The Elusive Cinder

Adrass. Finally, Adrass found himself almost close enough to test for himself exactly how tough these things were. If they weren't so jumpy, he might have intercepted it entirely. With barely a couple of meters left, he shifted from his steady walk to a sprint as the creature bounded towards the mage again. With one motion, he flicked the runic blade into his hand - with the next, it was sent soaring through the air, spinning and whistling in an almost musical way as it sliced through the air towards the beast.

Adrass When the wolf shrugged off the bullet as it if were nothing, Adrass should have learned. Should have realised that attacking it was futile. A saner man might have run, but Adrass wasn't such a man. Evidently he had made an unpopular decision in choosing to protect himself and the heathens around him. No doubt these Witches believed that they could use the demon somehow - harness it for their own nefarious deeds. Let them think what they would: he didn't need their approval. "Fuck you." The hunter grunted as he twisted away a fraction of a second too late - feeling the impact behind his shoulder and staggering a step as he caught his balance. The second pistol was raised as he resumed his march towards the werewolf with the same uncaring stride - intent on challenging it on its own terms. He doubted it's back was any more vulnerable than its front, but attacking was the only option in his mind. The sound of the gunshot cracked in the night air

Adrass Adrass' mind was still elsewhere when the creature appeared. He vaguely recalled Tulla and the dancer vanishing into the woods, but he hadn't been paying particular attention to either. All that he knew was that this thing was interrupting his rest. He rose to his feet with an emotionless glare - still listening to memories of her voice rather than the words of the others around him. In one hand he drew a pistol, while the other flicked to his leg and unsheathed the runic silver knife. He had no idea if a curse like this was magical in nature and susceptible to its nullifying effects, but certain legends spoke of silver being potent against such creatures. Of course, that was assuming he was able to impale the thing - and that the stories were true. The hunter stepped forward, though calmly. The drive and the zeal that drove him normally were gone: he was merely going through the motions without any real fire in his eyes, or his heart. "Let's just get this over with." Raising his left hand, he fired a shot. Without waiting to see the result, the empty flintlock was back in its place and another drawn as he continued to trudge forward.

I've seen the two of you, you know? His apprentice chided with a genuine smile. She had been in good spirits since they had taken on the Witch, but never quite this much so. She dropped the the ground beside him lightly, keeping her voice conspiritarly low. I've seen how you look at her!" She leaned forwards - catching her mentors eye. After everything you've done, everything we've been through... you're scared aren't you? Of letting her, no - of letting anyone get close to you! ... First gun - flick the latch, empty the powder into the bag. Remove the bullet, clean the barrel. Check the hammer and the trigger, take a pinch of gunpowder and fill the gun. Flick the latch and add the bullet. ... It was no use - he was only one man and there were tens if not hundreds. How could something like this happen? If he fell now then the order would be next. Another barrage of magic missiles assailed him, colliding heavily with his already battered and bruised body. One struck his sword, sending it spinning out of his hand and into the air. He briefly considered the fact that he should have carried more than one gun as he caught sight of the spent flintlock at his feet. And then - like some kind of angel of salvation - a fire-clad figure caught his eye atop the ridge beside the hoard of cultists. She had came: despite everything he had said and done. An explosion of heat and light erupted from within the crowds as eyes spun to find this new threat. The hunter dropped to his knees: exhausted, but alive. ... Second gun - flick the latch, empty the powder into the bag. Remove the bullet, clean the barrel. Check the hammer and the trigger, take a pinch of gunpowder and fill the gun. Flick the latch and add the bullet. ... I guess I got used to your miserable scowl. She shrugged with a playful smirk. Besides, I told you we were on the same side. They locked me up - they had it coming! He said nothing: reaching an arm around her waist, feeling her breath on his cheek... ... Third gun - flick latch, empty powder into bag. Remove bullet, clean barrel. Check hammer and trigger, pinch of gunpowder and fill the gun. Flick latch and add bullet. ... Flash of fire, misunderstanding and confusion. Why? Why this, why here and now? Pain - incredible pain as the flames erupted between the two of them, latching onto the metal band around his finger and searing through his skin. He pulled away, desperate to try and understand but fearful of making matters worse. Nothing made sense any more: how could it? He had risked everything: had questioned his entire existence for this woman - this Witch - only for her to turn on him now? I'm sorry Adrass. It's better this way... And she was gone. His hand felt strange - lighter, as if something we're missing. The shock numbed the physical pain, but the stench of seared flesh penetrated his senses. ... Catching a sharp edge on his singed finger, he fumbled - dropping a bullet and blinking as it rolled along the ground and out of his reach. He made no effort to retrieve it. He had been wrong, had made the mistake of questioning his code once before and paid the price for it. Why couldn't things be the way they used to be, when life was easier? It was much less disorientating to see the world in black and white.

