a few hours inside of the bar after leaving word before Fernard arrives. He is much as you remember – except for the crimson eyepatch covering one half of his face. That’s new.

“Ah, Korram. How good to see you again. It’s certainly been awhile.” He says with a fierce smile, sliding into a seat across the table from you. He shoots a glance at Katrina, now dressed in a simple tunic and breeches that she pilfered from . . . somewhere in town. She had disappeared for a few minutes, only to return shortly thereafter without the dress. Perhaps she had merely sold it in exchange, although knowing the Alstan temper it was just as likely she tore the thing to shreds, stomped it into the mud, and then sneaked around stark naked until she managed to steal some clothes.

“Business folk here at this table. Dogs at that one.” Fernard says sternly, nodding at a nearby table that contained several heavily armed men who had followed Fernard into the tavern. Katrina meets his glare with a tight-lipped smile.

“I’m an Alstan, so I think that makes me a client, and not a dog.”

At this, Fernard bursts into raucous laughter.

“Ah, I see the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree! You’re just like your old man! Heh heh, you didn’t tell me you had a son, Korram! Or was he, hah!, a surprise to you too?” He says, giving you a boisterous slap on the shoulder while motioning for a round of drinks to be brought around. The cheapest ale in the house, of course.

“Now then, what do you be needing this time, my old friend?” Fernard asks after the first round of drinks are finished, and the second round is on its way over.

Dark Falls

Kasanip

At your question, the old woman inclines her head while fingering her collar in a specific fashion – the commonly agreed countersign among Canticle members. You note that she is not currently wearing any insignia of the Canticle on her person.

“Yes, I am she. And certainly – it’s not often that I have visitors these days. Please, come in, come in.”

The door is opened wider, and the woman retreats back through the doorway to grant you and Carlain access to her home. The interior is surprisingly cozy, if a bit cluttered looking with various artifacts and well . . . pieces of art, no doubt collected over a lifetime of adventure. The old woman is your guide through this jungle of objects both great and small, eventually leading you to a small oasis in the clutter – a small sitting room thankfully bare of most knickknacks. Likely this was where Cynthia conducted most of her business, and perhaps some of her rituals, if the bare wooden floor in one corner of the room was any indication.

“Now then, perhaps you should start at the beginning.” Cynthia says after the three of you are seated around a small table in overly padded chairs. As you are about to begin your story, a most horrid scratching comes from somewhere beneath your feet – under the carpet covering most of the floor and the floorboards beneath that. Cynthia frowns and stamps her foot several times, which seems to send a clear message as a few moments later the scrambling stops.

“Damn squirrels made a home beneath mine, and I haven’t been able to get rid of them or have a moment’s peace since.” Cynthia grouses, her face only briefly pulled down into an angry grimace before it is smoothed over once more by a calm smile. “Now then, please continue.”

Cynthia listens carefully to your story, nodding at certain points and for the most part simply listening silently. On several occasions Carlain butts in a detail of his own, prompting a frown of disapproval from Cynthia at his rudeness but giving her a clearer picture nonetheless. Finally, your story is complete and Cynthia nods for one final time.

“Well, that is a very interesting story. I’m not sure how much of a help I’ll be able to be, but certainly I will answer whatever questions you have to the best of my ability. Not many of our people made it out of Gast alive, you know.” Cynthia concludes, frowning. “Very “accident” prone place, it is.”

Clapping her hands onto her knees, Cynthia works her way back up onto her feet.

“But first, allow me to prepare you some tea. And perhaps some crumpets. The two of you must be thirsty and famished by now, and I would likely to extend my full hospitality. Don’t go anywhere – I’ll be right back!”

And with that, Cynthia hobbles off, leaving you alone in the room with Carlain. A minute after she leaves, the scribbling scrabbling sounds beneath your feet return, with a vengeance. Those squirrels certainly were feisty buggers. After a few minutes however, Cynthia returns, precariously balancing a large tray holding a tea pot, three steaming tea cups, and a plate full of crumpets. Carlain moves to help her without being asked, a surprising act of kindness from the arrogant teenager, but perhaps a sign that he wasn’t completely hopeless.

Taking the tray from Cynthia, Carlain holds it and begins to transfer its contents onto the table. Interestingly, the tea cup he sets down in front of his spot, a beautiful white china cup with red rose buds, is shifted away from his spot over to yours by Cynthia.

“I don’t think you want that cup, lad. I made it using this lovely recipe that includes using rosebuds and cinnamon, specifically so Isera could try it.”

