Pink falls in the blast of flame!
~+~Combat Round 3~+~
Aphotos (-27, frightened 1)
Barker (Blue)(-106, slowed 1, can't react)
Red
Funmi
Chance
Fiorré
Kuthek
Green (-203)
Yellow (-106)
Pink
The swirling darkness—neither black nor white but a thousand blended greys, each and none holding another lurking threat—is the perfect backdrop for Mayael’s midnight hunt. Having tired of terrifying and hypnotizing foes through banshee wails and hunting hymns, the huntress refocuses on the fairy threatening the princess’s girl friends. Playtime is over. The beastblood hunt is at hand. The beast girl relaxes her grip on obdurate form, melting into the surrounding shadows as a liquid thing of eyes and fangs and antlers, stalking its way around the fairy foe.
Planting herself in a flanking position with Miss Eclipse, the Huntress Queen reforms, glancing over the prey’s shoulder at the Specter of Mzali. The other huntress seems to be more focused on the human person, but Mayael knows well the sharpness of her senses. And, quite uncharacteristically, feels a bit of shame at the marks she herself had left on the elvish woman during their first encounter. Is cailíní maith sinn go léir anseo. Instead of bloodying her fangs again, the beast girl whirls Nightfall about in a penumbral blur, bringing it to rest against the fairy creature’s carotid artery and sawing it open princess-style.
Why stop there? Using the momentum from the arterial slice, Mayael whirs the blade into motion for another wicked slash at the distracted fairy-feller.
It’s going well, but the princess’s swishy sword gets unwieldy, too fast for instinct to control. And Mayael is still hungry. Besides, it’s not like these things are people, no more than Mayael herself is. Giving in to the beastblood instinct, the beast girl darts in, attempting to sink her fangs into the fairy-feller’s left arm where it meets the shoulder.
She’s overextended a bit, though, in her haste to fell the foe before it strikes the princess’s girl friends again. Drawing back, the beast girl regains her footing. The beast girl’s gaze briefly meets Miss Eclipse’s, her bloodied mouth twisting into an expression of frustration, and a surprisingly apologetic one at that.
The fey prey is nearly down, with its last breath, it shouts, "The Hunt! The Hunt! The Wild Hunt!" And tries to flee the tent.
You hear it slump to the ground just outside the tent as it bleeds out.
The last remaining hench-fey scrambles around and climbs atop the crate behind Aphotos, then bites and claws.
for
for and
~+~Combat Round 4~+~
Aphotos (-43, frightened 1)
Barker (Blue)(-106)
Red
Funmi
Chance
Fiorré
Kuthek
Green (-203)
Yellow
Pink
Aphotos, finding himself mostly unfazed by the Barker and the fey's teamwork, continues his disorienting dance of knives at the Green fey behind him.
He slightly fumbles on his step work, but the nearly laughs at the creature's inability to see through it even given that. At the end of his deceptive movement, he slashing twice with the dagger made of cold iron, attempting to burn away this fey and end its time with the circus for good.
Undetured by the loss of his minions, the barker glares at Aphotos, then slashing twice with his swordcane.
for and
for and
Suddenly, Kuthek hears a whisper in his mind. "Yes, the fearful are unworthy. They've been taught an important lesson."
~+~Combat Round 4~+~
Aphotos (-43, frightened 1)
Barker (Blue)(-106)
Funmi
Chance
Fiorré
Kuthek (Will save)
Green (-203)
An Fiach Fiáin. Ó, ach is maith liom an fhuaim sin. Mayael waits, head cocked slightly in a rather theatrical manner, until she hears the soft thump just outside the tent. With a nod of professional satisfaction, the beast girl stalks toward the gruesome engine, bounding up and over its bed to land soundly behind its human guard.
She’s feeling proper frisky now, on the prowl and all. Briefly Mayael considers threatening the barker with a ride on his circus’s star attraction; but the notion of committing such an act, even as an idle threat, sickens the Huntress Queen more than any bloodshed ever could. Shaking her head, the beast girl fixes the barker with a baleful glare as Nightfall blurs into motion. “Buachaill an t-ádh. Téann tú go dtí Naomh Pharasma.”