He reached out into the fire - her words urging him on with their lilted tone of amusement. Was she merely entertained that he was doing as she bid as he once would have thought, or was she simply of a playful disposition? This woman was a witch - she was the enemy, a corrupt and unnatural abomination that he should have put down the moment that he met her. Yet as his fingers met the flickering flames, there was no pain. She tittered to herself mirthfully as she raised a hand and made a spiraling motion with a delicate finger: sending the amber fire twisting up around his wrist and dancing up his forearm like some kind of unholy serpant of flame - wreathed in every shade of warmth. There was no pain - if this was a trap then now would be the time to spring it... but she never did. He looked up from the fire at her: no longer seeing a companion of necessity or circumstance, but one that he felt more of a connection with than any of his kin from the order. It troubled him. Had he been wrong? Had everything he had learned been falsehood and misinformation, or even outright lies? Surely it was dangerous to even entertain such notions, but could such a thing be possible? And could he admit that a Witch might have moved something in his heart? Come now! Her lilted voice implored. Arianna claims your all doom and gloom, but I know there's someone under all that dirt. Just drop the 'Inquisitor McSerious' for five minutes and talk to me! She smirked, snapping her fingers and letting the flames revert to their natural, happily crackling state. I swear, I'm not going to 'enchant you' or whatever nonsense is going through your head. We're on the same side here - you could at least stop sulking! And with much deliberation, the Witch Hunter shook his head and smirked back. Fine. He muttered in a voice less gravelly than he remembered hearing in a long time. Let's talk, Eleanor. ... "Bastard!" The hunter snapped suddenly - having moved his fingers too close to the real-life flickering orange embers while his mind was still lost within his daydream. There was no gentle sensation from them now: only the burn that one would expect. He blinked several times as the real world came back into focus - her beautiful face, her black hair and red dress fading from his minds eye and giving way to the gloomy camp in these miserable woods. He was being pathetic. This served no purpose - he needed to keep himself occupied. Sliding himself a few meters further from the fire, he set about his reloading ritual: cycling the gunpowder in his pistols for the second time that night.

Adrass. Adrass shook his head - staring into the fire. He wasn't truly listening: as had been becoming more frequent in the past couple of days. He was clothed, armed and healthy, almost feeling five years younger for his situation. He fount his thoughts wandering once again, as they tended to do on nights like this. Something about the dancing flames, the elegance and their energy - the life and the light and the beauty of them as they crackled in the dark - had him captivated once more as the voices around him became a dull echo that might as well have been from another world. Had had shut out those thoughts long ago: killed the memories that should never have come to exist in the first place... So why had they returned so vividly in these past few weeks? It must be these accursed mages. He reasoned weakly. All of this magic around me: it's bad for the mind. Rots the brain. No wonder they think such foolish thoughts. Deep down though, he know it was nothing of the sort. She had broken him - turned his razor-edged faith into questions and uncertainty. She had genuinely made him believe that the order might have been wrong: that his entire life might have been a lie. She had corrupted his every thought and even now - when he had seen her true colours and many years had passed - he still found the fire as enrapturing as he had way back then. "Bloody Witches." The hunter muttered under his breath - blinking but failing to tear his eyes away from the fire. She was dead - of that he was certain. Had she thought him dead also? Surely she couldn't have realised how her actions would affect him. How she had only served as a reason for his faith never to be shaken again. Yet even now, he knew that hatred and regret only made up half of his feelings towards the woman he had once known: and he loathed himself for it.

