The Elusive Cinder

Wish Scribe. "Huh, how old are these maps? They don't even show half-moon pass on them!" Wish grumbled, though more out of jest than genuine complaint. In truth, she would have loved to own some of these grand examples of... whatever the fancy word for 'maps' was. She looked over the maps as she went over the facts in her head. "They didn't get the heart? She asked - tapping the Crystal Kingdom on the map. Perhaps it was experience with unusual situations, or perhaps it was the hundreds of adventure stories she had read in her youth, but Wish was already piecing together possibilities in her head... and they weren't pretty. She pointed out the other notable location on the map - Ponyville. She had heard that Scribe was living there, but he was never anywhere to be seen when she had gone searching. "I assume the disturbances here were before the 'attempt' on the heart? And they didn't have any problems getting anything else? They just failed to take..." She shook her head - before freezing. was she correct? A better question was if it was worth chancing that she wasn't. "Crowley, you need to send someone to the Crystal Kingdom. Guards, Soldiers... I don't know, someone who can keep order!" The adventurer insisted with sudden force. "They didn't fail at all: they didn't want to steal the heart!" Making a circling motion around the small village on the map. "Chaos magic, that's the stuff that corrupts unquestioningly? Turns something into it's opposite, so light is dark, hot is cold... that kind of thing?" Once more, she rapped a hoof against the Crystal Kingdom with urgency. "And we've got somebody who hasn't had any problem breaking into this place and stealing from right beneath the noses of both princesses, fail to take sometime that's often on display to the public? I'm not buying it." She frowned - still unsure how the mining stuff fit in to the puzzle. That could wait though. "Crowley, what sort of effect do you think a dark, corrupting influence - one that mirrors whatever it touches - would have on an Element if Harmony: one that is solely responsible for the peace, warmth and love of an entire nation? What about with Star-swirls research behind it as well?"

Atheia. @@Scribblegroove, "Atheia." The Hippogriff said simply when asked her name. It didn't mean anything, as far as she knew. It wasn't a nickname or a title - just her name. She quite liked it. "Try not to hit me and we'll get on just fine." The sniper seemed okay, as far as they went. If he was any good at his job, they could probably world together well enough. He wasn't as freaking uptight as some if the rest. Most notably... @@IridscentNionios, She turned to the fancy-speaking one with the shield. "Listen Straight Shirt, folks die when guns start shooting. You want her along so you can stare at her backside - that's fine! Personally though? I put keeping her alive ahead of that on my list of priorities. So when she gets shot, or bitten, or stabbed, or incinerated because of you telling her she's some kind of invincible war-hero, i'm not taking the blame for it, got that?" It wasn't a question: she turned on a heel and stormed away. @@Windbreaker, This was stupid: why did she even bother bringing it up? Wasn't like it was her job to keep the girl alive - didn't matter to her one way or the other! Though, despite these thoughts, she still paused as she passed the girl. "You can listen to Boy-Scout over there and hope that the 'magical power of friendship' can stop bullets or monsters or... whatever we find. Or, you can keep your head down and your gun loaded when the shots start singin'. Personally always found fancy words and flowery sentiment to be pretty shitty for self defence, but hey - what do I know?" She shook her head and smirked - taking a long drag of the cigarette before flicking it across the bay, to where it lay smouldering on the ground. For a moment, it looked like she had more to say, but instead she just grunted something illegible and strode after the Griffon.

Atheia. @@Scribblegroove, "You'll be the one cowering behind a rock while I do all the fightin' then?" Sneered Atheia in response to the jibe. "Careful you don't break that thing by breathin' too heavily." She flexed her claws around the handle of the less-than-modern firearm - it's trigger guard extended far further forward than was necessary and its body notched and scarred in several places. It had seen a beating in its time: quite an achievement since it hadn't actually ever left the ranger base. The pistol fell neatly down into its holster beside her leg, rather than at her hip as was standard for species with shorter arms. The rifle was thrown haphazardly over her shoulder with its strap, where it hung loosely. @@Windbreaker, "Hold on..." She stopped smirking, instead a look of concerned bemusement appearing on her face. "What's little miss prissy doing with a gun? She's not coming with us, is she? She won't last two minutes - look at her!"