Perhaps it’s the grim aura of the final blade, or the revulsion of her half-imagined threat, or the shadowy hunt and the taste of blood and the oathsworn desire to maintain control. Or perhaps the barker is just too quick. But Mayael’s razored thrust goes wide. Claíomh dúr! Ba chóir dom cloí leis an féasta feola. Pushing the sword into rapid motion, the beast girl draws the blade back, trying to at least leave a cut behind.
As the enemies on either side of her are felled by her allies, Eclipse can now move freely to gain a better angle of attack. She raises a hand, and chilling mist follows the motion. "Stop fighting and let the cold take you."
As the shadows draw back their bows once more, the few surrounding the last remaining fey seem to sense it's impending death. Like lionesses closing in on wounded prey, their arrows carry the sounds of growling beasts as they fly.
Fortune favors the sinister foes, as your heroic attacks fall just short of them.
Funmi's spell does pierce both enemies.
~+~Combat Round 4~+~
Aphotos (-43, frightened 1)
Barker (Blue)(-113)
Funmi
Chance
Fiorré
Kuthek (Will save)
Green (-218)
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Kuthek smirks at the barker's attempt. Yes, those I frighten—that I truly frigthen, bringing my holy purpose to bear—are unworthy. Unworthy of their place in society, of the trust and opportunity granted by others.
His eyes fix on the scampering fey, pupils shrinking to points. He crouches, fingertips splayed across the straw-strewn floor, then launches himself up into the fey's little warren.
The revenant's maw yawns, flangs slick with torchlight, and encompasses the lesser being's head. With a terrible strength, the two longest teeth pierce the creature's skull, drive into its brain, and end its immortal existence.
A moment, and Kuthek wipes blood from deep purple lips, dashing toward the barker's certain demise.
Kuthek eliminates the remaining fey with great crunchings and munchings.
~+~Combat Round 5~+~
Aphotos (-43, frightened 1)
Barker (Blue)(-106)
Funmi
Chance
Fiorré
Kuthek
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In the dim lighting of the tent, through the veil of his mask, Midnight turns and locks eyes with the Barker, trying to rattle him as thoroughly as he tries to shake the spirits of others.
"The only fear you should be feeling now, is your own as the curtain falls and shows us the end of this whole circus charade you're playing at."
With a smirk on his face, which sadly goes unseen under the dark and obfuscating mask upon Midnight's face, he then spins both daggers in his hands once again, making two quick and deft cuts in an x-shaped cross pattern across the Barker's body.
He looks across to Mayael and Kuthek, giving them both a nod, and hoping his distraction serves the rest of the group well in finally putting a close to this performance.
Aphotos attacks come up just shy, but her words seem to shake the enemy.
"You think death frightens me, beast?" the barker grunts threateningly at Kuthek.
"You don't know enough to fear me!!"
Somewhat frantic, he shouts in the champion's face.
for
for
~+~Combat Round 5~+~
Aphotos (-43)
Barker (Blue)(-106)
Funmi
Chance
Fiorré
Kuthek (-31)
Mayael returns Midnight’s nod with a tiny twitch of her antler-crowned head. It’s growing difficult to maintain focus past the taste of blood on her lips, the rich copper of it on the air. ‘Twould be so easy to just let go, become the Beast proper... but promises were made, and besides, the princess let her out full willing. The beast girl shakes her head as the barker frantically shouts in her penumbral paramour’s face. Amaitéarach. With all the stalker’s grace she possesses, Mayael steps close, almost intimately so, to the barker who’d foolishly turned his back on her, as if to murmur in his ear. And then—and this time, with no magicians close at hand, the beast girl really cuts loose—Mayael screams, unleashing her keening wail right in the frightened man’s ear.
Then, while he’s still discombobulated by the fear and the scream, Mayael daintily gives him a half-turn, maneuvering him around just far enough to go for his throat.
Her fangs tear the flesh away, opening the carotid artery and loosing the barker’s lifeblood. Mayael licks her lips, sucking on the chunk of tender flesh and savoring the taste while she can. Much as she’d love to, though, this isn’t the time to play with her prey. Drawing back a little, the beast girl whips Nightfall into motion, attempting to carve a bit more meat off of the foe.
(times 2 for a total of 50 damage)
And thenMayael darts in, attempting to take another bite off his left arm, just below the shoulder.
She’s overextended again, getting blood-drunk; a sure sign of lunacy mounting. Drawing back to regain her balance, Mayael meets Kuthek’s eye briefly, blue-violet gaze shimmering intently behind the wood-carved masque. Her expression, though, is as enigmatic as the masque she wears.