Adrass. Adrass had become more reserved - if that were possible - since departing the inn. He could smell the stench of magic hanging around them: clearly his advice hadn't been heeded and somebody had brought some of the vile, cursed jewellery with them... their funeral, he supposed. In the past couple of days, he had found himself questioning his loyalties once again. The Mage - Zaddion - had so far been reliable and honest, as far as the hunter could tell. His words about the princess ring true as well, which put the hunter on edge. This feeling of misdirection, not knowing who the true enemy was... this was why his people didn't question their duties and he was a fool for doing so! Their guide made him uneasy, if only because folk tended to hold grudges for being maimed, however well they healed. A flow dancer wasn't a Mage either, so he would have to rely on skill alone should he be forced into conflict. The sword he had reclaimed from the inn weighed heavily on his back, but it brought a feeling of reassurance that company alone never could. He had intended to reclaim his sword from the assassin, but something had happened that changed that. The gun had changed that. Every hunter carried with them a weapon: unadorned and unmarked. These were as much a part of a Witch Hunter as they were tools - a mark of ones self. When a hunter fell, it was this weapon that was returned to the Wrathspire to become one of the runic weapons that were so converted and respected. The sword was to be his own, until he discovered the gun. He had been merely surprised at first - why was his name written on the plans? Was it intended for him? Why would anyone waste their time on such a thing? Eventually though, he stopped wondering. He wouldn't be finding out any time soon, so with a glance around he slipped it inside his coat and out of sight. For whatever reason, this had seemingly been intended for him. He wasn't going to argue with fate: that was an impossible battle. ... He hadn't argued with the mages as much, given his doubt. Simply done his job - kept watch and been prepared for attack. He watched the princess with a more wary gaze these days, and the Archmage less so. Did she really intend to bring back the dead? As much as the hunter wished to understand the engineers motives such deeds were unquestionably dark... surely is was kinder to let him rest in peace? "Wolves we can handle." He noted, inclining his head slightly towards Tulla respectfully. "I suspect that our bardic friend may be our best protection against whatever else is out here, if the rumours are true about this place."

Adrass. Slipping one of the clear vials and one of the fiery ones into the empty slots on his belt, Adrass pocketed the rest wordlessly - seeing no need to draw attention to them or his knowledge of their contents. Even those that he couldn't identify we're doubtlessly safer in his care than left to the whimsy of thieves or Witches. Potions were more a creation of science than magic, he reasoned. The jewellery though: that was something he wouldn't touch. "We should go: I'll not have anything to do with these accursed trinkets. I'd suggest leaving them, and burning the building to the ground with them inside." He grumbled, eying the jewellery with deep-rooted suspicion as he made his way towards the ladder to search for the Engineers cart. Hopefully there would be something of use there as well. "Nothing good can come of it."

Wish Scribe. Wish took a seat - swinging her bags down heavily beside her with their weight making a dull thud, even against the plush chairs. There was nothing - nothing - that would separate her from her belongings, and so they sat beside her. Besides, she needed them! Rummaging for a few moments, she pulled out a particularly battered and worn cloth map. across its surface were hundreds of black marks - various symblis of varying levels of neatness. Next came a piece of charcoal, which she used to purposefully circle an area to the south of Canterlot and mark it with a '?'. Further up, she drew a diagonal line over a relatively blank section that symbolised the Crystal mountains. Looking over her work for a few moments in silence and with a distant expression, she finally nodded to herself with a smile of resolve and proceeded to roll up the map once more. "Been ages since I was on one of these things." She stated in a matter-of-fact tone, motioning vaguely at the carriage around her. "So, uh... Yeah. Lets just wait, I guess. Anyone have any plans until we get there?" Wish tended to walk. Everywhere she went, she walked. It was cheaper - essential when one didn't exactly earn money for a living - and served as decent exercise as well. It also meant that she could stop and explore areas that caught her interest, which was something that tended to annoy the other passengers when riding a train. Things like this might be mundane experiences for most folk, but Wish was secretly far more excited about the journey itself than she had any right to be.

Adrass. He couldn't listen to any more of this: talk of reviving the dead by foul means and of spirits and sorcery. He was also still slightly in shock over the magical aptitude of the princess: the words that Zaddion had spoken to him rang in his ears - was she a greater threat than he had first thought? Was he truly protecting exactly that whaling he was sword to protect the land from? What had he gotten himself into? Instead, he busied himself with heading into the barn and inspecting the ill-gotten gains of the inn. He wasn't above stealing it looting: anything to help get the job done. No, his interest here was the magical aura, and finding what was useful from within. Peeling off the most bloody of his clothes, he snatched up some dark replacements and dressed himself once again in clean garments, before donning a few pieces of leather over the top and finally swinging the longcoat back into its place, to conceal them. Even he had to admit, it felt good to be wearing something relatively cleaner. He didn't like the idea of taking a weapon from this place - it would all too likely tainted with magic, given the aura here. Despite that though, he felt that having another spare might be helpful now that Tulla was carrying his own spare sword. Casting his eyes around, they fell on a dusty hilt producing from behind a broken crate. Stepping forward, the hunter snatched it up and looked it over appraisingly. It was old - as far as he could tell - and had stood the test of time well. A few scratches here and there were tell tale signs that it had seen battle, but it seemed as sturdy as one newly forged. It was larger than his own by a good inches, and wider too. It's balance was impeccable though - it moved just as easily as his own. That was everything he needed. Let the others fight over which trinkets would look pretty as they killed them. Perhaps the Engineers cart still had done gunpowder he could use to refill his pistols? That would be useful... As he made his way back towards the ladder, something caught his eye. Glass bottles filled with liquids, some of which looked familiar. He knelt down and picked up a couple. The fiery liquid might well be alchemists fire if he was lucky, but what of the others? He eyed the clear and green liquids carefully, and the two types of metallic potion with even greater suspicion, trying to recall what he had been taught of alchemy, and what he had learned on his travels.

