#i got carried away on the rapier and over-rendered it I think

[passerime]

Watson-Adler love triangle anyone? 👀 (characters from @doriana-gray-games, plus my own MC August)

[carrera-ffxiv]

Morning Shadows Pt. 3

The best times in life seemed to flash by the quickest. Feverish snogging reminiscent of adolescent behavior and the mixture of alcohol led to him delivering her to rest with the patented princess-carry. A hand brushed the hair from her visage as he tucked S’mira in. He couldn’t help but smile at the image. That expression quickly faded from his bearing.

He struck a match and took a few puffs from his pipe to get it going. He needed the brisk air of the Shirogane beach just outside his house to help him refocus as he leaned on one of the cherry blossoms in his yard- the haziness of inebriation still lingering slightly along with the euphoria. He needed to come down from the clouds and as if just on cue... a masked figure in formal attire knelt before him.

“My lord,” the white haired Miqo’te spoke in a feminine voice, “I’ve located their base of operations… are you certain you want me to bring… her? She’s… inexperienced and foolish. She will be nothing but a hindrance.”

Hadriel sighed a plume of smoke, “Once upon a time, you and N’syri would both follow my word without question…” She offered a nod, “I-I...” she spoke softly behind the mask. “You’re the only two I have left since before I left Doma. Trust in me.” he responded. Silence fell about them as a delicate rain. “I understand.” she offered before reality tore and distorted while they blinked out of existence.

K’vyna lamented her own hesitation. Hadriel had done nothing but put his faith in her and she could not offer the same. She lowered her mask a moment as she held it to her chest, reminiscing. Her eyes shifted about, assessing the landscape.

“This was once part called Castrum Novum…” she would point off into the distance, “Camp Revenant’s Toll was there… since the battle of Silvertear Skies the land has been torn asunder and neither exist. Now Castrum Centri stands over the ruins of Novum, and this part remains abandoned…” she looked back to the warehouse. “Between the adventurers in Revenant’s Toll, Imperial patrols, aetheric instability, desolate landscape, unexploded ceruleum tanks, and morbols, this is both the best and worst place for our target to hide their base of operations.” She sighed heavily and put her mask back on, “S’era… this is dangerous. If you want to back out, this is your only chance. There is no reason for you to risk your life here for a cause you don’t understand.”

S’era gripped the katana she had on lease with her good hand, before eyeing K’vyna carefully. “It’s a castrum. Er… was a castrum. I’m well aware of the danger, Vyna. I need this experience anyway.” She paused as her eyes drifted north. “If the layout is similar, it means navigating a well-fortified castrum will be far easier, when the time comes. Let’s get to work.”

A smirk would be hidden behind K’vyna’s mask. A fellow student under the man who was once her master- how eager she was to prove herself. “Keep up then.” she would comment before focusing her aether to her feet, quick-stepping off the cliff and dashing under the guise of night along the broken walls of the rebuilt castrum. She would spot patrols about her path- not Imperials, but security guards hired from Ul’dah. A keen eye would notice the shinobi along the perimeter keeping an eye on the patrols as well. The first shot rung out in silence as Vyna’s rapier pierced the patroller, spinning around as she pulled the blade. The second’s throat was slashed in one smooth movement. She casted a chantless spell: Aero, to keep the bodies from smashing to the ground and raising the alarm. Quickly she began pulling one of the corpses to some cover as she signalled S’era to do the same with the other.

She was only a handful of paces behind the woman, more of a bystander watching her work than an equal participant. With her bandaged hand she kept her hood low over her head, just in case someone spotted her; once the spell wore off and the bodies settled in the dirt, S’era gripped the dead lalafell by the ankles and dragged him behind a rusty crate. Silently she poked her head up to see K’vyna doing the same with the hyur, folding his arms and tucking him into what looked like a garbage dumpster. She looked both ways once, twice, then three times, before darting out into the open and dashing across the walkway, stopping at K’vyna’s side with a powerslide through the dust.

The masked one weaved wind-aspected aether to settle the earth S’era had disturbed. “There are shinobi around watching, you need to be more careful.” she commented before lifting the cover of a nearby garbage chute. “We need to cut a path through for Hadriel and to make sure no one else interferes when he finds his quarry.”

S’era strained to scan the outer perimeter, her blue and teal eyes glowing ever faintly in the dark; she saw no one standing guard, but, if they really were shinobi, that much is to be expected. “Shouldn’t we help him?” She asked in a hushed whisper. “He shouldn’t be fighting his target alone, should he?”

K’vyna tilted her head toward the chute, gesturing for her to get through. “He’s taught you a bit…right? Do you think you’ll be more of a help or hindrance if he had to fight someone seriously?” S’era didn’t know how to answer that at first, taking a long moment to think about it; he taught her the basics- the very basics of swordplay, but she was still quite handy with a pair of daggers. Still, reach trumped subtlety, and in an open battle, no amount of fancy knifework would compare to a skilled swordsman.

“... I don’t think I’d be much help, no.” She was reluctant to admit it. “Let’s clear the path… that much I -can- do.”

K’vyna allowed a crooked grin to form beneath her cover, “He taught me too, trust me, you’ll learn more from watching at this point.” she affirmed before tugging S’era before the chute, patting her on the rear. “Upsy-daisy.”

She scampered into the chute, crawling through dirt, dust, and hopefully little else through the pitch darkness. It was a tight squeeze- even for a miqo’te as small as herself, forcing her to tuck her hands under her chest and wiggle through the confined space as quickly but as silently as she could. When she caught a whiff of fresh air, it tasted like the best thing she’d eaten in years; the chute suddenly led upward, and she eagerly followed the faint light at the end of the tunnel. 

S’era opened the lid to find herself in some sort of bathroom, her clothes covered in years-old grime and waste. She poked her ears out first and scanned the room for any sounds, before tilting the seat back to wiggle herself free. “Azeyma above…!” She whispered the moment she was convinced the coast was clear, gagging and coughing as she stood on solid ground again. Wisely she chose to pull her long coat off her body to never wear again.

K’vyna looked over what appeared to be a hand-drawn sketch on a napkin. “Okay, we need to get out of this room, take a right at the corridor, leave the building, and we can open the gates… show me what you got S’era.”