Eclipse had never liked a slow kill. So much blood, so much shouting. It was best when things could be finished with a single arrow, a single spell. But now she faced opponents who would not be felled so easily. "So be it. Struggle if you must." She infused her bow with magic once again, and her arrow joined the volley of shadows raining down on the gardener.
Mayael whirls into the barker, a blur of blade and tooth. Funmi's arrow flies wide, but her shadow archers score a strike on the enemy. The interior of the tent is briefly illuminated as Chance bounces fire off the barker.
~+~Combat Round 5~+~
Aphotos (-43)
Barker (Blue)(-243, 5d6 bleed, frightened 1)
Funmi
Chance
Fiorré
Kuthek (-31)
~+~Combat Round 6~+~
Aphotos (-43)
Kuthek lunges at the barker, the sound of celestial dice rattling in his skull, and attempts to sink his teeth into the man's leg and pull him to the ground. He then sets into him, weaving and striking, a vengeful serpent momentarily bound in fetchling flesh.
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Midnight has spent years learning how not to let emotional outbursts come through to anyone else, but he does mentally sigh at his blades' ineffectual cut as the Barker dodges in time along with him. What a pest.
He tries to follow his allies' lead and continue the onslaught of slices across the Barker's body, hoping that his opponent with trip over his own legs as he increases the speed and flurry of his attacks. In his iconic fashion he makes a slice with each arm back and forth.
"You're owed death by our hands, now accept your due!"
Kuthek puts the barker on the ground and Aphotos digs in with twin daggers, putting the enemy on the brink of death. He struggles to his feet, then collapses as the lifeblood flows from his many wounds.
You're left in the tent with a handful of dead bodies and a final blade.
+2 striking dagger (2), +2 greater striking sword cane
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Mayael twitches as the final foe topples to the ground; her blue-violet gaze rakes the room, hunting for more foes and finding none. When it returns to Kuthek and Midnight, a lunatic spark dances in her eyes, and for a moment she almost seems poised to pounce. Níl aon duine fágtha le marú. Tá an tromluí thart. Dúisigh le do thoil. Dúisigh le do thoil. The beast girl abruptly shakes her head and—with a quick nod of approval for the boys’ work—slinks off to a gloomy corner of the tent, where she sits on one of the boxes.
For a few moments Mayael just sits there, watching her claws convulsively clench in her lap. The beastblood thunders in her ears, although Mayael barely notices, so in tune with the scarletsong is she. She wants to keep hunting, wants to keep making prey of these predators. Wants to lose herself in the hunt. But in the end, she knows what is required of her. With a single motion, the beast girl reaches up with her bad hand and tears the mask off her face.
Fiorré wakes from the depths of dreaming—Mayael’s beast-spirit is too strong for her to maintain consciousness past the first few moments of such a wild hunt—to the scent of blood and the taste of meat. It is, sadly, not an unfamiliar experience for the beastblood girl. Lifting a trembling hand, the bracer running like mercury down her hand and wrist to reveal streaks of silver-seared skin, Fiorré instinctively wipes at the blood on her mouth and chin. Biting her lip, trying not to hyperventilate or burst into tears, she surreptitiously glances over her shoulders at the others. No-one looks too badly harmed, and Fiorré allows herself a wee ray of hope.
Using the tent to wipe clean Snowfall, Fiorré sheathes the sword and tucks her masque back into her satchel. Most of Miss Mayael’s more... interesting... alterations to Fiorré’s body were instinctively subsumed during the change back, but she takes a moment to recenter herself on her human form... although she does leave just a bit of tail and a prong or two of antler poking out. Princess’s pride, the beastblood girl thinks, a shy smile breaking through her anxious expression.
What she wants to do is to go ask Miss Ozinichi if everything is all right and if she made the right choice letting Mayael out. But the elder Magaambyan’s mind is almost certainly occupied with the final blade, as it should be. And, in all honesty... she’s not quite ready to face up to Olufunmilayo Ozinichi so soon after what she’s just done, princess’s pride or not. Instead the beastblood girl slinks a little closer to the group; not quite joining them yet, but simply listening in as she wipes away the blood and sucks on her silver-scorched fingers.