Adrass. "Don't be foolish princess. Your witchcraft cannot... cannot..." Adrass faltered: words failing him as the effects of the healing began to take hold of his body - as foul and unnatural energy began to work its way into his flesh, blood and bone. He was being enchanted, and he wasn't happy about it. There was something wrong - even in his weakened state, spellcraft like this shouldn't have effected him... not like this, not to this extent! 'What are you, princess?' He wondered: biting his tongue in favour of uttering a litany of curses at the young girl. He felt disgusted: tainted even, but there was nothing to be gained now. He would simply have to improve his resolve - the princess had revealed some kind of weakness in his mental armour and he would be sure to learn to guard it. "We're still being followed." He said, both to keep his mind off the subject and to ensure he didn't neglect to mention the matter. "I don't know who or how many, but we should watch out backs. I never even saw them - couldn't track them or feel any magic. They ambushed me - javelins out of the bushes of all things, coming from every direction. I barely got away. The sooner we move on, the better."

Wish Scribe. The luxury of the locomotive probably would have impressed Wish more had she a greater understanding of such things. To her it just looked line any other 'fancy place' that she might have seen before - undoubtably nice and interesting, but the true value was list on her. As things were, she was alternating between being preoccupied by her own thoughts and distracted by the occasional gaudy decoration that piqued her curiosity. Wandering up the carriage, she briefly wondered if this was such a good idea: the last story she had heard regarding someone on this line. This might well end in the same way, with her simply vanishing off the map herself... 'Oh, hey! Thats thing's shiny!' Her doubts didn't last particularly long.

Atheia. "Sounds like they're probably dead already." Atheia shrugged, simply stating what she thought to be obvious as she peered at the map. "How many are we looking for? Were they carrying anything we might be able to salvage?" She paused for a moment, reflecting on her second question before elaborating on it with a third. "What were they actually doing down there anyway? I mean, we're going to find them, but what were they sent to do?"

Atheia. Atheia could cook... barely. Okay, most of the stuff she could make was hardly fit to be called 'food' in all honesty, but she wouldn't starve. At any rate, she kept quiet when questioned. It dawned on her that with a Griffon in command, there might well be meat stocked on the ship. That would be a pleasant suprise. She couldn't resist a smirk as Gilda mirrored her nickname for whatever-his-name-was. Nicknames were great - somehow managing to be both more personal and simultaneously less so... to convey both emotion and distance at the same time. They came to her so naturally too - to the point where it wasn't uncommon for her to forget their birth names unless reminded occasionally. Why bother? You only ended up getting too attached to folks that way - and that was dangerous. Got you hurt, inside, outside... somewhere. Wasn't worth the hassle, and anyway - nicknames were more accurate! ... The sudden lurch of the ship caused Atheia to reach out and grasp at the wall to steady herself - these things always made her feel queasy. Her stomach tensed as their speed shifted, before gradually levelling out. Even then, she remained seated, not wanting to chance moving until she was certain that the unnatural motion had subsided enough for her to keep her balance. It would have been better without the screens: those facades of the outside just made her feel worse. What was wrong with good old fashioned windows anyway? These tin-boxes were so wrong...