She gives you a conspiratory wink.

“I don’t think it would go well over a man’s taste buds.”

Finally, the table is set with Cynthia’s offered repast, and the old woman cradles her tea cup in her hands, warming them with stolen heat. She raises her cup in a toast.

“Well then, shall we drink to the Canticle? What a lovely organization to give an old woman such as myself the opportunity to still be of use to the newest generation of mages.”

After taking a sip (Carlain also takes a sip but makes a face at the apparently bitter taste of his), Cynthia sets her tea cup aside.

“So then, what did you want to know? I suppose I could just give you a brief overview of my experiences inside Gast, and we could go from there if you wish.”

The Capital

Lonna

Rushing through the butcher shop, you had only enough time to grab, and not choose, your implement of freedom. As was par for the course, Fate decreed that you wound up gripping a large meat cleaver, the heavy and unwieldy blade nearly slipping from your grasp several times during the course of your work. With your legs continuing to mechanically propel you through the city at high-speed, you were beginning to feel the effects of exhaustion creep in. Fear also began to make its own in-roads – would your cursed clothing allow you to collapse in exhaustion, or would it continue to drive you to the point of death, and then in cruel mockery, force your corpse to continue dancing to its perverse jig? You had no desire to find out, and so did the best you could with what you had. The damn cloth fought you every step of the way.

With the wide blade of the cleaver, it was basically impossible to slip it underneath the laces or otherwise cut them apart cleanly – at least, not without opening up your back as well. Your gloved hand joined in the struggle, getting in the way (nearly costing you a finger each time) and attempting to swat the cleaver out of your free hand on several occasions. Eventually, you pressed the edge of the cleaver into the glove covering your arm (with a frantic hope that you weren’t about to slice your entire arm open), splitting it and allowing you to finally peel it off and discard it in the dust behind you.

With both hands now free, your work continued with more success but also at a more frantic pace as desperation set in – you were about to reach the limits of your endurance. Still the dress fought you, clinging to your skin and resisting the cleaver’s edge as much as any cloth could resist a sharp metal edge. It was starting to seem likely you would have to completely strip down to your bare skin in order to be free of this awful curse – and there were quite a few layers of fabric to this (unfortunately) elegant and tasteful crimson dress.

To add to this whole mess, the soft scramble of foot on stone above you causes you to look up, only to see your evil twin’s husband standing on the rooftop above you. How he got there or managed to continue following you on your mad lackadaisical course through the city, you had no idea. Fortunately or perhaps unfortunately, depending on how you look at it, you suddenly come to a stop as your blade apparently finds the last crucial strip of cloth, and the tattered remains of your dress begin to collapse off of you. Only to burst into roaring flame a moment later, immolating you in a curtain of solid fire . . . which surprisingly didn’t feel nearly as bad as it sounded, although it certainly came as a surprise!

((OOC: As a note, the evil twin’s husband is indeed Umber, WhiteKnight777’s character, so please do not immediately tear his heart out. (Note I said immediately. :Xykon: ) Also, the flames surrounding you are dangerous, but not especially threatening, and can be put out with only some effort from either you or Umber – Pyrene, is of course, resistant to them. Yay having command of fire/being part fire-spirit-Fey-thing! )

WhiteKnight777

Forcing yourself to abandon blind pursuit of your lost love was difficult, but undoubtedly necessary. Whatever game Fianna was playing, she was clearly attempting to trick you into exhausting yourself before the true hunt began. Scrambling up onto a nearby rooftop and analyzing the resonance of the ashes only confirmed this. From the ashes, you learned that they held a mélange of magical properties, primarily designed to enhance and protect the clothing’s wearer. But also woven in were enchantments to bind and control, and most mysteriously, destroy – likely the source of the discarded clothing’s previously bizarre self-immolation.

Taken all together, the ashes were another strange mystery – until you looked out and watched, and saw with disbelieving eyes the truth. Like a charlatan stripped of his curtain, Fianna’s fiendish ruse was laid bare to the truth as you looked out and saw no less than five Fiannas dashing across rooftops and down back alleys. The pattern they wove across the city was intricate, and laid out in such a way that even from your perch you caught no more than a few seconds of sight on each copy. Had you continued blind pursuit, you likely never would have noticed the switches, the cunning criss-cross of paths between each copy, designed to disorient and prevent even a determined and speedier pursuer from ever catching up.

