((By [@CollectorofMyst] and myself, with help from [@LoveJoy]))


Oren stilled, his eyes locked on the elevator door. Without thinking, he stepped back, one leg forward, the other to the side, and a hand at his belt, closing around the hilt of a knife. He wasn’t trying to see something. No, the best way to do that is to not try at all.

The only things in the area were Ziotea and the wind. Sighing, and berating himself internally, Oren stood straight. An overreaction. Current events were already complicated [i]enough[/i] without him freaking out, and yet his immediate solution was to draw steel? It was idiotic.

He coughed slightly, before glancing towards Ziotea. “Either the private got cold and tired, or there’s something to yesterday’s events. Fact or falsehood, I would like to know what [i]is[/i] happening. Can we agree on that, at least?”

“I wouldn’t have expected him to stay the entire night down here.  But whatever the truth, I mean to find it,” she replied.  “There’s definitely something going on.”  Ziotea pushed the button for the elevator, waiting impatiently for the doors before them to open.  “I mean to confront those three.  Unless you’d rather take the lead?”  She had a short temper, and suspected she’d quickly lose patience.  At least if someone else was asking the questions she could just hold her tongue.  That was easier, if only marginally.

He paused, but as the elevator doors rattled open, Oren had to concede that not many other options existed. He nodded. “I am… not the greatest of speakers, but… I’ll see what I can do.” He stepped inside, then took a roll of leather from his belt. Unfolding it into what was essentially a quiver, the inquisitor began to draw on some of his inner ether and call forth the same spectral energy that a spell blade was made from. With a flash, it materialised, floating above his hand - an arrow, long and thin, and emanating a soft reddish light. He looked at it for a moment. A second flash and it dropped into his hand, crystalline. He repeated the process for five more arrows, depositing each into the quiver. It was better to be… prepared. Especially if there was a mad god - rather, a madder god pulling on the strings.

Ziotea watched Father Oren make his arrows without comment.  When the lift doors opened, she stepped out and strode down the wide tunnel towards the barracks.  The handle that released the door’s seal was far easier for her to turn than it had been for the young private on their way down, and she pulled the door open with a solid yank.  She let Father Oren precede her, and tugged the door closed behind them after a moment of thought.  Whatever they faced, she was sure they could handle it -- and if worse came to worse, she could blow the door off its hinges, seal and all.

She was surprised to see that the barracks had been cleaned.  She’d not expected that, but then again, they’d been gone longer than she’d anticipated.  The three soldiers had leapt up from a game of cards as the inquisitors entered, and now stood smartly at attention.  They’d even laundered their clothes, and the one -- Mikhail, she thought -- had shaved.  What purpose did that serve, if they were just tools of Lord Varya’s Aspect?  Ziotea curled her hand tighter around her spear, feeling a stab of anger at the thought of being used.  Whatever was going on, they [i]would[/i] find out what it was.

“Reverence!” Seminov yelled in surprise as Oren stepped into the barracks. His cards lay scattered all over the floor, his gaze switching from them back to Oren and Ziotea, unsure as to whether he should pick up the cards or remain at attention. Veena flashed him a displeased look, and Seminov straightened his back, kicking the cards under the table.

“Er, a pleasant morning to the two of you!” Mikhail said, placing a fist over his heart and lowering his head. His eyes however, remained locked on Ziotea’s spear.  She made no effort to look less menacing.

“Did you find what you were looking for?” Veena asked in a nervous voice.

Oren looked at the woman, one eyebrow cocked. “I don’t recall saying we were going to look for anything.” 

He moved over to one corner, taking a look at the warming suits hanging from a rack there. Nothing unusual about them; some standard wear and tear to indicate that they’d been around for a while. He turned sharply to face the three soldiers.

“What do you know about the ruins, might I ask?”

Mikhail pulled his gaze away from the spear. “How d’you mean?”

Oren shrugged, trying to keep his movements casual. “In regards to anything, really. History, layout… inhabitants.”

Ziotea bared her teeth just a little at the last part of Father Oren’s question, and fixed her gaze on Seminov.  The private shifted uncomfortably, but shrugged and offered, “We know pretty much what everyone knows, really.”  He wilted under her stare and fell silent again.

His eyes flicked towards the boy, before Oren walked back to Mother Ziotea’s side. He looked at each of the soldiers in turn. They really did seem like ordinary people, but he didn’t believe that. Things were always much more than they seemed. His brow creased, and he asked some more questions about what they knew, what their orders were, and even a few about their lives before enlisting.  The answers were exactly what could be expected.