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Funmi kneels beside the gardener and examines his mask for traces of magic. After all a mask, an identity, is a mighty symbol that can hold all manner of powerful curses. But if it is safe, it could come in handy later on.
"Taking the blade is going to be more difficult than I expected," she said, sparing no further though5 to their fallen foes. "The entire guillotine is enchanted, and it seems no mundane skill can dismantle it. The Last Hand and I can try blasting all the magic we've got left into it, but if that doesn't work, I'm afraid this entire battle may have been a waste."
As she steps closer to the guillotine, she moves past Fiorré, and almost without thought raises a hand to the girl's face. She brushes a gloved thumb against her cheek, mutters a minor incantation, and the blood staining her face and clothes disappears in an instant. At a glance, you wouldn't even know the girl had been in a fight.
Then her attention is back to the blade as she raises her bow again. "Ready, Chance?"
Midnight steps over the blooded body of the former man before him and nudges his form a couple of times to make sure the body doesn't get back up and move. Then he looks around for signs of other movement aside from his compatriots and, seeing nothing, quickly wipes his blades down and restores them within his outfit's sleeves. He slowly pushes the mask up to sit on the top of his head, revealing his face once again.
"I suppose it would be quite the disappointment to take these cruel fiends out and have to leave the blade be, though I do think we did some good today keeping those... whatever they were from consuming innocent circus goers, and the like. But yes, I do wish you both the best of luck with that blade."
With little other magical knowledge to offer any aid, Aphotos begins to rummage through the Barker's things further, even acknowledging his good taste in weaponry even if all his other tastes were vile and disgusting. He stores the weapons within his bag, and then stands back up and briefly slides his mask back over his face making sure to keep a lookout around the perimeter of the tent for any other possible interlocutors.
The ceramic mask worn by the barker is mundane in nature. The guillotine resists any attempts, magical or otherwise, to damage it. If there is some way to unravel the magic that holds it together, it is unknown to even the most learned among you.
Funmi unleashes the last of her arcane might on the guillotine, but does little more than scorch the ground around it. She curses under her breath in Elven and stows her bow. Then a thought strikes her - though whether it is a stroke of genius or petty desperation, is hard to say. "Fine. We can't take it. But I'm not just letting the Gardeners keep it either. If they want it, they can fish it out of the river."
She turns to the rest of the group to address them directly. "If they brought it here, there should be a way to move it out. Let's look around."
Fiorré manages not to sneeze as the magic washes over her,although she can’t help but blush as rosette-stippled fur blooms across her face and body in response to the arcane energy. Still, she’s proper clean again, and it’s not like her teacher’s not seen this happen before. “Thank you, Miss Ozinichi!” the beastblood girl chirps, folding her hands in her lap demurely.
Settling in, Fiorré watches the ladies unleash their magical power against the engine of death, to no avail. She has some experience with artifice—the beastblood’s interference with arcane, divine, and especially occult magic did not extend to magical craftsmanship, and the Iobarian girl did actually manage some (comparatively) impressive achievements in the field during her time at the Magaambya—but the abominable final blades are well beyond her.
At Funmi’s mention of the river, Fiorré perks up. “Aye, should be doable. I shall go fin—” As she rises to her feet, a grim issue with the plan occurs to her, and she hesitates. “Um...” Fiorré coughs softly, fidgeting a little. “I shouldn’t like to, um, spoil this fine plan. But... how will we get it back out of the river later?” As all eyes turn to her, the Iobarian girl blushes again. “Final blades are full of imprisoned Galtan souls, held from, um, Pharasma’s proper judgment. If we dump it in the river... how ever shall those souls be freed?”
From the look on Fiorré’s pretty face, the thought of such a fate disturbs her very deeply indeed; far more than one might expect. What is it that you fear? Lesedi asks her. A cage. To be imprisoned for what I am, to never know freedom again, she answers. Dismissing the memory, the beastblood girl chews on her lower lip, briefly flashing Funmi an apologetic look. “That, um... that’d not sit right with me. If you’ll forgive me so saying.”
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The mage hesitates for a moment before answering. Pragmatist that she is, it wouldn't be hard to come up with a compelling argument why there are no better options. Because those souls are equally trapped in the Gardeners' grasp as they are at the river. Because if their plans succeed, many more souls will be taken, and those not yet lost must be protected first. But one look at Fiorré's sad-as-a-kitten expression washes all of that away.
