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Resting Witch Face

breaking the laws of physics medieval style
Blackness all around, stretching out in every direction, swallowing you whole. You can't tell if you're dreaming or suffering from some kind of sleep paralysis, but the result is the same. Unfolding in front of you is a menagerie of abstract colors and shapes, weaving and collecting and falling apart in a enchanting rhythm. You can feel the beat of the rhythm in yourself, in everything around you. Like a heartbeat, strong enough to vibrate your hands. After what feels like hours watching the odd dance, the colors form long lines and begin to root, shaping into a grand tree several thousand times larger than yourself. You can't help but stare.
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It is an amazing spectacle, watching this tree contract and expand as if it drew breath, but soon you find that the scene has become darker. Colors dim or turn an unsettling shade of red, and the colorful world around you takes on a menacing hue. The ground beneath you quakes. The roots beat faster. You turn to leave, to escape this descent into madness but something prevents you from leaving. A quick series of desperate tugs reveals that a root has burrowed deep into your arm, snaking it's way through your bicep and into your chest. You can feel it pulsating, and you feel weak. This terrifying psychedelic experience begins to spin, and spin, and spin...
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The sound of rushing water wakes you from a deep sleep, and you find yourself soaking wet on the side of a rocky river. Must have washed ashore not too long ago, after a long "swim" downstream. Attempting to get to your feet seems fruitless, so you instead turn your gaze towards your surroundings. A bird's call distracts you, as it flies overhead in a hurry. A doe could be spotted further down the bank, lazily sipping at the water's edge. Dense foliage seems to surround you in every direction, blocking the view unless one were to climb to a vantage point... speaking of which, a peculiar sight enters your vision: a tall stone spire, seemingly attached to a church, sticking out high above the tree-line. It looks somewhat distant, but likely not too far from the river. A good place to check in, at least for some potential refuge. Finally, you manage to pry yourself out of the sand and onto a patch of grass. Despite the warm countryside air, the water soaking your clothes is giving you a deathly chill. It would be smart to dry off, and soon. As you stumble to your feet, two things become apparent: One, you are not alone. What looks like three or four others are also washed up close by, seemingly waking up like you just had. They seem familiar, likely the other mages on the prison wagon. Two, a distinct weight on your left wrist. You look down to discover, to your dismay, that the inhibitor cuffs you had been restrained with had not fully broken off in the accident. One cuff flapped uselessly around as the other held fast, still preventing you from accessing your full potential magic power. It would be a challenge to cast anything with it still attached, but at least it had partially broken off. If it was still on both wrists, you would be unable to cast anything. Guaranteed.

With this in mind, it would be difficult to use your magic to secure your future. Find a way to remove the cuff, whether by destroying it or finding the key. Aside from this first goal survival reigns supreme on your to-do list, which means a steady source of food, water and shelter. With magic, however limited, this should not be hard to accomplish. Finally, the stone building in the distance would be good to remember later, once the all-too identifying cuffs have been removed and you can blend into the general populous again. Wouldn't want anyone there selling you out as a Mage, of course, but perhaps there might be someone there partial to Mages...
 
There was a story that her father used to tell her about a warrior who was fated to save all the land. He’d make everyone gather round the fire pit and weave the familiar tale as the smoke rose over the tops of their thatch roofed houses. The man would get up from his log seat and prance about the flames, miming daring duels and ferocious dragons just to make her laugh. Those were pleasant memories and the things she often saw when she slept but this was not pleasant. This was a tree the color of blood looming high above her head. This was a nightmare and it was an unfamiliar one. Alianore was used to nightmares filled with screams and fire but not this. Not the roots of this blood dark tree slithering their way into her skin, into her heart. The world began to spin and she lost her footing, knees slamming to the still shaking ground. Alianore’s eyes slid shut against the pulsating colors desperate to escape. She only opened them again when she could no longer feel the ground shaking.