All of the copies were exactly identical – the same clothes, the same movements, and had you been close enough, almost certainly the same features and scent. And now here was the second damning trick, the trap-within-the-trap – which one was the real Fianna? Had she even come to your meeting at all, and even now was running along those streets with her doubles, growing farther and farther away from your grasp? Or had she never come at all, forcing you to waste your time completely even if you managed to chase down every single doppelgänger?

There were only two facts which now held off despair. First, as an additional enigma to this whole brain-frying mess, you apparently had an ally. As you watch one of the Fiannas dash out into an open street, one man steps forward from the crowd to block her path. Although you can barely see that he says something to her, your ears are no longer sharp enough to pick it up over the drone of the crowd from this considerable distance. Whatever he says, it clearly has no effect as Fianna charges past him, throwing him away from her into a wall across the street with a single backhand.

Incredibly, this man is made of sterner stuff than the countless sheep of humanity. Despite receiving a combination blow from being struck and then in turn striking the wall, which would have left most men mewling for some time, he picks himself up. He dusts himself off. And then he goes running down a side alley at a stagger, managing to cut Fianna off by virtue of superior street navigation. Again he blocks her path, and again Fianna attempts to swat him out of the way like the obnoxious fly he is. This time he is prepared, and ducks under the blow, grabbing the outstretched limb and twisting the momentum to swing Fianna around into the alley wall. The follow-up assault is utterly remorseless - the man driving his fists into Fianna’s back and slamming her face repeatedly into the wall. One double eliminated then, as Fianna slumps into the man’s arms – unconscious and bloodied but likely not dead. Even so, the real Fianna would not have gone down so easily, and certainly not to a mortal man no matter how determined.

Still, your eyes linger on the man for a few moments more, your curiousity piqued. There was something familiar about him, a certain resoluteness to his movements that could challenge the very mountains. It reminded you a little of Gilgaem, primal fury shackled and focused by an indomitable will. The fury was gone now, replaced by surprising tenderness as the man wipes the blood off Fianna’s face and begins carrying her out of the alley. The fury returns a moment later however, as another Fianna clone races past the alley, undoubtedly eliciting a curse from the man that was almost audible. He dashes out of your sight then, still attempting to carry the one Fianna double he had already eliminated.

You had no time to investigate the matter further right now, for you had to utilize your second ally immediately to have any hope of catching the real Fianna. The magic Fianna was drawing upon was powerful, powerful enough to leave an imprint of her very soul upon it. It was common for such long-lasting effects, especially enchantments such as Fianna favored, to have a sort of resonance with the caster’s soul. In a way, it was a sort of arcane signature, and although it was possible to fake a signature, it was often more trouble than it was worth. Here clearly Fianna thought the same thing, as the essence of her soul was everywhere throughout the enchantments you could taste lingering on the ashes. Perhaps she even thought it would make it more difficult for you to properly identify which double was the real one, as they all undoubtedly had the same enchantments woven into the fabric of their clothes.

But you wouldn’t be looking for the presence of Fianna’s soul, oh no. Instead, you would look at the aura of each double’s soul, and compare it to Fianna’s. It would be difficult, especially with the doubles swathed in clothes containing Fianna’s signature, but now that you had familiarized yourself with Fianna’s unique aura it would at least be possible. And it was your best, and perhaps only, hope of getting to the bottom of this trickery before Fianna got away cleanly.

Casting the necessary spells, you now ran across the rooftops, once more in pursuit of the Fiannas. But this time instead of trying to catch up to them, you merely wanted to catch a glimpse. Starring into the depths of each clone’s soul, past the shell of enchantments, you identified the fakes one by one. These were not shadow clones, but apparently real people whom Fianna had disguised – their ultimate fate bothered you not. Your sole focus was to identify the one whose soul matched Fianna’s . . . and . . . there! That one, running haphazardly down the street bore Fianna’s soul.

Interestingly enough, this “double” seemed to be the one whom you first encountered, as she was missing a glove and a scarf. She was also furiously hacking at her own dress with a meat cleaver, severing laces and chopping off whatever pieces of fabric she could pull away from her own body. You suppose it could be an attempt to change out of her clothing, a further ruse to confound your search. But where then was her change of clothes? Distracted by the army of clones or not, you were certain to notice a naked woman sneaking about. Furthermore, why was she using such an inelegant method to dispose of her current clothing – it almost looked as if she were struggling with the rebellious cloth. You had heard of enchantments sometimes turning back on the enchanter if care was not taken – but Fianna was far too experienced to get caught in her own web.