Wish Scribe. @@PathfinderCS, Wish turned to Pathfinder as she started to walk - shrugged a little with an expression somewhere between a forced smile and lingering frustration. "Well... yeah, there is that. That's just the worst part though. The extreme." She explained "It's not like I just go around mindlessly assuming that having a horn makes someone evil or anything - unicorns just tend to be... well, stuck up! Nearly all of them are rude, arrogant, self entitled and demanding - always looking down on everyone else as if they're some kind of superior race or something..." She paused as if finished, but quickly resumed her speech as if feeling the need to justify herself. "... and it's not like many of them ever prove me wrong either! I've known maybe three or four who turned out to be... y'know, not condescending and selfish. Scribe always told me that I had to look out for myself - not let them push me around. He knew what they were like..." Shaking her head, she suddenly seemed to realise that Pathfinder himself was probably not particularly happy about her bad mouthing his race, especially when he seemed so determined to remain neutral. She winced at her own stupidity. "Oh buck... Sorry, I didn't mean... I just needed to vent: I get so angry sometimes!" Her voice had suddenly switched to a hurried, nervous and barely comprehensible babble. "I mean, you haven't done anything! Oh dear... I didn't... uh... y'know, mean to sound like... that." She finished weakly. "Just ignore me, please. I'm only going to saying something even more insulting otherwise. Why can't I just keep my mouth shut? Ugh..."

Adrass. It wasn't easy, but hey - what was these days? He should have point blank refused, or waited until they slept on the first night and killed them in their sleep. So many mages and the like, he could have just denied them and cut their throats. Perhaps he would have done so eventually: it wasn't easy to go against ones nature. But then they had been attacked, and everything changed. He wasn't given the choice of which 'side' he was on. Funny really - had the Maiden simply left them alone, Adrass might well have done her job for her. But now here he was: bleeding and broken. Was he even alive? The dull pain that wracked his body with every breath told him that he probably was. His life had changed to one of vengeance, and not even in the 'honour bound warrior' kind of way. Everything he had fought in the past few weeks had wronged him first, and he didn't like it. The Assassin had attacked them first. The maiden had attacked them first. The Dancer had attacked them first. This wasn't hunting - this was fleeing, and he hated it. But such was life at the moment. Would he die? Hopefully not. He was making a habit of pudding people off and it entertained him thoroughly. He grunted as a splinter of wood that hasn't quite been removed properly happens at the inside of his flesh. He slumped - slipping in and out of consiousness with the spikes if pain. The irony that his greatest defence - his suppression of magic - was likely to be what killed him came to mind. Then again, he's rather die than have flesh knitted back together by the foul arts anyway. He allowed himself to smirk - it was a funny kind of pride really. The gaping wound to his leg was the worse of the two causing problems: or at least the most visible. The shot he had taken to the stomach was where the real damage was though. It was past the point of being ignored: how the hell had he been taken by supprise so many times in such a short space of time anyway? And who could hurl javelins with such accuracy and force? It just wasn't natural... Wait, had he told anyone about...? "Hurry up, I'd rather not die here." He gasped, scowling and heaving himself forward - subconsciously half-aware that he wasn't even supporting most of his own weight. Was it the assassin? Well, if there was a knife between his ribs, Adrass couldn't feel it... Huh, he was pretty thirsty...

