Fantasy Grey & Spectral: The Last Redemption (CLOSED)

[Yonni]

When I awoke,
the moon still hung
The night so black,
that the darkness hummed.
♫♫♫
________________

Starving, hysterical, naked, the Redeemer's took in your depraved body and raised you to destroy the Demoni which gives rise to heinous fruit.

But their creator, Dominatio, had made his move. In a monumental blow, he had slain his fellow god, Sapentia and moved to strike down each of the ruling demigods, her children, after her. His repulsive Darkseed erupted all over the world in festering hoards, turning entire civilizations into frenzied, rippling seas of madness and awful, abominable monstrosities.

Now you must drag yourself from the depths of the ocean to the heights of the cerulean skies if you wish for life to continue on Sol. Your world. Your home. The time has come to dredge up what's left of your humanity through hell and plunge your sword deep into Dominatio's mangled heart.

Many have tried before. Years ago, a wayward group much like you fought against the world's damnation and managed to halt it, if only for a time. A temporary feat. One that almost cost them everything. Crippled and broken, they fell to the wayside. Disappeared. Became forgotten to any who'd ever heard whispers of the Redeemer's, of those who'd struck out against the impossible, against the Gods. It's been years since then and Dominatio is starting to rouse, starting to dig his claws back into the world; mouth frothing.

They were the ones who'd come before you.

And you, you, will be the last.
________________

(credits in sequence: kuciara, could not reverse search, len-yan, gallantgambler)
With love,
Yonni, Heart, Q, Spirit​

 

[Yonni]

The old man bent forward and placed a paper-thin hand on a boy's shaggy head. The familiar creak of his spine kept him from moving further, but even that sour pain could not dampen the smile on his face as all of the children leaned into his words, eyes saucer-wide. Absorbing everything, as they often did. How long ago had he been told the same tales? Even now, as the tale-spinner, he delighted in talking about them. Not that he’d admit that. Ever.

“Story, story!” they bulged at him, like tiny, squalling pups.

“Fine!” it was sharp, his voice. He opened the book once more, traced the age-old spine. It would need mending soon. He perused it frequently, though he wasn’t sure why. Old sentiment, he supposed. He drew his finger across the page, thin as his hands, and pursed his lips at them. “I told you before, didn’t I? Redeemer’s always prevail. But… that there’d be more tears, more heartbreak. More than you could ever imagine. Are you sure you’re ready for such a tale?”

“Of course,” a gap-toothed boy with fiery hair piped up, bursting a bravery that flicked like a small flame, “we’re not children, y’know?” He stood vigilantly at the back row, eyes narrowed. As if it made him older than he was.

The old man’s crackling laugh sounded out. He waved a dismissive hand at him, “Sit down, whelp. The Redeemer’s you know are gone. Done. Dead and forgotten. How’s that sound for you? This is a new story, built on the backs of others.” He paused and felt a twinge in his chest, an old pain “How’s that for heartbreak?” There was a resounding silence, as eyes swung up to stare at him, gawping mouths searching for words. They’d grown tender for these characters, after all. For these people. Very much real.

He adjusted his spectacles and sighed, “This is our story, as well as theirs.”

━━━━━━━━━

Chapter One
​

The blistering heat was no less powerful outside of Litas’ walls, than it was on its outskirts. It sweltered, bloomed above mercilessly, beating down on the backs of those unfortunate enough to linger outside, without the welcoming shade of the nearby trees crowding around Wildekeep’s front yard. Litas no longer housed the Redeemer’s within their gates—too much trouble, besides, they’d suffered so many losses, it was safe enough to shutter their affiliations than offer any help at all. The Wildwoods, they’d said, you can have those. And like stray cats, they’d shooed them from their hallowed halls, relieved to have finally rid themselves of the Demoni-hunters.

They’d wanted that for ages. The King himself thought them little more than a thorn in his side, even if they’d cleaned the streets for him on countless occasions. Keeping the Tainted in line, preventing them from growing bold enough to attack his people, his citizens. The one’s he’d promised to protect. Little good that did sitting on his throne, eyes like two hard jewels set into a face that’s hardly ever seen. He’d never been anything less than a beacon to his people… though, it was clear that he’d never been the type to wade among them. None of the Redeemer’s had ever seen Mendax in person. No, no, not anyone as tainted and dirty as they. If anything, they’d only been herded out of the city when they tarried too long by armored men, the Legionnaires. A silent, foreboding force; ever-vigilant in making them feel unwelcome.

Wildekeep was a sight to behold. It might’ve even felt more like a small village than a stronghold. Oftentimes, wooden carts were pulled up to their gates, or just outside, hawking their wares. Cockles and less-than-fresh fish lined up on cloth sheets, as well as stacked loaves of bread, round cutlets of sweet-cheeses. The leftovers, most likely, that they couldn’t sell in the busy streets of Litas. Because of the people’s unwillingness to sell to them within the city limits, those who were business-savvy enough brought their business directly to them, away from watching eyes. Many people didn’t care who they were, as long as their hands were filled with coin by the end of the day, and the Redeemer’s were all too keen to fill their bellies and tables with whatever they could, even if it wasn’t in the most conventional ways.

Trees crowded around the stone keep and opened up into a yard filled with blooming flowers; shrubs of varying sizes appeared to be well-tended to. Every Redeemer had their own duties when not on the road, whether it was keeping to the hot stoves, serving meals to their brethren, or brushing down the horses kept in the stables. Everyone had their place, and everyone could choose what they preferred to do. They managed like a well-oiled machine, and got along pretty well, under the watchful eyes of the eldest warriors. Those who were too old to pick up the blade any longer, those whose ranks rivaled the hundreds. Too stubborn to die, but too frail to face Demoni any longer. Wizened creatures, crinkles lining their faces, and their eyes, far too distant after all they’ve seen.

Those young enough hunted the woods, of course. It was the best way to fill their larders. They had no end to gifted trackers in their midst—those who were all too willing to trek out in the wilderness, and drag back a deer, two rabbits, pheasants and all sorts of goods their backyard offered. A bounty that kept them distanced from civilization, as it were. They were never directly banned from entering every city, but nowadays, those who spit at their feet had increased in number, and the baleful gazes they received spoke of their most recent shortcomings. Even if those particular things had happened years before, they’d never forgotten, nor forgiven. They remembered, and they always would. Their achievements were little more than dust, sifting at their feet.

They were simply discarded hounds, now. A job still to do, and yet, their owners kicked dirt in their faces. Stepped on their toes. Made their jobs difficult at every turn. Their hands were blackened. Their backs bearing a burden everyone else refused to carry. It was time, now. Time for another chosen few to bear the heavier burdens of those who’d fallen before them. There was an expectation that they would not survive it, as the others had not survived them. Even so, a Redeemer must carry them out to the end. It was the way of things.

Their way.
​

They’d already been chosen, of course. Those who’d take up the mantle, step up to the plate. Or else, everything was fucked. Properly. The last vestige, once more. The number of Demoni had been on the rise, as of late, as well as the Tainted who refused to live within the Consortium’s welcoming city. They were the ones who continued to do what they wanted to, those who believed they deserved the same rights as those who were born normal. Human. Elves. Dwarves. Of course, no city besides the one they’d made up for themselves believed that. They were lepers within their cities, treated like common criminals, and so, they became them. Unfortunately, they’d have to be removed sometimes, if they caused too much of a fuss.

Nica’s sigh was made of heavier things as she stood in the Wildekeep’s main hall, arms folded over her armored chest. There was hardly a time when she removed it and she doubted anyone had seen her go without, even at home. Home. It was a strange word. She’d never had one before, but over the years, she’d come to call this something of the sort. She glanced over her shoulder at the large mural carved into the back wall, overseeing them as they ate. Several tables had been set off to the side, crowded by equally long seats. They all ate in here, though today, the hall was barren. Empty. Silent. Intentionally so. Only those who’d been called here today would be present.

She stared at the mural a beat longer, regarding Amaralyss’s stony features, built into the wall itself. Her likeness was uncanny. Kind features immortalized, watching after them, as she would have. These were her children, and always would be. What words would she have said in her place? She remembered, but doubted she could do them any justice. Her tongue was not meant for the same brand of kindness, and she did not think she could ever invoke the motherly tenderness that Ama had. She drew her gaze away and stared owlishly at the double-doors at the end of the hall, where her Redeemer’s would enter. She knew them by name, knew of their endeavors, their abilities, had watched them like a predator, unflinchingly absorbing how they behaved, how they moved.

After all, she’d hand-chosen each and everyone one of them. This was not random. She never hoped after anything in her life, not after she’d lost everything she cared for, one by one, person by person… but for once in her life, she hoped that she was up to the task.

 

[Quakernuts]

Lilean Beauchamp
"The path winds and turns, we end up lost, never aware of where we were heading to begin with."​

______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________


The steps of one accustomed to never making a sound tended to end up frightening even the most stalwart of individuals when the presence of such a person was discovered. An observation made during the early days, when things came naturally and instincts guided all. The dirt crunched beneath Lilean’s feet as he made his way out of the forest, following the path laid bare by fellow redeemers, merchants and the curious alike. The simple act of making himself heard was a conscious one, his feet planting deeper into the ground with a purpose as those closest to him turned their heads ever so slightly to see the Ranger walk out and into the open. It wasn’t quite announcing his presence, but he had never been one for pageantry and this was a good middle ground.

His hands weighed heavily at his sides today as he continued towards the keep, the people there to hock their wares and throw steel traps known as smiles at the Redeemers who could never turn away a meal. A couple people wrinkled their noses, a few more had their hearts skip a beat, and even a couple managed to just barely keep away a grimace as the ever familiar stench of blood wafted between them all, kept at bay by the smells of the rest of the makeshift market. Lilean had done his best to wash, but it would take time for the reminder of his previous day’s travel to truly leave him behind. At the very least, everyone who did happen to catch a whiff of it were polite enough to not point it out. A blessing brought about by a necessity for business.

With the initial trial of gauging Lilean over, the need to provide for themselves and their families overcoming Lilean’s Hood and eyes so deep it felt like there was no need for an abyss, they came at him with shark teeth and siren songs. “Redeemer! Do you have need of fish! My, it looks like you haven’t eaten in days, you need to fatten yourself up for the fights ahead!”

“You have to try my mutton, best lambs gutted and sold within a day of each other! Won’t find anything fresher!”

“You know you can’t go wrong with my carrots! Mixes well with potatoes and more than a handful of snapping peas!”

“Me got food, You gotz money, let’s make a trade eh?”

That last one got a smirk out of Lilean, as he always did tend to prefer the sales pitch of those who couldn’t care about the advertisements and just wanted to sell what they had to people who needed it. That, or someone just wasn’t well educated enough. Every person that approached him, Lilean turned away, his headache increasing as the number of people seemed to surround him like a rising cacophony of blaring screams. He needed to get past the stalls to feel at peace, to stem the tide so to speak, and so his steps quickened ever so slightly. Most of the merchants took the hint, a few more tailed after him ever so slightly. Their body language and breathing giving away their mentality.

‘Fine, be that way dick.’

Lilean’s hands subconsciously reached out to the gate, which upon proximity, opened to him as if he had willed them to do so. As he stepped inside, looking up onto the ramparts to the Redeemers currently on guard duty, he gave a small nod in recognition. Steadfast, breathing normal, muscles tense and ready. The standard cue of a Redeemer, always ready for a fight even when everything feels safe. One of the guards nodded back as they started closing the gate the moment Lilean was through. As it closed, the noise seemed to lessen for Lily. He could still ‘feel’ everyone outside, but it was more an annoyance than it was a crushing disability.

Inside the gate, Lilean was presented with a garden that had been wonderfully tended to. Even now, a couple of Redeemers moved around the plants and watered them, trimmed them, and some even were talking to them. Every Redeemer had their quirk, this was not a place of judgement, but mass acceptance. It was the only place where their kind could feel normal in a world that had deemed them a necessary evil. Several paths lead around the keep itself, mostly covered in some kind of floral ornamentation. They had worked hard to make this place a contradiction. Every Redeemer lived a life that many would consider ‘Horrid’ or ‘Utterly Vile’. Lilean couldn’t speak for the others, but he enjoyed the irony.

“Ah, the fancy mouth comes back…” A harsh voice broke the relative silence, causing Lilean’s eyes to lazily move towards the sound. Looking at the man was unnecessary, once Lily was paying more attention to where it had come from, he already had all the information he needed just by listening. Darius, an old Redeemer, a Tank. Tall, wide, built like a barn and above all else, a caretaker. He had long since passed his glory days as a Redeemer, instead sitting here and making sure WildeKeep was always welcoming to those that came after him. “I had a feeling you’d be back soon enough, with what the rumor mill has going around.”

Lilean’s eyes never directly looked at Darius, although once again, he never really needed to. Darius had long hair that was splotchy, with obvious bald spots covering his scalp. His skin had been rubbed and sliced into a calloused nightmare, to shake hands was to grip a knife by the blade. His eyes, a deep blue once maybe, were a milky white. Yet they saw with a clarity that oftentimes surprised the Ranger. A haphazard attempt at a beard accompanied what could be classified as hair on the man’s head, while a grungy set of overalls and deep black mud cased boots kept his feet from suffering the same fate. He looked, smelled and sounded like an uneducated man who had lived far too long in a world where no one cared or remembered his past glories.

It’s why Lilean liked him so much. A completely obvious man at first glance, and a complete enigma when one stared. “The bird cries for it’s fallen fledglings, we are among one of the many who flies up in return.”

“Yep, Nica shouts you jump and you never ask how high, you better damn well just hit it, you know?” Darius nodded, wiping away at his nose with his thumb and nodding slightly. Lilean could tell he wasn’t sure if he had gotten the meaning of Lilean’s response, but that was fine. “But nice of ya to not bother beating around the bush, so she is putting out feelers huh?” Darius smiled at his own little knee slapper of a joke, stopping just short of jabbing Lilean in the side with his elbow.

“A fine assessment to a situation abyssal. A star will be born, and we will be brought into the light”

“So you don’t know shit. Figures, but I thought I would see where the waters were sittin’, ya know?” There was a brief pause between them, Lilean seeing no reason to continue and Darius figuring out what to say next. It could have been classified as awkward if Lilean was capable of ever feeling out of place. “Anyways, rooms are done up. You know where to go, just make sure you’re not putting anyone else out, ya get? Ya need something from the garden, find me. See ya at dinner there fancy mouth.”

Lilean gave a nod and watched as the man practically waddled away under the mass that was his own weight. A rumor mill? Word was getting out, but then again, it wasn’t surprising. It was practically impossible to hide and build secrets from those who basically had the abilities of demons. Still, Lily didn’t fully understand why he had been called back, but Darius was right. If the head of the order demands your return, you don’t question it, you simply make haste back to Wildekeep. Barring a demon incursion the day prior, Lilean had thought he had made pretty good time.

With Darius out of the way, and the small interrogation he had attempted on the Ranger having given Lilean more information than the other way around, Lilean made his way through the garden. His hands flitted to the flowers, gracing a few of them with his fingertips and feeling the plant down to the stem and roots. It was life, and it always made Lilean smile ever so slightly. LIke clinging to a freshly washed blanket that had been heated up next to a fire, it was pleasant.

Lilean made his way into the keep, and was greeted by a small foyer that led off in several directions. At the far end were a set of double doors, flanked by stairs that lead up to a second floor. Carpeted concrete, lit sconces and the sweet smell of honey and lavender floated through. Someone had been cleaning, or to put it more accurately, the hearts beating a few rooms away indicated someone was still cleaning. They were doing a good job, as even this relatively small fortress of the Redeemers looked ready to host the most pretentious of people.

Lilean walked forward, glancing at a couple paintings set on the walls depicting battles past and Redeemer sacrifices and victories. Lilean had never been a part of those, as if they had happened in some other universe where people cared about their order as much as their order cared about them. A depressing topic to be certain, so Lilean wiped it from his mind as his hands pressed against the double doors leading to the main hall of Wildekeep.

Before he could even fully open the doors, his senses reached out, an instinctual reaction to being watched like some kind of prey. His hands twitched upon the doors as the figure of Nica was made obvious in his peripheries. Her heart beat steady, her breathing normal, her figure placed firmly in a position to gaze at whoever walked through the door. The uncomfortable feeling of having a set of eyes judge you never goes away regardless of the commonality of it, but this one felt slightly different.

It wasn’t quite judging so much as it was grading him.

Having finished pushing open the doors, Lilean strode inside, his walk confident but his eyes downcast as he moved forward. It was a habit he had picked up ever since his sensor powers had awakened. He relied a great deal on his sense of touch, and that meant that his eyes had been fooled before where his abilities had not been. Outside of combat, he tended to rely on what he could read from people as opposed to see, but he did make an effort to afford eye contact if someone ever started to feel put off by this.

The walk to Nica was short, but felt far longer than necessary as no words were spoken between them in the interim. The tables had been shoved off to the side, and the entire area felt off in a way that spoke volumes to Lily. Usually this place had an undertone of mirth and comfort, yet today it was filled with desperation and lucidity. Like a clarity had been brought about here, but not one that he was privy to know. It made Lily’s skin crawl, a foreboding sensation that had never steered him wrong before. Still, he couldn’t base everything he was on just his feelings and intuition, but he could guide his decisions.

When he finally stopped in front of Nica, bringing his eyes up deliberately to look into hers, it became obvious that she was attempting to fool his ability to read her, or more aptly put, make herself less like an open book and more like a painting. “The moon’s glare casts upon thy face Lady Nica. We hope the sun’s rays have done the same in passing.”

 

[Heartfeltwords]

Channeller Warren
"Strange things did happen here, no stranger would it be, if we met at midnight in the hanging tree."
​

A bird, as yellow and bright as a dandelion, lit softly upon the edge of the garden wall. It, as many others sometimes were, had been drawn by the soft lilting melody lifting softly from the branches of the gnarled old tree in the back of the garden. The sound was more a mockery of birdsong; an attempt to mimic not unlike a starling--but different enough, wrong enough, that it left human skin to crawl. A sound like the ghosts of children, laughing in a burned an empty house. At least --that's what Nelle imagined it would sound like. One thin, pale, leg dangled from the thick bough of the old maple, toes bare and wiggling freely along with the melody she murmured. Birds, curious of the sound, would land, tipping their tiny heads this way and that as they listened. Though the wisp of a woman never made moves toward the tiny animals; the scent of a predator was unmistakable and they would soon take to the skies once more or preen at a much safer distance.

It had been dull at Wildekeep. They had told her that this was, "for her own good" but she knew it was not really for her benefit. Yes, she was the weapon they had created--but she worked too well. She was too efficient at killing. Too indiscriminate. Last time, she took down several foes, and half her own team. She had warned them. But it seemed it took her being covered in their blood for them to hear her. They assigned her here for "R and R" but it felt very much like a punishment. It was quiet here. It gave too much space for her own thoughts to creep in. At night, the nightmares had even started again. She had woken screaming more than once, clawing her way out of imaginary rubble. Putting terror into her bunk mate's soul. That bastard even slept too quietly.

Nelle often found her way out to the garden in this way. There was always some kind of noise out here. Insects gnawing leaves, birds chirping, wind blowing along plants and over the garden walls and others like her going about their business. The others kept their distance, mainly. They had heard of her. "Stay out of the path of Warren..out of the path of War." The whispers went. That was fine with her. In fact, she encouraged their fear. Creeping out from unexpected places and startling her housemates became a favorite past time. Or picking a particularly eerie song to sing while they spoke in whispers about her. Thought she couldn't hear. She could. She could hear everything. If she wanted. Sometimes, even if she didn't. But she preferred even the fevered whispers to silence. In the silence, her mind would fill her ears with a sound like rushing fire. So, she found a way to drown it out.

The woman quieted her singing, listening instead. Across the yard, she could hear the old gate creak, and could hear the old wide caretaker, Darius greeting someone as they came through. The voice that answered was familiar, the style poetic. Nelle tipped her head, her wild loose curls rippling in the movement. It was unusual for her to encounter someone more than once, these days. Unless they were her useless bunk mates. But this voice tugged at her, pulling strings of comfort from a memory she just couldn't unearth. The conversation ended, and the speakers parted ways. One must have entered inside. Was today the day of that meeting? She'd lost track of the days in this place. A small flame of excitement lit in her belly. Surely, the meeting would end her unwanted downtime! At least that was something. Finally. Softly, she jumped from her perch, landing in the soft well-worked earth below. Her toes left little imprints where she walked, and she felt the curl of a smile poke at her lips as she made her way toward the back door. She'd left her boots at the back stoop, unwilling to trod on any tender plants. Deftly, she put them on, and crept inside.

This door led into the kitchen, another of Nelle's preferred places in the keep. She often volunteered in the kitchens, as they were all expected to do some helpful thing around this over-sized house. It was better for her to cook anyway, rather than risk being served a tasteless meal. That was just torment on top of torment. Usually, it was alive with the noise of prep, cleaning, cooking, voices. But it wasn't yet meal time, and only her own booted footsteps greeted her. Nelle hummed to herself momentarily, before refocusing. The familiar voice. The meeting. This quickened her step, even as she brushed leaves from her hair, and absently wiped her hands across her once white loose tunic shirt. She looked more like an urchin than the military force she was known to be. She suspected this mismatched exterior was what set people most on edge around her. That and the singing. Always the singing. But that suited her needs. Don't get close. Keep away. It was better for everyone.

As she made her way toward the main hall, she softly, titillatingly sang, " I've seen many men wandering, All strong and brave and keen, Seen them growing into rulers, But I long for the sea. Heard a ship came from North, To our harbor for a day, And before misfortune knows, I'll be on my way."

She heard the muffling of voices as others sought to hide from her. Whispers hushed, doors closed. Just the way she liked it. Ahead, she could hear the familiar male voice again, greeting Nica. Doors did not matter to her ears. She kept singing with each step, but gave a small bump to her abilities and her own voice became silent to her ears. Still, she had perfect pitch--that much she knew just from practice. With her mind, she threw the doors open ahead of her , hands in her pockets, lips wrapped around the lines of the song as she skipped around the chorus, "With my crew on the sea, And the day that I return, A hero I shall be!" Nelle belted this part, before using her mind to slam the door shut behind her. The sound returned as she unfocused her powers from her mind, and back to a sleeping place. Or as sleeping as hers really got. She grinned impudently at Nica and the man before her. The face was as familiar as the voice. Tribal tattoos. From the dusty shelves of her memory, his face flew into place with the previously felt comforting sensation. Bouchamp.

Briefly, the impudent, taunting grin fell as recognition hit her. But quickly it was back in place. A crazed mask that she was used to wearing. It wasn't that she disliked, Lilean Bouchamp. If anything, she found him overly agreeable. His tolerance and general consideration of her unsettled her. But more so, recalling the pang of vacancy she felt upon their last parting unsettled her most of all. Nelle grinned at him, walking on the balls of her booted feet towards Nica and Lilean.

"Boo-hoo, Boo-hoo, always good to see yoooou." Nelle intoned in a taunting, sing-song sort of way. Like a school yard girl picking on someone. Nelle tilted her head, blonde hair cascading across her thin shoulder. She giggled softly, before settling herself on one of the tables. Sure, there were plenty of seats--but the table felt more right. She sat with her boots dangling off the edge of the tabletop, resting on the seat. She'd be the one to have to clean it if she left boot marks where they ate after all.

Nelle tilted her head at Nica in greeting. As usual, Nica had a certain sort of pressure about her. Yet, even that failed to stifle Nelle much. People said all sorts of things about Nica; how she was some kind of survivor. A high rank. Nelle respected that--in her own way. She'd made a point to never try to startle the woman, and never picked the locks in her room. Everyone else was pretty much fair game. To Nelle, looking at Nica was like looking ahead to her future. Though, she doubted she could ever maintain a stoic silence as long as Nica could.

"Ready when yooouuu arrreee." Nelle trilled at the woman, grinning like a cat that'found an interesting toy.

​

 

[Yonni]

Nica​

Ama had once told her that she would see glimpses of them, in others. A small familiarity that would make her cock her head at them, wondering just what parts slid together. She’d seen nothing of the sort since she’d subjected herself to become Wildekeep’s stoic guardian. A statue, more like. If she’d seen herself engraved into the walls, she would not have been surprised. Perhaps, a much smaller version than was she was now. Who she was. A small, owlish girl, always staring. Wholly mute, save for the moments her voice needed to crackle to life. She was merely a memorial of days-gone, one that was still necessary for a cause that had never been here before, but now was. It was strange, even now.

History now had its eyes on them, and it would not be kind. They would suffer. She would suffer. That much was a given. If they at all expected an ordinary assignment that would have them coming back here, falling into to their usual routines once more, until their next mission, then she would make it clear as day that that would not be the case. After all, it was her duty to hand them the impossible. She’d never been the sort to tiptoe around the inevitable, and she would answer their questions with the austerity of someone who had nothing else to lose. A cold heart beating in a warm body. In essence, she would be handing them a death sentence, as they had been given so long ago. However, it belonged to her, as well.

A shared fate. Suitable.

She supposed she hadn’t been surprised when she saw Lilean walk into the hallowed halls first. Though much like her, an oddity among the more boisterous Redeemer’s, he had always been resolutely reliable on his missions. It didn’t matter who he was paired with—it seemed as if he had the ability to adapt to any situation, ill or no, and he did what was necessary, even if the situation was not in his favor. He was a boulder in the water, bearing the strongest of currents, with a tongue that wove prose she did not profess to understand. She blinked at him as he approached her, but made no movement to close the distance between them. Only watched him, expression still. Lilean was a Sensor, like Ama had been. What she’d lacked, he had in spades. An apt contrast that she spared no second thought to.

Nica inclined her pale face to regard him as he broke the silence. From this distance, it was clear how peculiar her eyes were. Her right was a deep purple, unnaturally so, and the other was the same green of Lilean’s patched cloak. Unsettling. One of many things people whispered about behind her back. Of course, there was admiration there, but it came with a wariness that kept people from her door. She finally cleared her throat, as if it were a neglected chamber, shaking the dust loose, “It is good to see you, Lilean.” The greeting itself sounded awkward, though she bore it no mind. It was, perhaps, the most he’d ever seen her speak. All business. “The other’s should be here soon."

When the doors slammed inwards, and nearly bounced off the wall, she stood unflinching. Her eyes slowly dragged away from Lilean’s face, and watched as Channeller bounded down the middle of the hall, a bounce in her step, and a song in her throat. A bird, fluttering and threatening to alight at any moment. She reminded her of someone, or someone’s. The same restlessness in her bones, albeit here stood someone much sadder. Someone with the same look in her eyes as she had. She watched as she hopped onto the table, swinging her legs in childlike delight. This one had just as many bad things whispered about her, things that made people question Nica’s decision to even consider her. However, she was insistent. This was her choice. Her death sentence. She saw something there, a strength that would not be denied. A flame that could not be quelled. And if she was wrong… so be it.

Nica’s owlish expression did not shift as she regarded their new addition. Though she did tilt her head, much like the birds who crowded at Nelle’s window when a song graced her lips. “We have,” her eyes fell past them and back towards the door, “two others joining us.”

Felipa Verlet
"Brick by brick, the walls are building all around my feet."
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This came as no surprise to Felipa, she’d already spoken to Nica about it enough times. Not that the woman graced her with so much as an empty-eyed stare, or a shooing of her hand. She filled the silence with her voice, kept enough conversation going for her mentor to maintain her silence. It no longer felt eerie. No longer made her wonder if the woman simply resented her presence, because she made it very clear that she allowed it and if it was anything otherwise, her door would remain shut to her. That she’d been chosen had not come as a surprise either. It made sense, seeing how long she’d dogged Nica’s heels for. How insistently she persisted.

Nica had taken her in a long time ago, when she existed in a bleaker world she’d chosen to forget. Without thinking of the consequences, she’d picked her up by the scruff, as if she were nothing more than an abandoned pup. Nowadays, she was practically her shadow. An efficient one, at that. While they only seemed to share a one-sided bond of affection, one that she was painfully aware of, they worked well with each other. She was her blade, with hands that’d been more than steeped in blood and gore and violence. She questioned no order. None, ever. It made her a good Redeemer, a steadfast ally to have at your side in battle, and a questionably immoral friend.

She, too, greeted Darius in passing with a shark-like grin on her face, wide. Voice low, a man’s voice. He slapped her on the back and she laughed much too loudly. It carried across the yard. Everything she did was loud. If she had the ability to be quiet, she’d certainly never exercised it. This was a trait that many liked about her, and others found irritating. She was always the first to lean in, eyes alight and mouth ready with another story. Another tale, grander than the last. About her, supposedly. A good man, they’d say. Her shoulders were pulled back and her gait assured, hand resting on the hilt of her axe. She’d already donned her armor, strapped up her leathers and boots, swept fingers past cropped hair. Made sure it looked fine, that she looked fine.

Her mask, appropriate. Fitted. Comfortable.

The door earned a kick from her boots, and swept open once more. Her long strides took her into the halls, past the chairs that’d been pushed off to the side. All important, they were. The sole souls here, on some big goddamn assignment she knew nothing about. Nica would tell her nothing. Even so, it made her chest swell. Her head too, probably. Her eyes scanned across the unusually empty hall and lingered on Nica for a moment, then Lilean, and lastly, Nelle. Her gaze stuck there, abruptly halting her approach. Her. Whatever words she’d conjured up stuck in her throat, unwilling to leave her lips. Her. The girl who’d seen her. She’d been avoiding her ever since, unwilling to explain herself… to ruin everything she’d worked so hard to create.

Lip tried to smooth the strained expression she could already feel pulling at her face. Tried to manage it into something that belonged on the face of someone who didn’t care, who was just happy to be here; an agreeable grin. Nothing more, nothing less. She idled up to the opposing side, and plopped down on one of the benches. Natural. Easy. Ignore the sickly thumping of her heart. The flush of heat and cold shivering down her spine. The discomfort of secrets, with the possibility of it bearing its ugly face. “Oi, what a wayward band y’ave got already, Nic,” her accent was thick, uneducated, much like Darius’, and with all the lack of etiquette, as well, “Didn’t expect to see you two here.”

Nica only nodded her head. “One more is set to arrive.” She paused and crossed her arms over her chest, “I will take any questions you have, if you’d like, before I tell you what is to come.” If it was at all to ease their nerves, she certainly did not say so.