Instead, the Lorespeaker lowers herself just slightly to better look Fiorré in the eye. "I swear to you, on my mask and on my blood, that we will recover the blade when it is safe to do so. Even if I have to swim to the bottom of the river myself. These souls will know rest before my own does."
Fiorré blushes anew under the elder Magaambyan’s direct gaze, as she often has. But, for once, she doesn’t look away shyly. Instead she listens, wide-eyed and intent, to the solemn pledge. Only when the elvish woman has finished does Fiorré move again, giving her a slow but heartfelt nod. “Then... when that time comes, I shall be there at your side to help.” A shy smile dawns on the Iobarian girl’s face. “And, um... thank you, Miss Ozinichi.”
She’s hesitant to break the sincere moment. But, alas, there is work to do. Tapping a finger against her lips thoughtfully, Fiorré considers the group for only a moment before issuing suggestions. “I shall see about securing transport. Sir Eventide, perhaps see what can be done to prepare this heavy thing for loading.” Her gaze passes over Chance, with a somewhat perplexed air, before landing on Aphotos. “You, Sir Midnight, you are the closest of us to our host’s build and appearance; perhaps you can disguise yourself to add a layer of deception to our movements? And,” the Iobarian girl turns to Funmi with a sweet smile, “if you’ve any illusions remaining that might aid us, well, I’m certain you know how best to use them.”
Then, with a swish of skirt and whirl of braid—and, perhaps, a distinct air of shyness finally triumphing—Fiorré scurries out the door in search of misappropriation-ready vehicles and horses. (For which, in defiance of the conventions of her profession, the conscientious girl leaves gold enough to cover the cost of the wagon and the animals, plus an additional consideration for the inconvenience.)
At this late hour, it is easy to find a sturdy, unattended wagon. Fiorré expertly calms the horses and brings the transport to the tent.
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Aphotos nods at the young lady's request. "Yes, I think that's a fine idea. I'll make sure I can copy his style of dress and manner as closely as possible. Becoming another person entirely is not a necessity I am unfamiliar with."
He carefully wraps the ceramic mask in some extra cloth before storing it away and then moves to take the rest of the strange masked man's outfit for the group's own benefit.
"I should note, as well. When we should need to retrieve the blades from the river, I will be available and should be able to help any of the rest of you dive down there for long enough for us to move it. Which only makes it an even stronger hiding place, since I doubt most of the Gardeners have any efficient means of getting it out of there as we do."
All is quiet as you load the macabre burden onto your stolen wagon. You cover the burden with a tarp found in the tent and travel with ease until you near the docks.
"Halt! What brings you out at this time of night?" You are challenged by a pair of guards at the entrance to one of the longer docks.
Aphotos turns to the guards with a smile that would look so sickeningly sweet to anyone who knew him well. "Ah yes, I am glad to see guards like yourselves out so diligently patrolling and keeping an eye out for danger. Honestly, I might have been disappointed if no one took any notice of us whatsoever."
He slinks up closer to them, moving slowly and clearly showing himself to mean no violent intentions towards them. "You see, we caught a farmer, or someone who claimed to be one anyway, trying to smuggle in some illegal revolutionary contraband here and we decided it needed to be confiscated and removed from the public as quickly as possible. After all, it could very much endanger the public to leave it within reach. So, as you can see, we're taking out here to store it away safely until it can be properly catalogued."
"You'd both do best to make sure no one you aren't intimately familiar with sees us, we can't let those wild revolutionaries know the location where we're hiding all their contraband."
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"We'll continue to sweep the docks. There shouldn't be anyone here to bother you."
The guards hustle on their way, unwilling to question your authority or get enmeshed in whatever "official" dealings you represent. Soon, you're left alone on the docks.
Funmi's hood hides an amused look from the guards. Ah, so that's what it looks like from the other side. She hardly waits for the guards to assent before starting the carriage forward again. Once Aphotos is caught up again, she whispers, "Couldn't have done it better myself."
Once they reach the end of the dock, the mage looks around one last time to make sure they aren't being watched.
Aphotos holds back every impulse he has to laugh, and gives a nod to the guards as they go before turning back to the others and returning to assisting with the cart.