Adrass. Adrass stood, swaying much more noticeably now. Perhaps it was a combat stance - more likely it was his balance giving up on him. His face was practically void of color as his eyes flicked back and forth between the Assassin and the Dancer suspiciously. The Assassin had never given him reason to trust him: it wasn't just a fair offer, but an excellent one for the hunter whom had been brought up in a life of pragmatism and zealotry. Slay the mage, restore some of his honor and find the princess. Leave with everyone else unharmed and even perhaps survive to fight another day. How could he argue with that - was he supposed to have some kind of kinship with the emotionless killer that had most likely summoned his assassin friend to kill Adrass' charge? The Assassin hadn't once shown himself capable of honor or trustworthiness: their guild cared for nothing but their next payment! He blinked slowly, breathing deeply as he focused his mind on denying the flow of magic around them with the last dregs of faith that resided in his body. He felt his pulse, felt the breath cycle into his lungs and back out of his mouth in haggard, torn breaths as his focus mounted silently. If he was going to fight any kind of Witch which bleeding to death, it was surely best to deprive them of as many advantages as he could. Every last ounce of belief, of denial and single mindedness wracked his mind. No magic would resist his sight: none would subdue him if he believed. He was a Witch Hunter: he had a job to do. He nodded. The air had practically stilled in the subdued aura of the Witch Hunters denial: colors seemingly muted and dull as he turned slightly away from the flow dancer and glared at the Assassin. It wasn't a look of remorse, or even dislike. Merely one of a defeated and world-weary wanderer, aged before his time. "I never found out if I could really trust you anyway. These fools did, and look at how travelling with you ended up?" He managed to say - staving off the blackening edges of his sight. "It's better this way. Safer. Either I'm right and..." He grunted, shuddering. "... and they'll thank me... or i'm wrong and i'll pay for it in the void." Hefting the two handed sword from his shoulder, it swung in a wide, flourishing arc to stand upright in front of his face - a quarter: something the hunters sneered at the concept of. He nodded at the assassin grimly, before turning his head slightly to include the Dancer in the corner of his vision. He winced - denial and suppression more and more difficult to sustain with each passing moment. He couldn't hope to suppress anything for more than a few seconds more, and he knew it. "Go." He muttered to the Dancer. "Leave them with me - all of them - and I wont let them follow..." ... Adrass twisted violently and without warning: thrusting his right hand outwards towards Indicus, sword hurtling towards him not point first, but handle. He doubled over in agony, reaching instinctively for the leather straps by his side where the knife was kept. His fingers didn't clasp the handle of the silver-runed weapon, but instead on a wooden shaft - the half-javelin that had impaled his own leg just hours earlier. In the same fluid motion, he continued to twist in place - practically laying on the ground now, blood smearing where the crude bandage had come loose. He swung his arm over his head, fingers opening and feeling the weapon leave his grasp and hurtle towards its target... The Dancer. Sure, it would have made more sense to kill the Witch. Sure, it might yet come to that. But the Dancer... well, it was worth being stubborn just to try and piss off somebody that had royally fucked up ones job and tried to hurt someone innocent. That was... that was enough to merit such a stupid action, in the hunters eye. Besides, it wasn't his style to just go bleed out in a gutter someplace.

Wish Scribe. "So what you're saying..." Wish interjected tersely as Whisper finished speaking. "... Is that yet another Unicorn went power-crazy, and that you know all this because you went rooting through his stuff to try and snatch a bit of that power for yourself?" She blinked angrily. Well, as angrily as one is capable of blinking. This was a perfect example of why spellcasters couldn't be trusted - they didn't have even a trace of humility or selflessness! "Princess, I don't know If I can do this: I'm not going to just wait for her to stab us in the back the minute we find something she wants." She looked towards the monarchs and quickly rephrased her question, attempting to at least try and sound diplomatic. "I mean... uh, even if she's being genuine, if magic is corrupting mages, surely sending more of them after it is a bad idea?"

Atheia. "Seriously? Scrap-Metal?" Atheia began to roll her eyes, before catching herself and pausing. It could be worse she supposed: she wasn't responsible for them getting themselves killed and the pile of junk wouldn't complain about her habits... probably. She shrugged. "Huh, fuck it - I'm fine with that." Much more interesting to the Hyppogriff, were two things. Firstly that they were being briefed by an actual predator as opposed to a two-bit straight shirt, and secondly... Guns! Well this was all freaking great! Things might not be so bad after all. She had guns, and she was going to the Old World. Atheia's gear wasn't difficult to find - she had made her preferences perfectly clear, and despite 'tactically superior advice' had stubbornly refused to acknowledge that the old fashioned weapons might be outdated. The rifle and pistol weren't her old ones from the streets, but they were a similar make: rugged, clunky and... well, loud. If there was one thing she really loved about them though, it was that the things simply refused to break down, even if the bullets did never seem to fly particularly straight. Surely that was why they held more than one shot? As she fixed her weapons into place with a satisfied sense of finality, she glanced sideways at the others, and what they were carrying.