The first thing she saw was blue and then a cloud rolled by and she became increasingly aware that she was soaking wet. The rushing sound of a river came into focus and Alianore slowly lifted her head to find that she had somehow managed to crawl several feet from the water in her stupor. Her head was pounding like she’d slammed it against a brick wall, but other than that she seemed to be okay. Ali grunted as she sat up in the grass, brushing sopping locks of auburn hair away from her face. There were others here, ones she recognized from the wagon. The wagon! Alianore shot up from the ground, suddenly hyper aware of her situation. The wagon was gone and the people with her all had inhibitor cuffs still attached to them in one way or another. Not Paladins. Alianore spun around and found that there didn’t seem to be any sign of Paladins at all. They were alone. How had they gotten here? To her dismay, she had no memory of the events that had found them escaped from their path to doom. No matter, she would take good fortune where she found it.

With her free hand, she lifted the broken end of the inhibitor cuffs to her gaze, finding the edges sharp and jagged. It had been smashed off by something. That was good, that meant that she just might be able to smash the other one as well. But first, the others with her, she’d rather make sure they were alive before moving forward. Alianore untied a strip of cloth from around her wrist and used it to tie back her still wet hair as she approached the others still on the ground.

“Pardon,” She called, not wanting to get too close in case any of them decided to attack her or something of the sort, “We seem to have escaped our captors. Are you folks alright?”
 
As the hallucinatory trip of polychromatic sights faded away to the deepest reaches of Kamden's mind, his unconscious mind is slowly receiving the rush of the river. The slowed reaction turned into a speedy revival as the former thief turned mage frantically swept his arms about, trying to escape the torrent. Luckily, his body lost enough speed for him to be pushed to the shore; slamming into the softened shore mud. Unluckily, his mouth was agape unconsciously and swallowed the river's water a few times. Kamden managed to push himself off the dirty, muddy ground, his palms sinking into it. Immediately, his body expelled the freshwater. For Kamden, it felt as though he drank a mountain's worth of ale and is now feeling the effects. Vomiting and a headache, those were the two similarities.

He dragged himself further onto the river shore; as his legs left the weightless support of the water, the injured knee began to ping his body with sharp stabbings of pain. This prompted the mage to grit his teeth as his mind was flooded with hate, grief, and indignation. His hand gripped the earth tightly before finally relenting. Five deep breaths later, Kamden's emotional high of negative impulses came down into a calm. This isn't the time to be panicking or acting recklessly. Even before he became a mage that dabbled with, perhaps, one of the most dangerous aspects of their world, Eastone knew the benefit of having a clear mind.

As his eyes trailed over his hands, the presence of the inhibitor cuffs filled his mind. Right, he was on a transport with paladins. One hand had been spared of the accursed piece of metal, leaving behind marks on Eastone's skin that will fade with time. The other cuff remained. Annoyingly. He could pick this irritating bracelet but he'd something sturdier than twigs but thinner and more flexible than the stones around him. On the topic of things around him, he noticed the other survivors first then his surroundings. Like that stone building in the distance etc. But first, he needed to bust out of that cuff.

One of them was quite the tall woman, perhaps the tallest woman he has ever seen! She seemed well-spoken or at least, friendly. Kamden didn't answer immediately, as he dug through the dirt to find a rock to use as a bludgeoning device. Once he found a suitable rock, he rose up and finally answered. "Ja, am fine, lass." The thief juggled the rock in the air. "Though, I ain't willing to hazard a guess as to where we ended up."
 