The silent inquisitor didn’t buy it for a minute.  If Oren was suspicious, she was borderline confrontational, and the apparently reasonable -- though intimidated -- responses only whittled away at her patience.  Something wasn’t right.  Putting aside what Lady Essa had told them, something felt wrong.  The three were supposedly ordinary soldiers, but their ether signature was off.  Right in the middle of one of Father Oren’s questions, she suddenly interrupted.  “Seminov.  Veena.  You both have mentioned looking for something in the ruins.  What, exactly, did you think we’d find?”

The younger soldier floundered, but the woman was quicker with an answer.  “You must’ve had a reason for coming, yeah?  So...just, whatever that reason, if you--”

“No.  No, something’s wrong here.  What with the war in El, why are there even people guarding what is essentially an abandoned outpost?”  The tiny inquisitor narrowed her eyes as all three soldiers squirmed unhappily.  But Ziotea didn’t waver.  Something was very wrong -- she could feel a pulsing, something no normal person would have.

Father Oren cast a glance in her direction. Then, slowly, he asked the three, “What do you know about Asherahn?”

Ether flared, and Ziotea recognized the pattern at once.  It felt like an inquisitor summoning an aegis.

“Father Oren, ’ware!”  She barely had time for a warning as awkward body language turned into writhing, jerking movements. Then, a sickening crack. Veena’s leg had snapped backwards, putting it at an entirely new angle in relation to her body. Then the other.

Neither inquisitor would ever admit it, but when they took a few steps back, it was in horror at the sight before them. The three soldiers were changing -- changing into something… unknown. They shot upwards, taller than both inquisitors combined.  Blue crystal blossomed across their skin, their clothes, their faces - leaving their only feature to be a jagged, bestial maw.  The nearest pulled back a dark arm, more blade than limb, and swung at the pair of them.  Ziotea moved in front of Oren without thinking, her spiked shield and a flare of paling absorbing the worst of the blow, though it pushed her back into the other inquisitor.  She countered at once, but her shield bash glanced off a paling no normal soldier could have summoned, and she snarled in annoyance.

Oren was knocked backwards, his back hitting the wall, and he blinked as spots danced in his eyes. Just as he took in what had happened, he darted to the side and unsheathed a dagger, just managing to deflect the second creature’s attack. Whatever they were, they were strong -- and decidedly unfriendly. The smallest of the three -- not that the designation said much -- charged forwards, but its two companions were in the way, and it tangled itself in their legs. Seizing the opportunity, Oren grabbed Mother Ziotea’s arm, and pulled her around their assailants, giving them considerably more room to work with.  She sliced at the monsters with her spear as they repositioned, an attack that did little harm but kept the focus on her weapon instead of the move.

The two inquisitors backed up, giving themselves space to swing their weapons, and Oren drew his second, slightly smaller dagger for the offhand. He was also slightly regretting not having chosen a larger weapon. A grim smirk crossed his face. He’d have to make do. Especially since the slender one of the three was making another swipe at him. He dodged to the side, then backwards, and then blocked the overhead cut with a dagger.

“Not so fast, Veena.” he spat, before knocking both of the creature’s arms aside, and jabbing directly at her stomach. To his terror, his knife stopped short of her crystal hide, the only sign of it being a small dent. He only managed to process this for a second, before an icy arm crashed into him, sending him flying across the room.

Ziotea attacked in a flurry of ether-backed blows, giving her companion time to regain his feet and chipping away at Veena’s paling.  She paused only for a moment, and that to fling the former Private Seminov across the room and slam him through a door.  Judging by what lay beyond the damaged frame, it lead to where the three slept.  She caught Veena’s blows on her shield, grunting with the weight of them.  The damn things hit harder than even Stina, and for the space of a brief thought she was afraid, afraid that maybe she wasn’t as strong as she liked to believe.

[i]No.[/i]  The young inquisitor banished the thought even as it occurred to her.  She wouldn’t be afraid anymore.  She slammed her shield into Veena, backing the blow with enough force to send the thin creature flying, and felt a prickle of satisfaction when the thing’s paling wavered at the impact.

And then an arrow flew past her ear, surprising the largest of the three creatures as it closed in on her. Its aim was true, and it flew straight for the thing’s - likely Mikhail’s - shoulder, knocking its attack off-course.  Oren had gotten back up, as Ziotea intended, and now he stood with his spellblade at the ready. Or rather, spellbow. A curve of white-gold illuminated his face, and as he fired his second arrow, the creature took it in the chest, staggering back.

“We can’t do much with this paling!” Oren called, grasping for a third.