Wish Scribe. As the one that called itself Maya returned - practically dripping with self important arrogance - Wish bit her lower lip so stop herself lashing out. There was no way that this stick up horn head was going to make her the villain here. That said, she glanced down to the saddlebags resting beside the chair - a piece of rope with a strip of red sailcloth protruded slightly from beneath the flap. Mentally admonishing herself, she fixed her eyes forward once more only to see the other one... what was her name, Whisper? ...watching her. Not watching, but smiling. Huh. Unicorns were strange. Where they supposed to be friends now? She didn't know what was going on, but it was better than being sneered at. Wish blinked - wrenching her attention away and firmly inspecting the map that lay directly in front of her. It was just a basic map of the region: she had long memorised it... but everywhere she looked seemed to cause more conflict in one form or another, and she had already had enough of everything here. She just wanted to get moving! There were some more niceties exchanged among the others before Crowley finally voiced her own opinion. "Thank you!" Wish exclaimed in relief: finally they could go! She could put some distance between herself and these uptight attention horses, save the day and just do what she was good at. Maybe even find out what happened to... No, thinking like that would only distract her. She had to focus: her own agenda could wait until this was over. "Train, right. I'll meet you there." She.said, pushing herself away from the table and swinging the bags up and onto her back with the same, practiced motion.

Wish Scribe. "We are prepared! Well, I am at least..." Wish grumbled: dejected over the though of yet more sitting around and doing nothing useful. They should be out there stopping this thing before it even began - not lounging around waiting until it was too late. Scribe wouldn't wait - he would have led the charge himself! Red wouldn't have waited either: he wouldn't have even come here, but gone straight to the mines by himself! Why did she get stuck with the political bickering of the unicorns? It wasn't fair! Making a point of specifically not paying attention to the two most arrogant members of the group, Wish instead turned to Crowley. "I'm going to the mines, in the Crystal mountains." She declared, determined that the question wasn't even open for discussion. "What's the fastest way there?"

@@IridscentNionios, "What was that Boy-Scout? Couldn't hear you from way over there, behind your massive ego." Atheia chuckled, flexing her talons and stretching her neck as she hopped upright - finally starting to wake up for real. The headache was fading a little, only to replaced by the stiffness in her joints that always followed... whatever the hell it was that she managed to do to herself when she started drinking. @@Windbreaker, "Three hours? Huh, expected it to be longer. That's great - wont be cooped up for too long then." Atheia nodded: quite happy with the arrangement. It was just about long enough for her to limber up and properly clear her head again... presuming she wasn't going to be disturbed constantly by the others constant whining. She briefly considered pressing her luck by asking Gilda about more important provisions - namely booze - that she doubted they would have. Probably not a great idea. No, she'd manage without if the stockpile didn't include any of the stuff - did alcohol spoil? Maybe she might stumble across sone of the old-world stuff, though that was even more like wishful thinking... She saluted - genuinely if not quite smartly or correctly - and turned to inspect the rest of the incomplete group. "Oh come on!" She said impatiently. "What's taking them?"

Wish Scribe. @@Torrent505, "Yeah... well they didn't count on me! My family has been dealing with stuff like this for years - We're not afraid of some stupid hole in the ground!" Wish said, briefly pausing to wonder who the newcomer was and when he had arrived. She had been away in her own little world until this point - barely even noticing Pathfinder and Crowley, who she had actually been speaking with. The prospect of being called on by royalty, just like her cousin... It was like some kind of enchantment on the eager-to-prove-herself adventurer. Huh, whoever he was... "I'm not just going to wait and see what they do - I'm going to stop it! That's what we do - I don't care how many Equestrian Guards might fail, because I'm not a guard, I'm an adventurer!" As she spoke, her voice rose slightly with each line. Not angrily, but with conviction. By the end, she might well have been giving a rallying speech... had her 'audience' not seemed to be on the brink of sleep. Noticing this, she faltered: face reddening slightly as she became aware of how carried away she was getting. "I mean, uh... there's... It's... You look really tired!"

Wish Scribe. "That's where we start then!" Wish concluded: motioning towards the surreal, magical map - despite what Pathfinder had literally just said about the dangers of the place. It wasn't just because of the mission at hand - she had wanted to visit the mountains for some time now for personal reasons of her own. She suspected that her brother wouldn't be out off by danger, and she knew that Red wouldn't have been... she couldn't let the family down! Besides, even if they spent days figuring out exactly what they were planning, it was useless unless somebody actually did something! "We go in, see what they're doing with our own eyes and shut them down." Wish declared. "If they have so much stuff, if they're using so much magic... surely we'll be able to trace it when we get close? Heck, we could probably just listen for the sounds of mining - that stuff isn't exactly quiet!"

