Fallenreaper

The Hourglass Order

Roslyn Wicke

The Riddle of Lindenholdt Part 5 cont.

_{Date: Zales 34th
Location: The Church}

The Black Rezaindian Order

**

The dust cleared and it was five of them - a Pentad of their own - standing against the vendemon Saivel while Xiuyang caught sight of the wretched Berthold, laughing and crying deliriously at the same time in the ruins of his organ. The great cadaverous wolflike being's ears perked up and she began chanting something in a growling, hissing language as cracks formed on the floor.

Then, suddenly, there was a woman behind her, flashing through the air: a smallish Retanese woman in a nun's habit. The flash of light was so fast as to be virtually imperceptible, and then the vendemon's head lay on the floor. A second nun, with an eyepatch, stood in the doorway, hand outstretched. The first landed in a crouch, flicked the bubbling demonic blood from her sword, and sheathed it as she bowed.

It was naught but a moment later that the third appeared, petite and blonde and beautiful, and she laid a hand on Berthold's head. It evaporated into an iron-rich haze and a severed stump of melted slag, but those present barely had a moment to register the monumental moment before an absolute rhinoceros of a woman barreled into Xiuyang seemingly from nowhere and hammered her against the wall like a fly hitting a speeding carriage. All around the church, the remaining enthralled people began to awaken, and then, finally, came the last of the five: a lean, raven-haired woman of middle age who Ingrid and Marco would recognize. Unhurried, she strode inside, raising a kerchief to her nose. "Mother!" called the huge one who was pressing Xiuyang into the wall with irresistible kinetic pressure. "What do we do with this?"

Mother Madrona's robes fluttered as she strode through the rubble and wreckage, her face unreadable as she surveyed the wreckage. It was a thin line that stood between good people and the bad ones who would do them harm, and that line was often made up of people who, themselves, fell in between. "She will demonstrate that she is not a demon and can control herself, or you will destroy her." 

It was just then that Roslyn and Evander received a message from Marceline: <Something. Bad. At. The. Mines. | I. Can. Sense. It. | Dory. Is. Headed. There. Now. And. Johann.> Whatever the two of them might've responded, however, was cut short by the vendemon Saivel. With uncanny speed, the decapitated monstrosity rose and her head reformed before their very eyes. It took perhaps a second, and she sprung with incredible speed, claws flashing out at Xiuyang. 

For her trouble, the vendemon disintegrated into a shower of blood, and bone, and fell energy as the Mother Superior of the Black Rezaindian Order stalked forward. "Our decision," Madrona advised, lowering the hand none but Ingrid had seen shoot out at preternatural speed and temperature. She came to a stop and regarded the pinned Xiuyang with calculating eyes. "And hers."

*Demon? Me?* Xiuyang paused as she heard Fritz von Mollern's words. She could finish off Berthold right now, so why wasn't she? Because he would have sacrificed the entire town to a demon, that's why. She did not feel a shred of empathy for the man, and somehow... She had forgotten, momentarily, that she had promised Roslyn not to kill him. She had forgotten, for a fleeting moment, the hunger. It had crept up and become hers. Briefly, she had lost control.

There was an explosion. Clearly, the organ had been rigged to blow up, she thought. One final act of spite, either from Berthold or Liesl—it didn't matter, for the two were the same. The choice was taken from her hands before she could act. One moment, she was on the floor, reeling, acting to purge the last of the sacrificed blood from her body just to be safe when suddenly, she was brutally slammed against the wall. The blood splattered everywhere, but she survived. The damage to her body regenerated, quite unbidden, right in front of the Rezaindian Order.

Xiuyang did not resist, seeming resigned to her fate from the moment the nuns entered the cathedral. The omniphage coils bristled, but they stood by on her willpower. "You hesitate?" she questioned. "Then, before you kill me, know that, whatever kind of monster you perceive me as, neither I nor my family had any part in its creation, except to freely receive the gift of Oraff. She crafted me for a peculiar purpose, and Eshiran sharpened me for the task. I played the role they gave me faithfully, knowing it would someday come to this. I've staked my life for my friends, and now I've staked my very soul for the world. I'll not beg for my life now, not when I can finally meet their embrace with confidence. To live is Oraff, to die is Eshiran. I bear you no ill will."

But she did have regrets. *Ciro... I'm sorry. You weren't the only one who could catch me off guard, after all.* She closed her eyes and braced herself once more, for the cold judgment of her fellow servants of the Pentad, and the condemnation of her allies and the people of Lindenholdt. It happened in Belleville and it would happen again.

When Xiuyang was pinned, Roslyn froze for a moment. She barely felt Marci's pinched message while her eyes remained on the scene. The Black Rezaindian Order now held her friend's life in their hands. There was little time to answer and she couldn't leave her friend to her fate. Xiuyang wouldn't have it for her. 

What could she say here? Yes, her friend looked like a demon from hell, but... it was still Xiuyang. Some gut instinct told her so and it had been more right than wrong. 

Sending a quick prayer up to Eshiran for bravery, Roslyn abruptly spoke. 

"Please, don't kill her!" Her voice echoed in defense of her best friend. She moved swiftly to try and stand between Mother Madrona and her friend. At least the best she could. Not an easy feat since she was exhausted and cold. "She wouldn't be the first person to make someone suffer for hurting her or her loved ones. I know I have wanted to. It's natural, but doesn't make you beyond redemption. Not every test is passed, but its lessons aren't always lost." 

Though the woman frightened her, Roslyn refused to stand down. For a moment, despite her ragged appearance, the mousy girl she was earlier was nowhere to be found. "I don't know what's happened to my friend, but I know Xiuyang. She's tried to do her best by the gods, quoting them and living by their expectations. She made a mistake, but she's not a demon or a monster."

Panic and chaos had sanked into her and despite the momentary direction given to her by Evander, Ingrid found herself at the mercy of the situation. Caught in the flow, unable to make any action on her own. She healed a dying mother not because she had the good spirit to do so, though she was not lacking. No, she did so because she saw the desperation from Roslyn Wicke to save as many people as she could despite being so meek. She merely assisted in her grand effort.

Once more, she lacked the gumption to take action on her own, but possessed the insight to see, understand, and facilitate the plan of Xiuyang Solarie, a woman who would be lambasted later for her 'unique' physique. Ingrid had watched her take action multiple times, her life being the very shield that saved the townsfolk and her allies. All Ingrid could do was merely hold Berthold still as Xiuyang landed the devastating blow.

Then to Fritz von Mollern, a man who had more capability than most, who broke free of control on his own, who looked at the demon who dared lay harm upon his people and struck at it without an ounce of hesitation. He had spent much to strike it on his own and now it came at him out of retaliation. Again, Ingrid merely assisted Fritz, building on top of his own defense with illusions to obfuscate his true form. 