Adrass. Falling forward... wasn't ideal for Adrass. Narrowly stepping aside so as to not fall on top of the door (and by extension, the Bard) he stepped heavily on his wounded leg - feeling the torn muscle strain before simply refusing to move. It took every finer of his being to remain upright, but he did. That was when he heard the taunt. Adrass stalled: genuinely taken aback. What was one of those doing here? His order had little to do with the Flow-Dancers, and for good reason. They rarely held a conflict of interest - and were considered in the same vein as bards or clerics by the hunters - wielders of powers that weren't quite magical: were more like their own blunt denial than any hunter would care to admit. Unfortunately, this meant that the Witch Hunter had lost his advantage: and coupled with his injuries... it didn't take a genius to tell that one-on-one, he wouldn't even slow the dancer down. The assassin didn't seem to be fairing much better either - missing an eye from the best Adrass could tell. The hunter hefted his sword back up onto his shoulder, concentrating. He couldn't spring into action as he would have liked, so instead advanced slowly - feigning better heath than was true as he made to close in on the duel. The nullifying knife hung useless by his side, next to the shaft of the javelin which he had pulled from his leg back in the woods. His guns were dry, no powder left to fire. The best he could do was try to deny the dancer, despite knowing full-well that he was no true witch. It wasn't likely to help, but if he could just conceal his motives for a few seconds... anything that might buy him an advantage.

Atheia. @@Scribblegroove, Atheia made a noncommittal half-shrug as she flicked open the lighter: bringing the small flame up in front of her face and inhaling deeply - feeling the thick smog fill her lungs. Coarse and heady, It didn't take the headache or the nausea away, but it helped to mask them a little. Sure she had gotten chewed out just a couple of days ago for smoking on duty... but what were they going to do about it? Breathing a sigh of relief, the avian eyed the group with a little more interest. Straight-Shirt was chatting up Drinks-Girl, and Scrap-Metal was blocking him. She snorted under her breath at the motley crew. She wasn't exactly the model of a perfect soldier, but this was ridiculous. "Either the rangers are settin' up the worst freaking dating agency on the Citadel." She smirked - holding the packet of cigarettes and lighter out towards their owner. "Or they decided to lump all the freaks in together to get rid of them. Looks like you drew the short straw." @, She glanced around at yet another newcomer - lifting the smoking cigarette from her moth to show that she was already good to go. At least she wasn't going to without some creature comforts with these two around. Still, this was her life - it hardly seemed fair to chance her dreams on some sub-standard squad...

Atheia. Weaving uneasily between the thinning crowds of staff, Atheia paused to check behind her. Sure enough, she had walked past the bay in a daze. Snorting indignantly (as it it were the layout of the building that was at fault, rather than herself) she doubled back and threw open the door - slinking inside with a bad-tempered scowl. The sight... wasn't particularly inspiring. Some straight shirt boy scout with a bird on his shoulder, a bull that looked about as bright as your average boulder and a freaking robot... Not to mention the girl who looked ready to burst into tears. She had said something as Atheia entered, but the avian hadn't quite caught what she had said - was she supposed to be serving drinks or something? No way was she supposed to be a soldier. It's going to be a long day... The Hyppogriff rolled her eyes - blanking the others as she slipped inside, metal still clinking by her side with every step. Seriously? They lump me in with this freak show - try and get all the weirdo's in one place? "This it?" She grunted dismissively towards nobody in particular as she leaned against one of the bays supporting columns. She wasn't really in the mood for talking, but if you didn't ask, you didn't get. "Ugh, anyone got a smoke?"