“Oh, watch me,” Ziotea growled, adjusting her grip on her spear.  Orange etherlight burst from the tip, and danced across her shield.  She might not be able to summon a weapon from the ether, but that didn’t make her weak.  A burst of force sent her plowing into the biggest of the monsters, the one Father Oren had knocked back, and she struck with force far greater than a small woman like herself should have been able to manage.  She loved sparring with Stina, and this beast moved much like him -- strong, but also less nimble than she.  It managed a solid hit two separate times, but Ziotea’s shield kept them from leaving anything beyond aches she’d feel for the next couple days, the brunt of the blows shunted aside.  The moment she felt a crack in the thing’s paling she struck with her ether, first knocking the thing back, then targeting inside, blasting one of its blade-arms off in a shower of ichor.

Oren, meanwhile, had been left to deal with the other two. He darted around the room, finding what cover he could, kneeling, nocking arrows, standing, firing, then moving on to the next overturned table or crate. He didn’t dare stop, lest he be forced into close combat again. He was capable enough, but Oren had already accumulated more bruises than he was comfortable with. It helped that he was running effective circles around them - but as he slipped behind the remainders of a bunk, he reached into his quiver, and - fuck. He only had one arrow left.

A crystalline spike burst through the mattress right next to his head. He grit his teeth, and then looked up. And there it was. A slight mist escaped his lips as he caught his breath, the two of them locked in some standoff, predator savouring the last moments before it caught its prey. Oren’s grim smile returned. Unfortunately for Veena, she wasn’t the predator. His fingers closed around the arrow. Just as the creature’s jagged maw descended, he thrust his arm upwards, driving the tip up and into its mouth. It clamped its jaw shut around his wrist, and as hot blood began to trickle out from his gauntlet, he activated the arrow. In a small burst of ether, the monster’s head disintegrated. Its body slumped, and black ichor oozed out of where its neck used to be.

Oren’s arm dropped, and he curled his injured hand into a fist. Without pain, there was no gain. He felt a lot of pain. And the other creature was still focused on him. Climbing to his feet, he saw her attempting to skewer the thing that had once been Mikhail.  Her spear scraped along the remains of its paling, but did minimal damage.

“Ziotea!” he yelled, not bothering for the formality in that moment. “Use your ether! [i]Lots of it![/i]”

It only took her a moment to figure out what he meant.  She wasn’t a strategist, but she knew how to listen to one.  “Get to the door.  I’ll cover you,” she called back, using a quick burst of power to send the third monster flying out of his way and into an overturned table.

He dispelled his bow, and sprinted for the ladder, tossing what barriers he could in the remaining two’s way as he went. Even with the ice-like pain burning in his wrist, he made good time, and scrambled up the ladder. 

“It’s not open!” he shouted.

“Then open it, and get outside -- and out of my way!”

It was difficult to turn the seal on the hatch with only one hand, but not impossible, and with a soft grunt of effort Oren finally heaved it open. He fell out into the snow, and as the door fell back down with a clang, he took a deep breath.  Not long after, the hatch slammed back open, and Ziotea shot into the air.  She landed lightly on the snow and inhaled deeply.  “HA!”  With a shout, she thrust her hand toward the open hatch and the ground under them shook with the force of the blast she unleashed below.  She tilted her head and listened for a moment, then nodded.  “I don’t sense them anymore.”  The small inquisitor turned to look at Oren.  “‘It’s not open’ -- no, [i]really?[/i] It’s freezing out here. Of course they closed the damn door!  It was closed when we arrived too.”

Oren lifted his head from where it was imprinted in the snow. “Forgive me for my lapse in memory.” He dropped his head back down, took another few deep breaths, and then sat up. Carefully extricating his hand from the metal glove, he inspected the bite.

“Not too serious. Scars, probably, but it shouldn’t cause me any lasting damage. We probably shouldn’t mention those… well, whatever they were, to anyone at the Seminary.”

“No?”  She tilted her head, considering.  “I’m not sure I agree with you on that, but do as you like.”

Oren looked at Ziotea from the corner of his eye. “You can tell your lover, if that’s what you’re worried about. What I’m saying is we should keep quiet about it; you and I both know that they had something to do with the Shield.”

Ziotea turned away with a snort, entirely done with the conversation.  “If you’re not badly hurt, we should be going.”  Without looking back, she headed for where the train waited.

Oren got to his feet, clumps of snow falling from his armour as he took a last look at Iddin-Mar. He didn’t know nearly enough about [i]any[/i] of this to properly process it, but… well, it was a problem for another day. Shaking out a crick in his shoulder, he fell back into his usual self - after all, El awaited him.