She had done nothing here, yet, she felt a deep sense of satisfaction. Nothing she did would be remembered and no glory could be given to her but she was content with her actions. She had stepped into the supporting role for others without realization and it felt wonderful. 

So with playing the supporting role, watching from high up the entire time, she now sees just what laid in front of her. The church swoops in, defeats the tired demon and now holds one of the greatest among them to a wall, acting like she is the enemy after she had sacrificed so much.

---

The Feskan pursed her lips at the display. Gods, I hate this. The reason why I usually stay away from these things. She stared at the sacrifices with disgust. It would be so easy to fling them away or to transport them all to the other side of the town in but a flick of her wrist. The surprise of Marceline's pinch hit her, not having expected any. Instead of pinching back, she whispered to her. "I followed people going somewhere else. Not looking good here. I think -" Were the only words she could relay before a voice spoke in her head. "For now, I am neither." In between two worlds. Those that desire their own future and those that clung to the status quo. 

A sense of joy rolled over her. So many people wanted her dead, many salivated at the thought of holding her head. However, if it truly came to it... both sides needed her. They needed us. "And which us are you referring to if you could be so kind to enlighten me."

"Don't play coy, girl. I can feel Levidan at work in you," came the reply. "'Us' refers to those who wish to reform this world and bring about a new era. 'Us' refers to those who know that the Gods lie, that they hold back the bounty that could and should truly fall to the people of Sipenta. 'Us' refers to those who bring another into this world, maligned by scripture but pure in purpose: one with the strength to challenge the cruel and corrupt beings known as Gods." The entrance to the mine yawned before Dory. Did she dare take a step inside?

Yet, before she could, came Marceline's response. It was confused and played much the same way as the whisper in Dory's head. The tethered could sense that something unsavoury was going on in the mines, but her sister-in-law did not seem to be in any immediate danger. <Dory. Question.> it began. <What. Is. Happening. There. Question. | Are. You. Okay. Question. | How. Are. The. People. In. Danger. Question.>

---

The tethered was not, generally, an anxious person, but she had received nothing but silence. Five powerful new energies had arrived, destroyed the demon, killed another person, and attacked Xiuyang. Now, they and her friends bristled with energy. Her pulse thudded in her ears. They could've been cultists and the killing of a vendemon an essential part of the summoning ritual. Xiuyang was hurt and the others were cornered. They... could've been agents of the church, as well, though. Marceline hated the church, and there was little leeway in that belief at this point. The existence of a group with the arrogance to claim they spoke for the Gods, who enforced their will upon others through brainwashing, coercion, and violence. It disgusted her, but she couldn't win against it - not yet, anyway. 

So, there was no response. She had been ignored because she was far away and, being far away, was irrelevant. There was vital information that she needed to deliver. There were vital items, too. Most of all, however, Marceline needed to deliver herself. <Do. Not. Do. Something. Stupid. Half-Sister.> came a message, and the girl froze. Seeking out its source, she found Sister Charity. <This. Will. End. Well. When. Cooler. Heads. Prevail.> the rezaindian promised. <We. Have. A. Greater. Common. Foe.>

<Then. I. Have. Vital. Things. I. Must. Bring.> Marceline replied. It was as she suspected, then. Something was going on in the mines. <What. Am. I. Missing. At. The. Mines. Question.>

<I. Am. Uncertain.> came the response, even as those at Dom St. Adelheid stood among the scattered remains of eighty dead people and the vendemon Saivel. <The. Summoning. At. The. Cathedral. Is. Real. And. Dangerous. But. There. Seems. To. Be. A. Second. One. At. The. Mines. | Your. Allies. Are. Being. Evaluated.> she advised. 

<Thank. You. Half-Sister.> the junior tethered replied, finding an entry point into the cathedral. The weight of space and time began to settle upon her. <Now. My. Friends. Need. Me. At. The. Cathedral. If. We. Still. Have. A. Job. To. Do.>

<Deliver. And. Leave.> came Charity's advice. <You. Would. Be. A. Fool. To. Give. Up. Your. Range. | You. Are. Tethered.>

<I. Am.> the sixteen year old admitted, <But. Not. In. The. Way. That. You. Think. | Godspeed. Half-Sister.> With that, Marceline pulled and the portal opened. The very first load of things through was Marco's, and then Evander's. She heaved the next bag in. It was Roslyn's. Then, came Ingrid's. Xiuyang's and her own lay on her lap, and Marci brought them through, herself.

---

"You can feel him? That's new." Some part deep inside of her did feel good about another feeling his presence. If they could, could anyone else? "I am close enough to this 'us' then it seems." Dory clicked her tongue. Why do you have to have such people do your bidding? Working with them makes me feel we are not doing this for the good of everyone... If only some of the better people could be convinced that the new world would be a boon to everyone, instead of just these selfishly focused men and women. Could it be... that the person she had been has eroded far enough that she could be compared to them?

As she was about to enter the mine, she felt Marceline's pinches once more. "There is a demon here, very strong. I think another ritual. I am fine, the people are still asleep and walking it seems. I will go investigate further." Dory trekked into the mine, whilst patting her feathered friend.

---

Protests against the unfair treatment of Xiuyang Solari poured in from all corners, save that of Fritz von Mollern. His lips pressed together in a thin line and he said nothing: neither praise nor condemnation. Perhaps he knew what Mother Madrona would say.

She was not a tall woman. She looked more across than down at Roslyn. She didn't need to say the words 'don't be stupid' to the children before her. They were implied by her mere presence. "If you are only concerned with your friend's actions," she proclaimed, "then you are shortsighted." She came to a stop, inches from Roslyn, and there could be little doubt that she would brush the girl out of her way if there came a need to do so.

"If you believe we are concerned only with her form, then you know little and less of the Holy Church and ought to spend less time studying it at your 'school' and more time attending." She peered through Roslyn, down at the near-prostrate form of Xiuyang. "You've been through some true horrors, child." She scowled. "But what I saw was not mere zeal for the destruction of evil." Her tone left no room for bargaining on that point. "It was an unholy hunger of your own."

Suddenly, without any apparent movement, she was past Roslyn and the others, kneeling with her knee pressed to Xiuyang's chest. "The red-robed initiate, Laska, has said that you keep the gods well and truly and hold our morals, but the girl is fond of you." The Mother Superior's eyes narrowed. "I ask you to answer as a keeper of the Pentad: do you truly control these things that are you but not of you?" She blinked. "Are you a danger?"

"There is no shame if you cannot give us the desired answer," the nun with the eyepatch assured her. "You are a threat through no fault in your own soul and you may yet enter the kingdoms of heaven if found worthy of it."