Ten was no stranger to weird dreams, or at least he thought so. As his dreamscape shifted from pitch black to a plethora of colors, Ten couldn't help but feel dizzy Could you feel dizzy in a dream? He wondered. Perhaps this wasn't a dream at all. This state stayed for what felt like an eternity, and it was overwhelming for Ten, with the mere sight and sound of it all causing the man to feel more and more sick. He felt like he was going to throw up, and wondered if that, too, could happen in a dream. There was a sense of relief, though, when the tendrils of color wove themselves into the form of a tree - a symbol of being grounded, and suddenly Ten's nausea dissipated. Enthralled, he stared on, feeling peaceful and safe and all sorts of positive emotions until he felt another tug at his gut. The scene tinged red, colors dimming as Ten swore he could feel the ground trembling at his feet. Panicking, feeling hot, heavy breaths rising in his chest, Ten spun on his heel, hoping to escape. He had to leave somehow before this dream got any worse. As he took a step, he was pulled back, and though he didn't want to see what it was that held him so tightly, Ten swiveled cautiously, letting out a squeak of panic as he saw that the once mesmerizing tree had reached out to him with a gnarled root, holding him in place. As it reached towards his chest, burrowing in, Ten cried out, his body shuddering as the root pulsated inside him. His knees trembled, and Ten collapsed, assuming a fetal position as a panic attack began to take over his brain and nausea returned, and even with his eyes closed, the world spun, and colors danced beneath his eyelids.

***

Ten awoke, gasping for air as his eyes shot open, the crashing of water on rock rousing him from his sleep. Whipping his head around in panic, Ten tried to gauge where he was, and how he got here. Finding his brain empty, the man decided he'd get up and survey his surroundings - perhaps he was not far from home. Though he tried several times, Ten's knees were just not cooperating, and with a huff he fell to the ground, annoyed with his predicament. Instead, Ten swiveled his head around, trying to get at least some idea of what he'd gotten himself in to. Clearly he was near a body of water, and looking to his left, Ten realized it was far closer than he'd thought, and he hurriedly scooted himself away, realizing as he did so that he was covered in mud from the riverbank, arms blue tinged and bruised - those damned cuffs (or at least one) still holding on to a wrist for dear life.
That's not important, he told himself. He had to figure out where he was, and if he was in any danger first before trying to puzzle out what happened to him. The area looked to be a place fairly generic - trees, water, whatever. Far away though, Ten could see the spire of what he assumed was a church. He felt a tug of hope in his chest, as his home had one not unlike that. That feeling quickly left though, as Ten remembered that he'd been exiled by his own village, and he assumed a glum, grumpy stare at the only defining feature around him.
Climbing to his feet, which held steady this time, Ten started to walk, beginning to compile a list in his head of things to do necessary for survival. He nearly jumped when he saw other people though, momentarily considering sneaking off and leaving them behind. They too sported cuffs on their wrists, and though the last thing Ten wanted to do was to be associated with mages, he knew that he wasn't a wildlife survivalist, and would likely need other people to make it back... Where? Ten didn't have a home anymore, and until these shackles were off, there was no way he could go back to assimilating with the general population. Caging his anxiety, Ten stumbled towards the two nearest people, a man and a woman, cringing as the rocky shore riverbank crunched loudly under his feet, announcing his presence, unwillingly deciding to raise a shaky hand in a peaceful greeting.
 
It was dark. And damp. The cold crept in like a fog, seeping, tremoring, pulsing in waves, stretching and convulsing. And then the beating, like an impending horror, pounding in his head, accompanied by distorted visions and shapes he could not grasp or place. The whirlpool thickened, rose, roared like the ocean and sang like the wind, an all-present damning tidal wave of sound and feeling, holding his senses captive while the violent hallucination whipped him in several directions. And then, with the tenderness of a dream, the vision ceased.


The sky was so blue. It reminded him of the boundless meadows caressing the slopes of the great mountains east of his home village. The great expanse of open sky spanning deeply cerulean, hanging low over the yellow fields, which shimmered and danced as the seasonal winds combed across the valley. The mountains, jutting their steep, white-tipped silhouettes out against the heavens, encapsulating rings of clouds around their pointed peaks. And the birds, the grayhawks and the golden eagles, with no master to tame their paradise and no predator besides winter to foil their hunt.