 

[Yonni]

Scour
"The birds surrounding my body, crushing every bit of bone."
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Crooked feet stretched out across the grass, black nails digging into the dirt outside of Wildekeep’s gates. It felt cool against the bottom of Scour’s feet. Made him feel grounded. Anchored in place, made the world feel as if it were slowing down for him. He often lingered out here, whenever he wanted to be in peace, because it was one of the few places he wouldn’t have eyes staring after him. Besides, he had a lot on his mind. Nica sending after him was unusual, at most. Worrisome, at best. She’d never truly paid him any mind before, and he hadn’t even served beneath her on any assignments before. He’d only seen her from afar, donning a helmet: her face, impassive as the murals that graced their halls, unmoved.

He reached his arms above his head, towards the skies, in a catlike stretch and then planted his hands on his hips, pushing them out into his usual routine that made him feel revitalized. The same kind he usually did whenever he practiced in the yard, before he twirled around with his blade in hand, slashing at hay-filled dummies lining the yard. When he was satisfied, he stared up at the sky. The sun was at its highest point, blaring down at him. He shut his eyes against its warmth and puffed out a sigh. Loads of Redeemer’s would have clamored for Nica’s attention. Being in her company was a great honor, and one that might’ve had people envious. However, he didn’t want any of that. He didn’t care, not at all. A Redeemer was a Redeemer—no more special than the next.

At one time or another, she’d probably stripped some poor kid away from their family, too. Like a specter, running families across the lands. It’s what they did. The Rite of Recruitment was designed that way. A means of to have an unlimited source for potential soldiers. He scrubbed a rough hand across his jawline, pressed fingers across the tusks that jut out from his lip. They’d all seen him before, either in the dining halls or wandering the hallways… even still, he felt like an outcast among outcasts. A friendless one, at that. This place was not a home. It never would be. His fingers drew up to the tip of his tusk, and dropped it back down to his side. He would need to go soon. Meet with the others. Others, his stomach felt like a tight knot.

His footsteps felt heavy as he passed the front gates and entered the courtyard. Barefoot, as always. No boots would fit his malformed feet—good gods, they’d tried to make something before, but aside from sandals, there wasn’t much point to it. His feet were made of tougher stuff, anyway. Scour smoothed his hands over the front of his leathers, fixing the fastenings and making sure everything was where it was supposed to go. He patted off the remnants of grass from the seat of his pants, and climbed up the steps, lowering his head to avoid any unnecessary greetings.

Swallowing against the growing fear in the pit of his stomach, and his general unease, Scour’s hand fell across the handle of the door, which he resolutely pushed open. There was no sense delaying the inevitable. He had no choice, anymore. It was part of being a Redeemer. Having their freedoms stripped away. Replacing old chains with new. His tail twitched at his side, as he entered the hall, shutting the door quietly behind him. He chewed at the inside of his lip as he approached the others. They were all familiar to him. He knew their names, knew who they were. Seeing Beauchamp here softened the tension in his shoulders, but when his eyes slid onto Felipa, they squared once more. Vile man, with a smile that looked and felt like daggers.

Nica’s eyes raised to meet his, unflinching. His mouth worked to form some sort of greeting—but he didn’t need to, because she dropped her hands from her chest and nodded at each one of them, as pleased as someone could be without showing it on their face, “Good. We’re all here then. Questions will wait.” There was a short pause, before she seemed to consider something. Her voice was bereft of emotion. Factual. “First, everyone will take their turn introducing themselves. I believe you all know each other to some degree, but I was told once that this was a necessary custom, as we’ll be working with each other for a long time, if the fate’s are kind.” It was unclear whether she believed it was necessary herself, or if she was just going through the motions of someone else’ teachings, someone else’ way of leading. “State your name, rank, class and anything else you wish to share.”

Another pause, this time, pointed.

“I will go first. I am Nica, recruiter of Wildekeep and commander of this assignment.” That she’d left out her rank and class seemed intentional, though by the blank look on her face, it appeared as if she would broach no answer to that exclusion. She swept a hand to her side, towards Beauchamp, and flagged an eyebrow.

Next.

 

[Quakernuts]

Lilean Beauchamp
"The new often brings with it trials and tribulations mixed with pleasant sensations"​

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Nica knew how to keep a stoic figure, hide all imperfections and project an authority that far outweighed her size. To anyone else, she was a model leader and exemplary fighter. To Lilean, she was a woman, stretched but well within her means and adequately positioned to her role. The slight twitch of a cheek, her eyes darting ever so slightly and quickly to the side, one breath larger than the others. She was attempting to steady herself. Even as she made the attempt to greet Lily, the words forced but the intent behind them clear. There was respect there, from her to him, and it was acknowledged. Lilean simply gave a shallow nod in response, as he was the first one here after all. He didn't have anything in common with Nica, and he could tell that she wasn't a fan of small talk. That had nothing to do with his sensor abilities, that was just common sense and basic 'reading the room'. Others were coming, and naturally this was of no shock to Lilean. He doubted he alone would be asked by Nica herself to do something. While his rank was fairly high, he always made a note to try and team up where applicable, and continue on alone if necessary.

The dilation of a pupil, the flare of a nostril, and the subtle creaking of a door instinctively impressed Lilean's abililites to the forefront. A woman, larger than she would appear, skipped to the merriment of a musical choice that could be considered questionable. Lily's head tilted ever so slightly towards the woman, but he didn't need to look at her to recognize her. A mask so blatant as to be obvious, a smile so sharp as to be knives, and behind it all someone who simply never wanted her heart to break ever again. A defensive mechanism, understandable but ultimately childish. No, that was the wrong way to look at it, not everyone had the benefit of reading everyone around them, some just had to guess. The better descriptor for it would be...rudimentary.

She sauntered up to him with a grace that defied her tone and overall message. A mocking tone, a condescending monikor, a fake appeasement hiding a very true message. Hearts never lie, neither do eyes, lungs or smells. Lilean smiled softly at her, bowing his head once again ever so slightly. "A tone conveyed, message received, a pleasure once again." Lilean replied once Channeller was done with her entrance. A levity that was often at odds with a force meant to fight the forces of a false would be god. Lilean looked back at Nica, who informed them they were to be joined by two others. A number, a team of four it would seem. A standard quota, a reasonable assumption, a dangerous insinuation. Lilean's eyes looked up briefly at Nica as he stared through her, attempting to glean further information without having to resort to words.

Interrupted by the door swinging open again, this time with a boot, size uncommon but practical. Another woman strode across the distance to them, her footsteps heavier by design, her posture slumped by reflex, and her eyes affixed like a predator from experience. Born from the slush of mental inacuity, he couldn't fault her for her speech or manners, but the desires that sprung forth from the woman like a sinking boat always managed to force Lilean to second guess his exposure. As if reaching too far into this woman would cause irreparable damage not only to his mental state, but more than likely his liver and spleen as she ripped him asunder. Her face was easy and impassive, the radiant danger pulsing from her wasn't. Lilean's reactions were slow, acting almost as if he was blind. His eyes never directly looked at either of the women, instead his head simply tilted in their direction. His hands were cupped behind his back and his posture was steadfast, yet malleable. "A word to the wind often drops its meaning. The sun has graced us once again." Lilean stated, no smile on his lips for this particular person but more of a harsh understanding of her position. She was, for all intents and purposes, Nica's right hand. The connection to the two was felt in the way Nica's and Felipe's body's reacted when looking at each other. Subtle and indirect, but comforting and common. Nica asked about questions as they waited for their last member, but none sprang to mind for Lilean. To have questions, there would have to be a reason for said questions to exist. The only one he wanted to convey was why they were drawn here together, himself and these Redeemers he had met in passing.

Channeller's expression shifted, like a cat sighting prey, as she focused on Felipe. Her shoulders bunched and stretched. A smile pulled at her lips, as if she sensed Felipe's discomfort and it was delicious.She, in turn, only narrowed her eyes at her, tapping her foot on the ground impatiently.

Before his mind could wander anymore, the last member of their troupe entered the room. The door entered with all the trepidation of a lost child, eyes surveying the room for threats and treats. This one was different from the instinctually maddening Channeller. He was a large man, a creature some of the impolite variety would say, but he was small. Everything twitched and tensed, his breathing was rapid and irregular, but small enough to not draw attention. His tail scuffed the floor at irregular intervals and his muscles tightened with a clarity that almost made Lilean smile in jest. It was like witnessing a rabbit scurry out of it's burrow, and he couldn't help but enjoy the mental image for a moment. Still, he felt the body lessen in tension when Scour's eyes peered over at him, and double when they looked at Felipe. Scour appeared to either have experience with the woman, or he was more perceptive than he showed. Scour said no words, coming to join the others with as little flair as possible. Lilean made the effort to look him directly in the eyes once he had positioned himself, giving a small smile and a soft nod before returning his attention to Nica.

Channeller's gaze shifted once again. Yet the expression was something out of place. As if she saw, not prey, but kin that required care. She stared at Scour with wide, curious eyes, unabashed in her gaze.Scour's eyes raised to meet Lilean's, and then dropped a moment, before he regarded her with a stare of his own. More out of curiosity, it seemed, because he was the first to look away. Instead, he studied his feet, or the floor, it was difficult to tell which.

Now was the moment, as Nica moved on to begin the briefing. She made it clear this was no small assignment, the apprehension hidden from her voice but carried in her skin. The hairs on her arms and back of her neck were standing upright, as if she was expecting something, but even Lily couldn't read minds. Instead, she opted for everyone to get to know each other first. Lilean nodded, closing his eyes as he took a breath and waited for Nica to finish stating who she was and what her role was. Coincidentally, she left out her own rank despite that being one of the things she wished for others to explain about themselves. A contradiction brought about by a mandatory hypocrisy. Even with his eyes closed, he could see everyone clearly, and as her hand swept to Lilean he turned to face the group fully. His hood was still drawn slightly, his eyes remained shut but he placed his hands in front of himself.

"This vessel goes by the title of Lilean Beauchamp." Lily started, pausing for a moment as he reflected on what to say next. "We are capable of witnessing fourteen souls ahead of us, brought about by experience and necessity. We carry their burdens and we shoulder their weight as the world is brought to us in clear detail." Lilean opened his eyes, peering at all of them in order. "Shattered, Stern, Scared." Lily stated, his eyes wandering from Channeller to Felipe to Scour. "This existence has opened our senses to the will that collectively binds, the deaf will hear and the blind will witness, for we will show them the path." Lilean gave a nod, fully understanding not everyone was a fan of his speech, but it was so far ingrained into him he couldn't stop it now if he tried. He closed his eyes, his full attention on those who wished to go next.

Channeller tipped herself off the table, landing gently on the balls of her feet. Flashily, she gave a twirl and twisted grin curled up her cheeks.

"Chan-neller War-ren.." She intoned in sing song fashion. "31... dead and counting." The woman blinked, and her eyes became suddenly white with blindness, and her voice shot out like a cannon as she amplified her voice: "MAGNIFIER" she boomed. She blinked again, eyes returning their sight."The rumors... are all... truuuueee." she intoned softly, a hiss, an unnerving lullaby. Channeller looked each person carefully in turn around her, eyes sharp as daggers. She chuckled for effect, and using her arms pulled herself back to sit on the tabletop, waiting for the rest to speak. Restless for the next shoe to drop. If Lily's "shattered" comment at all bothered her, her mask betrayed little of it.

It took Scour a moment to realize it was his turn. He’d been listening intently, ears perked. Channeller’s booming voice nearly made him jump out of his skin. His tail slapped against the nearest table, black eyes drawn wide, before she returned to her sing-song nature. He smoothed a clawed hand across his chest, as if he were settling ruffled feathers. Quiet his beating heart. Channeller chuckled, pleased to get a rile out of anyone. If he noticed anyone staring at him, he certainly was doing his best not to pay it any mind. He chose to look at Nica, though that wasn’t any better. Her impassive stare was expectant. Like staring into a statue’s face. Blank, now. He saw nothing there. Nothing at all.

He took a deep breath, but remained seated, “Uh, I’m Scour. Rank 10.” A pause, before he dropped his hand into his lap. “Parasitic.” There were always negative connotations to that class, as if belonging to the Numen race was any better. A beastly layer atop another beastly layer. It was unfortunate, and painful, but he’d been told that he had far less chances of becoming an Abomination because of it. Lucky then, in a way.

“Pretty, but crazy,” Lip reiterated, eyes tracing along Channeller’s face, then Lilean’s, “and Bard-boy.” She used the same tone Lilean had. As smooth as a flowing river, slipping past rubble, and stones alike, uninterrupted. A song of a different tone. A bard’s tongue, a voice that belonged solely to the forest. It sounded just like him, too. Though, it was clear it hadn’t come from him. His mouth hadn’t moved. He stood immobile, hands clasped behind his back. Her mouth twisted ever so slightly at the corner’s, eyes like two hard pieces of flint. “Bastard,” she hooked a thumb at her chest, and arched her eyebrows at Scour and scoffed, “coward.”

Channeller tilted her head at Felipe's blunt description of her and grinned pointedly. She swung her legs lazily and softly sang at the woman In disguise,

"Til all my sleeves are stained red, from all the truth that I've said. Come by it honestly, I swear... tell me what you want to hear, something that will light those ears... sick of all the insincere, so I'm gonna give all my secrets away." She practically hissed the last line, and gave a laugh that was somewhere between insincere and self satisfied before she quieted. Still, her bright eyes bore into Felipe sharply. A warning. As subtle as she could be in her own way. A muscle jumped along Lip's jawline, though she said nothing more.

Nica only watched, eyes betraying no thoughts. Not even a hitch of annoyed breath or a stutter of a heartbeat, betraying some hidden disapproval. She simply watched and analyzed their reactions. Lilean would feel nothing from her, only an ever-present state of presence, because she was here, but she would not interfere.

Lip rounded her shoulders, and raked a hand through her cropped hair, eyes lidded and lazy. “Felipa Verlet. Known as Lip,” her voice dropped back into its usual candor, heavy accented, bereft of the poetry she’d previously mimicked, “Rank 30, Manipulator. All that good stuff.” She leaned forward, hands on her knees, and laughed. “Still dunno how such a motley crew’s gonna work together like this. If rumors are true,” she began with a sidelong glance, “we’ve got a lass with hands in her friend’s guts, a poet who’s all words, and...” she stopped short and wrinkled her nose, “someone who’d draw more attention then a group of a Redeemer’s strollin’ down the street.”

Clearly, she wanted answers, as well.

Lilean's eyes wandered over them, but they never lingered. From even a cursory inspection of his gaze would make it seem like he wasn't truly looking at them. After all, he didn't rely too heavily on his eyes when he could practically see the world around him in a constant hum that defied normal senses. They were all broken, a standard pre-requisite of the Redeemer lifestyle. The only one that you could say drew any kind of reaction out of him was Channeller, and would have caused him to be deafened had he not sensed her intention before she had done so. Even withdrawing inside himself as best he could, his head was still ringing from her scream and his skin burned. Still, he did his best to be inflappable. Nica stood just slightly behind him, overseeing their progress with all the rigidness of a statue. It was rare that someone could make Lilean forget they were there, but had he not consciously reminded himself of her presence, he might have done just that.

Still, the group was somewhat unorthodox and more than a little mixed in terms of ability and potential cooperation. While he didn't agree with the method that Lip had detailed the team, he couldn't argue her overall assessment. Lily gave a nod once Lip had voiced her various pitches of rather impressive mimicry, turning his head slightly back towards Nica as he allowed his senses to once again branch out. Scour had withdrawn into himself, while Channeler and Lip were subconsciously fighting each other on who could be more crass and rude, with just a taste of crazy tossed in there. They were dangerous, just as any Redeemer should be considered.

"Clarity, spoken thusly, provides avenues to understanding." Lilean motioned ever so slightly towards Nica. "A word, a name, a title, all freely given. The path forward opens."

Nica's impassive stance shifted, as if she were finally making herself known. She folded her hands in front of her, regarding them with a leveled stare. It seemed as if they would have to wait no longer for answers they all seemed to want, and even if they didn't care to hear them, she would explain herself anyway. When she opened her mouth to speak, her words were carefully chosen, and may have been rehearsed. "I will explain everything and take questions afterwards. I'll have no one speak until I'm finished. That is all I ask." She broached no space for arguments, and glanced pointedly at Lip, who appeared ready to interject with a sly remark. Her mouth hung open, then promptly shut.

She took a step off to the side, and drew her hands behind her back, much like Lilean had. Her gloved fingers curled inward. Her steps were ponderous, as she turned her face not to regard them, but the mural behind them. At the beautiful, fiery-haired woman holding her hands out against a horde of beasts, descending onto her. An impossible battle. "Thirty years ago, Sapentia fell to her kin, Dominatio. There had been those before you who’d been given this very same task. They believed he’d been laying dormant, but it’s clear that since then, he’s only been growing bolder. I’m sure you’ve all noticed that their ranks haven’t been thinning… even with all of the missions we’ve done over the years,” she paused and took another step forward, “the Demoni’s numbers are doubling and our ranks have been thinning.”

Another step forward. Then, another. Nica shuttered her eyes for a moment and then turned to regard them. “What we are doing is no longer working. If we continue on this way, they will beat us back, until there’s no one left to fight.” She gestured with her hand, towards the murals, “and the kingdoms will follow. Every single soul. Everything will burn.” Her voice was hard. Factual. She did not mince words, and never would. “The Kingdoms that have already been infected are too numerous to name. Unusually large hordes of Demoni have razed these cities, with the intent to slay the demigods that dwell there. They leave none alive, and twist those who remain, adding to their ranks. You know how they behave, and will know what to expect. You have not, however, witnessed this on such a large scale.” She nodded her head, “But you will.”

Her unusual eyes drew back towards the mural. She was searching for something there, though it was difficult to place what it was. A soft breath escaped her lips, something akin to a sigh, but without the emotions that came with it. Someone who was simply resigned to a task they must complete, bereft of passion. There were remnants of it on her face, where crow’s feet might have been. She’d laughed once before, though it was hard to imagine now. “Dominatio must be stopped. There is no other choice, and we’re running out of time. The organization...” she began and then, snorted, “believed we shouldn’t try this again, with how things ended last time. Their recent attacks have changed their minds. We’ll go back on the offensive, rather than wait and die.”

“The truth of it isn’t what you’ve all heard in the halls,” Nica took another step, turned slowly on her heel and started in the opposite direction, hands poised, “perhaps, the organization wished for it all to fade away.” It was possibly the first time she’d ever spoken out of turn, when it came to the organization she worked for. Her expression was smooth. Her brow, complacent. Her hands, however, seemed to tighten behind her back. “The problem is, and has always been, that no immortal, not even we, can kill Dominatio. He made sure of that. Only Sapentia. Not even her children—those you know as demigods are able to. So the story goes. No one had gotten close enough to even attempt the deed.” Nica tossed her head, lips finally peeling back into something that seemed like disgust, “Not that the demigods even would. They’d rather sit and die, not raising even a finger to help.”

The small glimpse of emotion was gone, as quick as a blink of the eye, as she stood in front of them. Her attention, this time, remained on each of them, searching their faces. “The organization had utilized the time since the last group perished and now, coming to the conclusion that they were correct in their belief that ingesting demigod blood would enable us to ascend to some...” she made a brief motion with her hand, “other state of being. One where we’re able to stand toe-to-toe with Dominatio. We’ll be Tainted, and something more. Less of who we once were. Perhaps, we may not even survive. It is a chance that we must take, all the same. We must drink half of Sapentia’s children’s blood in order for it to be potent enough to be effective. Five demigods, five different kingdoms, assuming they still live.” She held up five fingers, then drew four down, “The last, most promising group, beneath Amaryliss’s guidance, were the only one’s to successfully ingest a demigod’s blood.” A pause, pointed and reflecting, “Through some force. There are those who seek favors, even in the darkest times, and those who will outright deny us. We cannot take no as an answer.”

She drew her arms across her chest. Her gaze bore into them, unflinching. If the room could have grown colder, it was perhaps, in this instance, that it had. Her lips drew into a hard line, strands of near-white hair falling in front of her pale face, slightly obscuring her view. “All of the Redeemer’s you know, and do not know, are on the same mission. The reason we have not done this in so many years, is because it had cut our ranks nearly in half. This will be the last time. Unfortunately, none of you have a choice in the matter,” another breath, before she continued on, “Should you decide not to pursue this mission, you will be considered a rogue warrior and the organization will strike you down.” A promise, a fact. Nothing more. “If you wish to die by my hand, instead, I am sure it will be a kinder death than what they would have in store for you.” The organization was much larger than people thought—and to many’s surprise, Nica did not have a seat there. She was merely another cog in the machine, obeying their commands, and speaking their words, no matter how cruel they were.

The silence felt heavy. The amount of information stifling.

Nica broke it once more, dropping a hand to rest at her hip. “Questions? Concerns?”

 

[Heartfeltwords]

Nelle had a way of making herself look distracted, even when she was acutely focused on something. So as Nica spoke, she lazily kicked her legs, picked at a stray string on her blouse, and stared blankly at the murals on the wall. Still, she missed nothing of what the commander said. Though, she could have done without the extra history lesson she saw fit to give them all. It was not unfamiliar to her. It was doubtful that it was news to any other Redeemer in the room either. Despite some of their other flaws, there were none in the group that she would have considered unintelligent.

Nelle's fidgeting only briefly ceased at the phrase, "Everything will burn." A cold sweat began to pool in the small of her back, despite the comfortable weather. For a second, she swore she could hear the roaring of a fire in her ears--but it was as brief and passing as a cloud. Soon, she was back to fidgeting, but her eyes were much more seriously focused on Nica as the woman continued her speech. Even Nelle's fidgeting ceased when the topic of ingesting demigod blood came to light. Nelle straightened, hands folded uncomfortably still in her lap until she was sure the commander was done speaking.

Patience was never her virtue--so she was sure it was little surprise to anyone when she shot her hand to her chest, pounding it a moment to gain Nica's attention.

"Ma'am," Nelle's usual sing-song often vanished on the battlefield--or if her head was in that same place. Though she cared little about manners, and decorum when it came to her peers, she had genuine respect for the stoic captain. She'd seen some shit. Knew things. No nonsense. Nelle liked that about her. There were many questions on her mind, and she had (per usual )very little restraint.

"When will we leave to reach the first demigod? And for survivors who receive the new treatment, how long after the treatment are they likely to recuperate and head to the front?" Nelle asked, eyes hard. Her mind seemed to be racing, her lips trying to keep up as she continued, "Also, Ma'am, for those of us with abilities more likely to be out of control during the body's fight or flight response--will those recruits be put into isolation before treatment?"

Nelle waited for the Captain's response before bombarding her with additional questions. Those seemed the most pertinent. Nelle was not afraid to die. She'd nearly done so on more occasions than she cared to recall. As for the group, it mattered little to her which Redeemers they saw fit to mingle her with. Though, most of this group she found...tolerable. Lip being the exception. Sure, Lip was a woman in men's clothes. But what she chose to wear and act, was her business. Like her own madness mask, Lip just chose to wear the mask of a man. No, that wasn't her issue with the woman; it was her arrogance that made her nearly intolerable. The way in which she spoke to Scour, especially rubbed her the wrong way--though Nelle struggled herself to identify precisely why. Maybe it was that Scour brought to mind the image of a trembling animal? Whatever the reason, Lip's arrogance and strangely over inflated ego left a bad taste in her mouth.

Nelle tipped her head, hair cascading over her small shoulder as she looked at Nica. Unusually focused. Her real concerns in regard to this new treatment, was not the likelihood of dying; nor coming out more tainted. She was already a monster, after all. If it meant preventing more people from suffering her family's fate--what did losing her mind matter? She'd convinced most that her mind was already gone anyway. No, it was the idea of being isolated while she was still this version of herself that most concerned her. Isolation rooms were deadly quiet. But how does someone with her reputation come out and say so directly? How could she possibly admit she feared silence, of all things? She could not. Instead, she only posed a question as to if that would be a possibility. As if her powers going out of control and inuring people were her primary concern. Sure, in part--this troubled her. Despite her facade, it pained her that she so often killed their own ranks. Yet, it was easier to feign a lack of remorse than to face the crippling guilt of it. Though the madness was of her own creation--sometimes she wondered how close to it she really was. That if perhaps, one more part of her would break and she would truly be lost.

Nica tipped her head towards Nelle, mouth a fine line. Hard, but sincere. Her hands had unbound themselves from her back, and twined together at her front. “We will leave for Litas immediately. Seeking out Litatio is our primary goal, as he is the closest.” It was clear that if they didn’t have any problems here, and she needn't smite anyone foolish enough to deny the organization’s wishes, she planned to begin their journey as soon as she could. “Unfortunately, there will be no time for isolation. No time to gather your breath. As soon as you all drink Litatio’s blood, I expect you to continue on without delay. If there’s an issue, and you need more time, we will deal with it, together.”

Nelle felt a tension in her shoulders release. This suited her. No isolation suited her just fine. Nelle gave a small nod to Nica to acknowledge she was heard. Scour, on the other hand, seemed to feel a multitude of things, clawed hands wringing in his lap. None of those emotions were calm about the news, though he remained tight-lipped about his reservations. Instead, he seemed to study his palms, head low. His tail had stopped nervously thumping and hung at his side, limp.

Lip, if anything… seemed to be the only one who took the news in stride, as if she’d always known. Or as if, she simply didn’t care, either way. She had the same look as Nelle, a look that belonged to someone who wouldn’t have particularly cared either way—if they lived or died, as long as the journey itself was interesting and whole. She arched her eyebrows, and glanced at the others, perhaps to see how they would be reacting to such a heavy admonition.

Nica eyed them, as solid as a statue, and just as steady, hands folded. If anything bad happened within those city gates, it felt as if she would take responsibility for it. For everything. She offered an upturned eyebrow, and bobbed her head in a nod, as if it were obvious. “For those who believe this will be like the Changing… you’re mistaken. This will be unlike anything recorded before.” A pause, and a tilt of the head. “It may make things better, or worse, for you. That remains to be seen. If you shy too close to abomination, I will do everything in my power to tear you back.”

"To believe the process a simple one is to bask in the ignorance that is the unknown like a comforting blanket" Lily spoke up, his eyes once again staring off into the void. His body had tensed up ever so slightly, and his features, while still hard to read, were definitely creased. Thoughts were racing through his mind like never before and it was clear even the poet had reservations about such a bold plan. "To drink of the scathing retreat into the psyche, to breach the walls of a false heaven, we are faced with the inevitable desire of power. Wills, should they be clear, will see through. Why perchance, would the world hinge on us select few?" Lily brought his eyes up to Nica as he stated this last part, his glare piercing and staring through her as if she wasn't there. "Desperation clouds judgement, death is only steps away."

Nelle's lips quirked upward in a sickly sort of smirk. Even she could recognize Beauchamp's discomfort. It was unusual. Nelle nodded as if to a song only she could hear and folded her hands under her chin. She tipped her head, and her voice lifted in her sing song way,

"Don't worry, Boo Hoo... dying was always our duty." Nelle folded her hands together in front of her, looking eerie as she sang, "Ashes, Ashes... we all... fall...down." Nelle blinked slowly looking to the poet with eyes expressing something between pity and cold fact. Nelle suspected their deaths would mean especially little to the organization. Especially her own. Like putting down a rabid animal. Though she did not voice this.

Nica’s impassiveness was a wall, not a curtain. It did not falter, and was not pulled away, even at Lilean’s discomfort. It appeared as if she’d expected some sort of resistance against what the organization had planned for them—if they hadn’t, perhaps, that would have been all the more surprising. Her stare was honest, if anything. She returned his gaze, and leaned bodily against the podium built into the ground, where once high-ranking members would regal their fellow Redeemer’s with their triumphs. A bygone time that was no more. It stood solely to keep their commander standing. “You are right,” she agreed, “this won’t be simple. We might not even make it. I suspect you believe I say this lightly. I do not.”

There was a crease there, between her brows. Imperceptible to most. But he would have felt it, heavy as lead in her guts. While it was unclear whether or not she believed they would succeed, she was placing all of her pieces on the board, including herself. She, too, was simply a pawn in their game, in their last attempt at wrangling a semblance of control of the impossible, of a God who’d cast his shadow across their world for too long. “I was with the group before, as a guide. Not as a warrior. Not a Redeemer, but a girl.” There, again. The same heaviness that clanked around Nica’s wrists like shackles, dragging her ever-closer to the ground. It tasted sour, and bitter, and cold, all at once. “We were the closest to succeeding at the time, but we did not,” her frankness seemed to break from the rehearsed words she’d spoken only moments before, “and so, I was tasked to choose my own team. To shoulder the burden they could not bear.”

“I cannot say how this will go, and I do not have all the answers you seek. What will happen if we find each Demigod. What will happen once we drink their blood. What will happen if we reach Dominatio.” She maintained Lilean’s stare, “What I do know, is that if we do nothing at all, we will all die anyway.” She seemed to decide something there, pushing away from the wooden podium. “I don’t know about any of you, but I’m in no rush to meet death, but neither do I have any intention of dying quietly.” She looked at each of them, in turn. “Ashes, we may be. But, I chose each of you, because I believe there’s a chance. A hope. Just as they did.” Her gaze swung to the side, towards the fiery-haired warrior, mouth immortalized in a smile, serene even in stone, “and if I die in the process, so be it.” She turned back towards them, “What I will do, is guide you. I will be your blade, until I can no longer hold it.”

“That is a promise I intend to keep.”

That was it. This was her last desperate wish. A conclusion. Picking up where they left off. Finishing the job. For them. She looked depleted. She’d never spoken this much before. Not in years. It felt strange, but appropriate. Necessary.

"You find yourself withering." Lilean spoke up, closing the distance between them and placing a hand on her shoulder. It was unclear if he was picking up on some unseen clue from his senses, or if he simply felt a desire to make sure physical contact was made. Either way, it definitely looked like he believed it to be necessary, to form that connection. The tension in Nica's shoulder seemed to loosen, as if a knot had come undone. She seemed glad, at least, that someone else had taken the mantle, that someone else had chosen to speak. "The ploy of the reckless demands promises from a past used as a lesson, to rush and obscure is akin to willing blindness. The duty is left unshirked, the soul left willing, and the body completely able." Lilean let his hand drop, turning back towards Nelle. Like an open book, his expression softened as he rattled a few loose daggers on his arm. Nelle's eyes focused sharply at Lily as if the repetitive sound momentarily lifted her mask of insanity. "You, with a brimming capacity, understand something that is left to the blissfully ignorant." There was a brief pause as he seemingly considered what to say next. "Death is never a goal, to set it as such is to limit one's potential, brought about by a fading dawn. The wind howls at those who stand in its gales, be unmovable as a mountain." Nelle tipped her head at him, drinking in the sound of his voice and lilt of his words. Unusually still. She mulled over what he said, before the mask seemed to lower in place and an eerie, twisted smile rose to her cheeks again. She snickered at him, as if mocking him, but inwardly, her wheels turned rustily.