She eyed the woman sideways before handing K'vyna her katana and pulling two curved daggers from her belt; the Way of the Blade may still be foreign to her, but the thief's creed were a song and dance she knew all too well. Free from her stained overcoat, S'era was free to move about silently in her form-fitting ebon leathers; skulking through the darkness was second nature, and it wasn't long until she found her first of many targets.

"Gods I love workin’ ‘ere." An enthusiastic lalafell loudly proclaimed, his pants halfway down his stubby legs as he pissed against the wall. "No noisy ‘venturers snoopin’ around playin’ at ‘eroes. No battles. No nothin’! Just gettin’ paid ta look at crumbling ruins. Any fool would kill ta get a job this easy, heheheh!" S'era looked around to notice he wasn't talking to anyone specifically; just a bored grunt thinking out loud.

She crept up on him as he wiggled the last few droplets free. Just as he pulled up and buckled his trousers she descended on him, her hand clamped down on his mouth as her blade pierced his coat. "Mmrph-?!" He wiggled and fought against her, but his arm was pinned to his side, and his weapon might as well be miles away. A few more stabs in his chest and his widened eyes finally relaxed. S'era dragged him back into one of the stalls and propped his body onto a toilet; with luck, the stench of his corpse and the need for privacy would render him unnoticed until it was far too late.

“Fufu?” Another voice called out. “Where the hells did you waddle off to, halfman?” A roegadyn four times S’era’s size came stepping into the dimly lit hallway, carrying a rifle on his shoulder and a lantern in his grasp. Immediately he noticed the pool of urine in the corner, and before long he caught sight of the blood trail leading further into the abandoned stalls. “What the-”

S’era dropped down onto his shoulders from the ceiling, her hand dragging his helmet down and over his eyes. Her knife repeatedly found his throat and collar as he coughed and gagged on both the cold sting of steel and the warmth of his own blood, thrashing around to grip the attacker to pull her off his back. He slammed her against the wall once, then twice, but soon his strength began to wane; he collapsed to one knee with a hard thud, before falling limp face first onto the floor. With a flick of her wrist she pulled her blade free and stepped off his back, choosing to wipe her blade clean on his arm before slipping it back into her belt.

K’vyna brought a hand to her mouth as she uttered a quiet and inaudible incantation. “Verfire.” She gestured her hand toward the defeated man, blowing a kiss of flames at her victim. The coat of the unconscious mercenary sparked and flashed before bursting into flames. The fire licked at everything about it, threatening to swallow everything in proximity. She simply nodded at S’era to acknowledge her efforts and shifted out of the area in a blink.

The courtyard outside was a little more complicated than two fools hiding in a building to avoid their responsibilities. Five soldiers stood out in the open: two on either side of the gate, another two walking their scheduled routes back and forth, and the last one sitting up in a nearby watchtower. “We need to work fast unless we want to raise the alarm.” S’era whispered to K’vyna. “Sooner or later they’re going to smell the burning bodies, or see the smoke. We don’t have much time.” She glanced over her shoulder before asking, “Any ideas?”

“That’s the point, they’re going to come to us soon. The fire is a distraction…” she sighed as she affixed a focus onto the hilt of her rapier, raising it to the sky as if a staff. “I’m going to draw their attention. Open the gate.” A series of runic circles glowed hazardously around her as she muttered them into existence. 

"R-right… I knew that." She did not know that. S’era bit her lip before slipping through the shadows. The soft pads on her boots made each step nigh-undetectable, but as soon as she broke off into a full on sprint, there was little that could dampen her approach. One of the guards near the gate was halfway through rubbing his nose on his finger when he glanced over to see her eyes glistening in the dark. “Who’s sneaking arou-?!” The flash of a dagger caused him to blink, before the sting of the blade biting into his shoulder forced him to stagger. S’era performed a powerslide through his legs, slicing clean through cloth and tendon along the way, before pressing her feet beneath her and launching herself at the other guard who was formerly preoccupied with a lazy yawn. Her blade found his chest twice before his throat, giving him ample time to holler out in agony before gurgling on his wounds; he gripped S’era by the face before falling backward, crashing against the gate on his way to spinning to the ground.

The two patrolling guards glanced over to see a Miqo'te on top of their friend, stabbing him repeatedly with a soaked dagger in her grasp.

“Verflare.” 

A blinding orange radiance flashed into existence above the unsuspecting patrol. The space around them distorted as if the laws of physics just within that space had changed and warped irreparably before a surge of magic swallowed the area whole. After the screeching from the spell died down the alarum was raised: less an annoying Imperial warbling and more a cacophony of mercenaries barking at each other confused. K’vyna shouted, “We need to drag them away, get the gate open now!” No sooner did she say the words did her gaze snap to the nearby rooftops. Skittering shadows from silhouettes moving too fast for normal soldiers darted toward them; a group of shinobi were on the approach.

The crippled guard rose to a foot and raised his rifle at S’era, but she saw him long before he was ready. An explosion of smoke erupted from her feet moments before he fired, his dead companion twitched once from getting shot. She rolled out of the smoke and let loose another dagger, this time planting it squarely between his eyes with a wet slurk! With both guards dead, she was free to run to the rusty gate to fiddle with the pulleys. “Keep them off me for a bit longer!” She called out, pulling the ropes as fast as she could.

The masked girl dropped her rapier and focus, instead holding tightly onto the sheath and hilt of Sera’s katana. “Hissatsu: Guren.” she spoke calmly as she recalled the lessons of her master. Swordsmanship was an art- among all the things she was taught, that had resonated with her the most. She yearned to understand the meaning and intent behind every graceful skill bestowed upon her from the teachings of countless Samurai past, specifically, the ancient souls guiding her master’s blade. This artistry’s name carried the meaning ‘Deathblow: Crimson Lotus’; a gaudy name for a technique perhaps, but an apt one nevertheless. Four of the shinobi were able to dodge or parry the flurry of flying edges from K’vyna’s slashes as they landed but a fifth shattered about a crimson mist. Regardless, she created space between S’era and them which was ultimately her goal. A dizziness overcame her as she knelt to the ground, holding herself up with the sheathed sword.

The gate wasn’t even halfway open, but there was enough room for a Roegadyn or Hrothgar to crouch through; it would have to suffice. Kicking the lever with the heel of her boot to jam it out of place, S’era ran over to the dead guard, pried the rifle from his hands, aimed at the group of shinobi set to swarm K’vyna, and fired. Her aim was terrible, but she pulled one of them away from the group to handle her. Unfamiliar with how these unwieldy Garlean rifles even worked, S’era aimed and fired another round to hopefully kill her pursuer before he reached her; she missed again.