And speaking of winter. Wolfgang was freezing. He sat up and rubbed his wet face against his damp shoulder, conscious of the shivers running down his spine as his water-lodged clothes chaffed against his pale skin. His head swiveled to survey his surroundings; interest roused by the voices of his wagon-mates. He counted they were lucky to have been washed ashore, but his memory failed to supply the method of their escape. Something hauntingly uncertain had occurred this day. Wolfgang would be damned if he didn’t enjoy a good mystery, but the situation surrounding their escape gave him an eerie sense of displacement. He picked himself up.

There was a girl, a sturdy girl, with thick, voluminous hair and an intimidating disposition. There was a bearded man, well-built but unkempt, preoccupied with the river dirt beside him for the time being. A shred-looking man with glasses, he looked nervous to Wolfgang.

Wolfgang trotted over to the trio after another quick survey of the riverside, hoping maybe the final placement of the wagon would reveal itself to him. With no luck, he resolved to question his wagon-mates, in hopes they would be able to tell him what exactly had just transpired.


“Glad to see my execution-mates will merrily survive another day.” He was conscious of the dialect differences which altered his speaking, his southern valley accent distinguishing his place of origin to any adept traveler. “Though I will confess I was marginally excited to visit the Paladin’s holy city, I shall praise the gods that we were gifted a living continuum. Say, do any of you have any idea to where’st we may be? I wish I could recount how we landed in the river in the first place.” He didn’t want to mention the strange dream. He was amongst mages, diviners of the unnatural, but he couldn’t be sure his vision was not a solo act. “Ragnachar is my chosen name. But you, my would-be cellmates, can call me Wolfgang.” He glanced toward the rock in the stout man’s hand. He hoped the rock was more to do with the cuffs than the notion of sparking violence. “Say, ah… anyone see a key lying around here?”
 
As you draw closer together you begin to notice that the cuffs are emitting a strange aura, seemingly a blue tinged glow that gets stronger in proximity to another set of cuffs. Though damaged, they still appear to be linked in some way. The sooner they were off, the better, you assume. As your group discusses the situation at hand a peculiar sight could be seen floating along in the light current of the river. Slowly, surely, the remains of the cart that you were being transported in drift by. It's likely that the full wreckage lies somewhere further upstream. No bodies either, which increases the chance for one of the guards or worse; one of the paladins impeding your impromptu escape. It's possible that they could have even woken up earlier, or had not even been knocked out during the accident. Either way, the river was not safe and for the most part, nowhere was. The enemy could be circling around you at any given time, stalking in, ready to spring the trap. You have to be cautious.

Suddenly, a scuffle breaks out unexpectedly further down the river. Upon further inspection it looks like a small pack of wolves had descended onto the doe spotted earlier, chasing it down rapidly towards the party, though on the other side of the waters. Something about the fanged beasts chasing it seemed off. The woodland creature was deceptively agile, leaping over roots and rocks instinctually. Unfortunately for it, the pack of three were exceeding it's maximum speed: they would catch up quickly. Fearing for it's life, the doe charged headlong through the river and swam for the other shore. Hesitation among it's pursuers gave it just enough time to evade the beasts that eventually dove in after it, but not by much. As they neared, the party could see the creatures better. Their fur matted heavily, patches missing or worse. Their eyes gave off a cold stare, unthinking and uncaring. Despite being animalistic in nature, their movements were stiff and forced.

Do you disrupt the ebb and flow of nature? Or do you save the deer?
 
A Short Lady

The past was a blur of half-memories and hazy feelings. Right now, there was nothing but darkness. Darkness everywhere. Or, more like, it felt like she was simply floating around in a great, starless sky. Then, without any warning, colors started to fly around, beating in a peculiar rhythm. It was a bewildering, but quite entertaining. She danced along to the rhythm as she saw the colors flying around. As a tree formed from the colors, she became even more excited! She waved her arms around as it contracted and expanded, sort of mimicking it.

Then, the colors started to look more menacing. She stopped, looking concerned. The sudden quaking, shaking, and faster beating spooked her, so she quickly turned to run, only for something to grasp hold of her arm. As she turned around and saw the colors shooting into her, she fainted, her vision spinning around as the feeling of colors and weakness spread in to her chest.