It was close to that moment that a portal opened near the church doors, its wavering visage presenting the lobby of the inn where the biros had been staying. Three large bags came sliding out, and then a fourth, laboriously. A tethered girl came through with the final two piled upon her lap. "We have better things to do than test each other's resolve," she warned, "and we both know it. There is a second summoning at the mines and every one of us will be needed."

Mother Madrona was not a soft woman, neither were her words soft—but they were, after a fashion, kind, much more so than Xiuyang had braced herself for. All that wound-up emotional energy found itself repurposed in tears, and she hung her head low—not in shame, but almost as if to lean on the woman for support—as much as one could dare to do so.

"They obey me, when I am present in mind." Slowly, the omniphage coils slithered back into place around her body as if to prove the point. "For a moment, I was not, and their hunger became mine." Her voice lowered. "Herr Fritz von Mollern's words brought me back to my senses. If he hadn't—if *no one* had said anything... I don't know." Her voice lowered again, now barely a whisper, words meant only for Mother Madrona.

"I'm sorry. I lost control. I just... I saw a demon try to boil a child alive yesterday. I just hated him so much." She hung her head lower, and this time it *was* shame. There was no sense in trying to lie to the Mother Superior. She couldn't, even if she regained her composure. She'd taken one glance at the girl and spoken the plain truth of her being as if she'd known the Revidian for years, the way the Zenos also tended to do.

Up to this point, Marco had remained silent. It was not easy for him to speak out against his fellow Rezaindians. Did he agree with their assessment? Did Xiuyang deserve to be executed for her dangerous misuse of witchcraft, or was he merely respecting the chain of command? He never said as much out loud, so his motivation could only be speculated upon as he slowly walked towards Mother Madrona. The sound of his bare feet splashing across the blood soaked floor echoed throughout the remains of the cathedral.

The Century stopped a respectful distance away from Mother Madrona, taking notice of the suspicion radiating from the nuns, who hovered behind their leader like a pack of revenants. Marco took no offense to their cold demeanors. The Black Rezaindians trusted no-one but themselves, not even their fellow servants of Eshiran. Marco bowed before his superior and made the sign of the Pentad. His eyes then laid upon Xiuyang, and he spoke to her.

”Hatred is a powerful emotion.” He began, betraying the fact that he had been eavesdropping on Madrona and her pitiful prisoner for his own reasons. ”It gives you strength, keeps you fighting past the point where a human should simply give up and die.” There was a long pause, and Marco’s gaze shifted between Madrona and Xiuyang, staring off somewhere into the distance. He remembered something when he said those words.

”But you’ve felt it haven’t you? How poisonous hatred is to the soul. When you give in to it, you close yourself off from the gods’ light. You slowly become unable to learn, to love, or to forgive.” 

Marco looked Mother Madrona in the eyes and clutched at the hem of his shirt. 

”Mother, this girl has fallen from the path of righteousness, but we all believe that she can rise again. If you doubt the sincerity of her feelings, then there are many ways to test her resolve.” With a swift movement, Marco turned his back on the nuns and pulled up his tunic, revealing a mass of ugly scars. They were thick and gnarled, visibly too old to have come from the wounds he suffered at Lindenholdt. For a binder of his level, the young knight could only have left them there on purpose.

”You can give her penance. People’s true colors are always revealed at the brink of death. If her will is weak, she will let the demons consume her soul, and she will be killed by us.”

---

"When those who will save you are named demons and the most powerful body in the world decries them constantly, you will not have your pick of the best people," replied the whispered voice, and Dory now knew it for that of Liesl Frickmayer. 

"When your saviours are locked behind the cruel restrictions of the Gods that force them to sacrifice living matter to know mortal life themselves, they will be called monsters by the people who support those Gods."

It was food for thought as Lady Dorothea entered the mines and replied to Marceline, who answered back with a quick, <Understood. And. Thank. You. | I. Expect. Help. Will. Be. On. The. Way. Soon.> The entire complex trembled with an unholy power as the moonlight from outside faded. Instead, torches, in various states of expenditure, lined the walls. Some burned, some flickered, and some guttered. Ghostlike wisps of smoke curled from their orange-red tongues and hundreds of silhouettes gathered in the darkness. The smell of sulfur was impossible to miss, but that was not the eeriest part of it. No; that was the chant. 

"Domine auctoritatis, Domine potentiae, voces nostras extollimus. Audi clamorem nostrum!" It was the thralls. They were singing. "Ecce, venit ad te, sacrificium voluntarium. Ecce, vitam suam tibi dat." Like a choir, they were singing, and their words echoed off of the walls of the vast abandoned mine complex. Accompanying it came a surge of unfathomable power, like nothing Dory had ever felt. This could be only one being, bar Levidan himself.

"Domine auctoritatis, Domine potentiae, voces nostras extollimus. Audi clamorem nostrum!" came the refrain. "Accipe hoc donum et renasce. Accipe hoc donum et nobis iunge. Una, mundum refabimur." She became so focused on it that she did not even notice Johann at her shoulder. "So," he prodded, suddenly present, "which Gods do you think we should serve?"

---

All at once, the head of the Black Rezaindian Order rose. She took a crisp step back and nodded, her four nuns fanning out. "I am satisfied that you are not a creature of evil," she decided, "but I remain wary that this will continue to be true." Her eyes flashed Marco's way. "See that it does, Brother Terranova. I place this matter at your and Sister Laska's discretion."

Marceline managed to heave Xiuyang's gear off of her lap. "I could complain that you didn't pack lightly but, given what we're facing," the half-Torragonese allowed, "I am glad of it. We will need all of this and more." She shook her head and brought herself to bow it slightly in Mother Madrona's presence. "Mother Superior, there is a second summoning every bit as powerful as the first at the mines. It will take all of us to fight it off."

The nun pursed her lips and shook her head tightly, as the other four formed up around her. "No," she said simply. "I have been advised by Charity. This one is Iptacht and that one is the King of Hell, Yabuchadzan. You will stop the first, and us, the second. Both are imperative."

"But there is nothing here except defeated enemies!" Marci protested. Mother Madrona only shook her head and spun on her heel as she summoned a gate through space and time. "A tethered should sense more keenly," she scolded, stabilizing the gate. "He is already here, though you have weakened him."

"Now, we have to go save the world," the smallish blonde nun piped up. "If you could just do the same -" She was silenced with but a look from her superior. "You are strong enough," spoke Madrona, wasting no further time. "Eshiran empower you." She stepped through. 

"Eshiran empower you."

"Eshiran empower you."

"Eshiran empower you."

"Eshiran empower you."

Feathery Favors

***

The six students: Evander, Ingrid, Marceline, Marco, Roslyn, and Xiuyang, plus Fritz von Mollern, his nephew Karl, and a handful of other stronger townsfolk now stood alone against the power of a grand demon. The question was... where was he?