Lilean was quiet for a moment, seemingly left in thought as it was painfully evident that while he was obviously not backing away from his duty, the willingness to embrace death did not sit well with him. "We are the vessel of a million deaths, one more does not faze us, but we must tread carefully lest the giant awakens and jumping into the abyss will bring nothing but darkness." It didn't appear as if Lilean was comfortable talking so much in front of others such as this, his fingers flexed unconsciously, and every twitch from everyone in the room caused an equal twitch on Lilean. "How do you convince the beings of pride, covered in a gilded cage and carefree from the moment of birth?"

While Lilean spoke, the expression on Lip's face pinched together, eyebrows knitting tighter and tighter, before she finally dropped her head into her hands and made a disgruntled noise in the back of her throat. As if she were an annoyed child, listening to someone she didn't quite understand. She felt stupid, whenever he spoke. It made her want to scream, and kick and shout. Made her want to clap a hand over his mouth to shush him. Neither option would've been appropriate, "Why can't ya' ever just speak plainly?" She scuffed her boot against the tiled floor, and wrinkled her nose. Her head ached. Not just because of his prose, but what they'd been told. The silence she maintained might've come off as acceptance, but she'd never liked being told what to do. Organization or no, this did not sit well with her, for a variety of reasons. She stared at him balefully. Tried to puzzle out his words, make sense of them. It was poetry, a story being woven in a tongue she was not savvy to. Try as she might, she found that she could not. "Got no choice anyway, innit. What's the point asking questions?"

Nelle snickered more loudly at Lip's obvious frustration. To Nelle, Lily's flowery words were like lyrics to a song she hadn't heard yet. She found Lip's displeasure amusing.

"The lights are on... but no ones... hooommeee." she sing songed at the woman in disguise, chuckling heartily. Lip, for once, had nothing smart to say to her, only gathered her hands into fists and drew her gaze past her shoulders. Towards the door. It was clear that she'd rattled her with her words, but was toeing the line, reeling her reigns in, instead of lashing out. Besides, Nelle had something that frightened her, something that could unravel her, turn her to tatters, so she had to be careful. Nelle looked to Nica and smiled, "But yes, it seems we have no choice but to ready our departure, right ma'am?"

Scour's tusked mouth drew open, then snapped closed. Whatever question he'd had stewing in that hunched body of his had been buried and lost, intentionally so. All of the elements made his head spin, though it was clear that he understood that they had no choice in the matter, and as much as he'd rather stay here, where it was somewhat safe, having Nica cut his head free from his shoulders wasn't something he wanted either. He bowed his head, instead. Nica took a step to his side, patted a hand onto his shoulder, and stepped down the stairs, into the long hallway crowded with tables and chairs. A silent audience of wood, and nothing more. "Yes, it's time to go. Gather your things, say your farewell's, and meet me at the gate."

 

[Yonni]

There was a hard thump on the ground, kicking up dust around him. Scour lay on his side, a sharp breath hissing out from between his lips. He’d never done well with horses. As much as he admired, and respected them, he must’ve spooked them too much. Nothing he could do. The steed bucked its legs overhead, and nearly stepped on him, before he tucked and rolled away. Nica was there, too, striding to its side, hand poised on the beast’s muzzle. Cooing softly, barely audible. A voice he’d never heard her utter before, certainly not one she’d used inside the Keep. He drew himself up on his knees, then pushed himself back to his feet, patting the dust off from the front of his trousers. His tail swished behind him—an unhappy flag.

Other things were distracting him. The entire meeting they'd just had hadn't sat well with him. Just as it hadn't sat well with the other's, he imagined. Well, most of them. Of course, he hadn’t voiced his concerns, even though he had many reservations. He'd been mute, a coward, like he'd said. His voice was a well. Quiet, still. And while he’d had endless questions, he hadn’t found the courage to say any of them aloud. Even with Lilean’s poetic prose, weaving questions of mortality and not wanting to delve head-first into the fire, of having no choice at all in the matter, and Nell’s sing-song concerns of being locked up when they drank more blood… he still wanted to ask what had already asked before.

Why them? Why him? He’d heard of their abilities before, whispered or cajoled over the fire, when he was still within earshot. How skilled they were in combat, ferociously so, in some cases. His own abilities were unreliable, at best. Painful and uncomfortable, at worst. His performance issues were probably renown at Wildekeep. It was why he’d never been on many missions before, and only stuck around the outskirts of Litas, helping out with with new Redeemer's in their Changing and whatever else needed doing. Small tasks.

It’s why his rank was so low. Ten wasn’t much. Higher than a handful of others, who’d joined recently. However, he’d been around since his adolescence, raised into adulthood in those hallowed halls. Redeemer’s wore their rank like a solemn badge of experience, of unspoken horrors, of what they’d faced on the road. He still had much to learn about the world outside of the Consortium’s walls. There was still so much he didn’t understand and wished not to know of. The world outside was ugly. Full of fangless beasts who were much more cruel than those they abhorred. He took a deep breath and stepped off to the side, ignoring Lip’s cackling as he slapped his thigh, rearing back in his saddle, dabbing at his eyes with the heel of his palm.

Nica finally settled the beast down, handling the leather reigns in one of her hands, and turning its head in his direction. She shot Lip a withering glance, though it merely looked passive, but it was enough to cause the man to cough into his hand, smothering his grin into a simpering smile instead. “Perhaps, if you tried one more time,” her voice was steady and patient. The same one she’d used to calm the horse.

Scour raised his hands defensively, and gave his head a shake, “I… believe that’s enough. I’ll be happy enough following along.” He paused briefly, and waved a hand towards the steed, who was already pawing at the ground, “and I suppose he would be too.” He tapped one of his padded, crooked feet on the ground as well and smiled apologetically. “Besides, walking isn’t any bother to me. I won’t tire.”

Nica considered him for a moment, and then acquiesced. “As you wish, then. I’ll return him to the stable. If the other’s return before I do, let them know that I will be back.” With that, she turned the beast’s head, and led it towards the stables. The hoof beats sounded their retreat. Although, he’d never been able to successfully ride any of them… he liked the sound. The rhythmic beat, soothing. They were magnificent beasts, and proud, though he could feel their fear, bristly as it was. He doubted any of them would ever warm to him. The beasts of burden in the Consortium were every bit as twisted as the Tainted were, and if the roles were reversed, he doubted any human would approach them.

He checked over his gear, pulled the straps tighter on his backpack and went over his supplies, rearranging them just to keep his hands busy. To keep his mind from straying. From slipping into dangerous thought patterns that made him feel like squirming in his skin. Lip was comfortable ignoring him entirely. At times, he felt eyes on his back and did his best to ignore him, in return. He was thankful for the silence, at least, though he hoped dearly that the other’s would come quickly. Every now and again, he would look over the yard, past the rows of neat rose-bushes, and crowded lilacs, growing alongside the cobblestone pathways, where they would emerge.

 

[Quakernuts]

Lilean Beauchamp
"Causation without realization can lead to the field of sorrow"
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________​

The meeting wasn’t exactly what Lilean had been expecting, but to say he had had any idea what to expect from the moment he had been summoned would be a lie. To draw upon the reserves that was the withering remains of the Redeemers as an order for a potentially suicidal mission to go against seemingly the world was not what an organization did when they had control.

It was desperation.

Lilean peered over his chosen horse at the stable, as other members of the Redeemers tended to the rest of the steeds. It was a bit surreal, looking at these people who were gingerly tossing hay, brushing the coats of the animals or cooing softly like it was some house pet. They were all trained killers with incredibly strong wills, and here they were, freaks and monsters alike acting like everyday normal people. What the general populace of the world failed to see, was that underneath it all, Redeemers were nothing more than men and women who either had no choice or sacrificed it all to protect them. A bigotry that still rubbed Lilean the wrong way, despite having dealt with it for years.

Still, he was one of the luckier ones. At the very least he didn’t look like a Redeemer, in the sense that he still very much looked human. A thought that brought forth another line of questioning. If they were to drink the demigod’s blood, what sort of changes would that bring? At what point could they really classify themselves as members of the mortal races? Lilean closed his eyes, letting his hand slide along the Horse’s face in a soothing manner, feeling literally everything about the beast. He knew what it had for lunch, that a few years ago it had pulled a muscle in its back hind leg, that it was incredibly calm and otherwise healthy, and not to mention fairly young. Lilean opened his eyes again to the huff of the horse, pulling the reins and leading the horse out of the stable and towards the meeting spot for the team.

‘Team’. The word sat weird on his mind as he continued along the cobblestone path, flanked by roses and lilacs, a beautiful scene that would most likely be overshadowed by what was to come. Could he even classify them as team members? He had interacted with all of them to some degree, but there was a matter of them all having their own problems. Scour was, at his heart, a pacifist. Others would call him a coward, but you don’t survive becoming a parasite without some sort of backbone. When push came to shove, Lilean didn't have a doubt that Scour would act. Channeller would rather provide a persona and recklessly lash out against everything than work together, but it was a defense mechanism to overcome her own feelings of helplessness. You couldn’t feel helpless when everyone was scared of your potential.

Felipa liked to hide behind her bristly exterior and callous view of the world, a morality left to the shadows as opposed to holding to it like a raft. Yet he knew that out of all of them, NIca excluded, she was the least likely to run. The bond that kept her at Nica’s side was strong, and Lilean didn’t need his abilities to feel that strength of will in whatever promise they had made. Then of course there was Nica, the one who would be leading them on this little crusade against the creatures that a false god put on this world to rule over them all. She was vague and aloof, capable of hiding herself among Lilean’s prying senses. One of a few who had that ability, to force Lilean to rely more on intuition than facts. Regardless, she was driven, not just by duty, but obligation. As the sole remaining member of the failed mission years ago, her need to prove they didn’t die in vain could be seen as thick as fog.

Lilean’s head was wrapped up in thought, but it finally turned in on himself. Why was he chosen? He couldn’t say that he had any sort of issues as deep rooted as the others, but he was well aware of his personality quirks that more often than not caused conflict due to their very nature. His manner of speech? Deliberate and necessary. His religious views? Mandatory and inconsequential in the grand scheme of things. His sensory abilities? A gift creating the byproduct of tension among those who fail to see the humor in prying eyes. He was, possibly, calmer than the rest but that was due to absolute necessity. If he wasn’t, his senses could literally overwhelm him. Still...Nica had to have had a plan in gathering up these particular individuals, but he doubted her plan would ever be made public upon pain of death.

Lilean’s head was so wrapped up in thoughts that he didn’t realize he had reached the gate with his horse until he was nearly upon it. Scour and Lip were there already, but Nica was missing. Last minute preparations more than likely. Lilean gave a nod to Scour and Lip as he approached, his chestnut colored horse directly at his side. He didn’t say anything, at least not initially, until a wave of apprehension from Scour hit him with enough force to cause him to pause. He was trying to bury it, keep his mind occupied, but it was only partially working. From Lip, he felt the fading sense of mirth, but she was otherwise relaxed. She had no concerns, or at least was so used to facing death that charging up the Grim Reaper’s throat didn’t bother her one bit.

Lilean double checked his gear first, making sure the saddlebags were fastened and his own gear was properly in place as well. Something he knew was already the case, but repetition created habits, and this was one he intended to keep. As he was pulling the daggers on his arm into place, ensuring only one of them was loose enough to cause jangling on an as-needed basis, he turned his eyes towards Scour. “A cloud darkens an otherwise bright mind, to see the field for roses you must first open your eyes. Speak, of the faith that deserts you, and let your spirit known.”

Lilean gave a soft smile as he looked over at Scour, still strapping his weapons down himself. “A curse, a gift, an annoyance and a hindrance all, such is our way.”

 

[Heartfeltwords]

Channeller Warren
"Tomorrow will take us away/ Far from home/ No one will ever know our names/ But the bards' songs will remain"​

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Nelle was excited. Sure, the looming possibility of death and further self destruction wasn't ideal. But it was always there as a Redeemer. She wouldn't have known how to feel if death wasn't a constant, leering companion. At least these orders presented an escape from the monotony.; a return to noise of the march, of battle, and a return to her purpose. At Wildekeep, the silence was more disturbing. Her existence here was without aim. A monster with no prey. After the meeting she was prompt to gather her things and change from her ragged tunic to her familiar, well-worn leathers. Her daggers gleamed along her hips as she moved, like deadly decoration. She spotted her roommate as she departed the keep, who wore a distinctly relieved expression at seeing her departure. Nelle grinned wolfishly and reveled at her roommate's deflated expression of fear, before heading to the stables.

The others had managed somehow to gather at the gates ahead of her, Nelle noted as she walked a honey-colored mare from her paddock. This mare was Nelle's favorite, and it may be said the young horse reciprocated those feelings. Nelle hardly had to lead the horse at all, as the animal affectionately trotted at her heels like a well-trained dog behind its master. Occasionally, Nelle had to gently push the horse's face away as the animal playfully nibbled at her hair, and nuzzled her head into her hand demanding attention. It took some self control not to laugh at the ticklish sensation that rose up from the animal's demands. Nelle hummed softly to herself, as she climbed into the saddle and easily approached the gate. on her horse
Nelle slowed when she saw Scour, still without a mount, as Beauchamp chatted with him in his poetic and lilting way. Nelle enjoyed watching Scour. The way his tail moved, the soft-looking fur covering his body, and his shy eyes were somehow deeply soothing to her, though she hadn't determined exactly why yet. Was it how soft he seemed? Both literally and figuratively? Was it that he was so easy to get a reaction out of him? Nelle tilted her head, pausing her mare just an arm's length away, taking them all in. Her new team. She glanced at Lip, looking cocky as usual, then to Beauchamp, and finally on Scour. There was a moment, a flash, of familiarity. Of deja vu. This was one of many teams, many people she will have traveled with. They all started like this; with some group tensions, individual quirks and issues....alive...

Nelle swallowed, throat suddenly feeling very dry and eyes feeling slightly damp. How many of them would fall because of her? How many this time? Who could she actually protect? Nelle noted that the sound around her slowly became far away and tinny, crackling, like fire gnawing through a home. Beneath her, she felt the horse's muscles bunch and tense, sensing Nelle's sudden distress. The mare pawed the ground in a rhythmic one, two, three, and the crackling in her ears faded. Nelle blinked slowly, and looked down to her mount, patting the beast's neck and humming softly to soothe her. It had only been a moment, but these moments had increased of late. And each felt like hours.

Nelle looked back up, observing Scour once more. She was no expert in emotions; but even to her, the man looked frightened. A moment passed before her mind's eye; a moment where she recalled her younger brother making the same face when he first encountered a spider. A moment where she patted the boy's head, gently sweeping the arachnid out the door, and all was well. A moment lost forever to time, and fire, and evil. Nelle absently rubbed the locket around her neck between her thumb and forefinger as she watched Scour. Then, without thinking, Nelle reached out a hand, putting it on Scour's head, and playfully ruffled his hair. She laughed lightly, as she pulled away and gently let the horse trot around him and Lily in a small circle, while she sang,

"The itsy bitsy spider, went up the water spout. Down came the rain and washed the spider out. Out came the sun and dried up all the rain, and the itsy bitsy spider, went up the spout again!"

Nelle could feel her long hair fluttering behind her loosely as she rode. She slowly let her mare trot toward Lip, giving the woman a roguish almost taunting grin before she circled back to Scour and Lily, halting her in the rear. She glanced over her shoulder, eager to leave. But Nica must have had other things to attend to before they could do so. Nelle turned back to look at the little group and grinned widely, almost manically at them. She hoped Nica would soon appear and end this idleness.

 

[Yonni]

Down this road, we're marching on.
_________________________________________________________________________​

When Lilean approached his side, Scour’s long ears twitched long before he’d spoken. They were much like elves, in a sense, though particularly longer. Furred at the tips, capable of expressing more emotion than they did. He glanced past his companion, towards where Lip was pacing her horse, just to be sure that she wasn’t paying them any mind. He wasn’t, unsurprisingly. He doubted he’d pay them any mind unless he absolutely had to. Just as well, that. He exhaled softly, releasing a breath he hadn’t been aware he had been holding in. His hands stilled, for there was nothing left to adjust in his gear. He’d gone over it, again and again. The relief was plain on his face, he was sure, because he could feel the tension slipping from his shoulders, like the weight of a heavy sack being dropped to the ground.

He felt foolish for feeling so consoled by someone’s presence. Someone he didn’t even know very well. But he couldn’t help how he felt. He tempered his smile into something smaller, though it felt unnatural, given the pull of his tusks peeping from his lips—always a hindrance, no matter what he did. He knuckled at his nose, thick eyebrows raised. Lilean’s lilting voice was a welcome distraction from the droning silence, and the hoofbeats to his side, signaling Lip’s boredom. It was enough to negate the darkened cloud leering overhead at his latest failure, just as Lilean said. At least, a bit. His look was one of appreciation. “I couldn’t…” he began softly, sitting back on his heels, “get on the horse. Nica’s bringing him back to the stable, and said she wouldn’t be too long.”

Despite his attempts, he couldn’t hide the disappointment in his voice. It lingered, and made him feel much younger than he was. Foolish, even. He’d never professed to being a battle-hardened Redeemer, with iron for blood and veins that screamed of duty. Sure enough, he could hold his own, but he did not do any of it gladly. Even so, he didn’t want to sound weak. He knuckled at his nose, and finally drew himself up to his full height, dragging his rucksack over his broad shoulder. A shame, he’d heard them say before, and he understood full-well what they’d meant. It was something he remembered often. How the majority of Wildekeep didn’t really expect much of him. He supposed he’d earned it with his unwillingness to perform. With his desire to remain here, alone. Living a simple life, when the one he dearly longed for was gone.

Stolen from him.

Hoofbeats approached in the distance, and he’d thought for a moment it might’ve been Nica, before he glanced up and over his shoulder, spotting Nelle on honey-colored steed. It was strange just how comfortable she looked in the saddle. Like she belonged there, more than anywhere else. She looked calm. Serene, almost. A far cry from the flighty bird he was used to seeing around Wildekeep; a destructive sparrow, keen to peck out the eyes of others, should they wander too close, but a bird all the same. He turned back to Lilean.

Still.

A curse, a gift, an annoyance and a hindrance. While Scour would have been lying if he said he understood everything Lilean said, there was always a sense of wisdom there, as if he understood him on a baser level, and spoke on his fears, his concerns, with a hand that felt kinder than most. It wasn’t something he was entirely used to, but all the same, he was grateful. “You’ll warn me if I become too much of any of those down the road, won’t you?” His smile pulled up at the edge, more of a grin, than anything else. Or the closest to one he was able, without looking too scary.

That’s when he felt something small touch his head from above. Fingers, so small, he didn’t recognize them. He was so startled by the light ruffle, he hadn’t even had time to jump. The laugh was made of softer things, as well. Certainly not something he recognized coming from that bird, made of tougher stuff. Though, he supposed he could’ve said the same, of all those moment’s he’d spent listening to her sing from her window when no one was around. Her voice was different, then. When her hand retreated, he smoothed his own over the mess of shaggy hair, trying to part it back into place, though it was difficult with his horns, jutting into the air as they did. He felt heat rise up into his ears, clearly embarrassed. Her song was familiar enough. Something he’d often heard as a child. Unlike what most believed, the Consortium was a place of art and culture, of song and dance. He couldn’t help but grin.

It was Lip who broke the silence, turning his black gelding in a tight circle, reigns in a tight fist. Like Nelle, it appeared as if he belonged on horseback. His posture was practiced. Horse and rider alike, seemed to move as one. By the shaking of the horse’s head, he was just as impatient, muscles bunched and nostrils flared. It was clear that Lip was somewhat annoyed, but the direction of his annoyance wasn’t clear. Whether it was his companion’s oddities, or a shared desire to get on the road, was anyone’s guess. “Yer’ not going to sing the entire way, are ya?” he gave a dramatic flourish of his hand, smile toothy and eyes hard, “’m sure even a bird such as yerself would run out of songs ta’ sing.” He lifted a hand, grinned wider, "Kiddin'."

Eyebrows flagged, and the simpering grin slipped off. For once, he regarded them fully. Gave them the attention reserved for his comrades-in-arms, rather than people he’d rather not work with. The sour expression was replaced by one of curiosity. Of someone making the best of it. Scour was surprised by the change, if anything. “Any of ya’ve been to Litas before? On missions?”

It was a simple enough question, because many Redeemer’s hadn’t. Not because there wasn’t work to do within their gates, but because they were generally unwelcome, in a specific way that made it difficult to pass the guards who spit in their wake, hissing words reserved for the condemned.

 

[Quakernuts]

Lilean Beauchamp
"Bring with it, a sensation of realization, come forth courage and bear me through it all."
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ ​

The softening of an anxiety that threatened Scour was something that was lifted slowly and cautiously. Lilean let his eyes wander over the Redeemer, taking in everything about him even though Lilean didn't rely on his eyes so much to get a judge of people, it was still good to understand the visual representations of certain emotions. His relief at having been found out seemed contradictory to his previous state, but Lily didn't point that out. Almost like he was trying to hide himself from the world, and the effort was so tiring that when someone did find him, it was more exciting than frightening.

"Beasts of burden and brides of conscience." Lily stated, patting his horse slightly on the neck. "Judgemental and anxious, a combination born of fostered care." Lily looked from his horse to Scour, able to see that the simple act of acknowledging what was wrong was a burden lifted. "Failure is bound to happen, abound within leaps and bounds, we strive forward."

Lily's senses were struck with yet another strong feeling coming from behind Scour. He looked up and saw Nelle stuck in place on her horse, a wave of apprehension hitting him but something else. Anxiety and guilt were things he was particularly attuned to, as it assisted him in his investigations. As the waves hit him, they seemed to disperse naturally as Nelle strode forward and ruffled Scour's hair. Lilean's attention had been so divided that he had nearly missed Scour's reply to his multitude comment, but he waited for the surprise from Nelle's attention die down.

"Collapse the well of unease, determine one's worth with actions and pride, judge not the burdened." Lilean stated, his eyes drifting between Scour and Nelle as the general feeling around the area seemed to die down into a more common 'grey' area that was preferable to overbearing waves of strong emotion. Nelle smirked, head tipped in a way that meant she was listening to Lily. Absorbing.

That is, until the flare of annoyance shot forward from Lip, her overall appearance nowhere near as strong as the other two, her conviction obviously made of sterner make. She poked fun at Nelle, her sing songs as she rode around apparently annoying the faker. Lilean didn't feel a need to defend Nelle or otherwise call out Lip. This was not a fight worth having. Lip wasn't kidding. Nelle seemed aware of this, and a more malicious smile appeared on her face. She once more trotted her mare in a circle trilling a soft parody of a bawdy love song she'd once heard in a tavern, "For you, my love I'd learn a new song. For you, my love, I'd sing all night long, through starlight and moonlight til breaking of dawn. For you, my love, I'd sing my life long." Nelle purred over the phrasing of "my love", sharpening it like daggers. A warning. A challenge. She would not be cowed by the woman's passive aggressive comments.

Lip’s face contorted into a sneer, she leveled Nelle with a stare and stuck her tongue out. As outrageous as their interactions were, the smaller woman reminded her of all of her brothel-sisters, pushing at each other in the night, constantly teasing with an edge of tough-love that bordered on meanness. It was the way of things, but there was one thing she was ever-grateful for, and even if Nelle was only carrying it as a weapon for some future slight, she hadn’t outright destroyed her image. Her identity. She wondered why. Wondered so hard it made her head hurt. “Claws away,” she rubbed at her chin, “I meant no harm.”

Honestly, she didn’t.

Lip did ask a straightforward and logical question to the group though. This forced Lilean to pause as he took a moment to poke around his own memories for a moment. "We have graced the land of metal twice, born of deprivation and desperation, we were assaulted by the whims of those lesser creatures enticed by sin and compulsion." Lilean stated, remembering having to filter through the slums and force his way forward to his quarry who threatened the whole of the city. It was one of the few hunts he had not inwardly enjoyed, as the city itself stunk of something not quite mortal. "We harbor ill will towards the land that swallows dreams whole."

Lip nodded at that, readjusting her position in her saddle. Though she’d never been one for prose, she understood well enough. His experience there hadn’t been pleasant. She’d never heard of anyone having anything but a bad time in Litas, though she, herself, had never been there, for obvious reasons. Nica had never allowed it. Too tarnished with memories, she’d said, best to leave those good and buried.

Nelle slowed again, halting softly near the rear again mulling over Lip's question and momentarily ending her musical warring. A more serious expression clouded her face as she recalled her last time in Litas. Before. Before she became a monster... she was sure her memory would not be accurate as they were now. She'd heard their kind did not receive a warm welcome there. Nelle's eyes narrowed briefly as the thought on this. Still, she felt no need to share details of what was. It wouldn't help them now. Instead, she frowned, humming softly, and focused her attentions on untangling her horse's mane. Lip took Nelle's silence for an admonition, though it was clear she wasn’t going to share her own experiences. Someone who’s rank was so high had surely been to Litas, as it seemed to thrive on chaos, littered with bandits and unsavory folk. However, she didn’t press her.

“I’ve… actually never been,” it was the purple-boy who spoke up, this time. A horned-head rose, black eyes peering over at them, tusked mouth in a weak-line, as if he wasn’t quite sure what expression to wear on that face of his. Nothing he did spoke of assurance. Not the way he moved. Not the way he spoke. It was difficult understanding how someone his size could evoke such… hesitance, as if he were uncomfortable in his own skin. Nothing like the one’s she remembered as a child. It’s one of the thing’s that annoyed her most about him. He seemed to shrink under her gaze, so much that it made her roll her eyes.

“Best that ya’ didn’t, anyway,” she waved her hand at him, “Redeemer’s ain’t looked to kindly there, let alone someone like you. Spit on yer’ kind, they do. Us, too, I guess.” She took the reigns in one of her hands, and inclined her head at him, eyebrow raising towards her hairline. “S’pose you’ll be safer with us, strength in numbers and all that. But I wouldn’t wander off if I was you.” It wasn’t to make him feel better. Just a statement. The truth. He’d learn soon enough once they passed those gates, just how cruel people could be. Hidden in this hills, at least, he’d been sheltered from that. How would he fare?

Surely, not well.

The horned-beast grew silent, and stared off into the distance.

Nelle listened quietly for once. Lip only confirmed what she'd been told. Had she been there before as a Redeemer? Nelle raked her mind for memories but each mission was a blur. If she had, it blended in with all the others. Places, faces, jeers, sneers... all the same as a Redeemer. Though she wished she had comfort to offer the group, she couldn't find any. Though she disliked the woman, Lip was right to her caution and right to warn Scour. Nelle stared distantly at Scour, fingers again finding her locket at her throat. A talisman, a charm, a prayer all in one. Nelle would just have to do what she'd always done. Scare those who would do them harm. Let them glimpse the monster and flee, leaving them to do what they were made for.

The billowing of wind hissed through the trees overhead, as it it were an ominous sign of what was to come, though it was approaching footfalls, and the crunch of twigs and leaves beneath armored feet that signaled their departure. Nica regarded them all as she closed the distance between them, taking up the reigns of her own horse, and swinging herself into her saddle, despite the awkwardness of her plated armor.

Once her mare settled, she turned towards them, “We’ll be taking the main road to the Capital. Should be a couple hours to reach it, though it may take a little longer.” She glanced down at Scour, and only nodded her head. Their was no malice there, simply a fact. No one would be left behind. She nudged her mare onto the dirt road ahead, taking lead at a careful walk. She did not look back at Wildekeep. All business, all duty. After all, this was not her home.

Nelle followed Nica's lead, carefully urging her mare forward. Eager to depart.

 

[Yonni]

But I can't walk on the path of the right, 'cause I'm wrong.
_________________________________________________________________________​

It’d taken them nearly a day to reach Litas’ hulking gates, thanks to the horseless-one trying to keep pace at their flanks. Nica had been kind enough to dismount and walk the horses, often leading them off the well-trodden path to water them and give them a bit of rest. Whether or not she was doing it for his sake was anyone’s guess, though she did not outright indicate, as always. The conversation was light and easy. About nothing in particular, broken up by whistling or a soft humming that could be heard coming from behind. Lip guessed it came from their resident song-bird. Silence did not fall often, and when it did, it seemed as if Lil were purposefully filling it with anything and everything. The click of a tongue, a soft whistle, the clink of daggers at his side.

Surprisingly, it was… Scour who spoke the most along the way. To all who would hear, even if they didn’t respond. That was his name, correct? Though she doubted she’d put in much effort remembering it, because she didn’t care much for him, she found it impossible to forget. Ironic, in a sense. Who named their kid Scour? Seemed like a damnable curse of a name. A title reserved for those she wanted to bare her teeth at. She shook her head, to try and rid herself of him. Of all the ponderous thoughts best left in the dust. He made mention of every little thing that passed them by. Only when they were slow enough for him to catch his breath, otherwise he was lopping along beside them, or jogging. She could almost feel the nervousness wafting from him, like a putrid stink that refused to billow away in the wind. The closer they’d come to their destination, the more he filled the air with questions, with remarks. See, that large tree? That bird?

Of course they did. They weren’t fucking blind. Lip almost wanted to berate him. Tell him to keep his thoughts to himself. But she didn’t. Not this time. Because, as much as she didn’t want to admit it, she shared something with him, there in those woods, crowding the worn merchant’s route into the grandiose city. Dread, perhaps. Something that tasted sour. Not fear, no. Never. Nonetheless, a feeling that made her skin crawl. Her stomach churn, uncomfortably. Instead, she busied herself at the front of the line, beside Nica. She knew this pathway as good as the back of her hand. She’d taken it many times, just to stand at Litas’ gates. Never too close. Never daring to enter through its gates, toeing the threshold of things she’d rather not recall.

Now, she’d be doing something she never wanted to do. Her steed pawed at the ground, as she regarded the steel gate, looming wide above them. Two guards stood posted at either side, wearing the cities colors of black on checkered red, acknowledging them with unabashed stares, baleful and snide. They’d been recognized immediately for what they were. It was in the way they looked at them, as if they were mutts, sniffing about the gates, in search of food. One of them halked and spit on the ground, mumbling a telltale curse. Vermin and nothing more. She heard shifting at her side, and glanced to the side, just in time to see Nica swinging from her saddle, leading her mare to the side, her face ever-impassive.

“We’ve business in Litas, and need to pass through for at least a few days, at the Organization’s behest,” her voice was still and smooth, a stone being tossed into the water. She stood in front of one of the guards, and shifted a hand at her waistline, pulling free a rolled piece of parchment, tied delicately in red twine.