The mercenary dropped to his knees and ate gravel regardless, sliding across the ground to stop a few inches away from her feet. S’era, more confused than relieved, looked up to see the others scattering back into the dark like roaches exposed to light; she turned the new corpse over to see several metal needles protruding his throat and head. In the distance came two silhouettes calmly approaching the gate - another masked Miqo’te in a purple yukata escorted Hadriel through the entrance, bowing respectfully. He eyed the two who had worked hard till the present, “I figured you would’ve dragged them off by now.” Hadriel turned back to the third Miqo’te who remained silent, he would nod at her. She returned the gesture in kind and shifted off to her next assignment.

“That was some fine bladework S’era…”  Hadriel sauntered over to K'vyna, handing her the focus and rapier she dropped before patting her shoulder, taking the katana from her. S’era couldn’t tell if she was being mocked or not, but held her tongue nonetheless once he turned to K’vyna. “And some impressive swordsmanship from you. Glad you haven’t forsaken all my lessons for magic.” she pouted a bit in response; although she wanted to be upset, she was also pleasantly surprised by the rare compliment. He turned to hand the katana back to S’era, “Does it have a name yet?” More hustling and bustling could be heard in the background, but the noises slowly died down.

"Not yet." S'era shook in her boots as the adrenaline began to wear off. "Not until I can wield it properly. It was a gift from a friend, who also studied the blade. It feels foolish to give it a name before I know how to use it." Her gaze snapped to something in the corner of her eye, fearing the shinobi had returned with reinforcements; but they were either hiding exceptionally well, or they were long gone. Was it the mysterious Miqo’te woman’s doing? Do the shinobi fear Hadriel? S’era didn’t have ample time to ask herself- or anyone else- these questions, before her mentor began his approach to the open gate.

He offered her a smile and turned to the warehouse structure. “A conversation for another time perhaps. Your fellow pupil awaits. We wouldn’t want to keep her waiting.”

S'era nodded in silence before trotting off to catch up to K'vyna. He watched S’era assist her into the shadows with fading interest, his once comforting smile all but gone. His boots clacked along the metal grating inside the building as Hadriel made his way to the ground floor.

[nezzfiction]

ENMY Chapter 85 - Shared Throne

Series Synopsis:  Team RWBY is disbanded, and Yang must find herself new allies. For her, that might very well be yesterday’s enemies. Joining up with the likes of Emerald, Mercury, and Neo, the four will comprise Team Enemy(ENMY).

Links to read the series: Ao3 or FF.net

Or hit the jump below

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Shared Throne

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How can you change the mind of a whole universe?

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It was a morbid scene they created.

In a small hovel, Mouse Rakis stood over the bodies of a little boy’s parents. It was broad daylight, and people in the neighborhood were already gathering to see what the commotion was about.

“…Mouse…”

A trailing voice could be heard, but the young man could not tear his sight away.

“Mouse…”

He was rooted to the spot. The pair of glistening kindjal knives in his hands were drenched with blood.

“MOUSE!”

Ilia Amitola slapped him across the face, causing him step sideways off balance.

“Get yourself together!” she shouted.

“Ilia…” he muttered, as if noticing her for the first time. The girl was also brandishing a rapier covered in dark entrails.

“You were right. We should have waited till night.”

“No time to worry about that now!” Ilia yelled. “We need to seal off this area!”

“Yes…Right…”

Although he showed acknowledgment, Mouse made no movements. On the other hand, it was his younger sister, Knives, who acted.

The young girl activated the setting on her karambit. After vibrating with a magnetic hum, the blood staining it was dispersed clean. Out of the three of them, she was the least messy, and performed her job the cleanest.

“I’ll go outside and settle everyone down. Our soldiers should be here soon, so I’ll have them set a perimeter,” she answered before rushing out the door, but stopped in the archway. “…We should move the boy and his grandfather. If others see them, it’ll only lower morale.”

And then, Knives was gone.

Ilia and Mouse could hear the younger Rakis speaking to the crowds outside. She was always considered the more hasty of the two, but with that came a decisiveness that proved crucial in this moment.

“C’mon, Mouse,” Ilia shook the young man once more. “I’ll get his grandfather, you take the child.”

“…Right…”

Mouse moved to pick up the boy, who immediately flinched away from him. He saw the fear in the adolescent’s big eyes, and couldn’t bring himself to move any further. There was a horror there, an image of a monster that killed his parents right in front of him. A murderous demon with glowing, silver orbs for eyes.

“We don’t have time for this. I’m sorry,” Ilia stepped between them. Her sword-whip cracked with electricity, which she used to prod the boy. The small body immediately went limp and unconscious.

“ILIA!”

Mouse was met with an immediate backhand.

“Pick him up. We’re going.”

…

Not ten minutes later, did the pair exit the hovel through the backdoor, and back to the Hanging Gardens. Knives joined them soon after in the throne room, readying to provide Temujin with the report of their most recent cluster fuck.

The Rakis siblings were in charge of rooting out the Cuckoos from Vacuo. They were two of the Kingdom’s best Aura Sensors, coupled with their Silver Eyes, it made them the perfect fit for the job.

Usually, Mouse only distributed assignments to their military’s stealthiest operatives. More often than not, it was Ilia and some choice others, who took on the dark tasks. Only recently did he learn that Knives carried out most of the work.

His own sister may have been more gifted than he was, but she was younger—and that thought irked him. Mouse wanted to take on at least some of the burden himself, so he decided to participate in the next string of assignments.

The result:

Their most recent operation going completely sideways.

A few hours ago, Mouse detected a pair of Cuckoos. They were impersonating a couple returning from a scouting mission beyond the walls.

Knives had done exceptionally well ridding any of the parasitic Grimm that infiltrated the military ranks, but this new threat had the potential to render that effort naught. If the Cuckoos made it to their facilities of operations, the potential damage they could cause would be massive.

Mouse believed in dealing with the threat immediately to minimize risk. Ilia advocated they waited until night, while everyone slept. A team of ghosts arriving out of the blue, and seemingly killing someone close to you, created more than its tragic scene. It was something she saw happen countless times now. Almost as difficult as the threat the Cuckoo posed, was the difficulty in getting rid of them.