Certainly, the fact that a moment later, the entire dress collapsed, only to erupt in an immolating blast of flame around Fianna was not part of her plan. Yet this was undoubtedly her in body and soul – so what the devil had you stumbled into now!?

(OOC: As a note, this is indeed Pyrene, Lonna’s character, so please do not immediately rip her head off. (Note I said immediately. :Xykon: ) Also, the flames surrounding her are dangerous, but not especially threatening, and can be put out with only some effort from either you or her – she seems oddly resistant to them. )

OverWilliam

“I’m an inquisitor – I’m allowed to be rude once in a while.” Silverton replied, giving a smile that matches your own. He glances down at the two fingers embedded in his chest.

“And I’m less of a man, more of a nightmare actually.”

In a blur, he snaps a hand up to snag hold of your wrist. But rather than do anything aggressive, he merely lifts your own hand away from his chest – and then, thinking better of it, raises your fingers to his nose. He sniffs deeply, and then gives another grin as he releases your hand.

“So, it’s not so much of a stinky place as a stinky man – what, don’t you people down here ever bathe?”

Silverton sneers at you and then jerks his head to one side.

“Alright, fine. You don’t want to give me a straight answer as to your names, that’s alright. I have other ways of finding that information out, and I *never* forget a face. Keep yourselves out of trouble, and hopefully you’ll forget mine. Now then Larry, about that standing bounty on angels you were looking into for me . . .”

Turning his gaze away from you, Silverton refocuses his gaze solely on Larry – although you note that he continues to keep both you and Melcara within his line of sight. At mention of the angels, Melcara exchanges a knowing glance with you. It seems to make sense that a Church Inquisitor would also be interested in someone attempting to purchase an angel.

“Look, I told you already, that’s uhhh . . . just some urban legend that’s recently sprouted up. I’ve checked into it and that’s all there is to it.”

Silverton chuckles as he picks up a knickknack from a nearby table. He turns it over in his hands and then sets it back down exactly as he found it, minus the dust.

“Well, I’ve got to warn you Larry, I’ve heard some urban legends of my own. Like the propensity for cluttered shacks such as these to suddenly catch fire one night. Terrible thing to happen to anyone, especially for anyone trapped inside.”

Melcara shoots you another glance, this one a warning one as she shakes her head slightly. Larry breaks out in a nervous sweat.

“Listen, it’s going to take me more time to find out what you want to know. Money has to change hands, memories have to be refreshed – it all takes time!”

“Time is a luxury you don’t have right now, Larry.” Silverton looks around, smiles one of his little smug smiles, and shrugs. “Well, I suppose my work here is done. I’ll be back tomorrow – at the usual time. Until then, Larry.”

Silverton begins to walk back towards the door, although he pauses to turn and incline his head towards you and Melcara.

“Sally. And the gentleman whose name I never caught. Be seeing you.”

And then the inquisitor is gone. Larry slumps, wiping his brow.

“Ugh, that man is going to be the death of me, the literal death!”

The broker of news looks at you quizzically.

“What was going on with the two of you, anyway? All that talk of stench and eggs?”

Larry lifts up an arm and sniffs his own armpit carefully.

“What was all that talk of selling angels?” Melcara shoots back, for a moment forgetting her role as your latest ditzy conquest.

“Ah, word out on the street is some jackass wants to buy an angel. A real live, honest-to-gods angel. Ha! I’d have thought the whole thing complete and utter nonsense were it not for all the things I’ve been hearing lately.”

Larry shakes his head.

“I don’t know anything about it though. If I did, I’d have spilled it all to the “good” Inquisitor by now, so if you want to find out you can go stick your own neck out.”

Gorgondantess

Maurice’s eyes lock with your own, although she does not try to break free of your grasp.

“I gave you my word, and I will be very cross if I am unable to keep it. So I think you can relax – I will still be around to . . . enjoy your . . . unique brand of hospitality for some time yet. You may wish to keep your chains close at hand, however, for I am not ready to give my word that I won’t ever attempt escape – just not on this foray.”

Breaking off her gaze, Maurice begins rubbing her neck and wrists where the chains had been a few moments before.

“I appreciate your kindness, or at least willingness to compromise.”

At your question, however, Maurice shoots you another glance.

“You are serious?”

Maurice sighs and rubs her eyes, deep in thought.

“Mmm . . . how to explain. Well . . . perhaps you are aware that animals increase their numbers through . . . certain acts between a male and female member of the species? It is much the same with humans, although occasionally . . . one party, shall we say . . . does not wish to participate. When the other side forces the issue, that’s “having his way” – there are other phrases the humans use, all to refer to the same thing.”