The guardsman’s grizzled face twisted as he inspected them, staring over her shoulder at the rest of their entourage, settling on the beastly-visage lingering behind Nell’s horse. A laugh that was anything but kind bubbled free from his lips, as he snatched the scroll from her proffered hand. The act nearly made Lip leap from her saddle, a bubble of unadulterated rage singing in her veins. Though, she knew well enough that wouldn’t do anyone any good and would only stifle their efforts to enter the city. She swung down from her seat and stood vigilantly. A muscle jumped along her jawline as she watched, fingers tightening on the reigns she held.

“The Organization’s behest, innit?” the guard spat, holding the scroll as if it were a repulsive, slithering eel, “you know as well as I, yer’ kind ain’t welcome here.” He inclined his head at his armored companion, who seemed as if he were already smirking on the other side of the gate. The other one seemed far younger than he, nodding his head, arms folded over his chest. “Ain’t that right, Borus?”

“Seems about right to me, sir,” the lad echoed, though his attention seemed glued to Scour. His mouth was slack, eyebrows screwed up. He adjusted his helmet and cleared his throat, though said nothing more. It was clear that the elder of the two was the authority. He, just the yes-man. The agreeable youth. Nica shot her a glance, one that spoke volumes. Do nothing. Be still.

The guard tapped the side of his helm with the scroll, mouth peeling back to show crooked teeth. Now, it just seemed as if he were fucking with them. Because he could. Because they wanted in, and he stood between them. “Bit ‘o paper isn’t reason enough for you swill t’a dirty our honorable streets, is ‘ow I look at it.”

Suddenly Nelle was off her horse and standing, waif-like and graceful to Nica's right. Her blonde hair blew around her face and head as she lowered her hood, like a halo... to those who did not know better of the demon beneath anyway. Nelle tilted her head prettily and smiled her most beguiling smile.

"Good Sirs, we are here to imbibe blood... pray... would you prefer it to be yours instead?" Her voice was light, lyrical and haunting as she spoke. Her eyes flashed dangerously at the two who blocked their way. "I will happily oblige if that is your wish..." She said, softly, almost sensually, fingers caressing her display of silver daggers.

The older guard standing in front of Nica had the good sense to take a step backwards when Nelle approached. A small, unassuming spitfire, until she got closer, spitting barbs of poison and promises that Lip knew better not to indulge herself in. Though he didn’t have anywhere else to go, only the brickwork of the gate kissed against his back. Certainly didn’t offer him any protection from her. His face contorted into a scowl, his grip loosening on the parchment he now held against his chest. “A-attacking a guardsmen is a crime against the city of Litas itself.”

The younger of the two maintained his silence, perhaps learning most of all when to hold his tongue. It would be a great lesson for the future, she was sure. He didn’t even seem all that interested in looking their way anymore, instead choosing a tree off in the distance, eyes intentionally focused on anyone but them.

Nica said nothing. Neither did she intervene. It was not in her blood to do so, not her way. She would neither keep anyone in line, nor reign them in. This was her only means of mentoring others, letting them do as they wished and living with the consequences. She, did, however, place a hand on Nelle’s slender shoulder, baring a nod and little more, as Lilean broke the edge of silence hanging in the air. A small comfort, if anything. She was there, behind them through anything… even if they chose something she might not have agreed with.

"Be still, the beating heart of the Huntress." A voice softly carried over, his face masked by his hood as he adjusted himself on his horse, the steed braying slightly as it sensed the tension in the air. "The need to dye the ground red yet comes, to waste the ink so readily creates a blank canvas filled with nothing but empty promises."

With that, he turned his attention to the guards. "With words being spoken, it is a most surprising state of affairs to be greeted by those not only familiar with death, but greeting it with a rivalry akin to gladiatorial endorsement." Lily did not smile, and there was the distinct taste in the air that he did not like the read he was getting off of these guards. "A duty upheld is a duty well received, might we suggest the dispensing of such petty concerns and allow those with higher purpose forward?"

For her part, Nelle did not balk or shrink. She made no move to remove Nica's hand, nor turned her head to acknowledge Lily's soothing tones. Only her eyes momentarily fluttered, landing like butterflies on the tips of Nica's fingers, then back to the guard, to the right when the sound of Lily's words pooled into her ears, then back to guard. Waiting like a predator for its prey to make the next move.

The guard scratched at the stubble on his chin, eyebrows raising and then lowering as he spoke. The curl to his lip bespoke hundreds of confusions—he clearly didn’t understand what was being said, however, he cleared his throat, and unraveled the scroll, swinging his gaze to the lettering and the crude symbol emblazoned at the end. Their symbol. The organization. Those who pointed the fingers, but barely, if ever, swung the hammer. He made a noise in the back of his throat, and smacked the letter with the back of his hand. “A’wright, why didn’t ya’ say so… says so right here, temporary residents, temporary measures, go right through then.”

“Let ‘em in!” he shouted over his shoulder, sweeping a hand to the side.

There was a general sense that he just wanted them to get the fuck out of his face, and he certainly offered no apologies, only held out the letter for Nica to take, which she did. Lip approved of Nelle’s outrage, and might’ve done the same thing if Nica hadn’t shuttered her so, made her think that there was more to the small girl than she thought. She inclined her head as they raised the gate, the groans of metal being raised into the great wall hung in the air, before she took a step forward, guiding her horse ahead, and past the guards, "Dim fuckers."

Nelle lingered behind, staring warningly at the guards. She waited for her teammates to pass ahead of her, before following and gently leading her mare along. But she couldn't help herself either and brightly, she began to sing a bawdy limerick as she went,

"There once was a guard in Litas, whose head was shaped like an ass. And when his lips parted, it smelled like he farted, but he thought himself very high class." Nelle smiled menacingly and gave one last coy glance over her shoulder at the guards before swinging back onto her horse and trotting victoriously into the city.

Once they passed the threshold of the gates, Vincere bloomed open into a wide, cobbled street, lined with various carts, already heckling their wares, hands held to their faces to amplify their shouts. It was something Lip remembered well. Slinking between wooden carts, grubby hands pilfering from errant baskets whenever eyes wandered away from her. As little more than a knee-high weasel, it was easy to slip an apple up her sleeve, or a knuckle of bread, easily disappearing into the many alleyways punching holes between the buildings. Not much had changed, from her point of view. Stalls still lined the streets, little more than a handful of feet away from the gates. These belonged to those that often left in the evening—people who didn’t really live in Litas, but harked their wares, it was the first thing you’d see when entering. Good business, that.

Lip largely ignored the merchants who lingered too close, aggressively shaking baubles, necklaces and ripe tomatoes, eyes always so shark-like, as if that would convince them to shed the coin from their purses. The expression on her face felt strained. Mechanical-like, grin forced. This wasn’t a place she’d ever hoped to return to, but at least they weren’t in the worst of it. The slums were further in, off to the sides of the Capital, where only the rodents and down-trodden lived. Closest to the walls, where the wealthy wouldn’t tarnish their gaze on such dirty faces. For once, she was glad that wasn’t where they were headed. She’d never liked rubbing elbows with the wealthy, but at least they were easily handled. Dim fuckers, all.

She’d spotted Scour, off to the side, eyes saucer-wide as they passed the merchant’s lane. Somehow, he didn’t notice the look he was getting back. She would’ve pulled his damned hood over his face, if she’d known that it’d cover those horns of his, but she merely shook her head. Wasn’t her business anyway, if someone wanted to sink a blade in his back. These parts only saw his breed as troublemakers, or worse: rats in the gutter, mouths full of froth and violence. They were the type Redeemer’s would slay, upon request. And yet, the city did nothing to ultimately rid them from their streets. She’d never understood why, but figured it had something to do with connections and coin traveling from many hands.

Nica led them through the straight-away street until it opened up into the main marketplace. Many more stalls were stationed here, the more permanent ones that had no horses to pull them from the square, colorful banners hung between them, and people wandered about. Laughter hung in the air, as well as a cacophonous chatter, too loud to discern any words or pieces of conversation. It was the one thing she missed about the city. All of the people swarmed together; a press of bodies, strangers to each other, yet all bubbling with excitement. This is where hands shook, where business was concluded. Nica halted and Lip nearly bumped into her, before catching herself, a lopsided grin wrestling its way onto her face.

“We will go to the Boar’s Rest, tie up our horses, and go on foot from there,” she indicated the side alley where the crowd thinned, and nodded her head to follow her. She pulled her horse along and looked over her shoulder, eyes thoughtful, “Perhaps, we’ll grab a bite to eat, as well.”

 

[Heartfeltwords]

Nelle felt her stomach gurgle approval at Nica's suggestion of food. She hoped it wasn't noticeable. Carefully, she led her mare through the crowded streets. This place hadn't changed much from her memories; she just saw everything from a slightly taller perspective now. People shouted, hawking their goods, children chased one another, or snuck food from unobserved carts. Nelle said nothing. That was a problem for the local guards. Instead, she cocked a coy smile at a small boy who realized she'd seen him, and carried on her way. The smell of fresh bread, mingled with the scent of pack animals poignantly brought back memories of her brother Ronin's back as she chased him through these very stalls all those years ago. Playing tag with the local merchant's children while their father haggled. It was such an unexpectedly warm memory, that she caught herself wistfully smiling before she managed to contain herself.

Ahead of her, Nelle observed people giving her comrades a wide berth. Ah. Here was the difference. Nelle watched people cast baleful stares and harsh whispers towards the others. Many especially at the shy but obviously noticeable, Scour. Protectively, Nelle weaved closer to them, meeting harsh gazes with threatening glowers or insane grins of her own. Most who caught her gaze looked away nervously, or with great confusion.

As they made their way to the Boar's Rest, and made arrangements for their horses, Nelle was excited to smell something delicious wafting from the establishment. She never had any tolerance for poorly made meals. Without hesitation she pushed her way inside. It wasn't yet very busy, and Nelle assumed it wouldn't be until later in the evening. It was a larger establishment than her parent's had been, and likely made more coin being in a larger city. A large stuffed boar's head hung mounted over the fireplace, and several large round tables with chairs filled the space. Only a few tables had any occupants, some likely already drunk and others holding soft conversations over meals.

Nelle pulled down her hood again, and wandered confidently up to the bar. A woman with dark curly hair and a small beauty mark on her cheek smiled at her in greeting.

"Welcome to the Boar's Rest. What will it be?"

Nelle raised her brows in what she hoped was a sufficiently polite expression,

"Please, a few bowls of whatever that heavenly smell is." Nelle replied, sliding a few coins across the bar. The woman nodded and moved toward the kitchen behind her.

"Channeller? Channeller of Helmsoot, is that you?" A warm male voice called from across the room.

Startled by the familiarity in the voice, Nelle nearly spun in a circle to see who it was. Who would know her? And who would call her with affection that way? A man about her age, with wavy brown hair and dressed in a merchant’s travel clothes stood with his arms open as if in surprise a few paces behind her. He smiled at her in a way she had forgotten people could. And to her shock... she knew him, one of the merchant boys who she and Ronin would play with all those years ago. He had grown tall, broad chested and had a kind face. When his brown eyes met hers, they lit up and before she could react, he was gently grabbing and (to her horror) kissing her hand in formal greeting.

"Channeller! It is you! You've become such a beauty! I thought we'd never meet again. It's been so long! It's me, Garrett, my father and yours used to do business. Do you remember me?" Garrett said, beaming. Nelle felt her eyes prick, as if tears were attempting to form. Tears of joy? Remorse? Surprise? Indignation? She couldn't sort out which. She only knew she refused to let them fall.

Nelle snatched her hand away from him as if his touch burned, and felt her face grow hot. Was she happy, embarrassed or angry? It was so hard to tell. Uncharacteristically, she found herself on the defensive, pressing away from him, only to find the bar in the small of her back as she attempted to retreat. Garrett's face fell, clearly hurt by her reaction. Nelle felt a sharp pang of guilt tug at her heart as she attempted to smooth her face back into an impassive expression. Instead, she suspected she only managed to look frightened... or sick.

"Channeller?" Garrett said, gently reaching a hand toward her again.

"You mistake me, Sir!" Nelle finally managed to rasp. Her voice sounded strained, even to her ears. "I do not know you."

Garrett looked puzzled, staring hard. From the back of the room, she could hear a few other male voice snickering at Garrett, thinking their friend had made a great show. Nelle balled her hands into fists looking down at the polished bartop when the man's sad, questioning eyes became too hard to bear.

A wooden bowl knocked gently into Nelle’s bawled fists, and it was Scour’s crooked hand that retreated, as he pulled out a stool at her side, and slid into it. The laughter behind him was not lost to him. Gifted with fairly good, long ears, he’d heard the entire thing and felt… bad for her. He’d seen the recognition cross her face, clear as day. And a look of hurt, twisting there. Her reason for not wanting to be seen must’ve been good enough to lie. He’d wanted to approach them earlier, to give her some sort of excuse to extricate herself. However, someone like him stomping, barefoot and dirty from the trek, up to them would’ve been unseemly. Perhaps, it would’ve made the situation worse. He could already feel the stares, and the laughter dying down, the rustling of shoulders, fingers waggling.

He cleared his throat, and managed to force himself into looking at Garrett. Eyes glassy, as always. A reflection of themselves, and the candlelight flickering on the tables, ochre to the edges.

“She said you’ve mistaken her, Sir,” for once, his voice sounded confident, or at least confident enough that it did not waver, “If you’d be so kind to leave us be.” There was a set to his jaw that might’ve looked far more intimidating than the tremble he felt in his knees, he leaned on one elbow, and pulled his own bowl of stew closer. The smell was a godsend, as rustic and plain as the ingredients may have been, he was certainly grateful for Nica’s suggestion. She was settling down at the opposite end of the bar, though he felt as if her eyes were always on them, watching with owlish intensity. Lip was at her side, ordering a slosh of ale.

Nelle looked up at the sensation of the bowl against her knuckles, surprised to see Scour willingly at her side and even more surprised to see how he dealt so confidently and calmly with Garrett. Nelle turned her head slowly to watch her old friend. Garrett's expression had gone from confusion to one tinged with fear. He took a few steps back, wary. Nelle took this opportunity to gather herself. Hardening her eyes (though they stung and threatened the betrayal of tears) and locking her gaze with Garrett's. Once the initial unease subsided in his face, the man looked from her face to Scour's as his mind worked to put the pieces together. He had always been a smart boy and Nelle recognized the moment of understanding in his face.

"Y-yes...surely I was mistaken. I-I could not know you." Garrett murmured softly. The words he did not say, hung heavily across Nelle's small shoulders. He could not know a Redeemer. She knew he understood now, that she pushed him away for his own good. There was a fear tinged with a sadness that made her ball her fists again, flickering like candlelight across his face. She watched him go back to his friends who had gone uncomfortably quiet before turning back to the bowl in front of her. Though she could not bear to reveal herself any further in her weakness, she made a point to gently brush her left hand against Scour’s before folding them together in front of her. This was all her act could allow her to do as thanks. He bobbed his head in a nod, and spoke no words, understanding well enough that the sting of such a thing could not be soothed by words. Silently, she gripped her hands together, willing herself to cease the shaking that she felt, letting her nails bite into the flesh of her palms.

She never imagined a boy who had once been her intended would recognize her now. She never wanted to glimpse the future she couldn't have. His family must have never told him the truth about why he never saw her again. How her scars would make her no longer a suitable match. Or what happened to her family those years ago. Inwardly, she cursed herself for these feelings. She had worked hard to appear incapable of such things, and if the gentle Scour had taken pity on her... surely Lip was reveling in this moment of watching her squirm. Nelle glanced toward the end of the bar where Lip and Nica sat, trying to determine how much the woman in disguise had observed of that mess.

A few moments passed, and Nelle could hear some male voices from Garrett's table become rowdy. They sounded agitated and she picked up a few of them mumbling something about, "That disgusting wench" and "how dare she?" And "I can't believe you kissed its hand!" To a round of great guffaws.

The sound of a stool scraped loudly against the floorboards, and it appeared as if Lip had been listening after all. She had a goblet in her hand, and the ale sloshed over, trickling down her knuckles and onto the floor at her feet. Instead of the mirth Nelle had imagined on the woman’s face, it was twisted in a scowl, eyes like two pieces of hard flint. Her grin was not one of ridicule, and her face wasn’t turned towards her either, but instead, to the laughing group at the back of the tavern. If Nica had intended to pull her shoulder, and stop her tirade, she certainly wasn’t quick enough. Her stool clattered to the ground, as she slipped free from it, “Oy’, did I hear roight?”

“Fucking sackless sots back there,” she was cutting through the crowd, spilling ale in her wake. Only once she arrived at their table did she stop, slamming a gauntleted hand into her table, palm down, causing one of their drinks to fall and spill over into one of their laps. She sneered at that, lips peeled back from her teeth. She looked all sorts like a beast with her heckles raised, far more than Scour ever did. It appeared, if anything, she didn’t take kindly to people treating Redeemer’s like shit, even if she hadn’t been on the kindest of terms with Nelle. Of course, it appeared as if it was just in her nature to get in people’s faces, especially if she didn’t agree with something. Even so, she drew near one of their faces, inches away. “If I ‘ear one more word from yer’ flapping gums, interruptin’ our peaceful ‘sup, ‘owl make sure the only thing ye’ll ever kiss is my fucking blade down yer’ throat.”

Silence ushered through the inn, save for cups being set down. She released the table, let it teeter back on it’s legs and rounded her shoulders, straightening back up once more, eyes steel. She didn’t wait for a response, but set her hand on the blade hanging at her hip, a silent threat. She’d only looked at Nelle once, though her expression was hard to read. She stood vigilant, as if waiting a response; an acknowledgement at least, or hoping they took her up on her dare.

Nelle watched Lip's display with a strange mingling of confusion, surprise and shame. One younger man, clearly in his cups, stood, and started to retort, but Garrett was swift to pull him back, giving his friend a warning shake of the head. Garrett gave Lip a nod, as if to say her message was received. Though others at his table glowered their distaste in his direction. Garrett seemed to ignore their baleful stares and laid coin on their table before signaling for his group to depart. Begrudgingly, the others followed, shooting disgusted and threatening looks over their shoulders at the Redeemers as they went. Nelle would be unsurprised if his friends found them later and started a row. Lip, too, turned on her heels and headed back to Nica's side, snatching up her stool with one hand, and depositing herself back into it. A rapping of knuckles on the counter could be heard; her tankard was empty.

Nelle took a deep breath knocking her knuckles on the bar top to get the barmaid's attention. Softly, she requested a round for herself and her troop. The barmaid, looking less friendly and more nervous than before, nodded politely and took to filling tankards.

Feeling overwhelmed, Nelle stared into her bowl of stew and listened to the barmaid pulling the taps and filling their cups. Nelle imagined her feelings were like an overfull tankard, and slowly returned them to the keg it was kept in, resealing it and rolling it into storage deep in her mind. In all her time in the Redeemers, only Lily and Nica had shown her any respect or kindness. She was used to heated whispers, threats, and animosity. Those things did not bother her. But being defended shook her and she was not sure how to reapply her mask at the moment. Perhaps, the expression of befuddlement would be enough for now.

It was only then that the presence of Lily could be felt, sitting beside her as if he had simply materialized out of nothing. He spoke no words, nor even gave any kind of indication that he had witnessed the entire thing. If anything, he seemed perfectly at ease amidst the chaos that had been the tavern for the brief few minutes, a bowl of steaming soup in front of him which he ate with a deliberate slowness. A soft rattle could be heard from the daggers located on his arm... but it looked like one was missing.

A quick flash of steel briefly revealed one hidden up his right sleeve, quick to draw and defend it would seem yet out of sight so as not to instigate. As he continued eating his soup without so much as a huff, it became clear he wasn't intending to say anything at all. There was no need, at least from whatever his perspective would be. His only purpose seemed to be providing a rock to Channeller, a recognizable port in a storm so to speak.

Nelle tilted her head to her right, watching Lily eat as if unruffled. Nelle looked to her left to see Scour also calmly eating. Flanked by these tall, calm comrades, Nelle felt the roaring tides in her heart, ebb slowly. It was a strange sensation... to be standing with fellow Redeemers who showed no trepidation around her. Did she look so unsettled that they felt protective? Or was it more like the handlers of a muzzled bear, seeking to keep bloodshed at bay?

Either way, Nelle did not seek to leave their company. Not just yet. She too began to eat, enjoying the soft clink of Lily's daggers, of glasses being cleaned behind the bar and the gentle scraping of spoons against bowls.

 

[Quakernuts]

Lilean Bouchamp
"A taste of freedom; Remembrance; Pain comes from many sources"
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________​

The entrance to the City of Brass could have gone smoother, but at least none of the Redeemers had been provoked to blind rage. Lilean knew all to well the unstable and inherently dangerous temperaments of those who fought the demons that plagued the world. The fact that they had gotten through with nothing but a song and a wink from Channeller seemed to bring about a ray of good fortune for them. That would be the only thing that Lilean found solace in for at least the foreseeable future anyways. As they entered the gate, Lilean drew his cloak up further, tightened his gloves, tugged at his shirt collar. Anything and everything he could do to dull the inevitable roar of the city.

Not that it would help much, like wandering into high tide, it hit him with a force that he was both accustomed to and loathed with as much ferocity as a starving wolf. His skin crawled and he shut his eyes in an attempt to find solace in the darkness. He could still sense his companions, but it was dulled. Trying to discern their states among the others was asking to pick out an individual fish in a school when they all inherently felt the same. Lilean opened his eyes again, hiding the strain as he always did. To show weakness was to admit defeat, and Redeemers needed to be strong at all times to avoid provocation from those who would take advantage.

Many people liked the comfort of the city, the presence of bodies, the inherent safety that came with numbers. For Lily, it was a dangerous foray into the unknown. His ability to sense and read people was so often swallowed whole in places like this, causing more confusion than clarity. The merchants they passed, their voices drowned out among the barrage of different emotions feeding off of them. Greed, avarice, sincerity, deceit. It wasn’t like he could simply tell what they were feeling, but he had a pretty strong guess based off of their body’s reaction, and it was all just a cacophony of noise to him.

When Nica brought up the Boar’s Rest for food, Lilean gave a nod, hoping a smaller confined area would bring him back down a few octaves to at least enjoy a few moments of rest as they lingered in this city. With a soft click of his boots against his stead, he followed Nica forward into a thinning area of the city, inwardly relieved for the reduced traffic.

It wasn’t long before they gathered in front of the Boar’s Rest, hitching the horses and heading inside. As Lilean crossed the threshold of the inn, the ambiguous nature of noise that was Vincere was filled with a very different sensation. While there was still many bodies present in the building, it wasn’t so much indistinct yelling as it was whispers that reached his eyes, ears and skin. Everyone was back to an individual, and while it still had the very high potential to overwhelm him, this was more manageable.

Lilean followed the group in, walking up beside Channeller as she ordered some food, nodding his head and holding up a finger to order one for himself as well. In situations like these, he understood his nature of speaking was more likely to confuse than anything else, and kept his mouth shut during much of his interactions with the regular individuals that harbored within the alcohol crazed halls of inns. It wasn’t until the cry of exuberant recognition reached his ears did he stop to focus on any one individual in the room, or to better put it, wasn’t until that moment he was forced to focus on any one individual.

With Channeller’s name being called by some long lost acquaintance, her body went through a myriad of reactions. Increased heart rate, blood pressure, shallow breathing, sweating, iris’s dilating, hives appearing on the skin. Such a vast array of involuntary reactions, it was hard to pinpoint any one emotion to tie to her, only that they were strong and hit with the force of a gale. LIly’s eyes went towards the one who called her name, bending down and kissing her hand like she was some kind of princess. He was calm and collected, if somewhat excited at meeting...an old friend? Flame? Lover? It was incredibly hard to pinpoint what this man was to their resident self-induced psychotic redeemer.

When she didn’t respond in a fashion he expected her to, his reaction was genuine. Ignorance clawed at this man’s mind, and he could find peace in it if he dropped this entire confrontation, but Lily doubted it would be that easy. Behind him, he could see the prying eyes of those who recognized what they were, but they hid that hatred behind laughs and giggles, preferring to watch their friend make a fool of himself. Still, Lily had seen mirth turn to murder too many times to not be prepared. One of his daggers on his forearm found its way into his palm and quickly back up his sleeve as a bowl of soup was placed in front of him. He offered the woman a soft smile as thank you, only to be hit with suspicion and worry in return. Her eyes were glued to the incident brewing in her hall as Scour stepped forward to pull some pressure away from Channeller.

An unexpected decision by one so scared of his own shadow, but it was pleasant to see. It seemed he needed a trigger to get himself motivated, and it wasn’t one created by self interest. With everything said and done, the barrage of emotions eventually boiling down to embarrassment, guilt and barely concealed prideful rage, Lilean was content to believe that everything was handled. Naturally, the words they tossed were hurtful, speaking as if the Redeemers couldn’t hear them, but that’s all they were...words.

Lip did not seem to have the same reaction as she moved to provoke them further. Threatening violence in a nature that did not surprise Lilean, he sighed and once again his fingers tapped the threatening kiss of his dagger. Rage and anger emanated from the group like a torch, but it seemed like they had grabbed themselves a wet blanket who was quick to douse the flames. Logical and life saving, a true friend to those at the table. Lilean’s eyes moved back towards Lip as she watched them leave the bar. He was not in favor of her actions, but he made no move to reprimand her or otherwise talk to her on the subject. Her nature would be required for the task ahead, it was best to simply let it be for the time being.

Instead his eyes turned towards Channeller, who seemed on the verge of breaking whatever fragile hold she had on her own mask that covered the wounded creature beneath. Lily picked up his bowl and moved a few seats closer to her, keeping his words to nonexistent as he continued to eat his soup. With the event behind them, Lily was content to continue eating his food and staying close to Channeller as the recognizable Lily and Scour flanking her seemed to bring her frayed nerves back into line.

Everything appeared to be falling back into line, the tide was dying down and all around them tensions were lifting. Lily’s eyes closed for a brief moment, taking in the weakening of the intense emotions around him. Like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders, it was a burden brought about by comparison that allowed him to breath as if he had been drowning. His breathing slowed as he took another bite of the soup that could have used more salt.

In a moment though, Lily’s eyes shot open, but otherwise indicated no other sign of distress or trouble. He slowly turned on his stool, looking back at the door to the inn like some kind of animal caught in a trap, his fingers never leaving his dagger as he watched the door as if he expected it to explode at any given moment. Now the tension was his, and he did not enjoy it. This was not the side he liked being on.

The door opened slowly at first, before receiving enough force to slam into the wall, providing quite the sight and jump to those not paying attention. A large armored figure crawled through the door, having to shift and duck to fit as the plates of their attire clattered with each other. A flowing red cape waved as if propelled by unfelt winds, the sword on their hip far too large for the average person to wield and the shield upon their back sturdy enough to withstand titans.

As the armored figure stood to their full height inside, their armor gave way to engravings and detailing too professionally done to be completed by just any blacksmith. The helmet, covering the entire face was elven in design and dwarvish in creation. Small slits where the eyes should be, curved upwards in a gentle slope and ending in flourishing wings that served no purpose outside of style. A mixture of steel grey and gold tidings swallowed the entire suit as the figure strode forward, all eyes on them as if they not only expected it, but relished in it.

Lilean’s eyes never left the person, the degree of confidence that had so long passed arrogance as to be classified as a new level of egotism was palpable, and could only come from one person, if his travels had proven him right. The armored individual wandered directly up to Nica, standing head and shoulders above her.

“You have some fucking nerve you daft bitch.” A surprisingly suave and sultry voice escaped the helmet, definitely female in its delivery. “You think I wouldn’t hear about this? In an organization filled with the most powerful bastards this side of the mortal realm?” A hand reached up and removed the helmet, revealing a rather striking elf with long blonde hair and blue eyes, with a sneer that was somehow both friendly and incredibly threatening at the same time.

“If you’re doing anything, it’s going to be in Kalista’s fucking shadow, so as of now, I’m a part of this raggitedy ass group.”

 

[Quakernuts]

Kalista Maniota
"My path has lead me down so many trampled dreams...and none of them are mine."
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________​

They say having friends makes facing the world that much easier, to stand shoulder to shoulder with those you could trust with your life. To share smiles, pain, heartache, laughter and solemn silence.

They also say to face the world alone is a strength akin to a god. To stand, to brace and withstand everyone on your own, to fight when there’s no one there and no reward given aside from pride.

Kalista wished whoever ‘They’ were would make up their mind. Do they want to face the world together, or alone? Which was better? Or, to put it more bluntly, who gave a shit. Kalista sat across the table from a man built like a brick shithouse, downing a literal barrel of ale who continued talking as if he was some kind of philosopher. One of those humans who believed that having muscles made you right, that strength was entirely tied to physicality and allowed one to say anything and have the masses believe it as truth. Sure, Kalista believed the same thing. The difference between them was that she had long ago left his little league behind.

“So...I personally would like to try the first method out, facing the world together so to speak.” The man leaned over, his long beard nearly scraping the table and his eyebrows lowered down in a almost laughable attempt to look somewhat alluring. “Like...say, your world? And we wouldn’t be facing it so much as shattering it.” The man raised his eyebrows a couple of times, earning a laugh from Kalista. Normally, she wouldn’t have any problem with this arrangement, but today she had other plans. Plans that she couldn’t afford to miss or otherwise ignore.

“Don’t get me wrong lumberjack.” Kalista stated, reaching over and snapping one of the straps of the man’s overalls. “You are just my kind of fucked up, but I’ve got other plans for today.” Kalista leaned back, grabbing her own flagon and raising it to her lips, using her other hand to wave away the man. “Maybe you’ll meet me again, and maybe then it will be your day. Maybe I’ll, quite literally, give a fuck. But wander along, go find some elvish waif you can stick your corn in.” The man seemed to lean back for a moment, a potential of one possible thought going through his completely insect brain. There was a split second where he considered leaving, but the hushed murmurs around the room seemed to beckon his pride into effect.

“Now there...I was just trying to be polite...but no one’s going to bat an eye if I have to drag some fuckin knife ear into a room. I suggest you...acquiesce to my request.” Kalista stared at the man, dumbfounded for a moment as her eyes peered across the room.

“Acquiesce? Did you learn that in the one book you've read?” Kalista stared at him for a moment, before shaking her head. “Nevermind, tell you what muscles.” Kalista put down her flagon, leaning both her elbows onto the table and staring at the man. “If you can lift me out of my seat and take me upstairs to have your dirty, oily bear man way with me...I’ll let you. Sound like a deal?” The man grinned like a giddy school girl as he stood up, easily 6’4 and made his way around the table. Kalista watched him out of the corner of her eye as he bent down and put both of his arms around Kalista’s waist.