He finally allows himself to let out a very soft snicker before responding to Funmi. "I gather that's high praise coming from you, and I thank you for the compliment. Honestly, sometimes the key to going unnoticed is really just knowing the right thing to say to get others to go out of their way to ignore you."
As they approach the end of the docks, and it's clear others are keeping an eye out for any other lookouts or bystanders he takes a look across the river and down into the water itself.
"Let me get into the river, I can make sure it's deep enough that any normal person won't see a massive blade down there if we drop it here. I can also help us lower it in, easily enough." He takes care to clamber off the pier side and slowly climb down rather than making a loud splash jumping into it.
Since claiming her spot alongside Funmi on the driver’s seat of her fairly purchased commandeered wagon, Fiorré has spent most of the ride quietly keeping alert and guiding the horses. Mayael’s appearances, while not nearly so emotionally draining these days, are still quite physically strenuous, and the quiet rest gives the beastblood girl a chance to catch her breath and let her blood calm down. Occasionally she shyly glances over at the elder Magaambyan; but whatever is on the girl’s tempestuous mind, she keeps her peace about it.
As the guards step out in front of the wagon, Fiorré’s hands develop a faintly perceptible nervous quiver. “O-oh dear,” she murmurs under her breath, one hand subtly and subconsciously drifting down to the hilt of Snowfall. While she’s developed some proficiency in the art, the Iobarian girl has never truly grown comfortable with lying to the constabulary, her earlier performance notwithstanding. Thus it is with some relief that she hears Midnight speak up. That is his name now, right? she thinks anxiously, half-listening to the exchange. In fact, her little plan—not that Fiorré’s inclined to take all that much credit for it, of course; it was something anyone could have come up with—seems to have worked swimmingly.
As the wagon arrives at pier’s end, Fiorré notes Funmi’s wariness and follows suit, peering out into the shadows and drawing a breath of night air to sample its scent.
Fiorré’s eyes flutter closed as she draws another breath, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. The wanderwise young woman’s clearly not going to be of much use here.
Aphotos guides the blade down into the river with some significant pushes once it gets into the water. It makes a bit of a splash, but nothing that appears to have attracted attention.
As the others manhandle the final blade into the (hopefully) inaccessible depths, Fiorré’s wandering of the spectrum of nearby scents is disrupted by an out-of-place note. Wanderwise though she may be, her predator’s senses are keener than the river’s newest occupant, and immediately the beastblood girl is at full perceptive alert. To no avail, however; the new scent seems to have vanished as quickly as it bloomed, leaving only the river’s promise of fresh fishy, among other welcome scents... none of which seem quite so entrancing now.
After a tense moment of anxious alertness, Fiorré turns to the others. “Éist suas!” the Iobarian girl hisses quietly, getting the others’ attention. “‘Twas a strange creature-scent that vanished soon as I caught it. They might have the knowing of us after all.”
Fiorré falls silent, a look of self-directed frustration on her face; it’s clear she blames herself for not picking up the scent sooner. Perhaps more concerning, a strange look is dawning in her blue-violet eyes—stranger than the shimmer granted them by twilight, even—as they flick back and forth across the nighttime wharf... a look which Aphotos and Kuthek briefly glimpsed only a few minutes earlier, as the battle for the blade concluded, and which Funmi may have seen more than once in her time.
But the beastblood girl doesn’t plan on succumbing to the siren song of lunacy just yet. Settling cross-legged on the wagon’s seat and raising her gaze to the moon, Fiorré reaches into her scholar’s satchel and draws forth a well-worn silver coin from some long-drowned Lirgeni mint, rubbing it between her fingers as she begins to murmur Magaambyan mantras to herself. The effect is neither immediate nor drastic, but slowly the girl’s subtle twitching slows and her breathing steadies. Returning her gaze to the others, Fiorré smiles anxiously. “Perhaps when to our sanctuary we return, I might offer up a song, if any should like to hear it.”
Aphotos nods, lightly biting his lip in thought before turning back to the rest of the group.
"That's not ideal... but I can't see us having much chance tracking it down at this point now that it has already fled our presence. However, it may merit us taking some extra precautions not to be followed any further for the moment."
Aphotos spins on his heel and paces for a long moment.
