[b]Fengye![/b]

It’s almost too easy. Kalaya’s senseless bravery means that you’re off and away on the demon horse, fast as a whip, before either horse or owner can recognize each other. Doubtless she is going to die a heroic death battling against a warlock and one of Adorjan’s Daughters, but at the very least you can make her sacrifice worthwhile by saving the breathless priestess clinging to you like you’re the real hero.

Then the world strains and snaps. The Wyld, that unreality which surrounds all that is like an egg, presses close— and that weakens existence enough, here, for someone else to [i]punch[/i] through.

You barely dodge the first one in the dark, not understanding what it is, simply that from the size of the air displacement it must be very, very large; you can feel something whipping past your cheek, a hair’s breath away, as the demon horse hugs one wall and becomes unnaturally thin.

Then it is past, and you could almost dismiss it as some demon trap that failed to catch you— but now the demon horse is hopping from stone to stone as something rises and falls on the floor. There is a hot breath of wind in here, and the music of Hell is louder and terribly, terribly present.

A door slams open to your right, and before you can stop it, the horse veers right so hard it nearly knocks you both off. You and the priestess both hunch low over its back as another huge something barrels through the door in the opposite direction, just over your heads.

And then you are in Malfeas again, riding over a frothing, storm-tossed sea of snapped spears, shattered shields, stained bandages, frayed ropes, cannon-scorched masonry, and rusted silver stirrups. Above and all around you Tikhtokh, the General of the Wrack-waste, plunges his countless arms into the sea.

“Ven,” he roars, in trumpet and pipe and drum, and the echo shakes your bones. “Where is your prize, Prince? Did you think to hide her from me?”

His information is out of date as long as the priestess doesn’t say a word. As long as you continue to escape his notice, he’ll tear down Kingeater Castle around Ven’s ears trying to find her. This might have Ramifications, but you will have saved this priestess everyone’s worried about, and tricked one of the mighty shards of the Broken King’s soul in the bargain. For all that you’re in a perilous place, you’re in no danger as long as she doesn’t squeak and alert him to the prize right under his nose.

Mark a Condition, too; this is getting stressful, isn’t it?

***

[b]Vermillion Beast of Lanterns![/b]

The girl picking herself up off the floor in the dark hallway is not Melody. No. You recognize her. It’s the kidnapper.

There’s a moment where the world holds its breath; a moment where you loom over her; a moment where you pause, in your glory, and shine; a moment in which her eyes widen and she begins to understand the enormity of her error.

Then two things happen at the same time: a huge, maggot-pale hand snaps out of the darkness and latches around her ankle, dragging her backwards, costing her coat buttons, as she screams and claws frantically at the stones underfoot, and the woman with her becomes arrows.

Many, many arrows.

Close your eyes, o glory of heaven, and let the heads break on the ridges, the stones and the irons and the brasses and the black glasses; let them seek your soft places even as you knock them aside like stinging gnats. To anyone else, this would be cause to surrender, to curl up in a ball and scream for mercy, here where the air itself cuts.

But this presents a problem for even you. The hiss of arrows in flight is deafening, you cannot risk opening your eyes for fear of losing one, and how can you fight a wind?

Must you fight a wind?

When the kidnapper is so close, ready to be chased, no matter where it takes you?

***

[b]Kalaya![/b]

The entire castle shakes. And that’s when the air comes alive with huge, grasping, groping fingers, unseen but felt where they displace the air. You’re not the person they’re looking for, but it’s still harrowing. Wherever you turn, there’s more: fingers as long as your arm, bristled with boarhair, the smell of molding cloth adding to the smell of dying roses, and a terrible roar that seems to fill the whole world.

You’re going to drive them back with your sword flashing, jabbing at fingers like a mouse with a needle, until you have breathing space. You’re going to hear a terrible roar and a sound like thousands of bowstrings being loosed from the other side of that door. You’re going to be left with the terrible choice of what to do next: to try and follow Fengye and hope they haven’t been attacked and caught by demons, to try to lead whatever this is on a wild fox chase up into the fresh air, or to open that door again out of a terrible curiosity to see what’s going on.

Take a Condition. The fighting will not be pleasant, not at all.

***

[b]Piripiri![/b]

“You know, little cosmopolitan,” and she definitely puts the stress on it to suggest that she knows absolutely everything that’s going on, “I should kill you. You’re not an enemy combatant, you’re a filching little thief and spy.” She pulls her arm tighter around your neck, dragging you along in an awkward position; your choices are simply to stagger along with her or to go limp and try not to black out, throat pricked frighteningly by her thorns.

For a moment, she lifts a hand as if to claw at your face, and then closes it into a fist again.

“But I’m a Knight of the Accord of Thorns,” she growls— no, not quite. Growling doesn’t quite convey the air of frustration, exhaustion, not at you but at herself, at her circumstances. “Defender of the weak. Giver of mercy. Even when I’m standing against enemies that will swallow whole everything I hold dear. So don’t fight, and I’ll make sure you’re given the chance to go stay with the Priestesses.”

Oh. Well. That suggests that a) she’s expecting you not to know about the supernatural prison beneath Lake Zenba (Azazuka certainly has the reference pass over her head) and b) she has connections with the House of Lapis Lazuli. It’s possible that she might have the backing of a… radical sect within the priestesshood, one more willing to see the Dominion ejected by force.

***

[b]Giriel![/b]

“You can’t let her do this,” the city girl pleads with you, under her breath, as Uusha drags along the dragon-blooded girl. “The Holly Knight is out of control! Everything she’s done has been dangerous and making it less likely we’re going to be able to stop this warlock, so [i]do[/i] something, please!”

And there’s that, too: you’ve never been good at letting people down. On the one hand: Uusha. Strong, buff, devoted to this land. On the other: a distressed girl who reminds you of a lot of your petitioners, scared out of her wits by the violent, looming knight. (Not to mention she’s probably in a position to reward you handsomely after all this, based on her very posh accent.)

If you take decisive action against Uusha, even though she’s hot, if you take the reins and let her know you’re in charge from here on out, take a String on Azazuka and an XP for your troubles.