As the baggy clothing she was wearing fell away from his arms as he came into contact with Kalista herself, it dawned on him in a very clear way why she issued the challenge. The moment his arms felt Kalista, he released immediately, backing up a few steps. “Ok...not stupid enough to not recognize a threat when he sees one it would seem.” Kalista stood up from her position, her formless clothing not betraying the vast sea of muscles that laid beneath, but her stature and overall size revealing just how much this man was outclassed.

At her full height, she was easily a few inches taller than him, and while not as wide, that wasn’t saying anything. The man looked at her, a mixture of shock and disgust washing over his face. “How do you think a ‘Fucking KnifeEar’ was able to secure a table all by her little lonesome?” Kalista looked down at the man, who she could tell was wanting to fight her just to save face, but recognition was hitting him like a bull at this point. “Run along now kiddy, try not to trip on your purse.” Kalista stated, patting him on the head hard enough to make him shudder and give him a sharp reminder of what lay beneath her baggy clothing. He didn’t say anything as he turned and walked out of the bar.

The hushed whispers intensified, as did the gazes, but the only one she cared about was the innkeeper. The balding man looked at her, hatred in his eyes but she didn’t break the one rule he stated when she walked in. She didn’t break the man or the inn, and that’s all that mattered. The innkeeper spat on the floor, but otherwise said nothing. As much an acknowledgement she was ever going to get in this place. She returned to her sitting position at the table, enjoying the flagon of ale as she waited, the path of legend beckoning her from here and driving her mad with every passing moment.

It wasn’t long before a street rat cautiously opened the door to the inn, a raggedy little girl dressed in nothing but a sack by the looks of it, peering in but never entering. She spotted Kalista and beckoned her out, and she responded. She made her way out into the streets of the ‘Lord’s Lesser Manor’ Inn and walked around to one of the alleys where a couple of kids stood, everything about them screaming ‘filth’ and ‘poor’. Kalista towered over them like some God, and the urge to see if they were even the size of her foot was nearly overpowering. “You said to keep an eye out for a silver hair lady right!”

“She was pretty, too bad she’s a demon humper.” One of the boys in the back stated, receiving a very hard slap from the other. The girl visibly flinched as she looked at Kalista, waiting for some kind of reprisal.

“I’m assuming you dragged me out here to say that she’s here…” Kalista knelt down, and even then she still had to look down on these kids. “Or at least I hope it’s not that you need to confirm what I told you…”

“No no no...we saw her…She entered at the west gates with 4 others.” Kalista looked at the girl with an inquisitive look, luckily the girl seemed to pick up on the clue and continued. “Uh...there was a guy who had a cloak and bow, oh and he had tattoos on his eyes or something… There was a girl who was a bit shorter, wearing furs and stuff, she looked angry. Another guy with short hair, he stayed real close to the silver haired lady…”

“There was also a freak with horns and tail! He was purple! Brad always said, ‘Stop eating all the rat or you’ll grow up to look like them’, guess he was eating all the demons then huh? Isn’t that what you do? Eat demons or something!” Kalista looked over at the kid. His friend, brother, or whatever he was didn’t bother hitting him and instead just froze. The girl looked like she was terrified for her life as all the color drained out of her face.

“He’s just stupid...isn’t he?” Kalista asked. The girl nodded so vigorously that it looked like she was going to shake her head off. “So, west gate. It’s getting late, chances are they’ll be bunking up pretty soon. Where are the closest inns to the West Gate?”

“There’s a few.” The girl stated. “There’s Richard’s Aegis...Eggis? There’s Boar’s Rest, there’s Pulley and Lever, and there’s the Loot Scoot Sweet Suite” Kalista raised an eyebrow at that last one, the girl shrugged. “Gambling stuff, adults too stupid with their money.”

“Ah, a gambling den. Well, that’s off the list. Nica wouldn’t take them there. Out of the three left, which one has the least amount of traffic?”

“Probably the Pulley and Lever, it’s known to kinda have...a bunch of bad people go there.” Kalista shook her head.

“Next?”

“Boar’s rest then. Richard’s Aegis is kinda front of the gates, so they put on shows and dinners and stuff for guests, Boar’s rest is off to the side streets and gets those who don’t want to listen to bards and laughter.” Kalista nodded, standing back up to her full height and reaching for her belt.

“Good work kid, here, get yourself some food.” Kalista dropped a small pouch of coins into the girl’s waiting hands. “And do yourself a favor, get that kid a muzzle before he says something that gets you all killed.” The girl nodded her head and all three of them ran further back into the alley. She had a location, now all that was needed was to get her gear and head over. As she went back into the Lord’s Lesser Manor, the jovial conversations that had started in her absence seemed to completely disappear as eyes turned back towards her. Once again, the hushed whispers seemed to overtake the place as she went to the back of the inn, heading upstairs and to her room.

Inside was a quaint little thing with a bed that was at least one size too small for her, but she was used to it at this point. Her transformation into a Tank class of the Redeemers had pretty much guaranteed that she would never get a nice bed ever again. Off to the side though, hung up with care and precision, her armor stood like its own warrior. Her weapon and shield were occupying the bed at the moment, and while many would be cautious of leaving such equipment out in the open like this, she had made it very clear her first night here that if anyone attempted such a thing, they would never attempt anything ever again.

She donned her armor with the practiced ease and speed of someone who had spent a lifetime in it. It wasn’t long before she slipped her helmet on, her shield on her back and her sword in her sheath. She gathered what was left of her things, and left the room. As she made her way down the stairs, each step creaking with her weight, she could feel all eyes in the room turn to meet her entrance. Good, they should know when a God among Mortals was among them.

She stopped by the bar, placing the key to her room on the surface in front of the innkeeper. He simply sneered, spit on the ground and took the key without a further word. Honestly, she preferred that to someone who thought they were clever with insults. She had heard every variation on the word ‘Redeemer’, ‘Elf’ and ‘KnifeEar’ that she cared to hear. Without another word, she left the Lord’s Lesser Manor, leaving nothing but stunned stares and hateful snarls.

She immediately started making her way towards the West Gate like a woman on a mission. Honestly, a part of her couldn’t believe Rickard’s information had been true. When she received a missive about a potential mission that would dwarf everything the Redeemers had ever done, she scoffed and wondered how that could even happen without her direct involvement. Still, she couldn’t dismiss Rickard out of hand, he was a sensor stationed out of Wildekeep, and best yet, he liked Kalista for reasons that even dumbfounded her. Most of the time people wanted her for one thing...her body, in one form or another.

When she had approached Rickard as someone who could keep her in the loop of the goings on's in the Wildekeep, she had offered him pretty much anything he wanted to maintain an inside man so to speak, but he refused it all (and this was a man who looked like he could use some of it). Instead, he asked for drawings of the various places she went to. Rickard couldn’t move very much anymore, a long enduring injury of his duty having left him unable to stand and walk for long periods of time but still having as much wanderlust as he did in his younger years, this was the closest he would ever get. She accepted, buying art and stories from all over the lands as she traveled.

Until today though, none of the news he had given her had panned out, but when something this big came down the pipe more than a week ago, she couldn’t help but get involved. Now it looked like his information was on the money, as Nica had appeared in Vincere with a small team. A team that didn’t include her...Kalista Maniota... The gall of that woman. Kalista stomped forward, people moving to get out of her way as she cleaved her way through crowds to get to her destination.

It took a bit to get to the West Gate, and then some time to get direction to the Boar’s Rest. Many people would have doubted a potential guess in destination for a team of Redeemers on a mission, but Kalista had to guess that at least a couple of them were soft and required ‘Beauty Sleep’ or some other nonsense. As she eventually stood before the door to the Boar’s Rest, she adjusted her plating a bit more and puffed out her chest. First impressions were everything, and even though there was a chance she had met all these Redeemers before, she was going to make sure this was the moment they would remember about her.

Her hand placed against the door, she started opening it slowly, but the moment she got Nica into view, she slammed it open. Always make a grand entrance, never admit fault in drawing attention to the only one who matters in the room. Kalista stepped through the doorway, being careful to not be caught in it due to her sheer size before striding across the Inn. As she did so, she took a moment to look at the others and felt her soul drop a little bit. She had met them all before, so this wasn’t as great a first impression as she could have hoped for.

Channeller Warren, Lilean Beauchamp, Felipa Verlet and Scour. Of course there was also Nica, who was the only person who mattered at this moment. She focused on the leader of this little team, making her way over until she stood right before her, towering over the woman like the God that she was. “You have some fucking nerve you daft bitch” She started, staring down at her. “You think I wouldn’t hear about this? In an organization filled with the most powerful bastards this side of the mortal realm?” She reached up and removed her helmet, revealing herself to the troupe that undoubtedly was focusing their attention on her.

“If you’re doing anything, it’s going to be in Kalista’s fucking shadow. So as of now, I’m a part of this raggitedy ass group.”

 

[Yonni]

The dregs of yesterday.
______________________________________________________________​

As soon as the words left Kalista’s mouth, Lip kicked out of her chair, scraping it loudly against the floorboards once more, though the twisted look of malice on her face soon melted away. A flash of fury—gone just as quickly as it’d come. It was replaced by disbelief, then a wide, shit-eating grin that she could feel pulling at her lips, impossible to sweep away. She flagged an eyebrow at her. Always looking up because she was so goddamn tall. How could a woman be that tall? It almost made her jealous. She was everything she wanted to be, the strength that exuded from her screamed of a life that couldn’t be snuffed. Damned be anyone who tried.

“Fancy seeing your face here,” her voice was all-smooth, a languid lilt reserved for those she didn’t feel an ounce of reservation around. She could’ve walloped the table of Nelle’s whatever-they-were, and Kalista wouldn’t have batted an eye. Might’ve even helped her. Her gaze flit over to Nica’s impassive face, trying to read it without much success. She only ever showed what she wanted to. It appeared as if Kalista hadn’t been picked to their fancy little party... for reasons she’s never understand, because if she wanted anyone at her side, it would’ve been her. She glanced over to her side at her companions, and couldn’t help but notice Scour shrinking in his seat. She snorted.

Nica’s face was a statue, as ever. Placid. A silver, wisp of hair blew away from her mouth, an exhale from her nostrils, and then, nothing more to ever display whether or not she’d been ruffled by Kalista’s brusque entrance. Owlish, heterochromatic eyes raised to meet hers. She, too, had to look up at her, like everyone else. She might’ve been the only person capable of weathering such violent storms that woman was capable of bringing in her wake. A tornado, an avalanche; chaos riding on her coattails as surely as the armour she donned. She let the question hang in the air. The statement, the admonition that she would be coming along no matter what. Daft bitch.

Then she sighed softly. “You would share your ambitions to become a legend with your kinsmen?” Her gaze did not waver, though she inclined her head to the side, thoughtfully. As if she saw something in her that she did not see herself. “To be the organization’s dogs?” Her voice was tempered steel. Sharp, but untelling. In the same way she’d seemed to study all those she’d picked to work alongside her, it appeared as if she’d taken a look at Kalista as well. More like than not, she’d worked alongside her on missions before, or else, Lip had seen them together enough to realize they were familiar. “I suppose there is no helping it now that you’re here.”

“I could not stop you even if I tried,” she blinked up at her, it was a statement that bled of honesty, “We will eat and head out at night.” Lip only grinned, plopping back into her stool. Guess she was a part of their raggity ass group, now.

Despite her earlier shock, Nelle did not jump or startle as the door exploded open, and voices raised. She only seemed to acknowledge the shrinking violet that was Scour at her side. Nelle didn't appear to need to look, to recognize the owner of the voice. Instead, she pointedly reached out for the tankard of ale in front of her. Nelle slightly angled her face, blonde hair falling over one eye, as she lightly sing songed,

"I see... your leg... has healed well..." Nelle took a deep draw from the tankard of ale, coming up with a satisfied sound before sing songing again, "I see... that you're... alive." It seemed this caused Kalista's eyes to drift over to the noticeably smaller woman, her gaze a mixture of disdain and anger that coalesced into an eerie confidence. It appeared as if Scour had at least looked up at them, regarding Kalista with a thin-lipped nod that looked all too strange on his inhuman face, but then, resolved in keeping himself preoccupied by scrapping the remnants of stew from his bowl.

"Sing your songs now little bird, but you try that shit again and I'll break more than your bones." Kalista stated as a matter of fact, the history between the two becoming more plain as their eyes continued to lock with each other for a split second. Nelle let a manic grin fill her face. Kalista then turned her attention back to Nica, letting a selfish smirk set the tone. "And as for you, yeah, you can't stop me. I'm more than welcoming towards those who would like to play my little sidekicks for this adventure. After all, now that I'm here, it's going to be a bit hard to draw everyone's attention from me, isn't it?"

Nica said nothing further, turning back to the table, as if a large, stomping woman demanding to join them was a common occurrence. It seemed as if she was used to dealing with Kalista and had already decided long ago that arguing with her was a moot point—besides, she’d never been the arguing type, and would rather let people do as they wished. As long as none of her unspoken lines were crossed, she would have no issue.

Kalista pushed her way past everyone, seemingly ignoring the 'dogs' comment as she spoke harshly to the woman manning the bar to get herself some food of her own. Lily's eyes never left the woman, his hand fidgeting with his fingers as he seemed to be focusing his attention on her. Maybe she was an unknown, or maybe she was a little too well known? Either way, he didn't seem to take kindly to the new member of their troupe who bulldozed their way into their adventure.

"A measure of self, we are at the mercy of fire." Lily finally stated, earning a wry cock of the eyebrow from the overly tall elf.

"You say something poet?" Kalista asked, giving him only half of her attention.

"Nothing but audible silence." Lily stated, the tension in him seeming to relax at the way she addressed him. Maybe he sensed something, or maybe he just came to terms with whatever it was what was making him anxious in the first place. Kalista seemed confused for a moment, before diverting her attention to someone else in the group. She seemed ready to throw something at Scour, as a way of getting him to acknowledge her maybe, but decided against it when she turned fully towards Lip. Nelle, as if sensing Kali's malice towards Scour, gently began to stroke his right arm with her left hand, eyes staring at nothing as if deeply in thought. But the act was somewhere between protective, warning and unconscious. Kali leaned back on the bar, the wood of it audibly creaking as she placed her weight on it.

"Lip, you right fuck, it's been too long! How's life been trying to gut you lately?"

Lip’s gaze drifted towards Lilean and then back to Kalista. While she, too, couldn’t understand half of the shit that come out of the man’s mouth, she had the itching feeling that those words were a dig. A small slice, if anything. He didn’t like her, that much was clear. Her eyebrows drew up. Seemed as if he mostly tolerated everyone. Maybe that spitfire personality of hers was overwhelming to his senses. She’d lived a hundred different lives, compared to them. Must’ve been weird being around a bunch of pups, comparably.

It was no wonder she treated everyone like they were pawns, moving about her chessboard. She didn’t mind, of course. In truth, she’d always admired the path she blazed ahead of her, ripping into her story by brute force, paving a tale that wove itself louder than any story told bent over bonfires. If Nica was there, she’d follow anyone else’ shadow, become apart of any story. None of that mattered to her anyway. Now, living... that’s what thrilled her.

She wanted to live. Loud. Unabated. Shamelessly. Fuck the rest.

She was drawn from her thoughts by the woman leaning precariously against the table. It gave a desperate squeak, like a ship leaning into the slap of violent waves, causing the bartender to look up in concern, but maintain his silence. Good choice, that. Lip’s mouth twisted and peeled back to bare teeth, once more. She raised a hand and gave it a dismissive shake, “Aye, Kali, it has.” A pause, before she set a mug to her lips, and tipped her head back, taking a long swig before setting it back down on the table. “Ain’t nothin’ so fierce as what this mission’ll do, m’sure.” She scrubbed a hand across her chin and grinned wider, “Wonderin’ what song they’ll sing of us, when everythin’s said and done.”

There was a flicker of light in her eyes, mischievous as always. She liked when Kalista spoke of becoming a legend, and when she told stories so grand it was difficult to tell strands of truth from the fantastical. She lived loudly too, in her own way. At times, when they’d meet on the road, or in taverns, Lip’s words would dribble like honey, pebbled with offhanded come-on’s that were never too serious, but most of the time, she simply treated her as she was: a bloody, well-liked bastard, someone who’d always join her in the muck and guts, with their faces caked with filth, and bellies filled with fire.

She laughed loudly, thick eyebrows raised. “Sidekick, eh?”

She didn’t mind at all.

 

[Heartfeltwords]

Channeller Warren
"I'm not crazy/ I'm just a little unwell"
​

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Nelle gently tightened her saddlebags and checked the saddle straps on her mare. With their fees paid, their bellies full, and the addition of the unexpected Kalista, it was time for their ragtag gaggle to take to the darkened streets. Nelle had no complaints either way. Daylight, night... it made little difference to her. But she recognized it made a difference to the more visually obvious Redeemers in their group. Though, maybe night was better for her too. Maybe she wouldn't have to encounter pieces of her old life in the dark.

Nelle led her mare from the stables, flipping a coin to the wary young stable hand as she passed. He caught it somewhat clumsily and mumbled a thanks.

Nelle hummed softly to herself as she waited for the others to join her. Kalista’s appearance was momentarily confusing for her. Mainly because last she saw the woman, she was buried beneath rubble and bodies, her leg pointed at an uncomfortable looking angle after she didn't heed Nelle's warning. It was Nelle's first mission as a Redeemer. Her powers were strong but... somewhat difficult for her to control well. As the enemy descended in a swarm toward their party, Nelle stepped in front, and shouted for the others to stay behind her before releasing a wave of mental destruction ahead. None of her teammates bothered to heed the new recruit's warning. Nelle was only grateful in that moment that her hearing was gone and she could not hear their dying screams because it was too late to stop. Too late to save them.

Nelle grit her teeth momentarily and made a tsk sound, as if scolding her mind. She had tried to warn them.

She softly began to sing to herself, "Ashes, ashes, they all fall down."

It was Scour who idled at her side, seeing how he had no steed to prepare, he’d made sure that all of his things were in order, and then, simply lingered close by. There was a moment of silence that lingered after her soft humming. She was always singing words he’d never heard before. Songs that belonged outside of the Consortium, a voice that wove stories just as complex as Lil’s metaphorical prose. The crooked nails of his feet clicked against the cobblestones, before he tilted her head at her, reflective eyes curious, “If you don’t mind me asking, where does that song come from?” He pulled up the strap of his backpack back over his shoulder, as it was sagging down. Even though he had to look down at her, he’d never felt much taller. “It sounds... sad.”

Nelle tipped her face to look up at Scour. She studied him, her mind standing a line between past and present. False madness, self preservation and a certain reputation of cruelty skipped through her line of thought like a stone across water. Nelle always worked to mingle these falsehoods with an echo of truth. It kept her mask believable. Nelle let a grin fill her face, as if amused by the tall man's question.

"Oh come to the Thorn and Bow, where every night's a show. And hear the tavern keeper's daughter sing... oh come to the Thorn and Bow... you'll learn things, and you'll grow..." Nelle sang softly, reaching up to gently stroke Scour's cheek. A silly song her little sister, Joy, made up and would sing for customers. It was a truth hidden in the absurdity of her response. But in a low, soft, almost husky voice she whispered to him. Speaking. "The place burned to the ground. Long ago."

Nelle tilted her head, and gave him a gentle, sad smile. She gave his cheek an affectionate pat and swung into her saddle. Scour straightened back up, and stared after her, as she swung back into her saddle. He'd never been uncomfortable with physical touches; the Consortium, with all its strange people, were very much the touchey-feely type. Butting heads, rubbing noses, hands buried in hair. They'd never shied away from that. He found it strange here, how uncomfortable people were with those kinds of displays. It reminded him of home, something he longed for with a strength that always startled him. He touched his cheek, where she'd brushed her fingers, so much smaller than his, across and smiled, turning away. Her words, however, would stay with him.

The sound of steel on cobblestone was more than enough of an auditory warning and beacon for where Kalista was, bringing up the rear of the two love birds with a twitching set of ears and a slight grimace. "She failed to mention /who/ burned it to the ground. My money's on crackpot." Kalista stated in a disinterested tone, almost like she didn't want to interject which made her comment only feel more out of place. She rubbed a gauntlet against her face, wiping her nose slightly as she seemed to lick the inside of her teeth. "Then again, stick around her long enough and you won't need me to tell you that, Hells, you'll probably get to witness it yourself." There was a slight smile as she steered her gaze at Nelle, but it was anything but friendly. Predatory in nature, inviting a challenge, daring her to risk it all and prove her right.

There was a moment where Nelle tilted her head at the hulking woman, a slow malicious grin twitching at the corners of her lips.

"A hunter baiting themself will only receive a dire straight as a reward." Lilean's voice pierced through from behind the massing bulk of armor. He wove around Kalista with the grace of a dancer, never faltering as she stopped in her tracks to look back at the Ranger. "Tis but a simple guide, a melancholy audible, a story drenched in theoreticals, how we begin to wonder." Lilean's hands held the reigns of his horse, who brushed beside Kalista as he moved.

Nelle's grin faded at the sound of Lily's voice. Her expression instead somewhat blank as she processed his lyrical musings.

Kalista flicked her nose slightly, a huff exiting her frame as she appeared to be thinking through Lilean's words before stopping and just giving a shrug. "Whatever, but speaking from experience, don't get in front of her." Kalista looked over at Scour directly. "You ain't got the body for what she's packing Horn boy."

Scour only dipped his head low, thankful that Lilean had stepped in when he did. While he hadn’t travelled with many other Redeemer’s, preferring to stay behind at Wildekeep, he certainly had never been with such a caustic group. As if one step too far would send them all barrelling off the edge. It made the scruff at the back of his neck stand on end, wary that they’d come to blows. He wasn’t really sure how to respond either way, though he glanced up at Kalista and mumbled a soft, “It’s Scour.” Not Horn Boy, not Purple-one. It was a constant, that. Hearing his name was a rarity these days.

With that, Nelle's expression became a full grin. A startling show of teeth that teetered into madness.

"She's... nooot... wroooonng..." Nelle sing songed in a creepy taunting voice. Nelle turned to Scour with a small smirk and sang, "Go ahead, you might be dead... but stay behind to stay alive." Scour bobbed his head in a stiff nod, tail twitching behind him. He wasn’t sure if that was supposed to be a comfort, or a warning. Maybe, both.

Lip didn’t seem to pay any mind to the interaction at all. Or else, it was something common, in her world. One of chaos, havoc and disorganization. She yawned loudly and stretched her hands above her head, cat-like, “There, there, kids.” She grinned wide, seated sidelong in her saddle, eyes lidded at half-mast, “Save that fer’ the streets.” She readjusted herself in the saddle, slipping her feet into her stirrups, and halted her mount just to the side of them. She meant for the battles ahead. Familiar with Vincere’s winding streets, pocked with dark alleys and now hailed with shadows cast by the lanterns set into overhanging hooks, it seemed as if she expected one.

A flash of silver hair indicated that Nica had passed them by, though it appeared she’d left her horse behind. The scrape of metal plates rubbing against one another sounded as she turned to face them, her expression placid as ever. She arched her eyebrow at Kalista and Nelle, before blinking at them through the darkness. “We will take the back way, through the Slums. There is a place where we can avoid political nuisances.” A pause, then she nodded to herself. “Approaching Mendax’s office from the front would be foolish. We are no longer welcome there, and the guards would turn us away. Unfortunately, we must still do this diplomatically or else, our relationship with Litas would suffer another blow. As you know, our standing is already... fragile.”

She patted her blade, nestled at her hip. “More than like, we’ll have to deal with bandits.” She glanced to Scour, “Tainted. The desperate looking for food and money.” What would Ama have done in this situation? She would have wept for them, and what this group would do, because they were the same as the one's who walked this path before: if a blade hissed free from its scabbard, every one of them would cut the arm that brandished it without so much as a glance. Perhaps, not all. But most. She was different, too. She would not weep. Would not discourage them from such violence. “I am sure you all know what must be done, in that case. Hesitance will only put you, and your companions, in harms way. So will recklessness. Remember that.”

Her gaze drifted to the others, lingered briefly on Kalista, and then, Nelle.

"That, I will not tolerate."

Nelle gave Nica a respectful nod, acknowledging the woman’s seniority and request. If restraint was the key here, Nelle would not use her full Redeemer ability. Knives would do just fine when it came to bandits and other unfortunates, anyway.

"As you wish..." She said in her soft speaking voice.

Nelle drew a silver dagger from its family, displayed along her hips. The dim light caught the name Ronin etched along the blade as she skillfully palmed the weapon. She pulled her hood up, fluffing her cloak around her body to obscure her size to possible attackers. Softly, she clicked her tongue at her mare to get her walking, now knowing their general direction, she guided her horse ahead of the group. If they were accosted, she at least didn't want to be surprised. And if she was in front, her team was behind her... safe... just in case.

Though Nelle's father had warned her as a child against going to the slums here, she knew well enough where they were. It was clear when the paved roads ended and became mud, and when the stalls became leaning ramshackle shelters, made of mud and old timbers and whatever else could be found at the time.

Nelle had never really thought of herself as particularly beautiful or well dressed, but she soon became acutely aware of standing out among the people of the slums. Children at play stopped to gawk at her, stunned. Grown people nudged each other and whispered behind their hands. Though her cloak was a dark green, she felt it to feel even more vibrant against the backdrop of grays and browns that were the slums. She noticed Scour actually got less attention here than anyone else. He was blending among the varied faces: some had fur, some were single-eyed, some triple eyed, some were missing limbs or had extra and they were all in a rainbow of colors. It was like a flower field of individuals. Elvish folks were scattered in and there were a few humans too, much dirtier humans. She should have rolled in mud before she mounted her horse.

Nelle did her best to look uninterested, despite being deeply curious. She tried to send piercing scowls to anyone who dared make eye contact, but it somehow seemed to lack it's usual impact. Beneath her, she could feel her mare's muscles shifting, sensing her rider's wary mood. She tightened the grip on the dagger hidden under her cloak.

Despite the fact that he was surrounded by familiar faces, Scour hadn’t ever felt as much out of his element as he did there. Even with the lack of gawking humans, eyes perpetually narrowed, as if he’d turn into a slavering beast in front of their very eyes, he felt much smaller in this place. As if the ramshackle huts, leaning precariously at their sides, held predatory eyes. Thousands, staring. He’d never been in the slums before. Of course, the Consortium had its impoverished areas, but he’d at least heard it wasn’t that bad. He’d never been there before.

Compared to the others in this troupe, his youth had been privileged and he’d never gone without. He lived in the wealthier part of his city. A nobleman, as they called them in human-cities. This was horrific. Pock-marked faces, either far too interested or far too inebriated to care, disappeared into mud-sludged alleyways. The ground sucked at his feet as they walked. It made him want to find higher ground. Fortunately, the road opened up into a sparser area. The buildings were fewer here. It might’ve been mimicking the marketplace, if there were any stalls here, which there weren’t. Just a barren, empty place with broken cobblestones, and the remnants of a circular stone wall that may have been something back in the day. His eyes traced the others, watching their backs, focusing on ignoring the prickling of hair at the back of his neck screaming: run, run, run.

It was only then did he notice Lip’s hunched shoulders, his hand hadn’t left the hilt of his axe pretty much since first stepping into the slums, hand scrunched into a white-knuckled fists. The expression on his face had been tense, then darker, though he wasn’t sure if it was the absence of light that made it so. For once, he maintained his silence, no quip ready on his lips, shrugging off danger as if it were nothing at all. He stopped abruptly, and jerked his head to the side, nostrils flared.

“Dismount,” Nica’s voice was steady as a stone bearing the brunt of precarious waters. She raised a hand, indicating that they should halt. Her eyes scanned ahead of them, into the shadows.

Nelle tensed, but was quick to obey the order. Lithely, she swung herself from the saddle, her cloak fluttering around her small frame like a leaf in the wind. A second dagger, the name Hunter gleaming along the blade, found its way to her free hand. Nelle's ears perked for unusual sounds, eyes strained for the disturbance Nica seemed to sense but, she could not pinpoint it. It was unnervingly quiet. Nelle hated quiet, but even she had sense enough to know when to remain quiet. Instead, her eyes flicked between Nica and the usually perceptive Beauchamp, seeking direction.

Lilean had already dismounted his horse, the animal standing behind him with minimal movement. Lilean himself had his eyes closed, or at least it looked like he had his eyes closed? It was difficult to see under the shadow of his hood. Subtle twitches of his head confirmed he was aware of the situation, much like a dog picking up a scent or a cat's ears twitching. He didn't give any direction, but the tension in his shoulders was enough to indicate a threat. "The eyes of avarice and greed, they burn the skin." He mentioned softly, only then did the glint of metal indicate the presence of a weapon in his palm. A small dagger at the ready for any type of contingency. There was a snort unbecoming of a woman as Kalista brushed her way past the group and past Nica in the front.

"Did your special sense tell you that, or did you just put two and two together? Cmon! We're in the slums and carrying many many things that these fuckwits would love to take." Kalista donned her helmet, unsheathing her blade but leaving her shield on its back. "Ok deadmen! Take your best shot!" Kalista walked over to a wall, rapping the blade's blunt side against it. "If you truly believe you have a chance, then let ol' Kalista be the first to take the hit. If any one of you can even pierce my armor... I'll give it to you, no questions asked!" There was a brief pause, until Lilean's hand twitched. The glint of metal was gone from his hand as yet another slid from his arm into his palm once more.

Lilean looked over at Nelle, who was peering at him for direction. He held a finger to his mouth for silence, what little she could see of his eyes glancing in several directions. "Brace for a wish granted, we have become bearers of misguided hopes." Lilean's hand moved again, this time the blade sailing through the air and into one of the many shadows ahead of Kalista. There was a soft squish, not unlike plucking an overripe apple, before a body tumbled into the light without fanfare, a dagger protruding from his right eye and a very large knife still clutched in his hands.

There was a dripping noise, accompanied by the squelching of boots in muck and a far more unusual noise, one that didn’t belong anywhere civilized. A wet gurgle, an inhale, and a wheeze, coming from the furthest right shadows of the alleyway. A flickering lantern swaying from a tilted home splayed light across the thing’s face, if it could rightly be called that. It’s eyes were missing and it’s gaping mouth, with needle-point teeth hung wide, dribbles of drool flecked down into the puddle. Scour had thought it was the beginning of rain, for it had sounded like that to him, but his stomach twisted realizing how wrong he’d actually been. The Tainted man wore little more than patched leathers, hobbled with thick stitching.