Lately, the Grimm were replacing those deeply embedded in their community. Vacuo’s culture was close-knit by nature. It was a strength—but Salem turned that into a liability. The after effects of suddenly finding someone close was a Cuckoo left more than its fair share of waves.

Which led to the most recent tragedy.

Mouse, Ilia, and Knives were to assassinate their two targets as quickly and as cleanly as possible. It was supposed to be simple. They would wait until the boy and the grandfather were out of the room, before they did the deed.

Knives created the distraction, requesting to speak with the household’s son and elder. Mouse and Ilia rounded the back of the house and made their move.

Right before the boy Rakis was about to deliver the first execution, he hesitated.

The husband saw his assassins at the last second, and far from turning away in fright, moved immediately to protect his wife.

Are they really Cuckoos? Mouse couldn’t stop himself from thinking.

Seeing her partner hesitate, Ilia made up the distance and changed targets. Her blade skewered the husband but caught her weapon at an odd angle due the last-minute adjustment.

The wife screamed, prompting the grandfather and son back into the house. Knives was able to subdue the elder without harm, but the child happened onto the scene.

Knowing its identity was exposed, the Grimm was making ready to kill everyone in the room. Ilia had her sword stuck in the other. Mouse was frozen by the boy who just entered.

“Mouse!”

Knives immediately drew one of her blades, and threw it without hesitation. Her karambit cut a curved gash across the Grimm’s throat to stall it from using its voice. Only then, did Mouse snap back to the task before him.

His blades repeatedly gouged the Cuckoo in the form of the boy’s mother.

…

…

“That certainly was a shitshow.”

The words from Knives cut through the air with the sharpness of her namesake.

“Is that all you have to say?” Mouse snarled at his younger sister.

“No! No, it isn’t!” she shouted loud enough for her voice to echo the throne room’s walls. “I think we all just saw what we always knew would happen. You’re too nice for this kind of dirty work, Mouse! This is exactly what Temujin trained me to do. Not you!”

“Oh! So, what? I’m just supposed to let my sister become an assassin, while I look pretty on the throne, pretending everything’s alright?”

“Yeah! Temujin and Minerva raised you to be the leader of our people! Not me! I’ve got my own job to do!”

“Shut up, both of you!” Ilia placed herself between the siblings. “I’ll be the first to admit that was a rough scene, but you guys can’t go at each other’s throats like this. There’s too much at stake.”

The Rakkis siblings were silent, as Ilia locked eyes with each of them.

“What? Don’t look at me,” Knives waved. “You saw it, too.”

The girl strode to the throne twisted in steel and wood. Her hand patted the seat violently.

“This?! This is where Mouse sits his ass! And this?” Knives drew a K-Bar from her belt, and stabbed it into the armrest. “This is me!”

The small girl was now glaring furiously at her brother.

“You need to get that through your head, King! Human, Grimm, or Salem, you point, and I kill! That’s how Vacuo runs when we take over. The king himself doesn’t go out on missions, he sends other people!”

“That’s enough, Knives,” Ilia tried.

“Do you see Argent fighting with his Armada? Did Straw? You’re not Temujin, nobody is. That’s why she split our roles. You’re the one that commands, I’m the one who fights. So, stay out of my way!”

Mouse finally had enough. He stomped angrily to the throne, and took the K-bar embedded in the armrest. At the same time, he shoved his sister on the seat.

“If you think I’m doing such a bad job at our roles, then how about you be Queen, instead! And I’ll be the one who kills!” the boy shouted.

“Oh! I’d love to! But Temujin knows you don’t have the stomach for it!”

“You’ve seen what I can do! You’re not better than me!”

“Really? Why don’t you just ask Ilia?! You wanna remember, she and that kid almost died cause of you?!”

“Hey! You don’t need to bring that up,” Ilia replied.

“What do you think?” Mouse turned to her. “You think I’m in the wrong here, too?”

“I…*Sigh* Mouse, you’re talented. It’s just that…”

While Ilia’s voice trailed off, the boy already understood her answer.

“I just wanted to help,” he muttered.

“Then, keep learning! Keep training!” Knives yelled again.

“There isn’t time, and you know it! The more Cuckoos I can help take out, the more of a chance we might have of winning this war!”

“You and I both see how little difference it makes. We’ve seen that future. What you do doesn’t change it enough.”

“And, what?! I’m supposed to just accept what’s going to happen?!”

“Yes!”

Mouse’s eyes widened in disbelief, while shaking his head. Between the siblings’ arguments, Ilia could only watch on with confusion.

“How can you say that?” Mouse asked in disbelief.

“Because Temujin’s already accepted it and so have I,” Knives’ voice cracked briefly, as if holding something back. “The only hope we have is to win the bigger war. We can’t have you dying for a future we can’t have. It’s time to grow up, King.”

“Stop calling me that! I’m not a King, and I’m not going to accept that future!”

The two preteens looked like they were about to burst into tears, when Ilia grabbed them both, embracing one in each arm.

…

There was a sullen silence, before the sounds of low sniffling rolled out between the pair. After everything they had been through, it was easy for Ilia to forget the Rakis were not much more than children—children burdened with a greater purpose and an even greater power than she could comprehend.

“Geez, what’s with you guys?” she soothed them. “We won’t lose this war. I don’t know what future you saw with your Semblance, but we can’t fight each other.”

“I just…! I just want to change it so much!” Mouse pressed harder into Ilia’s shoulder.

If she was being honest, she didn’t know much about the siblings’ abilities. Only they could predict outcomes of the future, and could only change them using the subtlest ways.

“I don’t pretend to know what you’re going through. But I do think Knives is right about one thing.”

“…What?”

She took off his hood, and ruffled his dune-colored hair.

“You’re too kind to do the dirty work, Rakis. And Knives,” Ilia did the same to the sister, “you can’t shut yourself off. You need to let your brother support you when he wants to, and you have to support him in return.”

“That’s…! What I’m trying to do!”

“See? So, why are you guys arguing, huh? All this talk about roles and having to take over. You’re still just kids. You’ll find the time to get it right.”

““You don’t understand.””

“You guys do know it’s creepy when you do that talking at the same time thing, right?”

““Sorry.””