...

As the short lady awoke, she felt the grimy feeling of sand, the rough texture of her trashy prisoner garbs, the various contusions and scrapes across her body, and the heavy metallic embrace of the thing clasped to her left arm. She groaned in pain and begrudgingly opened her eyes. She smiled a little as she saw the bird and the deer, but as she looked down and felt around herself, she sighed. She was literally half-buried in muck and sand, and she was sopping wet.

As the others started to stir and walk over to talk to one another, she started painstakingly fighting to get out of the sand. It wasn't an especially tough job, but with how injured she was, it was hard to pull herself out. She made steady progress while the others discussed what was going on. As the guy with the southern accent spoke, she finally got her left leg out of the ground, and sort of tumbled backwards, away from the river. She lay on the ground there for a bit, still wincing a bit. Once she gathered her will, she stood up and slowly made her way over to the others, getting a few feet away by the time the fellow in the southern accent mentioned a key.

She looked over to the river as he asked. She spotted the debris floating casually by, but also caught some movement from her peripheral vision. She turned to see what it was and saw the deer getting chased! She initially thought of just ignoring it, but then she noticed the thing's pursuers. They appeared to be quite abnormal for wolves. They did not look like the hungry predators she knew. She looked around for something to arm herself with as the deer kept moving along. She spotted numerous rocks along the shore line, and also noticed a stick closer to the foliage nearby. She raced over to collect a few rocks and the stick. Once the stick was in her hand, she turned back to see what was happening. Apparently, the deer was now crossing the river to make it over to them.

The then sprinted back towards the river, gritting her teeth as her sore legs shouted in pain. She maneuvered one of the stones into her right hand - the one that wasn't shackled - keeping the stick and the other rocks in her left hand, and she focused her gaze on the closest wolf that was swimming through the lake. After a few preparatory steps, she contorted her torso and pitched the rock towards the wolf's head.
 
The first to answer her call was a man, hair cropped short in a style that Alianore found familiar. The men in her village often kept their hair short, as did a lot of the older women, something about long hair getting in the way of their various crafts. She'd never gotten to the point where her hair was cut, that was something reserved for folk on their 18th birthday. It didn't feel right to do it then, with her village gone. Besides, she'd grown fond of her hair and intended to keep it long. Back to the present, the man looked to be a decent stretch older than Alianore, which wasn't a hard feat to accomplish being young as she was. But the way he held himself as he stood to his full height, rock in hand, made her think he was younger than she thought. Perhaps then, he was marked by hardship rather than time. He was a few inches shorter than herself, she noted, but still a strong figure. She grinned broadly as he spoke, glad to not have been met with hostility.

"Good then. I seem to be alright myself, sides a few scrapes and an awful head pain." Hands on her hips, she peered up the tree line, squinting in the sunlight. There a spire rose out of the green, tall and impossible to miss. A church she supposed, though it was a bit blurry to her. There'd been one in the village the Paladins had taken her from, though not nearly as magnificent as this one appeared from a distance, "Well, looks to be a church there-" She was interrupted by the sound of someone approaching. Hazel eyes turned to find a spindly man, tall as he was thin, walking up behind them. In contrast with the man she'd been speaking to, his hair was long and he had glasses perched on his nose. Often, Alianore had found herself wishing she'd had something of the sort. Her weak farsight was often an annoyance. The dark haired, spindly man, who she found reminded her of a rodent, gave them a wave in place of speaking and Alianore raised a hand in return.

Another soon joined them, a third man, younger than the last two with hair that reminded her of straw. There were markings that covered his neck and appeared to crawl across the rest of him that Alianore didn't recognize. The elaborateness of them told her that they were probably religious or tribal markings but she didn't know much else. They were pretty, she thought. He was much more enthusiastic in his greeting than the other two had been, another sign of his youth, and his accent marked him as a dweller of the southern valley. He spoke of the Holy City and Alianore was reminded of what brought them here. She turned her gaze back toward her still captive right wrist and a frown appeared across her features. Soon it was erased, though, by their sun haired companion introducing himself as Wolfgang. Alianore's smile returned.