It’s snout twitched in the air, nostrils flared wide, and it turned its head to regard them. Had it had eyes to stare, that’s what it looked as if it was doing. It knew exactly where they were, unhampered by its fleshy sockets. One arm slid against the wall, the screech of metal scraping against brickwork accompanied it. Another followed. And then, another, until two sets of arms came into view. As stick-thin as the man was, each arm was ropy with muscle, and he held four crooked blades. The blade-tips clicked against the building. Another awful croak came from deep in its chest as it raised his head past them, something reminiscent of a godawful toothy grin pulling at the thin skin of its face, as if it were a giddy horse tossing its head to the side: pleased.

“Not very nice, are you,” the voice was made of silk and grease, coming from their left side. It belonged to a far more pleasant-looking man. He stepped into the flickering lamp light, over the crumpled form and tapped the flat end of his blade against his shoulder, eyeing them through eyes of darkness. He was, perhaps, the closest thing to looking like Scour when it came to his build, slender as a reed, long tail swishing at his side, but that’s where the comparison stopped. Large, bulky horns and spines extended from his face, nose flat and ears pointed. He sighed softly, as if this were a minor inconvenience, “Strange place for people like you to be.” A pause, “Like the big lady said, you do have some nice things we'd like. That armor is rather tempting.” He waved a hand dismissively, “Leave them here; a donation to the poorer folk of Vincere, and we’ll let you be.”

“You see, you are quite outnumbered.” A click of a tongue, and others appeared from the alleyways. All forms of deformities. A score of seven individuals, at least. One’s arms were far longer than its legs and torso, keeping it perpetually in the air, where smaller arms held knives; another was a bulky mass, shoulders rippling with muscle, horns as wide as an ox, holding something like a makeshift mace, with the head of a sharpened animal skull tied to a thick pole. There were a couple humans there, of beefy builds, and one slender elf, cloak drawn up to hide their face, a glint of a blade in their hand. All in various states of disarray, with hungry eyes, and weapons drawn. The desperate, the downtrodden.

Scour’s eyes traced the various forms appearing from the shadows, hand poised at his sides, trying to smother the tremor, knowing that he was anything but ready. These people were unlike anything he’d ever seen before, twisted and dirty. Uncouth. Unlike the others, he hadn’t known what to expect stepping into this cursed placed. He couldn’t help but swallow around the lump forming at his throat. The hair at the back of his neck stood on end like a hound, hackles raised and ears pinned low. In retrospect, Lip seemed just as at ease as Kalista appeared, axe already in hand, lifting and dropping the handle in his opposite palm. He danced on his heels, bouncing. Hadn’t it been for the shadows, he could’ve sworn he was smiling now, a trickle of sweat slipping from his chin. The look was frightening and unfamiliar.

A wide-eyed, teeth baring hatred.

Nelle made a tongue clicking, sound of disapproval, a "tsk" sound that a mother might make finding one of their children playing with matches. This was followed by a small snort, then a mad chuckle when she apparently realized the folks before them were serious. Only fools would attack a group of Redeemers. Nelle threw back her head and laughed, the hood of her cloak falling back to reveal the mop of blonde hair, the delicate features pulled up into a twisted and malicious grin.

"Block my way... rue the day..." Nelle sing songed madly.

Inwardly, she loosened her hold on her power, letting it flow through muscles and sinew, magnifying their speed and reaction time. The sensation of the cool air, the feeling in her skin, faded as she magnified her muscles to an inhuman amount. The sensation of her weapons in her hands, the texture of their handles, faded. Only a weight in both palms let her know she still held them.

"...uh huh..." Was all Kalista managed to say as she looked at the group of bandits before them, as if she couldn't believe the audacity of these individuals. "Right, you seem to think you're scary, and I'm sure to all the children around you're the right big ol' boogeyman, but I doubt there's any among you that could prove to be a threat. Hey Poet!" Kalista turned away from the group of bandits to look back at the sensor of the group. "Tell me, is there any among them that might put up an actual fi-" There was a massive clang as metal struck metal, stopping Kalista mid sentence as she looked down at what appeared to be some type of mace still stuck to her chest piece. The man, the larger one who must have thought he stood a chance, narrowed his eyes at the large woman who simply looked down at the weapon still pushing into her armor. "Adorable." Kalista muttered, before the swing of her sword slammed into the man's face, once again with the blunt side, sending him cartwheeling into the opposing wall. A scream sounded, like a beckoning bell.

Dinner was here.

As if the ringing of the armor against the wall were a signal bell, Nelle sprung forward with her magnified speed like an arrow loosed from a bow. Behind her, the cloak streamed and snapped as if on a horse at full run. Nelle was on the multi-armed thing before it had time to react. She went for the wrists and fingers on both its left hands with the skills and familiarity of one who'd done this before. Its upper hand came clean off at the wrist with a fast, hard cut from Hunter, and dropped to the ground, weapon and all. Its lower weapon also fell, along with three of its fingers. Nelle heard its blood spatter across the wall and her chest as it screeched in agony. It flailed in its panic with its right arms, and Nelle heard it make contact with her clothing, likely her cloak. She did not pause to check.

Instead, like an acrobat she pushed off the wall, flipping gracefully over the creature's head and using Ronin to free it of a third knife and a second set of fingers on its upper right hand. The lower right hand stabbed upwards at her, and Nelle barely missed being caught in the eye. A trickle of blood rolled down Nelle's left cheek like a tear, but she didn’t seem to notice. In a blink she was standing in front of Scour, body tensed in a fighting stance, eyes wild with a mad excitement as she sought out who would be her next target. Nelle gave another light but somewhat skin crawling laugh.

There was an exchanged look between Nica and Lip before he, too, jettisoned into the fray with such ferocity, he’d almost been pushed over. The man’s limbs seemed to shimmer, and shake, pure liquid. He wasn’t even sure what he was looking at. He watched as the axe swept across the cobblestones, bouncing against a corner, and swing into a downward slash. Another shimmer, as if he were staring into the sun’s horizon, heat rising from cobblestone; a mirage, and nothing more. The strength of the swing collided with the side of a sword, though the man hadn’t the ability to parry it away or do anything but hold his ground. Lip was utilizing the momentum of the swing and his weight to push the sword against the man’s chest, eyes bulged wide, unintelligible curses flying from his lips. The tip of the axe big into collarbone, and the man screamed, trying to tear away.

He seemed to allowed him to step back from the axes’ blade, slick with blood, but only long enough to slip at his side, side-stepping a wild, desperate swing as a cat might slink into a particularly small alleyway. Limbs, impossibly quick. He was behind him in an instant, an arm snaking around the man’s exposed neck, dragging him closer to his chest. Ever tightening. He could hear the man’s garbled cries from there, hear the thud of limbs and the splatter of blood coming to his right side—it felt loud and intrusive, made his ears ring. The laughter. The swearing. He didn’t want to hear it. Scour shook his head, as if that might free him of the horrific sounds, of the sights he wished to close his eyes to.

Nica was no longer at his side.

Though Scour couldn’t see where she’d gone. He didn’t have enough time to figure it out. A crescent-moon shaped blade caught his eye, a flash of silver in the lamplight, shaking him from his thoughts. He’d only had time to crystallize his shoulder, ragged plates searing through flesh—the blade ricocheting off, forcing the assailant off balance. He turned on his heels, hand shooting for Grimdawn at his hip. He hadn’t had time for that either, because the pleasant face he’d seen before swung into view, twisted in an anger he couldn’t feel himself, and suddenly his head jerked backwards. The world spun around him, and his head smashed against cobblestones. Starlight exploded. Worms snaked into view, alighting into the sky. The man’s hand had found one of his horns and now he was grappling on top of him, sword abandoned. Instead, he held a crooked knife poised above him, trying to push it into his chest.

He struggled underneath him, trying to right the spinning world above him enough to get his bearings, clawed hands digging into the man’s forearms. But there was blood in his eyes, and he couldn’t see. The contorted face was awash with red, a twisted blur, as the man rasped above, "Just die, just die."

Nelle spun around, hearing the scuffle behind her. Seeing Scour pinned and struggling, she felt a hot outrage swell in her chest. She reacted before thought or logic could fully wriggle through her mind. Next thing she knew, she was launching herself at the horned attacker's back, spring loaded muscles flinging the whole of her small, taught frame against him. She heard the wind escape her prey as she made contact, Ronin's blade dug deeply into his shoulder blade, nearly all the way through the joint. A splashing sound made her aware that the jolt of pain had made him drop his weapon. One small, strong arm wrapped under the man's chin, pulling upwards tightly, choking him.

She could feel weight against it, but was only aware it was the man's desperate hand, clawing at her flesh, once she'd successfully dragged him off of Scour and flung him into the mud face first. The attacker's nails had been long, and tatters of her own flesh hung from her left arm. She couldn't feel it now, but later she knew it wouldn't be enjoyable. Nelle slowly smiled as the man pulled himself upright, gasping through the muck for air. He clutched his wounded shoulder, eyes panicked like a cornered animal as he stared up at her. She let a manic grin fill her face as she slowly walked toward him, putting herself between Scour and the enemy.

"Stand in my way... rue... the... day." she sing songed at him, eerily. "Run away... live another day..."

The horned man didn't seem to need additional encouragement as he fled from her and into the shadows. If only he had been a bit smarter in his escape, he might have actually made it. Instead, as his head was ducked down and hand clinging to his bleeding shoulder, he failed to notice the armored hand reach down and pluck him like some kind of insect. There was a brief moment of panic, the man starting to scream before a quick jolt of his body produced a chilling snap and he fell limp. Kalista didn't even look at the corpse she had just produced, instead throwing the dead man directly into a few of his other cohorts who stood in front of Kalista. There was fear in their eyes as the towering woman stood among a couple of bodies, none having so much as scratched her armor.

She held her helmet under her arm, her free hand retrieving her blade where it had been placed in the ground seemingly just so she could grab the running man instead of bloody her blade. Her stance was relaxed, but what really told volumes was her expression. The half closed eyes and sneer of disappointment, Kalista wasn't threatened in the least. This was all so beneath her that, had it not been for everyone else around her, she would have walked through them all and killed any who simply lay hands on her. They couldn't hope to breach her armor, they had no chance of cutting through her skin, and they had very little in the way of brains if they didn't believe those first two points.

Of the few would be thugs in front of her, none of them made any move to engage her, all weighing their odds and none of them looked like they could count to 5, so it was taking awhile. "Ok... Ok, we go for the legs! Go for the joints! Yeah! Armor's got to have weak spots! If we get that shit, we make gold boys!" One of them mentioned, Kalista barely giving him a sideways glance, now leaning on her sword with all the enthusiasm of a child at church. "Ok, ok... we got this... Lets-"

There was a slight sound of wind rushing, then the one who was talking had suddenly produced a knife in his temple as he turned to encourage his other compatriots. Kalista looked at the thug as he dropped with a solid thud, looking back to see Lilean at least a good five feet out of the alley and active conflict, his hand casually pulling another blade from his belt, looking completely at ease as his eyes never fully looked up at the situation in front of him. With the instigator now dead, the other two who were listening to him turned and ran at full speed.

"Yeah... ok." Kalista stated in such a dry tone it was impossible to not look at her as a bored child. "You guys done yet, can we go?"

The few who remained turned on their heels and ran, the sound of clattering steel, and the slapping of boots against wet cobblestone announced that they’d had enough. Mangled corpses lied broken in the alley, as well as one leaning over the remains of what might’ve been a beautiful fountain in the yard’s center, back in its day. Crimson seeped between the cracks, spidering into the mud around them, like veins sucking those unfortunate enough not to flee dry. It was a massacre, and one that someone would eventually clean up, or else face the stench of bloat-flies and corpse-beetles plucking eyes and tongues from their respective faces.

Scour could hear Lip screaming into the alleyways, colorful curses and dares to come back—come back to face them, fuckers, because he wasn’t done with them yet. Breathy huffs could be heard as he stomped back towards them, heated and excited, though he could not see him through the gore staining his vision red. His, or someone else’s? He wasn’t sure. He didn’t want to know, either. It seemed as if Nica joined him at his side, though he could only tell by her frame, and the sound of metal plates grinding against one another.

He dragged a hand over his face, lamenting idly the fact that blood would stain and mat his fur until he could get himself a bath. His head pounded like a drumskin, but at least it was a reminder that he was still alive. He chuffed a breath through his nostrils, clearing whatever blocked it to the side. At least he could see now, though a part of him wished to remain blind to this... carnage. His stomach flopped uncomfortably as he drew himself up on his elbows, then his hands, slowly drawing himself up. Someone had stepped on his tail, as well. It stung as it swung behind him, a limp reminder that he’d done nothing right in this encounter.

Nelle did not give chase. It gave her no pleasure to kill people. Only Demoni sated her hunger for vengeance. These people were just unfortunate and obviously... not very bright in their despair. If anything, she pitied them.

Nelle inhaled deeply, closing the lid on her abilities. It took all her self control not to cry out once feeling returned to her skin. The deep scratches on her left arm, skin dangling, burned sharply, and a blow she thought only struck her cloak, had landed well enough in the small of her back. Hot blood trickled down her back. The sensation of dried blood, strained muscles, sweat and mud was momentarily dizzying. Nelle dug her heels into the mud and grit her teeth to collect herself. Adjusting to the pain. Slowly, she used her cloak to clean her daggers before sheathing them.

"They are gone, so we go on..." Nelle sing songed weakly.

Nelle glanced over her shoulder, noting Scour was on his feet, Nica at his side. She took stock of their group, and despite the pain, found herself smiling. She hadn't accidentally killed her own this time. That was something. She nodded at Kalista’s question, doing her best to hide her injuries, and walk tall towards her mare. But she could feel the sweat beading along her brow with the effort. Still, she felt a sense of pride and quiet joy at her small accomplishment. For that, the pain did not matter.

 

[Quakernuts]

Lilean Beauchamp
"We are a vessel for the undying and the mortal, a filled cup that overflows, for we are forever full"
____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________​

It didn’t take a sensor’s power to understand the meaning of Nica’s directional choice, obvious in her intent and desire to see them work at their fullest. The ultimate test would be one of team work, of which Lilean had no doubt they would fail. His eyes had sauntered over every one of them, taking in everything they thought they were hiding from the world, and consciously choosing to ignore most of it. After all, it was never easy to admit something to someone when you couldn’t admit it to yourself.

The start of combat, or the pre-emptive desire to start combat was like being washed in oil, a disgusting feeling shed of dignity and respect. A klaxon to warn him and a sensation he couldn’t forget. The warning to the others, as short as he could make it, before he took it upon himself to strike the first blow. He believed in peace, in showing the benefit of the doubt, kindness did not mean naivety. These people would not be reasoned with. They had the numbers, they had the mob potential, it was better to whittle them down where possible.

As the desire for violence blossomed in an orgasm of destructive feelings and sensations, Lilean took several steps back. Everyone rushed in, blades swinging, voices screaming, blood spraying and bones splitting. For the average person viewing this, it was horrible. For Lilean, it was something else entirely. His hands cradled blades, his skin crawled as he felt the blood flowing freely down it. His eyes, clenched shut, felt the fingers dig into them and burst the sacs of sight. His bones creaked and groaned, his skull shattered and his tongue lost the ability to taste after it was bitten off.

But none of that happened...Right?

A blade thrown, a man grasping for death as he dropped from his position behind Scour. A gurgle, a scared little boy wanting nothing more than his slice of meat from the world. A lost voice, a visual marvel and the euphoria of knowing it was over. The world was ending, what did it matter? The Rush...it was always the rush...what a rush! Lilean’s eyes drifted downward, sucking in a breath as he fought to regain himself, a practiced technique as his hands moved to throw another dagger. This one landing in a man’s eyes in one of the windows of the alley, falling backwards. The split second of fear, loathing, absolute hatred and rage. It was unfair, why was it so unfair! What did I do to deserve this! I fought for what I wanted! I needed more...The desperation of validation.

A tense relaxation, a forced serious contemplation giving rise to bubbling laughter. Do they believe they can hurt me for long? I knit, I bleed and I knit! I knit then I bleed! Just try to break me! A humor filling the lungs, my stance is that of experience. Controlled, muscles coiled, slicing of the skin to reveal a smile. That...but...I cut you!

I cut you! I stabbed you! I cleaved you! Disbelief, utter surprise leaving the door open for resignation. A relaxation of surrender. It was done, it was over. No more fighting, I tried and I failed...I tried and I failed.

A cowardice, reaching deep into a wall of courage that refused to open. A step, a breath, I want out! I don’t want to fight! Tension building into a fight or flight response, triggered in reaction to the chaos that was unfolding. A fear as everything became clear, a knife poised to end my life. I don’t want to die! I don’t want to die! I will not die! A blade poised in Lilean’s hand came into focus, before the animalistic urges became real.

Fangs bared, claws lashing, an urge to protect. Protect! Rage and sing! Protect! Blood and gore, protect! The death of a man’s will was easy to read as well as his wounds as the taught muscle, threatening to fracture, slammed down into me. No, not crazy. Didn’t sign up for crazy. I must run, I will run! RUN! Run for my life!

A hand, reaching down, the One who Reaches has found me. I breathe, I gasp, I want to scream but I snap. Listless, I am nothing. My breath escapes me and my head twitches. Lilean’s hands filtered through his daggers once more, absentmindedly, completely removed from combat but ingrained far more than anyone here. Why? Because I was a God! Relaxed, at ease, bored and sneering. Why would they think they could face me! I am a invincible creature made manifest!

But I’m not invincible, not quite. Courage, strategy, a will to surpass those around me. I have this ability. Heart racing, blood pumping, I smile. Even in the face of adversity, I will find my way. Follow me, and I will lead to glory. Lilean’s hands rested on his blade, and a flick of fingers sent the sharp reprimand for those who would continue the slaughter found its way to my brain. No time to register, no time to understand, I embrace the one who reaches.

Racing! Running! Fleeing! Hearts...hearts pumping so hard as to explode. My chest caves, I can’t breath! Need to run! We run!

Lilean’s eyes finally moved up from the spot on the ground where he had been so transfixed for some time. His nostrils flaring as he took a breath, ridding himself of thoughts not wholly his own and spending some time pulling himself from wake of emotions and torrential bodily functions that now flooded the narrow alley. Pain was still evident from a few members who tried to hide it, satisfaction among others and a complete disdain for what happened from one. They had survived...We had survived.

Interesting, relaxed, tempered, a million eyes look upon me and I show my teeth. Yes, yes...I salivate, for you will be a scrumptious meal. Lilean’s eyes darted upwards, scanning the ridges of the rooftop for something that should not exist. The sensation of being watched from every direction was impossible to ignore, but without being able to pinpoint it, he couldn’t determine a threat. He spun slowly in place, rotating among the buildings and trying to narrow it down. Impossible, without removing his clothing he couldn’t pinpoint it, but to become more sensitive now would be...regrettable. The lingering sensation of those still passing to the next world seeped into Lilean’s soul as he felt each and every one of them pass on, leaving within him yet another needle.

The eyes faded though, the sensation of being watched leaving him like a cold breeze, making him shudder at the thought of what it could have possibly been. He stood there, in a trance, still picking up on the utter disregard by those outside of his group, the civilians who lived this life, whose stance couldn’t care less about this episode of death right outside their door. This was normal, a horrifying realization.

“We belong in the child’s cradle now.” Lilean stated, once again opening his eyes and forcing them to look at people to dissuade the sensations around him. The sharp intake of pain hidden behind a telltale song was not something easily missed, even by those whose senses weren't sharper than blades. Among that was pride, a poisonous abomination that led to many deaths. Lilean placed what daggers he had left out back into his arm bands and belt, his bow never having left it’s holster this time around. He reached into his waist pack, pulling out a couple of herbs which he had made days before into small, bite sized leafy snacks. Natural born painkillers for the muscles that have overreached and the bones that have hyper extended. Lilean’s eyes floated to Scour, insignificance filtering through a charade of keeping it all together. Lilean wandered over, looking towards Nica and Lip as he did so. “To begin; we forge anew. The path remains unchanged.” Lilean took Scour’s hand gingerly in his own, placing the herbs in them. “We all hide, some more than others; Be a seeker and filter the pain.” Lilean nodded his head at Nelle.

Lilean walked back towards the bodies that still littered the alley, taking the moment to find and grab whatever blades he could, wiping them on the pants of the deceased before replacing them in their slots. Such a waste of steel could not be tolerated.

 

[Yonni]

Oh, haven't I lost my shine.
______________________________________________________________
​

Nica’s head snapped to the side, eyes searching along the rooftops. She did a small circle, and for once, the expression on her face seemed dour. As if it pulled at the edges, fraying the stiff, corded lines. The steady wall seemed to unravel into something none of them had seen before, something that was wholly different from the statuesque woman gliding through life on nothing but a tranquil, steady beat. If Lil was attentive enough, he might’ve felt a lick of fear, like a small flower blooming beneath a swathe of weeds. Almost imperceptible, noted only to those who knew where to look for it. Just as quickly as a shutter of one’s eyes, it was gone, and she resumed her position at the head of their party.

She regarded them with a level stare, an expressionless frown staked on pale features. It made her eyes look that much larger, only the lamplight alighting her pallor, glinting off silver armour: ethereal. She’d never looked right before, to anyone back at Wildekeep. A stranger even among her own people, the Redeemer’s. Her eyes trailed across Scour, who was wiping the remainder of blood from his head with the back of his sleeve, regarding the small packet in his hand and then, Nelle. She followed the gaze, and held it there, for a moment. There was a sense that she wanted to say something but thought it best not to. A soft noise blew from her lips, though it was hard to tell if it was a sigh or merely a breath expelled. If she’d tested them and found them wanting... she certainly wasn’t going to comment on it.

“We will cut through here,” she said pointedly, inclining her head to the nearest alleyway. It was in the opposite direction that those fortunate enough to live through their encounter had chosen to flee. She took lead once more, leaving Lip breathless where she’d stood. A trickle of sweat slipped down her face, fell from her chin into the dirt. The fight hadn’t been particularly difficult. At all. But her heart pounded hard against her rib cage, thunderous in her veins. She’d been sloppy. Too eager to slip her hands around their throats, to rip and tear until they were only crumpled forms. Smaller than her. Much smaller. She’d broken her arm with the effort of her swings, and already felt the familiar knitting of bone grafting back into one piece, a jarringly gritty process that set her teeth grinding.

She made a small noise in the back of her throat and rolled her shoulder, trying to ease the uncomfortable feeling of fresh-healed bones that always came with the territory. She glanced at Scour, who’d taken a few tentative steps towards Nelle, until he was standing at her side, looking up at her. Least she hadn’t been the only one to fuck up. Bunch of fuck-up’s they were, rabid animals and softer sorts. She wondered just how far they’d get.

Scour lifted his hand up to her, palm blooming open to reveal a small, tightly bound packet. It was herbs, freshly mixed. He could smell them from the moment Lil drew it from his person—a pungent smell, but he figured that meant it was a potent poultice. “Here,” he offered and looked askance, “for your wounds.” A pause, before an awkward smile pulled at his lips, tusks peeping. Embarrassment was clear on his face. “And thanks... for saving me back there.”

Nelle looked up at Scour, eyes oddly bright as she took him in. She looked at his face, then his offered medical herbs, then back to his face. It was difficult for her to hide the confusion from her expression. Thanks were long foreign to her now. She had adapted to cusses, scowls and physical attacks... so the expression on Scour's face somehow felt wrong to her. Undeserved. Why thank a monster for being a monster?

Still, she wasn't completely foolish. Her magnifying ability was pretty strong, but she'd never gotten the hang of increasing her healing too much without also increasing her age appearance. Cautiously at first, like a wary stray, Nelle slowly reached for the offered herbs, eyes never leaving Scour's face. Once she felt it in her hand, she popped the packet into her mouth quickly, before the man could take back his offering. The bite of bitterness that hit her tongue made her nearly regret that choice. Nelle puckered her lips reflexively, until the initial bitter taste faded. A moment passed, and a wave of relief tingled along her skin. Nelle exhaled, feeling the pain ebb. She suspected this might be one of Lily's concoctions... it felt familiar. She sighed a little, feeling her aches fade, as well as some tension she hadn't noticed. Like unwinding a spring, coiled too tightly.

Nelle wasn't sure how to respond to Scour's thanks. Torn between her truth of self and the mask of instability once again. She settled on something both strange and somewhat affectionate. She gently took his hand in two of hers and brought it to her right cheek, rubbing the soft but soiled fur against her face. She smiled lopsidedly, and pat the back of his hand before releasing him and turning away, humming softly to herself. If this seemed an oddity to Scour, he certainly did not show it. Instead, he tilted his head to the side and smiled, pulling his hand back to his side. But not before inspecting it, as if remembering something with a fondness that did not often cross his features. Gently, she began to lead her somewhat unnerved mare along as she followed Nica onward. As she passed toward Lily, she hovered slightly. She wanted to thank him, but couldn't decide on the way. Eventually she settled on fishing in her armor and finding one clean handkerchief. No blood, no mud. Ideal to clean a blade. She thrust the green bit of cloth toward him, gruffly and softly sang, "boo-hoo, boo-hoo, for you, for you." She didn't allow him time to take it, as much as force it upon him before hurrying ahead.

A brief pause from the solemn archer, before a small smile formed on his face followed by a slight nod. A wordless gesture of appreciation as he began to clean the blades of blood using the gifted cloth. His eyes drifted towards Lip, a seeming moment of realization and understanding before returning to the disturbingly relaxing moment of weapon maintenance. Kalista on the other hand was nothing short of imitating a pig, the snorts flying out of her nose and the utter contempt evident in every figment of her features.

"Waste of fuckin' time." Kalista stated to no one in particular, picking up one of the dead men and using his entire shirt to make sure her blade wasn't mired in the unworthiness of the corpses in front of her. She inspected the weapon a moment, satisfied it was going to be as clean as she could make it with the time allotted and let the body of the dead man fall to the ground with a sickening thud. "Please tell me none of ya had any trouble with that gaggle of idiots?" Kalista looked around, noticing the somewhat quiet afterbattle of the Redeemers with her. Yet another snort, dressing herself up like an animal in her mannerisms as opposed to a warrior worthy of renown. She replaced her sword in it's holster, her helmet returning to a pick on her belt to hang as she marched over to Lip.

"I don't have high hopes for the rest of these clowns, but please tell me you got more in yah then that, we need to get ourselves some good competition going!" Kalista stated, a wicked smile displayed and the eerie sense that nothing short of the apocalypse could make her even flinch. She stood up straight, arching backwards as she stretched, not waiting for Lip to reply. "Oi! Nica! We gonna get going? I'd prefer the sun to still be in the sky when we get there, after all, everything's better with a spotlight!"

For once in her life, Lip didn’t have much to say. She gave a lopsided grin that she wrestled onto her face, forcing the corner’s to curl up, baring teeth at her companion. The woman bled for the limelight and wanted to tear down the sun so that it would be hers alone. It wasn’t a trait she particularly disliked, even though she didn’t really share it. They were similar enough. Bleeding for different reasons, but both teething at the bit for the bite of adrenaline, boiling in their veins. Hers ran cold. Colder than she’d felt in a long time, and she had to smooth her fingers down her side, to still the shakes of her hands. She exhaled gratefully when Kalista turned towards Nica, already moving on. Her weakness was something she did not want her, of all people, to see.

Nelle rolled her eyes. Kalista was never a good listener. Nica had literally just told them to cut through the alleyway. She made a "tsk" sound at the tank as she passed, leading her mare toward the alley Nica headed into. "Ears full of mud, ears full of blood... doesn't matter which as the wind whistles through..." Nelle sing songed as she passed her, following it with a hearty in tune whistle. A small snort came from Scour, though he was quick to smother it with an awkward, forced cough, ripping his gaze away from Kalista as if she were a fire he could get burned on, simply by looking at her.

Kalista seemed to pause for a second, looking around and noticing that Nica was indeed leading them on. Kalista gave a snort as Lilean also passed her without a sound. "Then speak the fuck up." Kalista stated, staring daggers into the little magnifier as she followed the leader through the alley. She cracked her neck with her knuckles and moved forward, content to simply see to the next job.

Lip followed along behind Kalista, careful to keep her distance, knowing her ill-temper to be infectious, at times. She had enough of that already. She kept her head low, though occasionally peeped her chin up, regarding the top of the buildings with little more than a cursory glance. She’d seen Nica staring up at them moments before, and wondered at what she’d seen up there. As for her, she’d seen nothing. Felt nothing but the hollow pang. The cold trickle down her spine that made her hands quake. An uncomfortable tremble, nothing more. A small, ugly part of her, wished that they’d all been killed. Every single one of them, under the heel of her boot—it’s what they deserved. Fucking degenerates. There was a sour taste in her mouth as she regarded the bad-blooded in their group, trailing after Nelle and Liliean like a dog.

The winding of the streets seemed to follow no rhyme or reason. Crooked, broken pathways, cobblestone ruins that might’ve been mistaken for a proper road years ago. Long since abandoned and neglected by anyone who might’ve cared when they’d built this section of the city. This place was for the downtrodden, the impoverished and forgotten. The one’s best left in the dirt, out of view. It was a strange way of dealing with people you clearly wanted separate from your people, but somehow, it functioned as Litas wished it to. This area was crowded by misshapen buildings, little more than patched tents and disheveled huts, leaning precariously forward. A means to shelter themselves from the rain, and keep the crooked beetles from infiltrating their abode. It did not, however, protect them from their hunger, as it ran rampant here, forced them to scavenge and prey.

It was an honest truth that Lip knew about but did not care for. This truth no longer belonged to her. This truth belonged to a dead girl, buried in the muck. Someone she no longer recognized. Refused to. She pulled her boots from the muck and regarded their surroundings once more, shuttering out the uglier thoughts to allow her senses to take over. The smell of fresh rain. Of grass, peeping up between the rocks, overtaking the buildings en mass, moss growing like blankets over the rooftops that remained. It might’ve been pretty... if she were to forget where they really were. The streets here, as they walked, began to change over time, and as an hour passed, it looked better. Cobblestones flourished outward, connected and bound themselves to create a passable road.