*Sigh* “It’s okay. But what do you guys mean, I don’t understand?”

The siblings stopped crying into Ilia’s shoulder and looked at her straight on. Their pair of silver eyes gleamed with a far-off distance.

““It’s Temujin…””

She cocked her head to the side.

“What about her?”

““…””

Ilia felt something drop in the pit of her stomach.

“What about her?” she asked again. “What’s going to happen to Temujin?”

““…””

Ilia was now holding their arms with a firmer grasp.

“Hey! What future did you see about—”

“Temujin, you are freakin’ insane!”

There was a sudden shout accompanying the doors of the throne room opening. When Ilia turned around, she saw Emerald in mid-conversation with Temujin. The entourage that followed were the rest of Team ENMY, along with Minerva and Nai.

“Hm?” Emerald stared at the three occupants. “We interrupting something?”

“Yeah, actually you did,” Ilia answered with disdain. “Aren’t you supposed to be still in prison? Whatever, that doesn’t matter. Temujin, we need to talk.”

“Indeed, we do,” the old Faunus grinned wryly. “I came up with a way to deal with our little infestation problem.”

“What?”

“Yes, in one fell swoop, I might add. And once our ranks are cleansed of those bastards, we can finally take the fight to Salem, instead of waiting around twiddling our toes.”

“How—Oh,” Ilia’s tone dropped, when she realized the plan probably involved Team ENMY being set free. ��Do I even want to know?”

“Of course—”

“You’ll be playing a very integral part in it, after all.”

[colleydogstar]

A Ranger’s Tale - 4 - The Necromancer

Story and all other character by @rollem-bones. As mentioned before, the log has a mix of 1st/3rd person tenses due to play styles.

Our story continues...

The Standing Stones are left behind after Pritchard explains to Donnell and Salicia the changes in the plan due to the arrival of walking dead and unsettled spirits. Donnell takes point as the four of you continue into the woods, veering off the clearer paths for ones less traveled. The smell of the forest is clearer with each step as you grow more accustomed to your shift in form. Pritchard remains after Donnell, and you nearby, while Salicia is tasked with bringing up the rear. "I will presume that the undead are not something that you're familiar with," Pritchard tells you, a hand resting on the pommel of the rapier he carries at his side. No fencing foil, the weapon is very clearly that by the heft and shine of the cutting edge. In some ways, it does remind you heavily how real things are, despite the fantastical happenings.

 Rhodie sniffs at the air, slowly getting used to the scents her new canine nose picks up. She shakes her head, "Where I come from, the undead are restrained to fiction. Either coming in minion style, or contagious, where a bite or scratch can result in death and joining their ranks. Very popular with the horror fiction genre, not really my cup of tea." She keeps a hand near her belt and knife, after seeing Pritchard's readiness. This really is going on, isn't it? So much to take in already.

 A twig snap. The sound of Pritchard's steady breathing. Salicia's steps behind you. Donnell is quiet, but you are downwind of him and can catch his scent. Something spicy was nearby. You aren't sure what it is, but it's a strong musk. Probably an animal of some sort. "I see. I can't say these will be contagious, though whatever animates them could certainly bring a fresh corpse to stand as a long dead one." He puts a hand on your shoulder. "Remain close to use should something arise."

 Rhodie's ears perk, head turning toward the snap, then looking back as she hears the steps of her new friends.. she hopes she gets to classify them as friends, they're all she's got right now. Her head turns toward the musky smell, before she closes her eyes hard and tries to focus. She tries to take a few steady breaths, almost jumping at Pritchard's touch. "Ah! S-Sorry. Yeah, I'm not planning to run off from you three anytime soon. Just.. trying to get used to these senses."

 Pritchard laughs quietly, nodding. "I suspect they're intense and quite different from what you remember. Donnell should be able to help you with that," he says. He puts his hand back on his rapier pommel. "I apologize for startling you. That was about the opposite of what I was trying to do."

 She lets out a small laugh, "Honestly, I'm a bundle of nerves right now, trying to deal with all this. Something was bound to make me jump at some point. But yeah, wow.. can smell you three, the forest, some kinda animal's musk, like, I dunno, a spice?" She shakes her head, "My nose is giving me all this input as a demi, and my brain is still trying to process it like a human, if that makes sense?"

 "It's a deer," Donnell calls out to you, sure he can hear you from up there. He stops and raises a fist. Pritchard and Salicia stop. The older demi sniffs the air, a distinct smell of potpourri wafts in the air. Incenses, spices and tobacco, like cinnamon and fire hangs in the air. "Dead are near. Prepared dead," the older man speaks. "Steel yourselves."

 "A deer, huh, never actually smelled deer outside of coo-" She hushes when Donnel raises his fist, stopping with the others. She sniffs at the air, scents that sort of remind her of some of the stores in the stripmall back home. Prepared dead, yeah that sounds like something that could be trouble. She grips her knife hilt.

 "There, Forward and leftways," Salicia calls out, making to push past you, axe held with her hand behind the beard of the blade. Donnell moves to the side, his own blade coming out. "Stay back and down, Rhodie," Pritchard says, taking your shoulder and pulling you away from Salicia and Donnell. Amid the trees, what looks like a person made of dried leather, cracking and heavily tanned, nude as the day it was born, rushes like a feral chimp toward the group, silent but for the sound of its feet and hands slapping the soft ground.

 Rhodie doesn't have to be told twice, as she moves to the back. She can feel her heart pound as she sees the creature..this former person... rushing toward them. She draws her knife, and keeps it ready. Always have your weapons ready with zombies, cause you never know how many there might be. "Geezus, that thing is real."

 Donnell drums his open hand on his breastplate, interposing himself against the rapidly approaching husk of a corpse. It never reaches him as Salicia strikes out from behind a thick tree, her axe drives it to the ground, splitting its back open and releasing a powder of incense and spice into the air.

 Rhodie watches in stunned silence, at the teamwork between Donnell and Salicia. Her eyes follow the incense into the air as it's released. Her ears flick, and she starts looking to her sides and behind just in case.

 Pritchard slips past you, releasing your arm as he approaches the body. "Simple construct, most likely a sentry to keep the animals away." He crouches down. "Rhodie, come here," he says. "Oh boy, the lad's teaching," Donnell cracks a joke, though he keeps his blade out all the same while Salicia stands a few feet away, scanning the forest for more signs of threat.