Xiuyang's adrenaline spiked at Marco's words. She had no doubt in her mind that he believed and meant every word of what he said. Tortured to the brink of death... to suggest such a thing, right here, in front of all her friends—were they going to just... watch this happen? *Could* she maintain her self will through such an ordeal? What if—Pentad forbid—she were to be captured by an enemy? How long, with a regenerating body, could she endure? She realized that the Mother Superior's words held an uncomfortable weight, then. How much pain could a human soul take before it rotted to the core?

Her immediate fears proved to be unfounded, of course. They had no time to waste giving an ally, even a tenuous one, fifty lashes while a grand demon summoning circle glowed ominously behind them. "Eshiran empower you," she replied meekly to the nuns, grateful to be spared the wrath of the muscled one that slammed her against the wall.

In the wake of their departure, the girl looked a bit lost. She was so prepared to die that, now that she lived, she almost wasn't sure what to do. If Marci hadn't handed her her belongings, she might have collapsed to the floor and bathed in the cortisol for a hot minute. "Thanks, Marci. You're a lifesaver. I think I like you a bit more than the nuns," she quipped, with a very, very nervous giggle. While awkwardly strapping her guns and medicine box to her hips, she took stock of the cathedral with her senses once more.

"I think it's mutual," the tethered girl chirped, her voice also carrying a certain nervousness. She shrugged awkwardly into her cloak and hat, pulled her gloves and stockings on, and slipped her boots over her feet. Her eyes flicked about with a growing apprehension. He's here but we don't see him. she swallowed and took stock of Ingrid and Roslyn as well.

Roslyn stiffened beneath Mother Madrona's gaze, even when they stood eye to eye. The power wafted off the nun and made their power differences clear. If the nun wanted to, she could easily smite her from this world without blinking an eye. That want to edge back into her shell grew in the back of her mind, yet she fought it. 

Truthfully, it wasn't just her friend's actions that she defended. Roslyn believed in the good of her friend's soul and her strength. No, Xiuyang had every chance to hurt them and yet she didn't. 

Roslyn held her tongue when she saw the nun seem to look past her to Xiuyang. She hadn't even blinked when the woman was suddenly behind her. Damn, she's fast, the girl thought. It was now that familiar twitch in her arm occurred and she resisted scratching it. Marci appeared shortly after giving Roslyn some relief from her anxiety. 

She bristled at Marco and shot him a shock look. No way in the hells she was going to stand by and let the church torture her friend. Before she said anything, the Mother Superior made her judgement. That settled it and it turned out their task wasn't done. Great... she moaned inwardly. 

At the blonde nun's jab, Roslyn ignored it and marched over to her things. Thankfully, the rest of the nuns held more respect and left them to deal with the weakened demon. 

Eshiran empower you. She thought quietly as she prepared for the coming fight. 

She always struggled against those who put themselves at the mercy of others. It was not similar to what her old lover did in front of that young boy but it struck her the same. Last time she turned away, letting him be the designer of his fate and now she had tried to speak up for a friend she loved. The results weren't different either but she hoped that her heart was strong enough to treat it differently. Ingrid left Niallus last time, believing it was for his good because it was good for her. This time, she prayed she could stay, despite that task seeming so out of reach with the world dividing them in the coming days. 

"Eshiran empower you," Ingrid replied graciously to the nuns. With them gone she first went over to Xiuyang, some small tears welling up in her eyes, "Glad to see you alive." Words hung on her lips but she sealed them away for they had work to do

She turned and wiped away whatever tears may have dared to fall. "Thank you, Marci." she hugged the tethered girl with a touch of strength. "Apologies if my shadow doesn't hold," Ingrid said as she absorbed the light around her as she changed in the company of men. She coaxed her strange dress to something lighter as she equipped her 'battle dress' and all her other gear. "The demon could be in the crypt, that's where Berthold had been desperate to stop us before." Ingrid proposed, properly setting her mind to task.

# The Omens

From the pulsing blackness ushered in by the Hell-bound ritual about to unravel itself came a vortex of both temporal and void magicks at the top of the damaged tabernacle. A maelstrom of red feathers spiraled out and assaulted those that had been lured and remained within the house of worship, although none of the downs even brushed a single onlooker. The brief introduction to not one but two relatively unremarkable entities overshadowed the unimpressive form they took.

SQUAAAAAWWWWWKKKK!!!

A parrot’s screech came with a wickedly radiant sheen that made it resemble a dying sun. The demonic avian that had landed upon one of the wrecked pews called for attention, while the other roosted opposite of it, staring at the humans with its beady bird eyes.

“A grand chapter meets its end! Its end! Squawk!” the first, glowing bird announced.

“A great foe awaits. A foe! A killer! The end!” the second, less remarkable one continued.

“An accursed land! This is an accursed land!”

“The Fire. The Summoning. The New World! SQUAWWWWWK!”

Both canted their heads at the exact same time and glared right at Roslyn of all the troupe.

“A precious boon is up for offer!” the glowing one nodded repeatedly.

“A boon! For a precious! A precious!” the other one nibbled into its wing in self-grooming.

“A precious you have little of. Nothing! Rien! Nada! SQUAWWWWK!” 

Both narrowed their eyes as if they were smiling.

“Poor. No true precious. But, YOU are precious. Squawk.”

“A sacrifice,”

“For an essential boon.”

“A boon to overcome the greatest. Greatest! Calamity yet.”

Manifested from the VOID itself was an unrolled parchment with a list of written lines. It hovered until seized by a brave soul.

“Make.”

“Your.”

“Choice.”

Ingrid looked at the birds and remembered them from her time against mallow. She looked at the parchment. She sighed and went to take the paper, "If it helps us survive, I will take the assistance."

Roslyn had just downed her mana shots, with aid from her friends, when something new happened. She stared at the pair of demonic looking birds that appeared and showered them with red feathers. Not a single one brushed her smock as they settled down in an eerie fashion. When their eyes locked onto her, she tensed and fought the urge to recoil into herself.

Their words rattled her to the core, but an urge shimmered inside of her. A greedy need that made her want more. She stepped forward only for Xiuyang to stop her. Her eyes gave her friend a questioning glance.

The birds silently watched. Their written word was going to do the messaging now, with Ingrid being the first to seize it.

"**All of you**. All of you make your choice."

SQUAWWWWWK!

Ingrid read through all the options, pouring over them with some skill in law. It was obvious that there would be a cost to them, all Ingrid had to do was measure them up against each other and decide if any of them would hold a benefit to her. She didn't like the vague language of this but she feared what may happen if she refused a boon. "I wish for a divine blessing so that I may protect my allies." It was time for her to also put herself on the line for this.