Broken buildings became less frequent. No one else bothered on the way, either. Perhaps, the spatter of blood on there persons was a deterrent. The gore on Kalista’s shoulder, the smatter of it across Scour’s cheek. But people here, in the heart and outskirts of the slums, were always watching. A thousand eyes, they’d say. Pests. Ears, everywhere. The rats of Litas. Larger gangs who knew everything and chose their prey more carefully. The stronger of the desperate. Soon enough and they were surrounded by buildings that looked more like the one’s they’d seen by the marketplace, and in the distance, a much larger structure that cut into the sky. A church? It was strangely shaped and had a tower through its center, large, looming gates, sat atop a stony staircase.

Nica motioned with her hand and squared her shoulders, as if she were preparing herself for something unspoken. “This is where he is. Litatio.” There was a moment of silence, as she looked over her shoulder, eyes ever-steady. There was, however, a set to her mouth that Lip did not recognize. It was unsettling. “Last I was here, Mendax was the wall we had to climb to seek audience with him. He was a gate keeper, of sorts. Also, the leader of the city. I believe his son has taken his place.” She seemed to be remembering something there, but only shook her head as if to clear them. “That was years ago. I do not know what we’ll have to do this time, but we must do what they ask. No matter the request.” This, she said pointedly. Her eyebrows drew together, a finality that would broach no bullshit.

This, she recognized.

 

[Heartfeltwords]

With Nica's grim and somewhat eerie words of warning, the muddied and bloodied group of Redeemers were led past the looming gates and inside the jutting building.

Nelle, feeling a little sleepy from the pain relief herbs she'd been given, was unusually quiet as she took in their new surroundings. It seemed they were expected, as they thankfully received no pushback from the outer guards posted at the gate. Though, even Nelle could see the guards eye their disheveled, and likely unsightly, appearance with unease as they led them inside.

As they entered the main hall, Nelle immediately understood the dirty looks they were getting for their battle worn appearances. Overhead, a massive crystal chandelier glowed and sparkled at the center of the room. Large, detailed oil paintings of elegantly dressed lords and ladies and a few shelves lined with leather bound books decorated the walls. Daintily carved claw-footed red velvet arm chairs were carefully placed just so, and at the center of the room stood a heavy wooden desk resting atop a round red and gold embroidered rug. Beyond it, a set of stairs traveled toward the ceiling.

Their graceless footfalls clanked loudly through the elegant space. Nelle listened as the sound reverberated, scolding them. The guard saluted Nica politely, mumbling that someone would be with them shortly before taking his leave. Nelle felt her hands go instinctively to her sheathed daggers once he left. They stood at the center of this round room, completely surrounded by closed doors. It screamed ambush, and it set her on edge.

Softly she began to hum an old tavern tune to herself, mentally taking in the space while they waited. A hand graced her back as a quick glance revealed the silent ranger, his eyes half closed and covered by his hood. Nelle tensed momentarily, startled initially by his touch. The blade never left the sheathe though as Nelle found the sensor at her side. A soft shake of his head as his slow and deliberate movements seemed to indicate a presence of peace, at least for the moment. Always one to sense others tensions and pent up aggression it would seem. His hands remained loose as he removed his hand from Nelle's back and moved towards Scour, taking up a position just a little over a foot beside him.

Scour shuffled in place, glancing all around him at the flourish of decorations, feeling somewhat at home here. From the soft,intricate carpet beneath his feet, to the gaudy chandelier overhead, it wasn't what he hadn't seen before, back at his estate. He was glad, however, to have his companions at his side here, because the hairs on the back fo his neck stood on end. Lilean made no sound, outside of a deliberate clink of blades that he did seemingly only to not alert people who were already on the brink of a tense breakout. If only everyone was so adjusted to this type of situation.

The loud, almost cacophonous footfalls of their resident wall of arrogance was enough to shatter whatever illusion of decorum their group may have had. Even her breathing had something course to it, as she cleared her throat several times as if to say 'Nah, not into this one bit' as she moved to take in the entire area. Unlike Nelle and Scour, Lilean made no move to calm Kalista down in any manner. Maybe it was because he knew this /was/ her calm state, or maybe he thought there was nothing he could do to calm her that didn't involve a lot of steel and a hammer to pound the nail in.

"Fuckin prissies..." Kalista muttered, feeling an obvious desire to fill the void of silence with anything, even if it was just language better left at a dive bar. Her eyes settled on the painting, her expressions somehow giving off several different and unknown ways to be disgusted by what she saw. "Paintings, nothing but bullshit put to a canvas..." At this point it was clear Kalista was not talking to anyone in particular, more just commenting to herself. Anyone who knew her would understand, she did so enjoy the sound of her own voice.

Curiously, Nelle turned to look at the painting the elf was looking at. She had never learned much about art as a child, so the finer points were lost on her. The colors and curves weren't wholly unpleasant to her though. She stood a small distance behind Kalista, tipping her head from left to right as she looked, wondering if Kalista was right about it. Either way, Nelle was somewhat glad to recognize she wasn't the only one that seemed to feel uneasy with the silence in this place. Satisfied she'd learn nothing additional from staring at the painting, Nelle drifted slowly back toward Lily and Scour. Assured by the sensor's relaxed demeanor, Nelle plopped herself on her belly on the cool, smooth floor not far from Scour and Lily's feet, like a puppy that had run out of steam. She gave a small, tired, sigh. She hated waiting.

“Bullshit paintings, as you say,” a voice, soft as suede, came from above, on the staircase, “tells us the tales of legends.” It belonged to a well-dressed man in his late 60’s, puffing away at a pipe, dangling at the corner of his lips. He gave Kalista an all-too knowing glance, before smiling. The clothes he wore would’ve been considered fairly plain, if it wasn’t for the way he carried himself. A simple vest of a softer shade of purple hung open over a loose shirt, paired with unassuming pants, tucked into boots. If this weren’t Mendax’s office, one would assume he might’ve been a mere servant welcoming them inside, but seeing how barren the office was, one could only assume this was the one Nica had spoken about. He brushed a hand through his cropped salt-and-pepper hair, and slid it down his sharp jawline, down to the small beard he had.

A speculative glance, and he continued descending the stairs and paused momentarily. His eyes dragged across them and stopped at Nica, acknowledgement passing like a moment of clarity in those peculiarly bright eyes of his. His eyebrows flagged and the smile dropped from his face, like a stone. It was clear as day that he hadn’t expected her to be here, though he was quick to smother a modicum of composure. He cleared his throat and dropped his hand to the smooth railing as if to steady himself. “Nica, I...” he began to say, bushy brows drawing together. There was a pause, a beat, as he regarded the others, confusion twisting his face up, “certainly didn’t expect you to be here. Ah, apologies. The other’s?”

“Gone,” a single syllable, though it spoke volumes. Dead-panned, brokering no further explanations. Nica’s stare was something else entirely. She was no longer a ghost, phantoming at their sides: an empty husk, difficult to puzzle out. She was ice, horrifyingly cold. There was a tension felt there, louder than Kalista’s persistence at breaking the silence in the overbearingly larger chamber. “We will skip the niceties this time,” she added and inclined her head to the others, “you know why we are here.”

Whatever familiarity Scour felt here was no gone. There was something stifling here, as if the energy was all wrong. Charged. Though he couldn’t tell if it was coming from this room, or elsewhere. He tore his eyes away from Mendax and glanced at the second floor, nostrils flaring. Nothing. Nothing there, at all. He squinted his eyes, and stepped a bit closer to Lilean and Nelle. He could feel the muscles in his jawline bunching, but managed to keep his hands at his sides, motionless this time. Lip lingered at Nica’s side, seemingly unsure of what to make of this entire situation, of Nica’s response. If anything... it was clear that Mendax only recognized Nica.

Mendax reached the bottom stair, and stepped towards the desk at the chamber’s centre. His mouth worked as if he wanted to say more on the matter, though the look on Nica’s impassive face seemed to dissuade him entirely. He planted his hands on the table, and breathed out through his nose, “things didn’t go so swimmingly last time you’re group spoke to him, I’ll have you know.” He drew his hand up, plucked the pipe from his lips, and dropped it into an ashy tray beside all of his books. The entire desk was littered with rolled up parchments, pinned scrolls, and heaping stacks of documents. There was an organization to his chaos, however. “He was not pleased at the threats.”

Lip’s mouth drew back and exposed teeth, “Who fucking cares if he wasn’t pleased. He—“ Nica drew up a hand, to silence him. “That will not happen again.” It was a promise, a hard line she was drawing in the sand. Whatever had happened, it certainly hadn’t gone smoothly. If the other group had been any more caustic, any more chaotic than this one, Scour couldn’t imagine. He wondered if it was even possible to uphold that statement. Somehow, he doubted it. What would they do, casually sit down with a Demigod and ask for his blood? Would he even be willing to part with it? If he refused, what would they do? His mind whirred with these questions.

As if finally noticing the small girl plopped on the floor, Mendax’s bushy brow raised once more, “I’ll have to discuss it with him, of course.”

Nelle was no stranger to the tension in the room. It often happened, in fact, when she entered a room. Though, she was curious, since Nica seemed particularly cold. Nelle did not budge from her spot on the floor, left arm tucked under her chin, right arm slowly reaching for and stroking Scour's fuzzy tail. It was in reach now that he'd drawn closer. She lazily roved her eyes from Nica to Mendax. She noted the man’s expression, but again made no move to stand. Why bother? He was no threat. Softly, she began to sing to herself, "alas my love, you do me wrong..so treat me so..discourteously.." before switching to humming. She pet Scours tail to the tune, gently.She supposed she should have waited to take that pain killer...

Lilean's eyes drifted over the posture of the humming woman, slowly moving upwards towards Scour before returning to the scene ahead of them. Lilean held himself well, he made no motion that would indicate tension, at least the typical kind. It was the fact that he seemed to be double checking things with his eyes, as opposed to allowing just his sensor abilities to tell him. He could smell trouble brewing like a bloodhound could smell a fox in a henhouse.

"Discuss it with him?" A voice echoed from behind them, the armored footfalls getting closer to the desk as a sneer that seemed ever so reminiscent of a smile crawled its way onto Kalista's face. Mendax's face twisted, whatever measure of calm was replaced with clear exasperation. Not fear, as Kalista might’ve hoped. As if he was used to this reaction and oh, so tired of it. "Redeemers walk into your palace of comfort, and you think yourself invincible? Six of us, count it, and you think we're asking?" Kalista's form bulldozed past Nica, barely even registering the woman. Nica took a step back, though an eyebrow flagged upwards, a quirk at the corner of her lips bespoke a growing irritation. A quick glance at Lily saw his eyes dart rapidly back towards the door, a sharp inhale as a realization came over him.

"You're gonna go into that fucking chamber of his, and you're not gonna ask, you're gonna announce that we're he-"

"Prudence in all matters, patience in many more, we appear to be guests of wolves." Lilean spoke up, stopping Kalista in her tracks as she stared back at Lilean, who's only motion was to nod back towards the door. Kalista looked back at the door, her sneer a full blown smile now.

"They wouldn't dare... idiots and deadmen... but I could use something more than the pathetic shit that tried earlier.. .so maybe we should give them reason to barge in and-"

"Stories have many different parts, an ending is one of them. Do you wish yours to be over so soon, author of a tale?" Kalista stared at the Ranger, who's eyes drifted over towards Lip and Nica. "Like the river, flow on." Kalista seemed to register that as she looked at the other two, before looking back at Lily. Lip didn’t seem to know where to look at all, his eyes peeling back into a scowl. He glanced at the door Lily had inclined his head towards, though he made no movement to the axe at his hip. Instead, he seemed to regard Nica closer, eyebrows furrowed. Clearly torn.

"I wasn't done tal-"

"A shame, that, may we bear the burden forever." Lilean cut her off once more, his tone sharp and indicating no room for rebuttal. Kalista stared death at Lily, walking closer to him until she was right in front of him, easily head and shoulders above the Ranger. Lily didn't grace her with eye contact, instead keeping his head downcast.

"I will remember this." Kalista sneered.

"As a lesson, we hope." Lily stated, stepping around her to place himself between her and Mendax, ending the confrontation as Kalista's face and weapon hand twitched in response. Common sense only seemed to grasp her at the last moment, her indignation coming more from being disregarded as opposed to the actual reprehension that Lily had just doled out. Lily made a slight bow towards Nica, an understanding that he may have overstepped his bounds as he was not in charge of this troupe. She, in turn, turned to him, stony-faced, and nodded her acknowledgement. He had done well.

Scour maintained his silence. This was all too much. His head spun, dizzied by the amount of confrontation stifling this room. He didn’t understand why Kalista was like this—teething at the bit like a forlorn steed, pulling against the reigns with a force that set her teeth to constant grinding. It made everything far more difficult than it had to be, and yet, there was no stopping her. He was surprised with Lil’s biting words, with all its underlying meanings, stilled her wagging tongue, and her posturing. Surprised that she hadn’t simply taken out her sword and cleaved the table in two, just for the hell of it. Still, he was thankful it hadn’t come to that. His tail swung uncomfortably behind him.

Nelle watched the exchange between Lily and Kalista, unease filling her sleep hungry body. While they bantered, slowly, she rose to her feet again. A small outline of blood in the shape of her hips, where her still mending wound leaked from her back on either side, was left at her feet. She found herself standing so closely to Scour that she could feel her arm brush his as her hands again found their way to her sheathed daggers. This seemed to steady Scour, the pounding of his heart in his ears softened to a rhythmic beat. Not so loud, anymore. Nelle glanced to the door Lily had eyed and mentally prepared to tear off the lid on her magnified mental abilities if those doors opened. She'd slam them all shut at once, blast anyone behind them to gore if need be...

"Nica?" Nelle whispered in her soft speaking voice. Her tone was more nervous than she wanted it to be, and full of questions. She was unsure what she was asking. Permission to attack? For assurance of a respected captain that all was well? She wasn't sure which. It unnerved her to feel so vulnerable.

A flash of silver curls flashed as Nica whipped her head towards the door, and then back at the group. Her mouth was pulled back in an expression they’d never seen before, baring teeth. Owlish eyes thrown wide open, as if curtains had been pulled back to reveal something unpleasant—a wall shifting down, opening impregnable gates an inch. It was all she’d ever allowed herself, even now. If Lip had ever seen this side of her before, he certainly wasn’t acting like it. He took a step backwards, shaken. Mouth gawping. “There will be NO bloodshed here,” her voice echoed through the chamber, as if it were a knife cutting through the tension: a command. “None!”

Silence. It dragged, uncomfortably.

Until Mendax cleared his throat and drew away from his desk. He looked uneasy, though it was unclear why. Perhaps, the simple act of yelling in such a place was unusual. Or the fact that he didn’t have such unruly visitors often. He smoothed his hands over the front of his vest and readjusted the buttons, as if they’d been mussed by all of the ruckus. They hadn’t. Clearly, he just wanted to do something with his hands. “A rowdy group you’ve got this time around... rowdier than the last,” he knuckled at his ear, as if he were mock-clearing it, “I didn’t say I wouldn’t let you see him. Just that he should be forewarned. I heard the last group threatened him and I don’t want a repeat, honestly. He wouldn’t let it go. Years. Years of complaining.”

He raised his hands in defense, and inclined his head for them to follow along up the stairwell. “If you’ll follow me, I’ll bring you to his foyer. But I’ll have to beg of your patience, before you speak to him. Fair’s fair.” He seemed to wait for their response, as if it were the only way he’d move away from his desk. Scour was bobbing his head in a nod, because it did seem fair, and he didn’t want to end this bloody. Didn’t want to pave their way as people thought of them—as lowly monsters, and nothing more.

Nelle shifted her weight from foot to foot, warily. It was rare to see Nica lose her cool, and Nelle wasn't sure if she were more impressed or confused by the outburst. But the message was clear enough. No bloodshed. She’d do her best to follow that order. She removed her hand from her weapon, and whispered to Nica in confirmation,

"No bloodshed..." she looked to Mendax with large overly bright eyes and gave a small respectful nod. Lily made no movement, his hood covered head never moving from a downcast position, as if he was staring a hole into the floor beneath him. His fingers twitched ever so slightly, and every so often his head tilted in a direction, seeing something that only he could recognize. Still, he never made any move towards his weapon nor raised a word of alarm. As Mendex started to lead them away and towards their ultimate destination, Lily made a deliberate movement to stay amidst the group. Maybe it was partially to keep them all within his 'senses', or maybe it was to protect him.

The speculation around the strange ranger was always going to be overshadowed by the literal brick that was their resident tank however, as she seemed to physically growl at the predicament that she found herself in. "Not worth it..." She seemed to whisper over and over again, her shoulders rolling and her fingers coiling and stretching as if begging to let loose. She flicked her nose, gave a cough and turned towards the group. She glared at Nica, but never once claimed to acquiesce to her request. At the moment, she was as disarmed as she was ever going to get in a situation where she didn't hold all the cards and control.

Like a dog stretching against a chain, she wore her feelings and emotions on her sleeve, beckoning anyone to stop her strut as she pushed through the rest of them to take to the lead of the pack almost instinctively. If there was a demigod to be seen, it would appear she was going to be one of the first of these motley crew to enter the room.

Nica, on the other hand, had no qualms letting Kalista take the lead. She bore no ill will. She had no desire for glory. It seemed as if she bore no sentiment at all. From her, Lilean would only feel a smooth surface, tempered with years of practice, the brief outburst only a singular ripple, gone as quickly as it’d come. If Kalista’s presence shone as brightly as the sun, she was a shadow cast to the side: nothing more. It was a choice, and one she made gladly. She gave her wide berth, patient as always.

There was, however, an unusual set to her jaw. Hands coiled into fists, as if she were preparing herself for something unpleasant. She smoothed them over the plates covering her legs and ascended the stairs, crowded by her Redeemer’s.

Nelle followed the others, looking dazed and sleepy despite the charged tensions in the air. In part, it was a ruse to look less threatening, but another part was already bored of the anticipated politics. As she walked, Nelle could feel the blood drying in the small of her back, as sticky and uncomfortable as she was certain these talks would be.

 

[Quakernuts]

Kalista Maniota
_________________________________________________________________________________________​

Mendax lead the way of the unlikely group of allies a scant few steps ahead of what could only be classified as an armored oxen stomping behind him. Kalista seemed completely intent on making a fuss on just about everything she was doing, looking at the paintings decorating the stairwell as they were lead upwards towards their ultimate destination. She sneered and poked fun at the artistry, a surprising amount of cultural knowledge coming from her as she described the flawed brush strokes, the 'hurried' temperment of the artist, the mistakes in the faces and the poor coloration of setpieces. For a moment, condescending tone aside, she seemed to display something akin to intelligence beneath her exterior.

That all seemed to come to a stop as Mendax stood in front of massive doublesided door, turning to face the group right in front of them. "I know I've said this once, but I must say it once more, I request that your tone be civil, and you hold yourselves wi-"

"Blah blah blah, didn't come here to talk to you secretary." Kalista stated, brusqely pushing Mendax aside and pushing open the massive door with one hand. The indignant huff of Mendax was the only thing heard before the cranking of the door's hinges were pushed inwards and Kalista was the first one through the door. The sight of books upon books lined shelves, varying in size and color as the shelves themselves stretched to the ceiling, which was easily ten times as tall as anyone of their troupe.

Pull out shelves covered the walls where books did not, and papers littered the ground and air, floating through the area like butterflies. Folders, partially filled covered any open space left, and walking through felt like one was trampling upon someone's university essay that they had gotten fed up with half way through. Covered lamps sat upon even intervals among the shelves, and a massive window poured in natural light from outside, covered by a beautiful mosaic that, at first, didn't seem to make itself readily understandable. For the most part, it looked like an uneven mix and match of bright colors. Of course, the dying light of day from the window was blocked by a monstrous creature who towered over them like... well, like a God.

A giant spindly creature with multiple limbs and proportions that seemed completely out of place sat behind a desk that was very clearly built with his size in mind, far too large for even the biggest of mortals to use effectively. Eight limbs filtered through the shelves, the desk, stamps and papers at a speed that made even Kalista stop and gawk for a moment. The rest of his frame seemed too thin to ever be considered a whole person, his face pulled taught against muscle and bone as his eyes darted every which way to keep up with his multi-limb process. Everything about him, this Demigod, this being, felt wrong somehow. Like he didn't belong. Kalista spared a glance backwards, and all save Nica seemed to have some kind of differing expression to this sight before them, save for Lily. Lily seemed, for the first time she could ever recall, distressed at the sight in front of him. His hands kept stretching towards his daggers, then back to his side, then touching his face then to his hood and back to his daggers. It was as if he couldn't comprehend what he was seeing, and coming from a sensor, that was never a good sign. Nelle, ever aware of the sensor as her canary in the coal mine, felt unease gnaw at her belly. She had promised no bloodshed, but wouldn't hesitate to repeal that promise if they were attacked first.

Kalista took a deep breath, closed her eyes for a moment and reminded herself. She was Kalista motherfucking Maniota, and no stick Demigod was ever going to make her feel small... even if she had to take him out at the knees... wherever they might be. She took several steps forward, her lungs filling with air as she prepared to speak in her signature coarse and more than likely aggressive manner when her eyes darted to the side among the shelves. She stopped mid-step, performed a ninety degree turn and beelined for the shelves. There she bent over, thumbing her finger over the spines of the books before settling on one and the joy that radiated from her was easy to see.

"No fucking way, you got the Tale of Volunzia? This thing is a collectors item! No shit! Mint!"

Nelle arched an amused brow at Kalista, but managed to keep any snark to herself. It took a lot of restraint not to announce it surprised her that the tank could even read.

If Litatio had given their presence any notice, he certainly seemed adept at displaying no outward response. A spindly hand pushed the circular glasses back up his thin nose, while another fished across the room, pulling out various drawers, flicking through parchment papers without so much as an upwards glance from his work. It was clear that he’d been here long enough to memorize each and every location. Of that, there were thousands. He was mumbling as well. Unintelligible words, sifting from perpetually chapped lips. A man’s ramblings that belonged to an individual who was wholly consumed by his work—and little else, it was a wonder whether or not he even left this room, or if it consumed his entire being. The Demigod of Paperwork. It seemed a fitting title.

An impossibly lengthy limb finally hung over Kalista and made a shooing motion. “Don’t touch that,” the nasally voice intoned and soon after, the arm retreated back to its owner. A stamping noise was a constant as one arm leafed through shiefs of paper, stamp stamp, then a swift flick, pushing it clear of his workspace, fluttering each one down to a messy pile at the foot of the large desk he sat at. That sordid task seemed to fall to Mendax, as he was already hustling in front of it, gathering what he could under his arms before finally turning to the others, red-faced.

“Please, remember. Civility.” The expression on his face was clear. He doubted any of them capable of such a feat. Though, he shot Nica a pointed look and finally shook his head, defeated. Nothing else could be done. He cleared his throat and exited through the doors they’d come through, dropping a few pieces of paper in his wake. The sound of the door shuttering marked his retreat. Nica stared after him, lips pursed for once, a thoughtful or disgusted expression pinched her stony features. It was hard to tell which was which.

The magnifier watched the demigod at work. Despite what she saw, Nelle's expression showed only a glow of curiosity at the person before them. It was a somewhat child-like expression, that warned of a mouthful of highly inappropriate questions tumbling around her head. Nelle, for her part, managed to stay her tongue... for now. Instead, she restlessly shifted from foot to foot, eager to be done with their business here. She looked to Nica as their commander to address the man before them.

Lip recoiled from the thing snatching up paper above them with impossibly long limbs, all moving as if they had minds of their own, even though he never looked up once from his desk. Her mouth felt like she hadn’t had a sip of fucking anything in ages. She shook off a shudder, and eyed the others. Her eyes drifted over Kalista, who’d predictably ignored Litatio’s huffy demand to unhand his books and landed on Lil. She squinted her eyes at him. She’d never seen him so... ruffled before, it set her teeth grinding. On edge, because if he wasn’t comfortable with this, then they should be rightfully wary. She swung her head back to the hulking creature in the chamber’s centre, and tried to bury the fear gnawing in her guts, “Oi, oi, ain’t polite t’a ignore yer’ guests.”

It did little to stifle anything.

All of the arms hung in the air, unmoving. A moment of silence, with the only sound being papers sifting gently to the ground, all around them. It lasted a couple heartbeats, before a voice, hoarse from disuse, echoed through the pseudo-office, “I’d say it’s also rude to burst in here without an appointment.” A scoff, bellying annoyance. “Unruly children.”

Finally, Litatio tore his eyes away from the piece of parchment he’d be so intent on reading. The look in his eyes were lazy. Red-rimmed from lack of sleep, with bloody veins dashing his eyes like lightning. It was difficult to tell if his eyes were brown or black from where they stood. Perpetually tired, and unimpressed, that much was clear. He bore witness to his guests, and found them wanting. He hm’d softly and suddenly, his wiry eyebrows screwed up on his gaunt face, the wrinkles pulling against the bonework that made up his face. His hands shook and bumped against the drawers as he abruptly pulled them back to the desk, bracing himself. It might’ve looked funny, if it weren’t for the fact that it was horrifyingly unsettling.

He stared at Nica, lips peeling back. She met the stare, a solid force.

“No, no, no,” he droned and shook his head like a dog trying to free himself of fleas, “No, no, no, no, not again, no.” His voice rose and hitched, breaking. “You tried and failed. That isn’t my fault. It’s yours. Weak children. It’s insanity, your task. You nearly brought them to me. Him. You’ll ask nothing of me again.” He slammed a hand defiantly on his desk and breathed out through his nose. A drop of sweat dribbled down his chin, and off. Though he was quick to shield his paperwork from ruination. He drew a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at his forehead.

“Besides, these look weaker than the last. You have even less now.”

Nelle narrowed her eyes at the multi-armed man before them. She was a little annoyed that Lip had broken rank to speak before Nica, but Nica seemed nonplussed as usual. Not even a reprimand. Nelle looked to Nica, and gave her best impression of the trained force they were meant to be, "Permission to speak, Commander?" Her expression still reflected questions knocking around in her head, and a firm determination. Nica gave a solemn nod. She would not tolerate this person speaking ill of Nica. Sure, they were a motley group, that was obvious. Sure, some of them were still green, but they were literally doing his people a service. Nelle straightened as best she could and stepped forward at attention.

"Channeller Warren, Redeemer Rank 31, Sir." Nelle formally adressed the man before them. "If I may be so bold... we are few but we are fierce, Sir, and Commander Nica is more courageous and strong than all of your arms put together." Nelle's voice when she spoke in this way was hoarse, as if damaged or underused. Strange in comparison to her usual sing song. But she stood her ground, meeting the man’s gaze without flinching.

"What she said, but with an added 'Fuck off' at the end of it, and less brown nosing." Kalista seemed to say, her hands flicking through one of the books further along the bookshelf. Her tone wasn't as harsh as before, seemingly distracted by the pages in front of her. "Besides, who are you to speak of strength? You're so weak you're not even willing to try, so take your opinion and shove it." The entire time, her eyes never moved to the Demigod, somehow more interested in what was in her hands.

"Nothing..." Lily finally spoke, his jaw visibly clenching as he fought a seemingly unheard of urge to either run or fight. "You collapse in on yourself, existence fleeting and yet present, you are nothing..." Lily's words, while seeming like some kind of insult did not carry that sort of message through to their delivery. He seemed genuinely perplexed by what was in front of him. It was as if he was trying to rationalize what his eyes could see vs what his abilities as a sensor were telling him. "How is it you are not with us, yet present? Physical manifestation vs reality of untold proportions, you are an anomaly..."

Litatio’s impassive face loomed above them and betrayed no internal thoughts. No fleeting look of annoyance, only a dead-eyed stare, as a parent might while listening to their children squawk in the background for attention. He blinked owlishly. At the end of it, he pinched his nose, and then, abruptly tossed his head backwards, leaning his chair precariously backwards. A nasally laugh shook the shelves, sent his paperwork flying from his desk, and even dropped a book that hadn’t been pushed in all the way in a nearby shelf. A deep-bellied laugh. When he hitched a breath inward and dabbed at his eyes with his flowery handkerchief, the lines of his mouth pulled upwards. An unsettling smile, though his eyes remained empty. Empty as the absence that Lil felt in his core.

“I’m a God, boy.” A bushy brow rose into his shaggy hairline, clearly perplexed at such a simple concept. He gestured to Nelle, and then, to Nica, “Unlikely. They don’t even understand that much. I am no Sir. I am Litatio, God of Litas. And you are all ill-tempered, small-lived mortals, as fleeting as dust.” A passing glance roved over Kalista as she sifted through the page of a book, “Insignificant and forgotten.” He drummed his fingers across his desk. It was loud, echoing through the chamber. “Fine. You and yours will be tested once more. Because if you can’t do this simple task, you’re not worthy to drink anything but piss.” A scoff. Scour seemed to try and make himself smaller, a task that was all but impossible. He looked halfway from looking as if he wanted to throw up, or flee the chamber altogether.

“Fine. We’ll do it.” Nica was the one to cut in. There was a determined set to her jaw, as if she were biting back words that perched there, settling for a patience that she’d always had in spades.

“Another village. Dunn Bridge. A coastal town. Ten leagues or so away from your Wildekeep. I’m sure you’re all aware that the Demoni presence of late has been... disconcertingly frequent. There’s been no word from them since a week ago. No wagons. No merchants. Nothing.” His flippant tone bespoke what he thought befell it. “Seek them out. Search for survivors. Try not to die. Afterwards, I’ll do what you wish.”

 

[Yonni]

It was only when they left the city’s gates that Scour felt like he could breathe again. He exhaled sharply through his nose, and inhaled. The tang of woodlands, and stirred up dust, hung on his tongue, though he didn’t particularly mind. At least they weren’t in that thing’s office any longer. If anyone thought their kind monstrous... they certainly had never seen something like Litatio. He doubted that anyone save a handful had ever been presented to the Demigod—doubted that anyone would have any inkling to what a Demigod even looked like. The beautiful statues, carved with high cheekbones, in their image, did them no justice. Perhaps, they were all just as twisted as he was. He shuddered. The fact that they’d have to speak to more of them wasn’t something he wanted to dwell on.

Hours passed and Vincere disappeared entirely over the horizon. A golden city overseen by an eight-limbed, heartless creature, just a winking speck. It hadn’t been lost on him that Litatio would have known why they were there, and instead, chose to send them on a trial to prove themselves. The world was at stake, and the being didn’t give a whit about it. He shook his head and trotted behind Nelle and Lil’s mounts to catch up. Too caught up in his thoughts, he was. His mind whirred endlessly. What he’d seen in there, what he’d heard. It was beyond his comprehension, and yet, he felt like he, and perhaps Lil’s, were the only one’s truly perturbed.