Maurice shrugs.

“I’m not sure that is what the buyer wants with me, although it would not be the first time a mortal has dared to try such a thing. That is just a worst case scenario, however – in all likelihood, he merely wishes to study me or harvest my bodily organs and fluids for use in some sort of profane ritual. Or perhaps something else from a variety of other unpleasant and demeaning things I’ve heard one or another of my sisters forced to endure at the hands of mortals.”

The angel smirks, a sparkle of defiance or perhaps simply mirth in her eyes.

“It might not even be as bad as serving as some creature’s pet.”

Maurice waves a hand towards the mouth of the alleyway.

“Well, shall we be off? I must admit I am curious to see what my new owner looks like – at least, before you mangle him or whatever you intend to do after telling him the deal is off.”

Before leaving, your high priest had informed you that his inquiries into meeting the buyer had fallen into a quagmire of conjecture and heresy. Apparently, no one knew who the buyer was, or even how to get directly in touch with him/her/it. However, apparently the first step of the process was to travel to a certain tavern within the slums, and let slip the phrase “I found what Mr. Montgomery was searching for.”

You didn’t know who this Mr. Montgomery was, but the high priest seemed certain that it was merely a code word and not an actual person. The obnoxious games these humans sometimes played . . . and yet you would have to play this one if you wanted to meet with the buyer. At least long enough to find someone who actually knew what was going on and beat the answers out of him.

[Gorgondantess]

She narrows her eyes at Maurice, pensive for a moment... then lets go. At this point they're not walking, but face to face.
"...Why? Why not attempt to flee? Granted, you're currently lacking the power of flight. Granted, if you tried to escape, you would likely fail. Granted, if you did fail, it would surely mean punishment...
But I am in a small human form at the moment, as well as you. It's at least enough for you to make a break for it while I transform, maybe hide, become lost in the crowd... Isn't there just the faintest glimmer of hope for escape?"
She laughs. "You gave me your word, for sure, but words are meaningless, aren't they? Just bites of sound that translate into what the humans consider language. All there is is power, and what you're willing to do with it."
At Maurice's explanations, she draws her head back, repulsed. Granted, she understands the concept of rape (though it is disappointing she didn't know the euphemism) as she'd seen animals do such things and just naturally assumed humans were much the same... but the idea that a weak, frail and pathetic human could possibly do that to a proud and powerful angel was baffling. Equally baffling that angels had fallen prey to mortals enough that a whole myriad of terrible things had happened to them.
"...Just where do you stand amongst angels? I assumed that all were much the same, like humans, or earthworms, or white oak trees... but I would be very, very surprised if you ever fell under the power of a mortal. How common is this practice of... angel trade... anyways? From the way you speak of it, capturing and torturing your kind seems commonplace."

Whatever the answer, with her mind on other things, she decided not to be crafty or subtle, instead going for her usual M.O.: heading down the alley and bursting into the tavern, she simply announces "I found what Mr. Montgomery was searching for," looking for any knowing faces.

[Lonna]

Pyrene the Incombustible

Pyrene looked startled for moment as the flames roared around her, then smiled grimly. Her evil twin had miscalculated - flames she could deal with. She spread her arms through the blaze, keeping a firm grip on her knife in case her recent pursuer decided to attack, and opened her mind to the fire. These flames were different from the ones she had called from the campsite, a subtle quality that she noticed but did not examine for the moment. Raising her head and half-closing her eyes, she spoke confidently in the crackling, snapping voice of the fire.

"You are mine now. You were hers, but now that you have touched my skin you belong to me. Now, be silent!"

Instantly the blaze died down, leaving a curtain of flames dancing around her but no longer roaring in her ears. Meeting the eyes of her evil twin's presumed husband, Pyrene spoke in a more normal voice. "I don't know who or what that bitch is to you, but I'm not her. She put a spell on the dress, and it was going to try to kill you when you caught up with me. Now as far as I'm concerned that makes us both victims, but if you want," she settled into a fighting stance, gripping the butcher knife expertly, "I'll show you that I'm not the helpless double she thought I was."

It was a bluff of course. The forced run had used up what few reserves of strength Pyrene had left, and there was a good chance he had forgotten more about magic than she ever knew, to be enough of a threat for her evil twin to set all this up. However, there was always the chance that appearing ready to fight would make him hesitate long enough to think through the situation and hopefully leave her alone.