Roslyn reflected on each one as Ingrid read it out loud before she considered her choice. Again, the greedstone stirred and she felt its pull. It weighed heavily in her pocket and she turned to Xiuyang while biting her lip. She gave the tendril a gentle reassuring squeeze. "Maybe, maybe not? How we can be sure?"

"One thing is for certain. SQUAWWWWK!"

"A baleful, BALEFUL! Storm is coming. Treacherous and furious!"

"I'm going to take that risk. " She said then stepped away to select one. "I wish for your favour, to keep my allies and the world safe."

"Favour!" 

SQUAWWWWK!

"FAVOUR! It is done! Make. Your. CHOICE!"

"Another? " Roslyn blinked and then picked another. "I wish for greater skill. "

Xiuyang, so absorbed was she in calculating her own risks, that she didn't notice Roslyn taking a deal until it was too late. She opened her mouth to protest, then shut it and braced herself to speak. "I wish for fortitude," Xiuyang declared. Whatever curse would come to her 'precious,' she would bear it, if she could keep her humanity—and the day's events had proven well that it was on the line.

”If I have no choice but to choose, then I shall make a choice.” Marco took his turn with the paper and pointed to the very bottom of the parchment. ”I choose not to deal. I thank you for the offer, but I am already blessed beyond measure.” He released the parchment dismissively, watching with wonder as it seemed to hover in the air rather than fall to the floor.  Marco gave a side eye towards Xiuyang and appeared ready to say something else, but he kept it to himself and faded into the background.

The Hourglass Order

Roslyn Wicke

The Riddle of Lindenholdt Part 4. cont

_{Date: Zales 33rd
Location: Inn}

Therapy Among Best Friends

***********

They all had come back safe and sound after the mass attack. Roslyn sat in silence. She rotated the mug on the table before she let someone take it away. The girl quietly pulled onto her feet. Abruptly, the room tilted and her arm snapped out to steady herself. She considered purging the alcohol from her system, but she knew she'd start to crack again.

No, it was better to feel nothing right now.

Testing her balance, she let go of the table and managed to stay upright. She gathered her things and grabbed the loot sack, now empty, along the way. It might do the trick for a makeshift holder until she purchased a proper scabbard. The girl soon disappeared into her room without a word.

She did not have more than a few minutes to spend there before there was a knock at the door.

The room was the last place Roslyn wanted to be. She didn't feel safe there. Not after being overheard not once, but twice. The alcohol in her system didn't help. In fact, it heightened her anxiety and now the whole inn crowded in on her. She dropped the sack and her things in a heap on the floor before her eyes turned to the glass window.

If she had been home-

The mousy girl stepped toward it. She reached out a hand and touched the cold surface. The warmth of her hand melted the frost, clearing the white away just enough to peer through it. A foolish thing to consider as her arm dropped at her side. Before she could consider something else, a knock drew her attention.

"Now what?" She couldn't help the terseness in her voice as she opened the door.

She looked across and beheld Xiuyang; she looked down and there was Marceline, waving at her with a sickening amount of forced cheer. "Oira, suunei!" she chirped, hands falling to her wheels after a moment. Her over-the-top smile fell with it.
"We came because we know you feel like shit," she said flatly.

"So do we, so let's let it out together, hmm?" Despite the tone, her face spoke to empathy.

"Oh, really? I was just finished feeling like shit. Is this the wrong room?" She took a step back jokingly, with a familiar tone of voice that had almost become a cue for Marci to call her "Bruja" and give her a light punch on the arm. The smell of alcohol was on Roslyn, and it threatened to bring back some bad memories.

"We knocked this time," she helpfully pointed out with a slightly guilty grin, and a voice that begged not to be shut out. "May we come in?"

"Tonta..." Marci muttered under her breath, taking a half-push back onto Xiuyang's toes. "And, yes, we knocked, and we love you, and you're hurting." The tethered made a pouty face, trying to ignore the stench of alcohol.

For a moment, Roslyn stood there. The urge to simply slam the door in their faces grew as her fingers gripped the frame. She seemed to go taut until finally she forced herself to relax. "To be honest, I'm surprised. It's not like I can stop you. You're both lucky I'm numb right now."

She pulled back, her balance staggered a bit. As her feet threatened to trip over themselves, she once more bumped into the wall and leaned against it. "I... can't even hold my own burdens on my own. Surprised you two put up with me."

"Surprised you put up with me," Marceline grumbled, pushing her way in. "How many times did I drop the ball today?" She shook her head, rolling into the middle of the room. It reeked of depression to the point that it unnerved her. This place had the same awful feeling as that room she had spent her first week in after becoming paralyzed, hardly leaving her bed. Self-loathing clung to the walls almost to the point of stinking, and they closed in, claustrophobic. The tethered girl made for the curtains to throw them open. She shook her head.

"And burdens?" Marceline asked. "I don't think you're alone in that." She turned, face concerned.

"Really, you're not." Self-doubt began to creep in. Maybe she wasn't good at cheering people up. Maybe she should let Xiuyang take the lead.

"Because you're worth it," Xiuyang replied to Roslyn without missing a beat. With just half a flick of her wrist to shut and lock the door, her arms were around her Hendlish friend. Running her fingers through the girl's hair, she gave her a touch of chemical magic to pull her from the precipice. Not enough to be fully sober—she'd been drinking for a reason, and she would not rob her of its medicine, but she had drunk to the point of poison.

"Come on." She squeezed gently.

"We're girls, not rocks. We're not meant to carry heavy weights by ourselves." She patted Roslyn on the back.

"None of us dropped the ball today. I may have fumbled it to the point of looking like a juggler, but we got there in the end. We scored big today," she said, for all three of their sakes.

Marci's eyes flicked to the side skeptically, but then she remembered to not be stupid and tamped down on the reflex. This wasn't about her. This was Roslyn's time, and she needed it. That much was clear. You can be altruistic, she told herself. You care. Show it. For a moment, she considered if, maybe, they should bring Ingrid in as well.

Roslyn sank into the hug and leaned her head into her friend's shoulder. As the chemical gift began to purge some of the haze from her thoughts, the numbness faded slightly. She didn't mind as she spoke. "I don't know if I agree with that. I might've taken a leaf out of Ingrid's book and nearly blew up a section of the Market Place. I don't know how she keeps from damaging everything. If not for Edith, I am pretty sure a few people would've gotten hurt. Including me. And the school's information on Airburst demons needs updated."

Her eyes glanced at Marci and she gave her a weak smile. Her hand reached out past Xiuyang for her friend. "I know I overwhelmed you at one point and I'm sorry for that. The good news, I think we can trust Karl and Bastian. They are caught up with most of what we know now. "

She pulled away from Xiuyang and moved to the bed. As she sat down, she considered what to say. "The question is... where do we start? My head is nothing, but an emotional tangle. I can't get them to calm down in order to properly think. "

After Marci stated the obvious, Roslyn's head rested on the tether's shoulder. She didn't know if it was the alcohol or the comfort of her friends that stabilized her. Whatever was the source, she wasn't about to question it. When Marceline finished, she took the next turn.