"Alright. Kuthek, you and the young lady should make sure our cartographer gets out of town before anyone else has a chance to get to her for the leaked information. The rest of us should scatter and each take a different route back to the safehouse, at least that way it will be difficult to figure out where we're headed and what our association is as a group. Chance and Funmi, I suspect you both have more mental fatigue that you'll want to recover for further magical uses tomorrow, so once you get there feel free to rest as soon as you see fit. I'll stay up and wait for our cartography escape group to return, just to make they return at all. We all appear to be skilled professionals, so I'm quite sure we can all handle a journey back while keeping an eye out for a tail, but I'll remind you all to keep your eyes peeled anyway.
Let's not dally here too long, we can debrief in the morning once we've all had time to recover some of our strength. We'll reconvene for tea in the morning just in time for brunch and go over everything we know."
He takes one final look back down into the river, his nervousness about the blade's placement already starting to sink in. "I'll just have to check on it again each day until the masque. If something really did see where it was being hidden... they may try to mount a rescue plan."
After waiting for affirmation from the rest of his compatriots, Aphotos returns his starfield mask to cover his face, and pulls his cloak back over all of his gear before taking a few steps away from the lamp lighting of the docks. Silent Midnight's figure then fully disappears into the shadows of night.
The idea of being watched makes Funmi uneasy, for more reasons than one. If the enemy has a way to follow them without being noticed, there's no telling how much information they already know. She tries to keep her more paranoid thoughts at bay, but in this town, maybe a healthy dose of paranoia is what they need.
Before parting ways, she walks over to Kuthek and lowers her voice. "I know I don't need to worry about the two of you but...be careful, alright? I'll give you an earful if you're not back in one piece by morning, got it?"
And then the mage is gone. There is no scent, no sound of footsteps, no sign of her at all, as she watches her comrades depart one by one. She follows nearby for a short while, as one might when walking a friend home after a long night of drinking.
She watches Aphotos disappear into the shadow. Watches Chance duck down a side street. Watches Kuthek and Fiorré until she's sure they can make it back to the tea shop without incident. Or at least until the sound of chittering draconic draws her attention to her bag.
"Yes, I know. Don't worry, I haven't lost track of time."
In a blink, the moonlit streets of Litran become the quiet shadows of the safehouse.
Fiorré waves the others goodbye before proceeding with Kuthek to collect the gossipy mapmaker. On the way she checks her supplies of paper and ink, collecting some extra from the wrecked map shop upon arrival; this is an excellent opportunity to explore and experience the Shadow, and the ever-eager student in her is determined to make the most of it.
Out of sight of Miss Ozinichi, Fiorré doesn’t overly concern herself with the changes brought forth by the occult transference. For some reason—she’s certain something must have happened while Miss Mayael was out, but this is an important chance to show trust in the wayward beast girl, and Fiorré’s not going to spoil it with suspicion—she’s not terribly bothered by Kuthek seeing her shadows or her changes. And as for the chatty little mapmaker, well, she’ll be well away before idle gossip can come back on her.
So on the trip to their destination, Fiorré contents herself with observation of the Shadow, sketching its vistas in charcoal chiaroscuro while Kuthek shepherds their ward along. Sibéal, being in part a manifestation of this very curiosity, is too busy investigating to be her usual distracting self. And as for Mayael... Fiorré watches how the beast-shadow haunts Kuthek’s steps in her stalking way (while of course maintaining an aloof distance), and the young woman allows herself a delighted little smile. Glad she’s found a friend outside our head. ‘Twould do her the power of good, I think. Let us just hope Sir Eventide is up to the task... sure he has his work cut out for him.
Fiorré sneaks in a quick catnap while her companion sees to their ward’s secure settlement; it’s been a long day, and there is much yet to do. On the return trip, the Iobarian girl—perhaps savoring the more intimate moment just a little; she doesn’t mind crowds or even small groups, but one-on-one is best of all; and not just because it’s the best way to hunt—spends time in quiet conversation with Kuthek, inquiring about aspects of the Shadow with her schoolgirlish ardor or letting her companion guide the topic. As before, she doesn’t press him for details of the night’s events; it’ll come out in proper time.
Upon return to the safehouse, Fiorré has little energy left to do more than sneak off for a surreptitious supper of fresh fishy, purchased that day at market. (She’d rather not let Sir Upwell know about this particular craving, especially if he’s seen how Mayael conducts herself in a fight.) Then it’s back to the hearth to say her prayers and curl up in her cloak between Kuthek and Funmi. A good day, all in all.