 The Setter moves forward to join Pritchard. Hearing Donnell crack a joke is actually helping her a little, as she still finds him a bit intimidating. She keeps her own blade ready, making sure not to cut herself by accident as she kneels down next to Pritchard. "So.. that's an undead?"

 "Prepared undead," Pritchard clarifies. "One type of many. The work of a necromancer. The body is preserved and prepared. The organs removed, and a ritualistic batch of herbs and other components are used to entrap a primal force inside of the creature." He points to the wound, where what looks clearly like cinnamon tumbles from the torn, leathery hide. "They don't do much more than tear with their hands, but a human hand that doesn't fear getting hurt or damaging itself can muster a great deal of strength."

 Rhodie nods, trying to take it all in. "So I'm taking it the trick is to gut it so that the trapped force inside can escape out, rendering the body inert?" She has to admit, that is the oddest use of cinnamon she's ever encountered. "No active pain receptors, so a simple cut or blow won't do much to delay them?"

 "You're perceptive," Pritchard says with a smile. "And no internal organs, no blood to drain. To fight it, you need to disable one before dealing enough of a wound to let its internal ritual be disrupted. Salicia's axe was more than heavy enough to tear deep into it." He stands up. "Animals will tear at it now, no need to leave concern for this. Rhodie, do you think you could follow a trail that smells of this?" he asks, pointing to the corpse

 "I try to be a fast learner when I can," Her tail has started wagging at the praise. She replaces her knife and looks up at Pritchard. "Me? I...OH! Right. I'm a tracking breed now." She looks at the corpse, then Pritchard, then back at the corpse, and nods. "OK. Gimme a sec." She leans down to take a closer smell of the body and elements used to animate it. Ok, Rhodie, relax, and let that new inner dog do its thing." She pulls away from the corpse, standing as she closes her eyes so she can focus on scents alone.

 The scent comes easily across your nose. You can smell it here, on the trees, moving away from you. Your mind translates the information. Older scents away from you, getting stronger, lingering on trees and the ground. They pull you along, sniffing. Here, to there, starting to dart from spot to spot on your spry legs, claws digging into the dirt, small breasts left to bound a little with your eager chase being given. You are, for a time, lost in the scent. Though you suspect your friends are behind you every step of the way as you dash through the forest to find the source of the aroma.

 She catches the scent. Rhodie thinks to herself 'OK, new me, you're wanting to run these woods, show them where to go,' as she lets that canine-side take over. She moves swiftly and nimbly, heart pumping, a thrill of exhilaration as she chases the scent.

 Away you run, following the scent until you find the scent growing stronger and stronger. You chase it. You have to. And in hunting it, you find a strong source of the scent. Bounding around a tree, you careen into something soft and leather. You tumble to the ground, a tangle of limb and fur and spill onto the forest floor. As your head comes back on straight, you find yourself looking at one of the dried out, sewn up husks of the dead. And nearby, a second, and a third starting to turn their sewn up faces in your direction. And that's when you realize you are all alone, too caught up in your tracking to keep with the others.

 Rhodie's tongue hangs out as she runs, having to admit that she's really enjoying this chase! Focus on chasing the scent, follow it! The grass and ground against her paws, the wind in her fur, and she can tell she's closing in on it. She's got this, she's going to find-"OOF!" Face first into something, and tumbling backwards. "Hnngh.. ow..." She shakes her head looking up at the zombie, and frowns... then she sees the other zombie. And the third. "Ah... guys? I think I found more! ...Guys? Guuuuuuuuuuys?" She looks around, then back at the zombies. "...Aw hell." Good job, Canine-Rhodie, you went too deep into dog. She begins scooting backwards, drawing her knife as she tries to get back to her feet.

 The undead you careened into starts to untangle itself back to its feet. The other two make steps toward you. Then all three rush toward you. You can fight here, but it might be more in your favor to do some running rather than trying to fight three monsters.

 Fight or flight, fight or flight, fight or.. FLIGHT, DEFINITELY FLIGHT. Other than Shaun of the Dead, she's never been a big zombie fan, and seeing them up close and personal has reminded her why. "GYAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!" She howls as she tries to run away from the trio. She has no idea what direction she came from, and knows full well she might wind up more lost. But better lost than dead, right?

We'll see how well you fare with running. What aspects do you see to help you run? And stunts, should you have them.

 And run you do. Fast as your paws can carry you. You sprint at a pace that would've made you a star in high school, maybe even college. The body you've taken as your own built for this kind of springing and sprinting. You haul ass away from the undead, who you can hear trying to follow you from behind. They're damned quiet, however, with mouths shown shut and the old growth forest floor a soft one. You run and run and run, feeling the wind in your hair and a burning starting in your thighs when you feel a cold wind whip around you and you hear the sound of splintering wood and the whip whistle of something flying through the air past your ears.

 Rhodie's breathing speeds up, more due to fear than being winded, as her body feels like it could run the entire cross country course back in high school and then go for a jog after. She skids to a halt as she feels the wind snap past her, looking back toward the sound of the breaking wood, and almost instinctively ducks down in case there's anything else coming at her. "Crapcrapcrapcrap!"

 One of the dead struggles, held transfixed by several thin lances of ice that have partially splintered the bark of nearby tree. Two more come running for you. One jerks backwards as an axe hurtles end over end and embeds itself into the creature's chest with a wet cracking sound. The third you don't see almost reach you in your cursing as two heavy arms wrap around you to pull you away the moment the last one meets a cloud of razor sharp ice that hurtles around you. As you peek through the arms of a person you can tell by smell is Donnell, you see the three undead still technically alive, but pinned and soon split open like sackcloth dolls by Salicia and Pritchard.

 Rhodie struggles as she's grabbed, breathing panicked and swift until she catches the scent. "D-Donnell? OH THANK GOD." She looks out at the pinned zombies, iced and axed, and then buries her face in those arms for as long as he lets her. This has not been her day.

 You're scooped into the air like you're, well, a teenaged girl sized person. "Got you, gel," Donnell tells you before putting you back down after some time letting you bury yourself in his arms. He's still wearing a breastplate after all and it isn't the most comfortable of holdings. "You ran too damn far," he says, his voice is quiet, he doesn't want to chide while Pritchard and Salicia are busy putting down the undead. "They can't keep up, and I'm a bit heavy to be chasing young ladies. You may be one of the Wanderers, but don't go thinking you're something safe or special now. I've met one before who thought that way. They ain't here no more to help. You hear me?"