He could hear Nica and Lip chattering ahead of the troupe, and flicked his eyes up in time to see Nica pointing off to the side of the road. “Up ahead, we’ll make camp. Water the horses. Prepare.” She gently eased her steed off the road and into the brush. There was a sizable opening with a flattened area. A decent place where they could make a fire, and sleep, unimpeded by anyone on the road. They’d know if anyone was trying to sneak up on them. Scour knuckled at his nose, and followed quietly behind them. His tail flickered nervously. He wasn’t sure exactly what to expect at this village he’d never heard of before, but it certainly didn’t sound promising.

Lip swung from his horse, took Nica’s reign’s as well, and tied them to a nearby tree. He hadn’t said much since leaving the Litatio’s office. He bowed his head and shuffled off into the underbrush, announcing that he’d be getting wood for the fire. Maybe he was put off by the entire ordeal. Unlikely. But there wasn’t much he knew about the rancorous man, save that he was loud and apparently companions with Kalista. His gaze swung to her back for a moment, before he quickly shifted his gaze elsewhere. Anywhere else. As if the mere action would invite her chaos onto him.

That was not what he wanted.

Nelle was uncharacteristically quiet and contemplative as they left the city. The sounds of the horses plodding rhythmically forward was for the moment enough sound for her, it seemed. Occasionally, a frown could be seen creasing her brow, eyes darting from Lilean to Nica and Lip’s backs, to shy glances behind her, as if checking to be sure Scour still trailed behind. She paid little attention to Kalista, as if confident the elf wouldn't be easily misplaced.

She struggled to hide a less than pleased expression when she realized Nica was having them camp for the evening. She’d rather have ridden on until they reached the damnable place. Especially as she struggled with sleep anyway. She definitely didn't need to look weak in front of this motley bunch. Nelle dismounted, looking sulky, and followed suit in tying down her mare. She then began to rummage in their shared gear for the cooking kit. If they were going to camp, she was at least going to be in charge Of the food. If she cooked something filling enough, maybe they'd all sleep through any night terrors she had. Finding the cooking pot, she began to gather stones to make a suitable fire pit for Lip to place the wood he found in. She softly hummed to herself as she worked, quickly creating the circle. Satisfied, she wiped her hands on her blouse, and hefted the pot.

"I'll find some water to start cooking." She said in her whispery voice to Nica before setting out deeper into the wood.

Kalista disembarked from her horse, tossing her pack on the ground and quickly making a small area for herself that invited no question. She stared at the beginning of a fire, and made no motion to help or otherwise state anything, which so far seemed to be the best reaction could seem to get out of the elf. She began dismantling her armor, revealing rather common shirt and pants underneath it, and showcasing that her size was most definitely not just her armor. She took great care in placing it on the ground in a standing position that limited it's overall contact to the ground, almost out of reverence for it. Once her armor was fully removed and she was in her more casual attire, she propped her pack up so she could rest on it, pulling out a rather large book from her pack, sitting down and popping it down about halfway in from what appeared to be a bookmark. She made no move to help with anything or even notice that things were happening.

In essence, her being quiet was probably her way of helping as she stayed out of the way over everyone else, completely engrossed in her book. Meanwhile, Lily lead his horse and tied her to a nearby tree, giving her a quick rub on the nose as he left. His eyes were once again downcast into the dirt, but his head tilted in everyone's direction at least once, seeming to give his companions a once over as to their status. His 'gaze', for lack of a better term seemed to linger on Scour for a moment before it moved in the direction of Nelle. Out of all of them, discounting Kalista's inherent destructive nature, they were the most unpredictable members of the troupe considering the nature that Lily apparently seemed privy too.

As Nelle made to move deeper into the forest for water, Lily diverted himself, making sure to make enough noise as he came up on Nelle from behind so as to not hide his approach. Before long, he was walking beside her, choosing not to say a word as the hood covered his eyes to the point of blindness, stepping forward and keeping pace with her.

Nelle took note of the sensor as he accompanied her. She didn't need help, but she also felt no need to dismiss him. She was no sensor and had never been very good at picking up on how others were feeling, but she did recognize that their encounter with the demigod had unsettled him. For a time, they walked in companionable silence, with the sounds of crunching sticks and bramble, the only sound. Soon, the smell of water filled the air, and a coolness was felt on the breeze. Nelle comfortably led the way toward a river ahead. She knelt on the bank, placing the pot beside her, and cupped a handful of the cool water. Gently, she splashed her face to clean the road from it, then her hands, before she tipped the pot in and filled it. Nelle placed it on the bank again and still kneeling, looked to the sensor. Her expression was uncharacteristically solemn.

"Is all well with you...?" She asked in her whispery voice.

"The wind blows fair." Lilean stated softly, his back to Nelle as he continued to scour the treeline near the small river where they were currently stated. It wasn't easy to get a read on the sensor as he didn't seem to let anything get to him. It would appear that the meeting with the so called Demigod was a one off that shattered his normally incredibly composed nature. In fact, maybe it was due to that incident that his regularly held together stature seemed overly in place. If Nelle looked closely, it was like a force of will was holding Lilean together rather than a natural calm. Intuition, maybe, but it wouldn't be wrong.

Nelle eyed his back, still crouched by the water. A strange, chiding, tsk, sound exited from her lips. Almost childishly, she cupped some water in her hand and splashed it at the sensor.

"That man disturbed you." She rasped at him again. This time, it was a statement, not a question. She hummed softly, hefting the pot full of water, "We don't like... what we don't...understand... in fact, it scares us." She sang softly, almost scolding, in a haunting lilt. If he did not want to be honest, that was his right. But it was hers to identify that she didn't buy it.

She held the pot with her left elbow and hip while scanning the area for wild edible plants. She spotted some wild carrot, its white flowers nearly glowing against the dark earth, and promptly used her free hand to begin picking it. She let the silence settle over them again briefly, before the sound of the river running over stones wasn't enough to drown out her often creeping memories. Softly, she began to hum to herself to drown those out.

"What is Man cannot be that creature." Lilean replied, not bothering to flinch or otherwise acknowledge the water that splashed him. "Comprehension leads to safety and comfort, but a chiding disposition towards the unknown invites panic, a truth born of relative ease. To have everything lie to you, a trust broken, a shade ignored, an impossibility." Lilean replied, opening up slightly but only in his usual cryptic way. He didn't seem to really move from his spot, outside of the occasional twitch towards some unknown sound or feeling, his head would tilt in directions as he continued his watch.

Nelle quieted slightly only to listen to the man speak; finding wild onions as she absorbed his cryptic poetry. She pulled them up stubbornly, giving a small grunt with the effort. Though she was no expert, she felt he confirmed her statement and then some. This satisfied her rankled spirit a bit. He, in his own way, had admitted his unease. She eyed the area for more wild edible plants.

"You know... I sleep poorly." Nelle said softly, clenching and unclenching her fingers. Dirt flicking off. "Perhaps, I'll keep watch tonight so the rest of them can sleep soundly..." Nelle had gone on missions with the sensor before and he already knew that in peaceful evenings she couldn't rest. She’d thrash with nightmares and call out embarrassing things. But she also knew her own reputation. She caused others unease. Nelle felt momentarily exposed, like an open wound. She gripped her dirty vegetables hard and looked over her shoulder at Lily,

"Can you convince them that I'll keep them safe?" She asked softly. The voice was gentle. And he may have gotten the sense, that this was Nelle at her core. The mask momentarily discarded. There was a brief moment where Lily didn't respond, as if weighing the true impact of the situation long enough to consider his options. He turned towards Nelle, walking closer and kneeling next to her. He looked her in the eyes, and it was almost like looking at a blind man, as his eyes never truly seemed to focus and instead stared almost past her.

"Show your smile, not your fangs. Beings of beasts and slaughter, peace is a foreign concept. We do not believe any such caution worthy of necessity." Lily looked down at Nelle's hands for a moment, and for a split second, his speech came out slightly clearer. "It's never been about safety, but it can be about comfort. Don't put yourself out to satisfy others, and never be afraid to show a bit of soul. It's what keeps us grounded when we face nothing but demons." Lily reached over and grasped Nelle's hand softly for a moment, turning it over and looking at the callous's that had formed among it. Like that though, his speech was back to it's more cryptic meaning. "Rough and stitched together, we are a product of our own choosing, spitting in the face of the will of the world."

He released his grip on her hand, standing back up and once again taking his position of guard, overlooking the woods.

Nelle felt heat rise to her face and ears, surprised by the sudden touch and taken a back by the sensor's gentleness. She had partly wanted to pull away, but another lonely part craved the contact.

Nelle remained crouched after he let go, watching him walk away as she processed his words. Something inside her tugged, feeling what the sensor said was not wrong, but unable to imagine revealing her fragility to anyone else. It terrified her. She was actually dangerous, after all. They should keep their distance. Nelle felt her unease shift into frustration. With who, she couldn't say. Herself? Lily? Maybe both. If he wouldn't convince them, then she would have to find a place to sleep away from the others because they would not easily trust her to keep watch. Something warm trickled down her cheek, and to her shame, she realized it was a tear. Frantically, she wiped her eyes, forcing herself to give a manic laugh, pulling her imaginary mask back on. She never should have dropped her guard in the first place.

"Forget it..." she whispered, standing.

There was a loud sound of crunching leaves and snapping twigs before a large form blundered through the undergrowth, in a less than graceful manner. The bush caved inwards, as if it’d been holding a weight and suddenly gave in, unable to withstand it any longer. Scour hadn’t been able to pinwheel his arms in time to catch himself from falling into the muck and so, he tumbled past fickle branches snagging at his trousers, and caught himself on his hands and knees. At least, he hadn’t landed face first. He wasn’t sure if that was something he would’ve preferred in this situation. His face burned hotter, though it was difficult to tell with his splotchy features, and natural purple hue. Thank the Gods.

He hadn’t meant to, honestly. He hadn’t wanted to eavesdrop on them, but the moment had crossed into something so vulnerable, he’d felt inclined to simply stand in place, stuck halfway between a pit of stoic vipers back at the campsite, and his friends bent together, in a moment meant to be private, he was sure. He’d heard and seen far more than he thought he was supposed to, a swell of guilt blooming in his very guts. How they’d both behaved was something far from what he’d expected. Made of softer things, crabs with pliable centers. Not composed only of a shell. There were walls there, encroaching pretenses, masks. He wasn’t sure if he should prostrate himself and beg for forgiveness or remain still as a statue, in the vague hope that they hadn’t noticed him tumble out like a stone.

The fact that he’d disrupted or fallen into something so exposed wasn’t lost on Scour. Even heknew the implications here, for Nelle, mostly. That things were not as they appeared. As for Lil, he only drew up more questions, though his ears still burned at the intimacy he’d witnessed. “I—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—” his words caught in his throat, catching on his excuse, and how cowardly it sounded, that he’d wanted to follow them because he’d felt so uncomfortable sitting with Kalista and Nica at camp. He’d wanted to trail after the only semblance of comfort he had here. He bowed his head and then pushed himself to his knees, eyebrows drawn together. Denying what he’d heard felt... unadvisable.

Nelle stood frozen, mouth slightly agape as Scour tumbled into view. She felt a wave of horror, followed by a realization and flash of betrayal as she realized there was no way the sensor hadn't known Scour was there.

Nelle had the sensation of being nude. Utterly bare for Scour to see. She felt her pale skin burning. In outrage, she turned towards Lily, gripping the pot full of water so hard that her finger tips turned white.

"Y..you knew... He was... You knew and you didn't...!" Nelle tried to shove her anger down, tried to bottle it accordingly, but some power leaked around her, and the water in the pot she held began to bubble, as if boiling.

She shouldn't have trusted Lily. Nelle took a deep breath, turning back to Scour. Her eyes seemed teary as she fought back the feelings of betrayal mixed with shame.

"Scour..." she whispered, voice surprisingly sharp. She eyed him through her bangs. "D... don't tell... please... I can't... I..." Nelle found her voice breaking, and only felt more deeply exposed. Weak. But deadly. "I'm dangerous..." she rasped, now shaking slightly. She wanted to fall into the earth.

"Time breaches walls built upon impossibility." Lily said softly, walking over to Scour, leaning down and picking him up from the ground. "A request was made, an expedited maneuver, coalescing into placid meanings." Lily wiped a bit of mud and guck off of Scour, seeming to pause for a moment to make sure he hadn't hurt himself and more than likely getting a full blown exposure to both sets of intense feelings produced through bodily fluctuations. "Exposed, vulnerable, such are words forced upon those who would deem themselves above such things." Lily gave a soft smile, first to Scour, then looking back at Nelle. It looked like he practically orchestrated this.

"Wounded and scarred, we all carry our own burdens and secrets. We are but pawns, victims and corpses of hateful thoughts and desires, to believe one self infallible is to lie innately." Lily looked over at Nelle a bit longer, his eyes seemingly fixated past her. "We will be forced to rely on the scared, the injured, the broken and the beaten if we are to succeed. Would you spit in the face of victory for pride?" There was a brief moment of silence among all of them, before a slight sigh came out of the sensor.

"We apologize, we believed this to be a situation too perfect for the moment. Blame not the casual observer, a piece of the puzzle tossed atop the board."

Like an overwhelmed child, Nelle stamped a foot.

"Of course I don't blame him!" She rasped petulantly at Lily. The unneeded implication was she entirely laid the blame on the sensor. She bashfully looked to Scour, looking less angry but still fairly embarrassed. "I don't want to accidentally hurt you... Kalista isn't wrong... I am dangerous." she muttered looking to Scour.

Scour felt like a rabbit prying itself from between uncertain jaws—though, this was no longer a wolf who’d taken a liking to him... for reasons he was still unsure of. She’d never looked at him with pity. Neither of them had. No, it’d always been with certainty and understanding. As if he wasn’t what everyone else thought he was: a beast, a monster. Dangerous, as Nelle was saying she was, even though he’d done nothing to make them think that. It was a taint that’d follow him to death, he was sure, and yet, they’d never judged him. Not like Lip and Kalista. Not like them at all.

He felt his lip stiffen as he tried to wrestle the emotion from his face. He drew his hands into fists, pressed claws into his palms. When Lil offered his arm to help him up, he was glad to take it. He, at least, had never been plagued by pride. What little did he have left? It was not something he could afford any longer. This was a world he struggled to navigate, facing situations he never thought he’d have to. His eyebrows drew together once more, though he inclined his head and smiled softly at Lil, “Thanks.” Even though he didn’t know the ranger very well, he felt a certain strength with him standing at his side. It was probably why he’d sought out his friendship so strongly in the beginning when he had little more than songbirds and billowing trees as companions.

“I wouldn’t...” it was the truth, he didn’t have any reason to divulge her secret. If this was what she wanted to portray to the outside world... who was he to question her? These walls of hers existed for a reason. They did not belong to him. They were not his to tear down. He rubbed at his shoulder, and finally drew his gaze away from the muck at his feet and met Nelle’s, squarely for once. It was a poor habit he’d acquired over the years, not wanting to meet anyone’s eye for fear of what he’d find there. A confidence filled him, though he was sure he was drawing it from Lil. “I won’t say anything.”

He knuckled at his nose and tipped his head at her, suddenly feeling foolish, “who’d believe me anyway?”

Nelle felt her heart fluttering in her chest like a trapped bird as Scour locked eyes with her. In them, she could see how small and vaguely frightened she must look to him and it was her turn to look away, flustered. He likely wasn't wrong. She'd played the part of the slightly insane fairly well until now. Gone to great lengths for that image, in fact.

"W-well...I guess that's true..." Nelle mumbled hesitantly. There was an awkward pause where Nelle struggled to reel herself in emotionally. She took a deep breath, focusing on the sound of the river for a moment before looking at Scour again. She Looked bashful as she whispered a small, "thank you." And began to pick her way back towards camp.

 

[Heartfeltwords]

Nelle hastened back to camp, feeling vaguely numb. Mentally, she struggled to pull the mask back down into place while her true self had been so easily revealed. There was a small part of her that felt relieved. But another part was deeply terrified. When people got in her way, they died. That much was fact. A flash of broken bodies, shattered under her powers made her wince momentarily, and softly, she began to hum to herself.

As she entered the camp, she stepped around Kalista as she continued to rest by the area set up for the fire. She made a point to focus on the full pot of water in her hands to avoid spilling it. Nelle set it to one side, staring at the pit where the fire would go. Lip hadn't yet returned to tend or start it. That was fine with her. She could prep the ingredients as she waited. Sure, she could start the fire, but it often unsettled her... and her nerves were already somewhat frayed. With a sigh, she began to prep the ingredients on hand to make a stew.

Kalista's eyes briefly hovered over Nelle, barely pulling away from the literal tome in her hand, a book thick enough to cause a concussion if used as a weapon of war. Her armor was set to the side, positioned as to minimize contact with the ground and looked like it was being prepared for some kind of inspection. Kalista rested on the ground, wearing only loose fitting garments, her hair pulled back into a long pony tail to keep out of her face. She looked relaxed, probably the most out of anyone there. The air of arrogance was suppressed around her, but it was still very much present and more than likely gave explanation as to her carefree stature. She wasn't worried about being attacked or ambushed, that much was very clear.

When Nelle walked by, Kalista's eyes drifted over the small woman then towards the woods, noticing that Nelle was the only one who happened to wander out of the forest in a somewhat brisk fashion. "Didn't the poet follow you out? Not to mention the furball who snuck away? Ya didn't smush their brains, did ya?" Kalista said rather coldly, flipping through her book casually as she said so.

Nelle paused in her preparations, knife aloft, and forced a manic laugh.

"Too slooowww, away I goooo." She sing songed at the woman before carefully dicing some salted meat to add to the pot. "There will come a poet, whose weapon is his words... he will slay you with his tongue, oh lay, oh lie, oh lord..." she sang in a chirp as she worked.

"You can carry a melody about as well as you carry your sanity." Kalista said dryly, licking her thumb and flipping the page once more. If anything, it seemed like reading mellowed out the Elven Ogre to the point her barbs and jabs had a lot less 'threat' behind them. Nelle actively ignored her comments, continuing to cook and sing to herself.

A moment later and Scour bumbled through the underbrush, though this time, at least, he hadn’t landed on his face. He was brushing the remnant of muck clinging to the bottom portion of trousers, scraping off stubborn flecks of dried mud from his knees, before he straightened up and hunkered down close to Nelle. It was strange to see him walk—perpetually hunching his shoulders in order to make himself appear smaller, and failing quite horribly. His figure was closer to Kalista’s than anyone else, even though he did not match her height. His limbs, however, were far different than any humans. Thicker forearms, and large, clawed hands, ending in rough paw-pads where smooth skin ought to be. He kept them to his side, or in a tangled, nervous mess in his lap.

A bumbling mess, with how he carried himself. As if he weren’t comfortable in his own skin and could not operate his figure, or refused to. Back here, at the campsite, he maintained his silence, probably for fear of some sort of confrontation. It was hard to tell, though he was intent on focusing on nothing else but the center of the camp, where the fire would be. Unlike when he was with alone with Nelle and Lil, he was for less inclined to voice anything aloud with the others. The distinction was clear.

“Glad everyone’s gettin’ along still,” a wry voice cut through, accompanied by soft footfalls to their rear. Lip held a hefty bundle of various sticks and logs in her arms, stepping over a log to get back towards camp. There were leaves, and a stick, stuck in her shaggy hair, she could feel it, but couldn’t be bothered to muss it out. Besides, her arms were full. She wasn’t like that fucking creature back in Vincere, eight-limbs clicking about like a damn spider. How she wanted to squash the thing. The disappointment of seeing her first demigod was palpable, and she couldn’t hide the sting of it even now. She made her way next to Nelle, and crouched down on her heels, spilling the bundle at her side. Arranging the firewood was a relaxing chore.

It didn’t take her long to set it the corner aflame, flicking flint and a tiny crook of bent steel. She hunched down, and blew on it softly. Watched as embers flicked through the air, hissing against the larger logs and piece of parchment she’d crunched up. She’d left a smaller pile of wood at Nelle’s side, in order to feed the flames whenever it got too low. Once she was satisfied, she rocked back on her heels and sat crossed legged, eyeing her cooking companion. “Whassat yer’ making, anyway?”

Nelle continued humming to herself as Scour scooted nearby, essentially ignoring him as well as Kalista. She only quieted when Lip appeared with firewood and began building the fire. Instead, she began to breathe deeply. After her incident, fire had since unnerved her. Small cooking fires like this were manageably unnerving, but a larger fire... well she hoped she'd never have to face it again. The burn scars on her hands seemed to glow white in the orange glow of the new fire, as if even her skin remembered the fear.

Deftly, she had chopped the wild vegetables and added them to the water, before starting to cut slivers of salted venison to include. When Lip inquired to her directly, she was surprised. It was unusual for the woman to speak to her unless absolutely necessary and without large quantities of distaste. Nelle peeked curiously over her shoulder at the woman, head tilted.

"A taste of the woods... a taste of home..." She sing songed softly before dropping the meat into the pot as well. Lip hummed appreciatively, eyeing the ingredients. She'd never been a good cook before, so anyone who could jimmy together a meal was fine in her books. Even if said cook dangled a secret she'd wished forgotten.

Having added most of the ingredients, Nelle put the lid on the pot and hefted it momentarily. She stood for a moment, eying the flames before losing her nerve. She turned to Scour and pressed the pot into his chest.

"If you can watch... then you can help..." she sing songed at him, nodding her head towards the fire meaningfully. She trusted he would take care of that and allowed herself a moment of masking, looking dreamily around at her companions. Scour bobbed his head in a wooden nod, and bustled to the center of the campsite, setting the pot with careful deliberation.

Having taken note of Kalista calmly seated by the fire, Nelle squinted at the book the Elf held while tipping her head this way and that. There was no picture on the cover. Only the scrawl of funny lines she knew to be writing.

Curiously, she crept towards the woman and peeked over her shoulder from a respectful distance. Nelle was somewhat disappointed to see the pages also did not have any pictures.

"No pictures..." Nelle softly murmured. "Is it a story or is it truth?" She lightly sing songed, curiously squinting at the scrawl. Kalista's eyes would peer over at Nelle, a scoff escaping from her mouth as she flicked a page.

"It's the tale of Berigian the Bloodied." Kalista answered, surprisingly easily considering who she was addressing. "Fiction, 'bout a warrior who forged an alliance among warring tribes, creating an army that rivalled the Druthagi, a monstrous set of creatures as tall as castles." Kalista's eyes floated over the words. "He made these agreements, treaties, pacts and eventually performing an honor bound duel between himself and the King of Mullani's famed Bodyguard, Illyiad. The fight was epic, not because Berigian was even a skilled fighter, but because he always thought up these unorthodox ways to win..." As Kalista started to talk, it was like a switch had been flicked off in her brain, a wide smile starting to take place and it was clear she had forgotten who she was even talking to as she stood up, her face never leaving the book as she started reciting the entire story almost from memory.

She paced back and forth, pages flipping as her words were filled with energy and excitement. She had clearly read this story many times before, but that child like wonder had never seemed to leave her as she seemed to no longer notice anyone's presence, her words floating out as she spun the tale of the pauper turned spymaster turned warrior turned legend. A tale of fiction that was based in real life events, the Demons that plagued the land and the Demigods that ruled over them as clear inspirations as to the people and enemies in the world of the book.

Nelle watched the woman with wide and curious eyes. Despite herself, listening intently. It surprised her how much could be read out of those impossible squiggles. Kalista could be making it up, but Nelle didn't actually mind that either. She crouched comfortably, taking this strange new version of Kalista in.

A grin began to form on Lip’s face, pulling at the edges as she leaned back on her hands. She shut her eyes against the story Kalista wove, and could almost imagine Berigian the Bloodied in all his glory. A duel for the ages. This was something she’d always greatly admired about the woman—let people say what they will about her, but she had the innate ability to carry you away from yourself in the stories she told. A welcome distraction when the world was too dark to bear. It was a rare gift, and not one people expected from her. “Aye, wish I could cheers to him,” she lifted a mock-goblet in the air.

Even Scour seemed enraptured, if not a little skeptical. He’d taken an inconspicuous seat near them, as if he didn’t want to admit that he was interested in her tale, leaning slightly forward, arms bound around his knees. A childish stance, if she’d ever seen one. His eyes were wide, reflecting the firelight like two black mirrors. It unnerved her, so she looked away. Nica seemed inclined to listen from afar, seated on the remnants of a stump. Hands folded in her lap. She, too, had removed her armour, like Kalista and had arranged it at her side, meticulous and neat like everything in her life. Her eyes traced Kalista’s figure, but stared through, distant.

Like a phantom, Lily appeared beside Nica without a word, a couple of skinned rabbits hanging from his belt as evidence of what his activities had been doing. His eyes stared ahead but seemed focused on a spot between their position and Kalista's pacing. His head twitched slightly as Kalista spun her tale. "A moment of solace and peace, a rarity for the future bound." Lilean said softly, standing beside Nica's sitting form as Kalista's story telling became more and more enraptured, now making mock movements and acting out parts of the story. It was incredibly odd but somewhat humanizing to see this towering woman pretend to cower in fear only to leap up with a yell and continue telling the story. "A puzzle piece shaped like water." Lily stated, motioning towards Kalista. Nica hadn't started at Lily's sudden appearance, but she did twist her head up, and then, affirm his statement with a nod and something reminiscent of a smile. As if she were remembering something pleasant, "Savor these moments." It was difficult to tell if she were saying this to Lily, or to herself. Lily didn't seem to say anything in response to this, simply staring at the spectacle that was the giant elf getting excited and telling her stories. For a time, she seemed like a different enough person to enjoy their presence.

Nelle didn't want to break this spell that seemed to be cast around the fire, but did have to carefully creep forward to stir the stew on the fire. Nelle counted several stirs, creeping back to listen to the elf's tale, before the savory scent of the food told her their meal was ready. It was a simple field dish, but it would be filling and thanks to years of practice, it would be delicious.

She had been taught to cook in her parent's tavern and never stopped learning. Somehow it never failed to make her feel closer to her family, rest their souls. She sipped the broth to be sure, added some salt, a pinch of ginger, some dry bay, and pepper before carefully removing it from the heat. It took several, somewhat anxious, attempts to approach the fire with a rag to pull the pot from the flames. But she managed. Kalista's boisterous storytelling overpowered the sound of the flames eating at the wood. That helped. Quietly, not wanting to interrupt, she began to fill their wooden bowls with the soup. Nelle offered bowls first to Nica. Then to Lily, who it seemed had a successful hunt. A bowl was gently offered to Scour, and Lip as well. Finally, she held one for Kalista, patiently waiting until she was ready for it. Soaking in the tale with a somewhat child-like expression that matched the eager storyteller.

Kalista took the bowl in stride, almost practically dancing while telling her story. She downed the steaming hot bowl in one gulp, using it to enact one of the barbarian leader's parts as she growled at the small crowd in front of her, detailing his ferocity and animal like nature. Her story floated from section to section, detailing Berigian's rise to power, the trials he had to overcome, a bard turned warlord who solved conflicts with wit and strategy, and more than a little luck. Until finally the tale started to spin down, Berigian earned his monikor 'The Bloodied' as his final gambit failed, wounded and surrounded by the corpses of those who followed him. He stood, defiant and raged at the Druthagi. She detailed Berigian's death, and the aftermath that followed. Berigian the Bloodied became a martyr, inspiring the rest of the human world to band together. The Druthagi, having nearly been pushed to the brink of extinction themselves by Berigian's forces, were ultimately defeated by the waves of humans that followed, inspired by Berigian's attempts and story.

"It was never meant to be a happy story." Kalista said, smiling. "But one that shows our dreams keep going even after we're gone, so long as we fight with everything we have. Sometimes, we may not be enough and that's ok, never give up and never surrender, and your will will pass onto those you leave behind." Kalista stated, closing the book. She took a breath, and for a moment, she opened her eyes and seemed to remember where she was and who she was talking to. "At least that's what I took out of it." Kalista stated, moving back to her spot and slipping the book back into her backpack.

Nelle slowly stirred her soup while the elf finished the tale, too enraptured by the story to eat. But when the story was done, and the spell was broken, she recognized the growl of her belly and downed the bowl at once. Still, somehow, she couldn't hide the smile on her face. That was new and exciting. It made her think that even Kalista had a mask to wear. Parts of herself she rarely revealed. That was somehow, reassuring for the magnifier. And for a moment as she looked around at the faces of her comrades, she felt at home.

Scour had taken a position leaning forward with his hands cupped into his palms, elbows propped up on his knees. His tail flopped at his side, thumping softly. The now-empty bowl of soup sat at his bare feet. The wistful look on his face, pulling against his tusk bespoke his enjoyment of Kalista’s tale, and even Lip had to admit that in that moment... he looked far more human than any of his kind she’d ever seen. She wasn’t sure what to do with that, so she tore her gaze away and watched as Kalista’s tale ended, and she plopped back down, setting her book back into her pack.

It was he who broke the silence between them. Over the crackle of firelight, his voice sounded urgent. “Are there any tales like that...” he began and then cleared his throat, eyebrows drawing together across his mottled face, “about my kind?” He stared at her expectantly. For once since they’d started their little journey across the middle of nowhere, he wasn’t shrinking away like a wilted flower. She wrinkled her nose at that.

"Plenty." Kalista answered, slipping her pack into a position to be used as a pillow and laying down. "None of them pleasant. Face it fluffy, your kind aren't looked upon with kindness." Kalista answered with a voice so devoid of concern it almost came across as monotone. Her eyes stared up at the sky for moment, and they flickered back and forth, as if searching for a story in her mind that wasn't like that, but she seemed to give up rather quickly.

Scour seemed to deflate at that, shoulders slumping slightly. "Ah, I see." He tipped his head and forced a grin, as if it didn't really bother him. He knuckled at his nose, and stared into the fire. His disappointment was palpable, couldn't he do better to hide it? Lip shook her head and leaned back on her hands, eyebrows drawn together. A thought worked around in her mouth, but she honestly couldn't be sussed to say it aloud. Why bother? Life was cruel, especially for his kind. It was a harsh lesson he'd have to learn, again and again.

Nelle took all this in, sitting with her knees to her chin. She was across the fire from Scour, and a healthy distance from the flames as well as the elf. She watched the exchange between Kalista and Scour. Part of her felt for him. People saw him and recoiled thinking he was a monster. It was a shame that people's appearance didn't match their insides. People would see him as the handsome soul he was, and run from her in terror, accordingly if it worked that way.

An awkward silence, broken only by the crackling of the logs on the fire, settled over the camp. Nelle felt a tug of nerves pulling at her, and she stood abruptly, jerkily, clattering her bowl as she gathered the dirty flatware with as much noise as possible. The moment had been nice while it lasted.