"Well, I'll one up you. I'm drunk and Hendlish. I hate when people confuse me for Enthish." Roslyn was too drunk to keep the irritation out of her voice over the later part.

Marci listened and nodded. She'd read about this exercise in a book and wanted to try it out. "Now, I add onto what each of the other two people say and, when it's your turn, you do the same." She considered for a moment. "I know what it's like when people assume something about you and are wrong and then act like it's no big deal. It might not be to them, but it sucks for you." She paused. "And I think being Hendlish is a pretty good thing. Your country never bothers anyone... unlike some others."

She leaned forward to look at Xiuyang who'd felt... perhaps even more uncomfortable than Marci, judging by her hesitation a moment ago. "I think it's good to have a plan," the sixteen-year-old declared. "A lot of people might think of it as calculating or manipulative or obsessive, but a plan is something to remind you of what your path ahead is even if things get tougher than expected. A plan is a guide and your family knows that." Colour rose in her cheeks a bit at her saccharine words, but she glanced at Roslyn next.

Roslyn reflected on the information at first. At one point in her life, she recalled her mother's balance being so bad she couldn't stand up at all. Not without tumbling over and eventually forced into a wheelchair. She addressed Marci first.

"I don't know much about tethering. However, you've been a life saver many times. To me, it takes a lot of strength to be able to support at a distance. Especially when people you know are in danger." She paused for a breath, hoping she wasn't stirring up bitter feelings.

"I also know it can't be easy being in a wheelchair. Mother was in one, but she wasn't tethered. I recall being helpless at seeing her try to hide the hurt in her eyes. I also see the strength you must've gained to ensure it."

Her attention turned to Xiuyang who seemed to struggle with sharing. Not a surprise to the younger girl as she reached out a hand to squeeze her friend's. A small silent gesture that told Xiuyang it was all right.

"Yeah, I agree. I wish I had planned a few times instead of just praying and doing what I could. It might've turned out better in some cases or dealt with some nasty surprises. And I will say this: I might not always know what it is, but I trust you and your plans. For better or worse."

Xiuyang seemed to relax a little once Marci fully explained the intent behind the 'game.' She looked between the two of them, listening to their input and trying to decide what to say, and who to say it to first. "I used to drink a lot more." She started with Roslyn.

"I don't really get a buzz out of it. I have devouring blood, or whatever your favorite name for it is. For me to get drunk, I'd have to... well," She exhaled and took another breath. "Drink like I'm trying to kill myself, I suppose. There's no polite way to say it. I tried it once. I hated it. I guess you can call me a social drinker. I do it to say: 'hey, I'm normal too. I'm okay. I'm happy like you.' When I'm really happy, I don't drink as much. I've started again, because, you know... war stuff. Marriage stuff. Stress." Her voice was flippant, but it seemed like she was trying to maintain that tone rather than use an honest one. "I am okay. I'm happy, mostly. I wasn't before, but I'm fine now." She squeezed Roslyn's hand to reassure her.

Xiuyang paused. Marci hadn't left much room to dance around the topic. She was a tethered. That was a statement of fact that she made. "I blame myself sometimes. In my lowest moments." She blurted it out. "Not because if I would've been there, it would have changed the outcome. I felt so small back then, and I was. But if I had been less bitter, maybe... I don't know. Maybe I could have tried to talk you out of it. I should have at least tried."

Not a day went by where Marceline wasn't frustrated by having to cart the useless half of herself around in a wheelchair. Where everyone else took their movement for granted, usually not even giving any conscious thought to where their next step would land, just the act of moving her body through the world was a tenuous and strenuous chore. Loose dirt and sand, snow, gravel, rocks, roots, cobblestones, little gaps between planks: any one of these perfectly normal things was an immediate cause to strain her muscles and employ the Gift. Everyone knew that stairs were her nemesis, and the same could be said for ladders, but how about a narrow footpath through the forest or a rope bridge? She couldn't take it. A doorframe less than twenty-six inches wide? There was simply no getting through that. Even paying attention to the slope of a path, road, or sidewalk, and not just whether it ascended or descended, was a constant. Almost all sidewalks sloped towards the road and almost all roads sloped towards either the middle or the edges. A divot? A drainage gutter? The fact that people threw their sewage into the streets and you were supposed to use the stepping stones to cross if you needed to? All of it was annoying. It got to her at least a couple of times a day.

But that wasn't the real issue.

Aside from nine glorious months of reprieve, where she had run and walked with the others and believed herself saved, she had already learned to navigate the world without the use of legs. She had looked up to her mother, who didn't and Jocasta, who didn't. It was, honestly, the privy related issues that loomed larger. No, ultimately, Marci hadn't said that she was tethered because of the disability. It was the job she did because of it.

"Thanks, suuneix," she replied, managing not to butcher the yasoi language in the process, "You don't owe anyone any second-guessing, Xiuyang, and you've been awesome by me, Roslyn. I think you get that I'm a stubborn little bruja and, if I really need help, I'll swallow my pride and ask for it. Otherwise, let me fall flat on my face once in awhile." She let out a faint snort of laughter and one corner of her mouth ticked up. "It keeps me from succumbing to Belthagor." She shook her head.

"As for being a gimp? Yeah, honestly, it sucks," she admitted. "It's tough having to be slower or use magic for basic things or just being... different sometimes, but -" she continued, "it's actually just..." the tethered shrugged. "the act of being everyone's eye in the sky and long-range voice that fucks with me the most. I mean, maybe I'm giving myself too much credit, but I feel like I have this specialized role and so much hinges on me not screwing it up." There was a momentary pause. "I feel like, if I drop the ball or admit that I kinda don't like it, everyone will just little sister me. It's... already a bit of a struggle to be taken seriously as the youngest and..." She slapped her hands against her thighs with a sigh. "I feel like I screwed up today and it got me. Sorry if I was... not my best self to either of you because of it." Her eyes flicked between her hands, clasped in her lap, and Roslyn, who'd be next to speak.

When Marci mentioned Belthagor, Roslyn's fingers trembled slightly beneath Xiuyang's. Even now that name brought fear and anger into a toxic mix. She addressed the easier part first.

"I wish I could lie and say it's not a special role, but it is. However, you're human. Not an item or something else. Everyone has shortcomings. Even if we don't want to admit it. I think in those moments, we should lean on our strengths and friends to overcome them. Together, problems get solved. I've seen normal people work together to overcome impossible odds." She lowered her head a bit and moved on.