"Greetings, friend. I am called Alianore, Blackburn is my family name." On the subject of where they were though, "I can't say where we've ended up, but the road can't be too far I don't suppose. We can't have drifted terribly far from it." She had not seen any key and was about to comment of such a fact when the sounds of a commotion caught her ear. A deer had crashed into the river, being pursued by wolves that looked wholly unnatural to Alianore. They were missing patches of their fur, similar to some livestock she'd seen afflicted by disease. They moved stiffly, disjointed like their movements weren't their own. A rock sailed past the four of them and pitched toward one of the animals. Alianore cursed and turned toward the rocks hurler, a small girl standing a few feet from them. Standing like she was in pain, the girl held a stick in one hand and the other was still poised in a throwing position. Alianore moved quickly, turning away and sprinting toward a nearby tree, using her weight to snap off a rather large branch. She returned to the girl and the others, watching as the wolves would undoubtedly turn their attention to them.

"Those creatures are not natural. They look sick. Careful, you may have only served to anger them." Alianore gripped her branch, prepared for the worst.
 
Despite the woman's imposing figure, the manner of her behaviour gave the impression of youthfulness. She is certainly younger than him, Kamden guessed. Though the life that he led told him that he shouldn't underestimate others due to their age, it may be just a cloak for them. Though on the topic of behaviour, this tall one doesn't strike him like the street urchins of his youth that would stab you in the back with a rusted piece of metal. A refreshing occurrence for him, a tangential reminder of his life as an apprentice which seemed so bitterly distant. Though not to be a downer in this momentous occasion of freedom (one which may be taken from them again if they don't vacate this river shore), Kamden reminded himself of his mentor's teachings. Half-heartedly. Repeating the chants, that time can never blocked and will always find its' way. His mentor told him to use it when desperation overwhelms the young man, yet he seldom finds it effective, especially in this instance.

Kamden's senses were snapped back to reality by the woman's reply. "Ah, well... That is to be expected when you suffer a tumble and a fall, especially one so large." Shrugging with stone in hand, Kamden perched up to where the young woman was, hoping to see what she was squinting towards. Ah, that spire. "Yep, that be A church." Affirming her deductions. Kamden found himself then looking with a puzzled gaze at another prisoner of the pervasive Paladin. Shocked would best describe Kamden's reaction to the man, who seemed roughly similar to his age. Kamden could only equate it to the starving men that once littered the streets of the town. Hyperbolic? Yes, but justified in Kamden's eyes. "Wooh, lad. I'm treating you to food once we arrive at a safe place." Lazily pointing to the spectacled man while the rest of the fingers grasped the rock.

And then another joined their swelling ranks. This possessing a ghostly hue upon his skin yet it contradicted with his lively personification. His accent bore a distinct appearance, one which Kamden could not accurately guess. His markings eluded him, they were not in any of the books that Kamden had studied during his tenure as an apprentice. Religious? Possibly. Looking at them long enough revealed an inauspicious detail. They were immaculately coordinated which further emphasized the relation to divinity. He then introduced himself, citing two names: one being Ragnachar and another being the preferred identifier, Wolfgang. The first was foreign, the second being familiar. Kamden knew of a name like that from an autobiographical work.

"And a fine pleasantry to you too. Kamden Eastone, though I reckon my familial name serves no greater purpose." A bit of jest at the way Alianore had introduced herself. "We are undoubtedly close to some dwelling, but where there is civilisation, there are the law-bringers which means we best severe these ties to our past." Shaking his cuffed hand, it was obvious to what he was referring. Before any further progress could be made, the incessant acts of nature had alarmed even alerted this group. A doe chased by mangy curs. Wolves that even from this distance seemed diseased, best to avoid them. Is what he would have mentioned if it hadn't been for the sudden arrival of a short girl that flung a stone towards one of the beasts. He borrowed some scripture from the paladins. "By All that is Holy..." Clearly agitated at what this girl had done. He noticed what Alianore had done, arming herself with a branch. Kamden only knelt down and funneled a humus of mud, dry dirt, and leaves into his free hand. "She'd done more than that, hopefully they are too mentally addled to notice one rock." Kamden commented.
 