Atheia. The griffons remark didn't go unnoticed, though Atheia didn't really know what to think of it. Was she being taunted or applauded? At the very least, she appreciated someone referring to her race without it sounding like some kind of slur or insult. She gave a motion of vague acknowledgement in response and followed Gilda aboard. ... "Sure Boy-Scout won't mind giving up his bunk for his new lady friend anyway, so that's one less problem." Snarked Atheia as she lay claim to the middle bunk on the starboard side of the ship. Everything here was too 'neat for her liking... but that could be changed. Why hadn't she brought anything to drink? Hopefully there'd be some booze in the kitchen, though she doubted it sadly. "How long 'till we get there anyway?"

Adrass. "Looked like that already. Just... feel like it as well now." He let out a breath, fully aware that he should be helping, but lacking any energy or motivation to do so. The pain didn't subside, but now that he was able to slump down, he could at least avoid worsening anything. He could actually do something about the wounds, rather than the hasty patch-job that he had settled for before... And one of the girls screamed. He snatched for his sword, but it wasn't on his back. The assassin had it still. He made to lunge in her direction but only succeeded in twisting awkwardly on the ground. One way or the other, he was useless. "Sh... wait, Clarke?" In all honesty, he hadn't been paying attention to anything other than the Dancer when he had entered the room. Had the Engineer been injured? Adrass hadn't noticed... surely he would have noticed, wouldn't have gone off alone if he needed help? "They must have been... attacked!" He grumbled in an anxious tone. "Go on! I'll be... right there."

Adrass. @@RunsWithSquirlz, "Hated it." Snarled the Hunter between broken breaths. "Didn't even... kill anything." He barely even realised that he was made a joke - as pathetic as it was - without forcing himself. One moment he was straining to speak, the next he was straining to catch his breath as he lay face-first on the ground outside - a sticky, warm feeling spread across his stomach as the makeshift bandages were disturbed, though the rest of him was cold. He was exceptionally thirsty, now that he thought about it. Dizzy too, though that was to be expected. "Fu... agh!" Came the next gurgled word as he rolled to take his weight off the wounds as best as he could, before feeling the need to finish his previous sentiment. "Leave you for two minutes... and this happens?" He snorted, doing his best impression of a pained smirk. "Couldn't leave you here.... with just these Witches! Who'd.... keep them in line?"

Atheia. Sauntering away without anything else to say to any of the group of misfits, Atheia looked forwards towards the ship as she approached. All sleek lines and clean whites... everything that the straight shirts liked to think that the rangers were about. She hated it. Skill, if it got her down to the old world, then it would be her best friend this was her ticket out if this place - best not to judge it too early. She groaned and trudged on: once more noticing the effects if the hangover that had almost been forgotten in the excitement. All in all, this might not be too bad, she figured. Boy-Scout was a straight shirt yes man if she ever saw one, but he'd be funny to role up. She wondered how far she could push him before he lost it... The girl... that was a tragedy just waiting to happen, and Atheia wanted nothing to do with it. She was never going to grow up in someone else's shadow, being coddled and wrapped in cotton wool. Apparently nobody else saw that though, so they were stuck with a liability until she either got maimed, or started to stand up for herself - which wasn't likely to happen with the way things were going at the moment. The robot was... well, pretty much as expected. It did what It was told: it was a robot. The sniper wasn't too uptight: they managed a wisecrack or two. Hopefully that meant that he was good at his job:, and that she wasn't going to be the only one able to kick back once in a while. There had been a bull blustering about something if other, but she hardly understood their none sense at the best of times. So long as he was there though, she wasn't the most obvious target on the battlefield, which was good. And the Mage... well, she supposed he might be fun to tease if Boy-Scout ever got boring. She didn't really know much about his yet though.

Wish Scribe. "You don't suppose they can undermine the Crystal?" Wish suggested hopefully. "Dig underneath them, then... I dunno, I'm just trying to figure out how mining fits into all this." There had been a lot on mines near where she had grown up, but Wish had never really had anything much to do with them: her family were farmers after all - they worked on top of the ground, not beneath it. She shrugged, still trying to think. "Crystal Heart, Chaos magic... Gemstones, Discord, Digging.... What are we missing here? This would be so much easier if I actually knew what you could do with all this stuff!" She shrugged again, blankly. "I dunno, unless they're planning on making some kind of magical bomb or something... leech chaos off one and order off the other, put them together and slap a ton of gemstones on to amplify the result... would that do anything? Even if it didn't blow up I can't imagine it would be good." She glanced sideways at Pathfinder, face full of speculation, but no real solution. "Or if there's something in the mountains that they think they'll need this sort of stuff to... I dunno, unlock?"