"Belthagor, that name still makes me angry and scared. The words he said weren't wrong. I feel like no matter how hard I work, sacrifice, or what I do... I can never close the gap. Deep down, if he hadn't forced change on me, I'm scared of what I might've done. It crossed my mind to take what he offered. I still get nightmares from it and it makes it hard to sleep."

Roslyn felt ashamed to admit it. Her fingers gripped Xiuyang's hand tighter then released again. "Xiuyang, I will admit I feel like I add to that stress when I don't want to. You're always there for me and I want to return that equally. Otherwise, what type of friend am I if I'm just part of the problem? Sadly, I can't force you to talk with me. I just have to trust that you remember I'm here when you need me. No matter what, you're my friend first."

She bit her lip. "I am sorry if that sounds like I'm blaming or whining. Not intentional."

"You feel like you have to make up for the things you can't do with something only you can do?" Xiuyang inquired of Marci, unraveling her inferno blanket to share it with her two friends. It really did have a lot of holes, now—an almost unsettling amount.

"I can relate to that. Don't tell Ciro that I said this, but I feel out of my depth sometimes when I'm with him. I'm not sure how you forge a sharper instrument than a Solari, but somehow..." She reflected on his loneliness, and thought she ought not to say more, filling the moment of silence with a light giggle.

"I think about them too, you know—the burdens I put on other people. It's hard when one glance at a mirror is all it takes to remind you what they are. I thought about them before, and I think about them now, but never as much as the days that I covered my face. You have a hard job, and you do it well. When my life is in your hands, I'm not afraid. Don't let yourself get a distorted perspective of who you are or where your worth comes from." Xiuyang shot her a smile over Roslyn's shoulders.

She rather thought that she didn't fear death in general, anymore, but that seemed like a rather unsavory thing to say to a tethered. Instead, she turned her attention to Roslyn.

"I've said it before and I'll said it once more: if he shows his face again, I'll kick his ass." She hugged Roslyn tightly.

"You're not a burden. It's... a faith thing. How do I put this..." She took a moment to think it all over.

"I still struggle, sometimes, to believe that Eshiran will be as kind to my friends as she has been to me. I've learned to be brave, but I still fear losing people I love. It has nothing to do with me thinking you're weak or not capable. I know you are." Her hand found Roslyn's again, but she still had her in a one-armed hug.

"But you don't need to force me to talk. I'm right here." Her red-brown eyes, mere inches from hers, radiated both warmth and concern.

"I'll kick his ass too!" chirped Marci resolutely, pounding her fist into her palm, eyes narrowed, bearing intent before she broke out in a grin. "Me and these big ol' hammies." Her smile faded back into the equilibrium of her face, and she leaned in to Roslyn's side and hugged her.

"You're safe with me. I promise. I know I'm kind of self-centered. I'm trying not to be, but both of you are safe with me. It's... nice to hear that I've earned your trust. I'll remind myself of that the next time I'm having doubts." She smiled again, taking in both of her friends. "I know it's kind of sappy, but both of you have mine, too - one hundred percent from Retan to Allummiut and back." She reached across to squeeze Xiuyang's shoulder.

"You know, without a lot of feedback," Marceline murmured, resting her chin on Roslyn's shoulder,
"it is easy to lose your perspective." She offered a shrug. "You just don't know, and you don't realize that other people are having the same doubts, fears, and struggles that you are." Marci pursed her lips.

"You're not Enna Lantisca, Roslyn, but I know that you can handle yourself. It's why I didn't tell anyone about you going after the sword this morning at first. It's why you were solo with Karl and Bastian, too. I trust you, too. And, Xiuyang," she continued, leaning over a bit to look at her other friend, "Don't ever think of a legitimate request as a burden. You can lay it on these big ol' shoulders here. I can always handle it and, yeah, I might bitch and whine later, but I don't mean a word of it because I'm safe with you two. I know you do the same for me, no expectations of obligations, just... being friends in the good times and the tough ones." She swallowed and smiled and her eyes were actually a little bit wet.

"You know... we should do this more often and not wait for a crisis next time."

The tethered swallowed again, regaining her emotional equilibrium. She was comfortable enough to take a risk here, because this felt like the kind of moment to just air it all out, and she had, more or less. "I... feel like there's more, though." She held a hand up in front of herself, the other still wrapped around Roslyn and resting on Xiuyang. "And none of us should ever feel like... obligated to say something or uncomfortable around any of the others, but if there is, you know... I'll listen and I won't judge, but I'll be honest."

Roslyn felt safest wedged between her best friends. Their reassurance had done wonders easing her frayed emotions. Like a balm on an open wound as it slowly closed. She stayed in the embrace and finally broke her silence.

"I need honesty sometimes. Speaking of that, I have a few things I need help with and I think you two should know. First... this morning. You recall the individuals you found me with?"" She checked to ensure both girls recalled them. "It turns out they have cousins in my home town. Their magic felt familiar like a hazy memory. I mentioned I struggled to recall why and one of them mentioned I might know their folks. They some times make people they like forget things to protect them. That's when I got trapped so I couldn't ask more about it."

Roslyn bit her lip a bit more then added. "That's not the only thing that hit me this morning. This part is unsettling. It turns out, Margarethe and I have something in common. We're both knower marked."

"Wow, I thought *I* was laying it on a bit thick," Xiuyang replied to Marci, her smirk playful and teasing.

"We should," she eagerly agreed. When Marci implied that there was more, however, she went quiet, letting Roslyn take the lead.

She nodded along with Roslyn's story about the cherune. They were something she couldn't understand. "So that's what you and Margarethe were talking about. I thought she was working her rosebud magic on you. That's why I came upstairs to put a stop to it. Sorry if you felt, um... *intruded on.* I know the damage they can cause when they're left alone." She bit her lip, trying not to think of the situation she'd thrust Ciro into. If he could handle Maria, he could handle a Margarethe.

She let silence pass. It seemed to her a slightly awkward silence, if it wasn't quite the same for her two friends. She enjoyed the closeness a while longer. If she told them everything... she would lose this. "We should go, Marci," she whispered. "You know what, we should go shopping. Ride the happy vibe even longer," she said a bit louder, patting Roslyn's back enthusiastically.

"That explains a lot, actually." Marci nodded slowly as Roslyn concluded. She let the Hendlishwoman continue, and then Xiuyang and, it struck her, with a startling casualness, that the latter was deflecting. There was more and she was not comfortable speaking about it. Perhaps she would never be.

Instead, something that Roslyn had said struck her. "Knower marked?" she questioned, tilting her head slightly.
"It's all right. I'm sure I frightened her and Dorothea didn't help at all. I haven't seen Margarethe since." Roslyn shrugged, disappointed in the fact.