Ten wasn't sure if he was too interested in speaking yet - he had always found it best to sit, observe and emulate others. It was a tactic that had kept him alive and well taken care of throughout the many different communities he'd been a part of in his life.
Lost in his thoughts, Ten nearly jumped when the man turned his gaze towards him, pointing a lazy finger at him and mentioning something about food. Ten was hungry, but he took offense to the insinuation that he was twig-like. He'd been slender as long as he could remember, and no matter Ten's situation in life, he found his body to be one of the most consistent things about him.
Despite that, Ten dipped his head towards the man, giving a gentle smile.
"As long as you're buying, friend."
As the woman, Alianore, and the man, Kamden conversed, he studied their features curiously. Alianore was tall, though still stood just a few inches shorter than himself. Unlike himself though, Ten noted that Alianore appeared to be very strong, and he made a mental note to himself not to rouse her temper. Tall he may be, but he couldn't confidently say he would fair well in any physical fight, much less against someone who looked as.... Experienced... As the woman before him. Turning his gaze to Kamden, Ten sized the other man up, and though he was shorter, Ten was certain that this one, too, could beat him in a fight, though he reminded himself that regardless of opponent, it wasn't much of a feat. Ten's hands and body had never felt the toil of hard work, nor the blows of battle, features that he noticed both Alianore and Kamden had in common, as his eyes flicked to their visible scars. As they spoke, Ten was pleased to hear that they'd come to the same conclusion about the spire on the horizon, and it seemed to be a point of interest for those assembled. Another showed up now, this one looking pointedly young and... Enthusiastic. Full of life and vigor - a feeling that had always escaped Ten. He studied this new addition, who introduced himself as Wolfgang with an accent that Ten recognized as being from the south valley, his eyes tracing over the young man's tattoos, which reminded Ten of his own small one on the back of his neck. Without thinking, he put a slender hand on the back of his neck where the tattoo was, feeling the rough scarring beneath it, the wounds from his mark of exile still healing. With a hiss from the pain, Ten quickly pulled his hand away, dropping his eyes to the ground. Tilting his head with curiosity, he watched the passive movements of the people assembled, noticing that while obviously being a topic at hand, the restrictions of the cuffs around all of their wrists was also subconsciously affecting them. He didn't feel this strong desire to get the cuffs off though, himself. Having a less visible magic, and also more time consuming, he felt no itch to get the remaining shackle off his wrist, and his only worry was getting it off for presentation purposes - he could pass as someone with no arcane abilities, but not with the cold metal clasped around his wrist.
Stretching, Ten yawned, feeling stabs of pain in his arms as a not-so-gentle reminder of their predicament. Wolfgang's mention of execution had set Ten more on edge, reminding him that they had been with paladins, of which there were no signs of - including bodies.
"Pleased to meet you all, I'm Ten. Now if we're all done with introductions, I think if like to get as far away as I can from that," pointing at the remains of the cart they'd all been in floating down the river. As the words left his mouth, a sudden commotion broke loose, a doe crashing into the river water as she tried to escape... Beasts? They were unlike anything Ten had ever seen before, and he felt his gut twist with unease. Knowing his magic was still locked away through the shackle remaining on his wrist, he felt the best option was to run from these unholy creatures. Turning to the rest of the group to suggest running, he noticed another addition he hadn't seen before, who ran towards the river, killing the protest on Ten's lips as she threw a rock at the nearest beast. Though both Kamden and Alianore didn't seem pleased with this development, both armed themselves with items that Ten could have only described as... Inadequate... Considering their situation. He himself shrunk back, his mind screaming at him to bolt, and leave these strangers behind. He didn't though, and instead started towards the river bank, making a point to move away from the wolves, dropping to the ground and searching frantically in the mud around some of the wagon wreckage that had caught on a rock nearby for the key that Wolfgang had mentioned, or anything, really, to help him. If he could get this damn shackle off he could stop those things so they could all run.
 