Wish Scribe. @@Driz, "Huh. You don't say? That's stra..." The Princesses started to speak, and Wish quietness down to listen. She caught most of the facts and understood most of what she caught, only misinterpreting a few bits and pieces as far as she was concerned. It was all a bit much in the way of words - she would have preferred to just be given a direction and told to recover whatever it was. All if this 'magic' talk gave her a headache. Still, she preoccupied herself during the explanations that made little sense to her by admiring the maps. They were far more ornate than the cheap ones that she tracked her journey on up in charcoal, though probably less practical for travelling long distances. They were far too large for a start... @, Finally, they finished. As expected, it was one of the unicorns that started talking first: bargaining for power as far as Wish could tell: as Scribe had told her they always would many years ago. While this particular piece of information hadn't exactly always proven true, it tended to serve well as a general rule. Well that wasn't going to work if she had anything to say about it! "Vengeful Celestia!" She muttered out of habit - oblivious to its implications in present company. "It's always the bloody Unicorns isn't it? 'I'm so high and mighty, I can't acknowledge that there could ever be a reason for me to listen to someone else'... Typical!" She glanced to her side remembering Maya, who had proven to be quite polite thus far. @@Driz, "Uh, present company accepted." She muttered sheepishly before turning back to the table and pointing accusingly at Whisper. @, "There is no way that I'm taking orders from you!"

Atheia. Atheia yawned. Sure, this was what she had lived for - to spearhead the charge that would reclaim her rightful home and take her place among the 'real' world: to get away from all of this synthetic crap and finally see for herself what half-forgotten stories had always promised... It was her dream - in theory - and she was living it. Right now though, she was more concerned with the dull, rhythmic thumping of her heartbeat that echoed painfully through her skull. It made everything seem grey to her: nothing was going to brighten her mood until it stopped, and that might take a while. Seriously, this long and they still hadn't developed a cure for a hangover? Thankfully, it tended to be hard to tell when the Hyppogriff was recovering from her bouts of self-induced alcohol poisoning. There weren't many of her kind, and she wasn't exactly a good example of tidiness or conformity. Her exo-suit was hardly fit to be called as such any more after being subject to her wanton urge to make her mark on it, and white feathers stuck out at odd angles every so often wherever they were visible... all in all, it was hardly a surprise that certain classy establishments had firmly refused her custom in the past. The bones and feathers that decorated her outfits might have had something to do with that though - herbivores were so squeamish... "Vengeful Ce... Somebody get me a freakin' painkiller..." She muttered under her breath as she made her way in the vague direction of bay seventeen. "Or a bullet - that'd do..." She paused, blinked and shook her head. Would it hurt if she just went and caught another hour sleep in the med bay? Better not... She concluded silently, with a smirk despite her foul mood. Cant afford to be caught again: they're wising up lately. Bleedin' straightshooters and their bleedin' rules... Why was she here? Well, it was a means to an end. If she was going to see the old world, the Rangers had the resources to make it happen. Not so much guns - those were easy to get hold of with the right contacts. No, it was ships - transport and information she needed most of all. As proud as she was, Atheia was quite willing to acknowledge that she didn't have a hope of piloting anything more complex than her own body - and nobody other than the Rangers seemed to have any interest in the old world: not in the same way that she did, anyway. So she had signed up: put on her serious face and been on her best behaviour... mostly. It was degrading to her way if thinking, but it was a means to an end. An end that was soon approaching... Each step was emphasised with the soft clink of metal on metal as the claws that hung by her side swung and struck against each other. It had taken arguing until she was (figuratively) blue in the face to convince the uptight straight shirts to let her carry them around, but she supposed that they simply got tired of arguing with her after a while when it became evident that she was going to, no matter what kind of trouble it got her into. They were cool - they showed that she didn't need to be like everyone else: that being a half-breed wasn't something to be ashamed of. They were pretty good at tearing things up when she got into a temper tantrum as well: her furniture being the sad victims of such events. "Ugh, seventeen, wasn't it?" The hangover-struck Hyppogriff muttered as she shielded her eyes from a particularly bright light to try and quint at the signs marking her current location. "Bah, this better be worth it..."

Wish Scribe. Wish watched the princesses enter, remembering to bow far too late to prove polite and hurrying to the table, where she took a seat as far away from the two monarchs as possible: better to let those who wanted to cozy up to them do the talking after all. She had a habit of saying the wrong thing at the wrong time, and this felt like it was going to be one of those times... Besides, she could keep an eye on the others from there. Not that they needed it - one of them seemed a little too arrogant for her liking, but none of them seemed particularly dangerous. There were horn heads here though - and while she might not be as blindly prejudiced to them as she once had been, she wasn't going to just ignore the fact that they could be selfish, hateful and power hungry, as they tended to be...