 Rhodie nods, "I just... I let the new instincts over take me. By the time I snapped out of it, I'd lost you three. I'm sorry." Her tail tucks. He's right, she knows he's right. ...Wait, he mentioned meeting one before, but now is not the time to follow-up on that.

 Donnell's hand claps heavy on your shoulder. "Don't be sorry, gel, be better," he tells you before giving your shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "My own daughter's about your age. Anything happens to you and I'll never be able to get it out of my head." He releases your shoulder and looks out to the others. "You two, the gel's going to show us where she found these three. Whomever's making these got blood on their hands. No forest takes this many people so fresh."

 Rhodie tilts her head, "You have a daughter in her 30s? Huh, didn't think you were THAT old, looking good for your age then." ...Aww, he does care. That's good to know too. She nods, and starts to retrace her steps. Focus, don't run this time, let your party stay with you. "They were back over here. I ran nose first into one of them."

 "Thirty?" Donnell asks, giving you a curious look. "Don't pull my leg, gel. Lest I ask you to tell your secrets to my wife," he jokes before you start off to hunt down the source of the scents. Returning back to where you saw the trio. And this time you keep closer to your team. As you grow closer, you happen to see some distance away, toward the edge of a lake, a small cottage set up on a short stilts.

 "No, really, I just turned 30 last October. Wait.. what did you THINK I was?" He holds up a hand and tries to wave it off. Focus on the objective here, Rhodie, or get killed. As they approach she narrows her eyes, and leans forward to stare at the cottage. "....looks like a residence. Bit raised up, but definitely a house or cottage."

 "No, really, I just turned 30 last October. Wait.. what did you THINK I was?" He holds up a hand and tries to wave it off. Focus on the objective here, Rhodie, Ooc She on the He -_-

 "You look barely old enough to join the Order," Donnell admits. "Still a wet behind the ears gel." Though, despite his explanation, you do lead on well enough for the others to see the cottage. "The cabin is Lord Silberschmidt's," Donnell says, stroking his mustache and staring at it from the tree line. "There is magic here. Being bent toward some will. I wouldn't doubt that the lord's cabin has been repurposed during the winter months," Pritchard adds coolly.

 Barely old enough to.. what all changes did she go through?! Rhodie snaps out of it when Donnel begins to explain who the cabin belongs to, and she frowns. "So that rules out taking off and nuking it from orbit, I guess." She pauses and thinks to clarify, "Ah.. get to a high ground and wiping it out from afar. So i guess a necromancer more than likely wasn't on the Lord's Guest List. What do we do now?"

 Donnell thinks. "Salicia. I don't wish to bloody your hands," he starts. The woman raises a hand with a smile. "Don't worry yourself old man, Rhodie," she says, "Want to come with me? I could use a fast pair of legs for this."

 Rhodie nods, "Yes, ma'am!" She moves to follow Salicia, leaning her head to whisper. "Salicia... how old DO I look?" It actually is kind of bothering her now. It shouldn't be TOO out there if she got younger, right? She did get turned into a dog girl after all.

 "Why do you ask?" Salicia asks. "Either way, you look old enough to be a woman, though I doubt you've seen twenty winters. Slip of a thing you are." She moves around through the brush at the edge of the lakeside clearing. She twirls a small francisca around her hand. "Now listen, I need my cloak, then I need you to go to the door and knock on it. See what attention you can get. Get the craven dead fondler to stand in the open."

 Not even 20 winters. So she's back to her teens. Great, Prime. She winces at the 'old enough to be a woman' bit. "We should probably discuss this after dealing with zombies and we're back to safety." She listens and nods, taking the cloak off and handing it back over to Salicia. "Knock on the door, be a huge distraction, lure out a creep. I think I can handle that." She heads for the door, but doesn't knock quite yet, waiting for Salicia's go ahead.

 Salicia stands at the forest edge. Her arm back and at her side. She nods to you. You know that somewhere that Pritchard and Donnell are also watching and waiting. You may not be alone, but now more than ever does it feel like being alone at a door of a cabin most likely containing a man who has literally made corpses walk and do his bidding.

 Rhodie takes a steadying breath. "OK.. Distraction... distraction... ah." He starts pounding on the door, and shouts. "BIKINIGRAM FOR SATAN! GOT A SPECIAL DELIVERY OF TELEGRAM BIKINIS FOR SATAN HERE! HEY! HEY! ANYONE HOME?! I GOT A BIKINIGRAM FROM A DR. STEEL OUT HERE AND SOMEONE NEED TO SIGN FOR IT!"

 A lake in the middle of a very old forest can get very, very quiet as afternoon has started sinking toward dusk. The moment hangs in the air as at the least three figures stare at you for your choice of outburst. Footsteps creak on floorboards on the other side of the door. Slow and methodical, patient in their approach. You can smell the scent of cloves and sweat and the iron tang of blood coming toward you from the other side of the cabin door.

 Rhodie's nose scrunches at the smell of blood. Yeah, definitely someone home. She keeps pounding, "LISTEN PAL, I CAN'T STAY HERE ALL DAY! I STILL GOT THREE OTHER DELIVERIES TODAY OR THE GOOD DOCTOR'S GONNA MOUNT MY HEAD ON A TOY SOLDIER!" She steps back from the door as she hears the footsteps get closer, readying herself for the next part.. unless this person just blasts her. That would kinda suck.

 "Whatever are you barking at, cur!" The door opens and a tall woman in a flowing black dress stands in front of you. Her skin is pale against the sheer fabric, and a stole around her neck creates a keyhole effect that puts a rather prominent amount of cleavage on display. Her hair, golden in the setting sunlight, hangs down around her shoulders as she looks down at you. From the forest, Salicia hurls her axe. The blade nears the necromancer, clearly about to claim her head when it sparks against the faint aura of sigils that glow and spin in the air, dropping the blade to the ground harmlessly. It makes the woman flinch away, and when she's looking back at you, it's with a distinct hellfire in her eyes.

 Rhodie just sort of stares as the axe bounces off. "Oh... thaaank goodness you have protection spells up to ward against assassin! The Doctor would have hated to see such beauty extinguished because of his timing of sending a love letter." She says, carefully inching away, clearly intimidated by the woman.