Wolfgang studied the wreckage as it drifted by. The wagon had been obliterated. Which was fine by him. He hadn’t been having much of an adventure post-apprehension, and while vising the holy city was, admittedly, an intriguing prospect, he had never intended to go there in the first place, so the feeling of unfulfillment was not substantial enough to warrant a lament. Perhaps later, when he wasn’t freezing his ass off, he could coordinate a real visit, and view the divine arches, towers, and chapels as a tourist rather than a prisoner.

There were wolves now. Which was considerably less fine with Wolfgang. There was a brief moment of peace where he felt comfortably assured that he and the other mages would have no issue dissuading the beasts from impeding upon their escape. This moment lasted for nly as long as it took him to realize that the cuffs dangling from his wrist would prevent an easy resolution to the conflict. And to make matters more dire, members of his own rag-tag party had already begun to distract the wolves from the doe to set their sights on a new prey, a new prey which Wolfgang happened to be a part of. Wolfgang's sharp gaze shot to the short lady who had thrown the first stone, expression graced with utter bewilderment. This lady was going to be the death of them.

If Wolfgang knew anything about wolves, it was that wolves always go for the throat. To Wolfing it seemed that the best strategy for defeating a wolf unarmed was to not fight the wolf in the first place. But, recognizing that the cat was already out of the box, and that his newfound companions were arming selves, Wolfgang tried to calm himself and find a way to be useful.

The spindly man, Ten, seemed pretty intent on scraping through the riverbank. He felt a semblance of kinship with the man, thinking his nonconfrontational position regarding the wolves was truly the optimal strategy for survival. Wolfgang thought maybe he should help look for solutions in the mud, but he didn’t. He respected that the man had not run away, which Wolfgang had been intending to do before he became overcome with guilt. But then again, the guilt would be incomparable to the value of continuing to be alive.

Wolfgang said a quick prayer and continued to convince himself that normal wolves would be frightened by a group of humans. And a group of normal wolves would flee if assailed by projectiles and tree branches. Still, Wolfgang stooped to pick up a couple smooth river stones in his unshackled palm, turning them over with rising consternation, praying his gods would save him from this ghoulish nightmare.
 
A Short Lady

After she chucked the rock, she winced hard, and groaned a little. She clutched her shoulder. She whipped the rock with a decent amount of force when she pitched it at the wolf - enough that it made a wooshing sound - but all the beatings she took, and whatever happened to her as she was flung down the river, had taken a toll on her body, so the sudden motion and the exertion weren't easy on her sore muscles. As she heard the others start speaking up and approaching her, she momentarily glanced their way.

There was a strong-looking lady that approached with a tree limb. Green looked back over at the wolves as she listened to what the lady said. She looked very confused. As the fit, stern looking guy started scooping up some mud and stuff and circuitously deriding her for what she did, her face flushed red just a little, and she started looking a bit frustrated. She didn't spot the fellow searching around in the sand nearby, since she was busy watching the wolves. She also didn't pay heed to the fellow who was quickly running through some sort of religious chant.

That said, she didn't bother responding to the others. It was battle time! Her shoulder pain seemed to have died down a bit while she listened to them - enough for her to hold out the stick at the ready. It seemed that she was holding the rocks in her left hand, keeping them ready as a sort of bludgeon, and that she was preparing the stick to catch one of the wolves. She was waiting for a wolf thing to approach so as to attempt to catch and smack it when it inevitably attacked her. She was bent down, and was staring excitedly at them as they continued crossing the river.
 

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