Wish Scribe. @@PathfinderCS, Wish was a little taken aback by the sentiment: that the others might be here without seeking anything in particular. It seemed strange that her letter had practically coerced her to join this little meeting (not that such persuasion would have been necessary, curious as she was) when there seemed plenty whiffing to work without thought of reward... "Huh. You don't say?" She shrugged, not quite certain whether her complaining might have made her seem arrogant or materialistic - or selfish even! The unconfirmed judgement wasn't something that she could just try to forget about: she needed to explain herself before any suspicions got out of control! "I, uh... Y'know... didn't mean to make it should like I meant... I'd still help, even if they couldn't offer me anything!" It was a slightly panicked statement, but thankfully she was spared further explanation by the timely arrival of one of the others in her conversation. @, Wish shook her head with a self-conscious half smile at the collective reactions of the pair - distinctly embarrassed but relieved that she was being shown such kindness. Her doubts over what they might think of her faded a little: she was probably just being stupid. Certainly they would simply presume her to be so spiteful and materialistic that she wouldn't help without some form of payment? "It's fine, really. Don't worry yourselves over me." She assured them in a suddenly subdued mumble, directed somewhere between the pair and the ground as she tried to avoid eye contact as she said it. Despite the sudden awkward feeling at the situation, she perked up again at the next statement however. "But, yeah your right. Food sounds good to me too! I've not eaten in hours!"

Wish Scribe. Wish's mouth twisted in an expression of annoyed dissatisfaction. She had heard all of this before: he had been there, he would be there or he should be there... this was just going to be the same smoke and mirror trail that she had followed for years on end. Empty promises and half-truths, why had she got ton her hopes up? It wasn't like even royalty could fight against destiny. "So what you're saying is that you can't help me any more than anyone else I've met who claimed they could?" She said. It wasn't a question, but a statement of fact framed as one. She wouldn't normally have been so bitter - it took a lot to make Wish bitter - but this time just stung, a lot like the early years of her journey back when she would believe absolutely anything she was told. "It doesn't matter." She sighed. "Lets just get this over with." She looked away from Crowley - who looked to be busy being insulted by one of the others - and glanced around the courtyard again. This was probably why she felt so tense: one probably learned to anticipate disappointment. @@PathfinderCS, "I hope whatever they promised you is something they can actually provide." She shrugged to the nearby Unicorn - her eyes still bright but her features otgerwise blank, save for a slightly forced smile. If the others were all in similar situations to her, they might well have similar problems. At the very least, if they were going to be her new companions then she should make the effort. "Sorry, didn't mean to be such a downer. Names Wish, Wish Scribe."

Wish Scribe. "Isn't this the sort of thing that the guard should be able to handle?" Wish muttered as she raised a brow - reaching around to furrow through the hefty pack that lay slung across her back - as it always did. Ropes and food lay on top, with paperwork buried somewhere beneath as if to be kept safe. The things she carried with her: they were too important to risk. She would rather starve than see the letters lost. After a moment, she emerged and passed over the contents of the letter that she had received some days before. "Redwave wasn't lying when he went on about having to solve all the guards problems for them - now you've got the rest of the family involved!" She shook her head. Her cousin hadn't been seen for years: it wasn't that she couldn't find him (as was the case with her brother) but simply that he seemed to have faded out of existence. The location of the pirate-turned-adventurer was a mystery, but his complaints and advice were as loud in her memories as they ever had been as she glanced at the strip of red sailcloth that peeked out from the opening of her pack. "I didn't come here for the good of my health - I want to know where my brother is: along with everything you know about him."