 "Your corpse will dance for me," the necromancer speaks. She raises a hand toward you. Fight or flight triggers in you, giving you the chance to get the first lick in, or running like hell away.

 Rhodie has a knife, but has no idea if those sigils are going to protect her from attacks or just thrown ones. "Sounds like fun, PASS!" She goes to dive under the extended arm, and use her knife to pin the woman's dress to the floor to buy some time to escape.

 The knife thunks into the floor of the cabin, stabbing through the long gown and into the floorboards. She twists and looks down at the knife. "Cur!" she shouts at you and coils her hand out at you. A cold wind comes into the air as she directs a beam of the purest black at you.

 Rhodie lets out a very canine YELP as she slams her body against the side of the cabin to avoid the purest black blast. Her canine side shouts to try and bite her, but trying to bite people shooting the blackest black times infinity at your head may not be the best option! She instead opts to get the hell out of dodge. Her run is on all fours for a moment as she scrambles back up to her feet, and runs as fast as her body can take her.

 As you run, Salicia is running in the opposite direction. The trio work as a team as you watch them. When the necromancer goes to pull the knife from the cabin floor, ice forms over her hand. Her free hand aims for Salicia, held up to ward against another hurled axe. The distractions, and being held to the ground keep her from escaping from Donnell's blade. She lets out a shriek that is cut short to a gasp, eyes wide, slumping, breathing out her last as her blood runs onto the floor of the cabin. Even from the treeline you can smell it. You can get a taste of the terror and the adrenaline in your nose. And the truth that someone has just died in front of you of an impalement by a man that not a few hours ago held you safely.

 Rhodie does not stop running til she's reached the treeline. She's away, she's safe, she.... just helped kill someone... Hooboy. The irish setter girl slumps to the ground as the scents her nose. Those scents, they probably aren't going to be leaving her mind for a bit. She looks back toward the cabin, and then turns away again, feeling sick.

 Time seems to tick on. The sun goes down and brings darkness with it. A hand touches your back. "Now there, gel. You been looking away some time," Donnell's voice speaks gently in its gruff tones. The smell of his tobacco smoke starts to edge the iron tang of blood. "You should come inside. We'll stay here the night. Salicia and Pritchard cleaning the cabin of the corpsetaker's materials."

 Rhodie tenses slightly, but is finding the smoke, even with her dislike of it, a welcome distraction from the blood. "Donnell... I just helped kill someone and I'm kinda freaking out about it." She shakily stands, using the tree for support. "Is everyone OK?"

  Donnell nods, taking his pipe into hand and keeping his free hand on your back. "You're just a girl," he says quietly. "Lost and in the rain." He looks back to the cabin. "Everyone is fine, you had a quick thought, pinning the showoff's dress to the floor like that. Held her still. And you stayed clear of that magic she was tossing around. You did good, gel. You did good."

 Rhodie nods, and holds out her hands. Not shaking as bad as earlier, but still not entirely still. She winces again at the girl comment, but knowing she helped counts for something today right? She shivers and begins the walk back toward the cabin. "...I'm not supposed to be a girl, you know."

 "Supposed to be?" Donnell asks, turning to walk alongside you. "What all does it matter what you're supposed to be? You are what you are, and that's what matters, gel." He looks at the lake. The body is gone, the blood on the wood is gone, but the mark is still in the floor. "All I see is a strapping young woman who would be fine to stand with the Order. A bit overeager and she bites off more than she's ready for, but give her some years and I'd warrant she'd give Sally in there a run for her money."

 "This strapping young woman was an average middle-aged man until last night," she says as she walks. Rhodie pauses at the mark, but shakes her head, and tries for now at least to move past it. "I'm gonna wind up dead like the last Wanderer you said you met, and I don't want that being on you all. You're letting me tag along, and all I can think of is wanting to go home."

Donnell has a little laugh. "The way you run, the way you handled that blade, the look of sick on your face." He looks up at you from the shoreline. "Come on here and take a puff of my pipe. And you tell me what sort of old man you are." There's an air of challenge in the demihuman's eye.

 That... gets Rhodie to laugh lightly herself, and she waves a hand, "Nooo, thank you. I didn't even smoke when I was human." She looks at her paws. "I don't know this body at all. None of it is familiar, and the senses are..." She looks to the older demihuman, "Can you teach me how to deal with...with..." She motions to her ears, and her nose. "These!"

 Donnell laughs, but he nods. "I can try," he says. "I just do. It's what we all do. You hear, you can smell. The humans and their lesser senses don't catch on. Mostly, you try and wait a bit so they catch on, use that time to think about what you're going to do when things happen. Humans always think they know what's going on. We know more, but letting them in on that don't do us

any good." he laughs as he talks. "You got springs in you, gel, means you can go fast when you want to, not that you got to. So take your time and think it out."

 Rhodie lets that soak in. "Yeah, the stuff I pick up on now I'd never have back when I was human. I just... gotta be able to process it." She flexes her toes as he talks about her speed and springiness. "Yeah... yeah I am kinda quick now." She looks out at the lake, and then takes a breath. "...Is there a mirror inside by chance?"

 Donnell just nods. Inside the cabin is a pleasant setting, clearly established as a fishing lodge. A large framed portrait of a stag headed man looks down over the small fireplace, wherein a gentle and warm fire burns. You find a mirror in a small room that you would swear looks like a relatively modern bathroom, however you know there was no plumbing from the outside. In it is a mirror, and there you can finally see the young canine woman you've become. Like Donnell, your features are not fully feral animal. Much as human faces aren't the same as other apes, there's a distinct, if subtle difference that clearly shows you aren't just some animal.

 Rhodie walks inside, pausing to look at the portrait. Clearly the Lord the others had been talking about, and owner of the cabin. She goes to the bathroom, raising an eyebrow at the modernness of it. "...weeeeeird..." Then there's the mirror. She closes her eyes and steps forward toward it, opening them to look at her new reflection. There's a major disconnect, not seeing her old self, and instead this new canine woman. She just stares, and the longer she stares the quicker her breathing starts to become. She can feel her hands shaking, but she grits her teeth, head raising up as she tries to clench her hands into a fist. "Still you, It. Is. Still. You." She says to reassure herself.