Wish Scribe. Things were going well, as far as Wish Scribe was concerned. Better than just 'well' in fact - in her mind, this was the best turn if fortune that had befallen her in... in... well, in as long as she could remember! Adventure: it had always been her way of life by choice, and while she had seen her fair share, she had never really succeeded in any of her true goals. She had never found her brother like she set out to do - never found a cause that she could fight for to have her name engraved into history itself, or found any purpose beyond seeking those two things. Now, it seemed, that was about to change - on multiple fronts. Wish ascended the hewn-marble steps towards the palaces inner gardens without any sign of doubt - she was eager - if anything - to find out more. To discover just how she could help with something so important... and how those in the palace could help her. Naturally, she suspected that her brother must have had dealings with the princesses before, but the letter served to confirm her suspicions, at least in her mind. Sunlight caught the brushed-steel plate that she wore, it's slight shine reminding her of its significance for the second time that day. It was a constant reminder - more than just protection of her body, but protection of her character. Of her morality. She was an adventurer - in the truest sense if the word. She had been summoned like the characters she had read about in the books she so loved during her youth, and now it was time for her to prove herself worthy. "Hello?" She spoke as she entered the gardens: a figure waiting for her far too patiently. It was just... she couldn't place it, but she knew better than to ignore her instincts: maybe they were wrong and nothing was amiss, but better to be prepared for other eventualities. Something felt wrong, and she didn't like it. Her eyes glanced around anxiously, though her voice remained firm and cheerfully bright. If she wasn't safe in the royal palace, where would she be anyway? "Mister... Crowley, wasn't it? I got your letter - you wanted to see me?"

Adrass. As the rhythmic clink of metal-on-metal began to sound, Adrass waited. It didn't need to be completely ruined - only enough that it wouldn't offer much resistance on its own. After a few seconds (and another shout of urgency from inside the room) he couldn't wait any longer. "Stay low." Sword-point balanced on the edge of the crack at the edge of the door, he swayed backwards a step - keeping close enough to just hold the blade steady in its positing. Steeling himself for the impact, he threw himself forward - hurling his weight directly into the back of the sword and driving it towards the uppermost hinge. Pain spiked through his lower body from the sudden, though the impact itself would be far worse. Of course, the narrow crack along the doors edge wasn't exactly wide enough to accommodate the thick blade, but it was a damn sight more vulnerable than the solid wood. In paster experience, good enough steel combined with sufficient force had been enough to drive directly through and break the supporting mechanism from the outside. The shortsword tended to be used for such tasks, but he doubted Tulla was going to appear and return it anytime soon.

Adrass. The sound inside the room was clear enough, but the echoing thud if weight against the door was enough to clear up any remaining doubt. The Mage had been correct: the men were fighting back, to whatever degree they were able. Adrass considered trying the doors handle, but presumed that they would already have attempted the most obvious means of escape. He hefted the sword up against his should to rest the weight a little, and shifted his balance onto his good leg while he waited. There was no way that he was going to be kicking any doors down with his injuries: he needed to conserve his strength. Then he heard the cry to break the hinges. No wonder they were struggling to knock the thing down... of course, that meant that he still couldn't really do anything, unless... Positioning the tip of his great sword against the narrow crack that marked the edge of the door. He squinted through the crack and slid the heavy blade up slightly to where it seemed to line up with the dark shadow of the hinge, and paused. "Break the bottom one." He said simply. He didn't shout - didn't whisper or bellow. Simply speaking normally, directly at the door, he hoped that whoever was on the other side could hear him, and that the others were too preoccupied to do so.

Adrass. Adrass faltered. This was it: he was being asked to put his faith in the witch. To trust that the serpent-hearted wouldn't fail - or betray him. In all honesty he wouldn't have trusted him any more than he would their enemies if he had any choice in the matter - but he wasn't in a state to argue and time was running out. Reluctantly, he managed a stiff nod. The stairway down to the basement was easy to locate - given the sounds echoing from beneath the floorboards. Using the walls for support, he made his way down to the lower levels and closed in on the sealed doorway - raising his sword with unsteady hands in preparation to lash out at the first sign of danger.

Adrass. Were he in any better state, Adrass would likely have tried to slaughter the bird. It was a dark creature, radiating some foul aura and had belonged to the enemy - no doubt only choosing to follow the Mage now so that it could manipulate his dark side. Perhaps it was spying on them, or had been instructed to slay the princess? Well trained animals could do as much. Was it worth the risk, just so that some filthy witch could keep it as a curiousity pet? Certainly not... But he wasn't in any state fit to try and capture a creature of flight - not between the more urgent matters and the need for silence. Not physically either - he was far more exhausted than he was willing to let show, and had lost a considerable amount of blood. Beneath his coat, the improvised bindings around his leg and torso were completely soaked, and did little to relieve the pain of the piercing wounds that had been caused by the monolithic arrows that had struck him. A faint trail of deep scarlet followed him, a slight spatter left behind after every other step. At one point, he stumbled slightly before quickly flashing a look of annoyance into the darkness. This wasn't the time to appear weak - he grit his teeth and trudged on as quietly as possible. When the Mage finally acted, the magic almost made his weakened form retch. Still, he drew himself high - bloodied and grim - beside the boy-Mage and glared hatefully at the girl. It was a curious sensation, not knowing truly which side he should be on. He had already thrown his lot in with the Mage though, and he would see it through as best he could, damn the consequences. The girl wasn't innocent: nobody here was. Their crime might not have been his concern before, but they had made it so at the very moment that they have dared interfere with the princess. Nobody here was innocent from the lowliest maid to the rats beneath the floors, not in the Witch Hunters eye. "I'd listen to him, in your position." Grumbled the hunter with a sadistic glint in his eye - one he loathed, but could not deny the efficiency of. "Nasty people, these witches. Personally, I'd be more concerned about what might happen if I made him keep you alive: I've seen some truly horrific things that his kind are capable of..."

Esner @@Scribblegroove, "Maybe. Probably not, I don't know." It wasn't exactly an answer that was filled with certainty. Esner didn't seem to notice her lack of insight however, continuing to speak without pausing for breath. "It's not something I've ever come across - it's likely not a racial thing, more of a personal one. Certainly a unique case, but its likely not because of your heritage..." She smiled quizzically, as if wondering whether to question him further - apparently she decided not to. Instead, she motioned to the Eldritch known as Vizier. "We're known as the Fallen. We all find our way here, eventually. Evidently you are too, since ordinary people can't seem to ever find this place." Glancing towards the armour-clad human figure, her eyes narrowed and lips pursed with suspicion for the briefest of moments before she looked away again. "Almost nobody - we've had guests recently, but other than them our sanctuary is well hidden." ---- Vizier. @@RaptorJaysus, "That remains to be seen, I suspect." Vizier muttered sharply at the comment on his talents, clearly annoyed at being chastised but quickly reverting to his smug look and entertained tone of voice. "Best experience? You are implying that there is supposed to be something positive the glean from the servant races?" An echoing bark of laughter escaped the haughty Edritch as he eyed the rest of the group condescendingly. "The girl does little but fawn over her books and ink, when she isn't being deliberately obtrusive to progress and putting her precious little project ahead of eduction and practise. The rest are little better: even the Eldritch at Sanctuary are weak and cowardly - fearful of their own ability. It is abysmal, but it is the only place where knowledge of the power of the Fallen can be learned. I hope to leave soon." Flicking a wrist casually, a blaze of rainbow light erupted from the ground beside the Blooded girl, Esner. She recoiled slightly, raising an arm to shield her face as she shied away. Chuckling to himself, Vizier returned his attention to Tha'ur as the light died away, leaving the girl looking very much annoyed with the sudden distraction. "They are particually easy to offend though - a small blessing in the form of entertainment I suppose. Such poor creatures with their weak soft skin and weak souls... it is almost pitiful." ----- ??? @@Brushwuzz, @@Flying Ace, "The fallen - do you not know the stories? They are cursed, though my kind know little of them. I am not like them. Not like you. I have work to do - to observe. Watch the fallen - what they do. Learn of them and forge an alliance. So far, I am not impressed." The figure paused for a few seconds before shrugging stiffly. He turned at the sound of a commotion between the Eldritch and the girl - shaking his head and raising his voice. "We will move soon. You two are clearly incapable of cooperation. If more arrive then they will regret your guidance." "Good! This is a waste of my talents, and the girl is a waste of my magic." "What have I done?! He's the arrogant, selfish windbag that keep harassing me!" Tension was building in the air between the bickering pair: it was clear enough that there would be a confrontation soon, should nobody intervene. The armoured figure still had the same emotionless expression and tone, but somehow managed to seem annoyed. "I hope that you all prove more capable than these two." He added quietly to Withrbaen and Roland.