She knew Xiuyang had deflected like she had earlier. A soft, weary sigh escaped her lips. She couldn't hide it even if she wanted to. It made it hard to believe if what Xiuyang said earlier was true, but she wouldn't push. At least not now. "I would love that, but I will remind you that you nudged me into a shopping trip with Dorothea later. I don't think it's a good idea to deny her that."

Her attention turned to Marceline. "I forgot, I haven't told you."

She pulled slightly away as she rolled up her sleeve and twisted to face Marci. The dark marks were easily seen on her skin as she let the tethered examine them. "I have had it since I was born. It's passed through the generations. Once it starts to spread, the person always dies before their time. That's how my mother died. Right now, my brother's has made him sick and the position of heir passed to me. Mine hasn't changed... yet. "

The mood in the room had dipped—not much, but enough to notice, and she could guess why. She flung her legs out from the bed like an impatient child trying to kick off her shoes.

"Oh, her? She's sulking in another room." 'With Johann,' she mouthed to the two of them.

"Besides, I need a set of sheaths for my new knives, too. So, let's go shopping instead. I'll let her know tomorrow if she'll really get offended by us paying for our own stuff." She pursed her lips. Meanwhile, she poked the top of Roslyn's leg, visible to Marci. <You. Can. Talk. To. Her. Later. I. Will. Arrange. It.>

Marceline had studied the mark curiously for a good few seconds before allowing Roslyn the use of her arm again. She spoke and the tethered's insides tightened. Xiuyang spoke and Marci was given cause to grin and cover her mouth as her eyes darted in the other room's direction.

<Her. Gone. Is. Part. Of. The. Plan. Question.> she messaged Xiuyang back, in the way that she was accustomed. It took her a second, but she did the same for Roslyn. It felt good to be kept in the know. Out loud, however, she went with something different. "I could probably use a few things too, long as I'm not used as a trolley again." She smiled faintly, making an effort to lighten the mood. It was as if they were all working together to keep it buoyant despite the heavy things they were putting into it.

Some were working harder than others, though. Xiuyang, Marceline knew, was keeping secrets, and so was she.
Roslyn could die. That sat sour at the top of her mouth, and she tried to swallow it down. I could die. The flaccid softness of the thigh beneath her hand reminded her of that. She'd lost half of herself in an instant. She would always be a single bad incident from death. It was, frankly, absurd of her not to have eaten the ambrosia seed already, but she would save it. She would save it for when she could make her legs work again. She would save it for when she was a little bit older and would not have to spend eternity in the body of a sixteen-year-old. Maybe, it occurred to her... she should save it for Roslyn.

"We live the best we can with what we have, suunei," she said by way of comfort, squeezing Roslyn's knee.

"And sometimes, we bury the pain and worry by shopping instead of drinking, huh?" She shook her head.

Shopping Run

************

"But... speaking of that," she began to segue, "I'm going to try teleporting to Ersand'Enise. I need to pick up some stuff and... ask Jocasta a few things." She couldn't call her 'Zeno Re', no matter how much she was supposed to. "I've been practicing, you know." She took a deep breath and tried to forced the nervousness from her anticipatory smile. "Any requests while I'm there?"

Xiuyang was not unaware of the weight of this new concern Roslyn had shared with Marci. It occurred to her that, if neither of their circumstances changed, she would outlive them both. Her life would be longer than a human's. Hells, if the war didn't kill her, she might set a new record. Her new body seemed nearly indestructible, contrary to her two friends. If she allowed herself to dwell on that fact—the unfairness of it—it was too sad and lonely to bear.

Xiuyang blinked twice, as was now her custom. "Why didn't I think of that?" she said suddenly, as if she'd only just thought of it. "I'm a Solari. When you have a Solari with you, the shops are never closed. I have the keys." She grinned mischievously. "Why don't you take us with you?" she suggested, as if it were her idea.
<Bet. Your. Ass.> Her smile was almost devilish with excitement.

"I suppose..." Roslyn felt a bit unsure, but not opposed to the idea. She felt the pinch and managed to keep her expression even. However, her eyes tightened in confusion briefly. Another secret... but she wouldn't judge. It was the nature of things and she had come to accept them.

<Okay.| Feels. Like. I. Am. Missing. Something.| I. Trust. It. Is. For. Best.> Roslyn pinched back to both of them.

With a deep breath, she nodded. "I'm just glad I met you all and I think my life would be more miserable if I hadn't. And I agree, a shopping trip will do me more good then another mug."

Roslyn frowned in thought then glanced at the sword. "There's two more concerns, but the more pressing matter is the sword. I don't know how to use it properly and I think it's smart to solve that issue sooner than later."

Marceline blinked at the idea, twice, just like Xiuyang. Was it done knowingly? She considered.

"Okay." She held a finger up to forestall any immediate response. "However, I offer my disclaimer that I'm new to this kind of thing and coming with me may result in dismemberment and death."

She shrugged. "If that still scares you at this point. Mind you," she remembered, "Xiuyang here is 'not afraid' when her life is in my hands." The tethered grinned.

Her wheelchair beckoned by the bedside and, with it, her purpose for the day. She swung herself in as the others talked. "Oh, do you want me to see if I can talk with Isabella about the blanket?" she offered, settling her feet onto their footrest. It occurred to Marci that she'd forgotten her ten second routine multiple times today. "And, if you want to train in the way of the blade, Zarina is your sensei, Roslyn." She flashed a smile. The Hendlishwoman had been an observer of her own training, after all.

What followed was a quick trip to Ingrid, who was in the midst of a very Shune-appropriate experimentation session, and a brief discussion on what she might need, a quick gathering of necessary things, and a bit of practice in sensing spacetime. Marceline's pulse quickened as she reconvened with Xiuyang and Roslyn in the courtyard. Somewhere nearby, she knew, Evander was meeting with his mysterious contact. Nonetheless, Marceline cleared her mind, took a couple of calming breaths, and explained how matters would work.

She reached out, found the space she was searching for, and found where she was in comparison to it. Some five seconds later, reality wavered and suddenly began to split. A rough, ragged portal crackled into being before Marceline, and her eyes widened as she tried to control its edges. They wavered and frayed but, sure enough, on the other side, one could see a quiet courtyard down a sidestreet in the Merchants' Quarter of Ersand'Enise.

"Go!" the tethered girl urged. "Go go go!" She suited words to action and began pushing through, pausing only briefly to wave Roslyn and Xiuyang along.

"That feels like most of my life lately." Roslyn joked back at Marci's disclaimer. If the younger girl was nervous or bothered, she hid it well. It seemed like all the near death experiences gave her some resistance to it.

She pushed off the bed and reached for the sword. At the mention of Zarina, she nodded and turned to face the others. "Yeah, but I haven't seen her around lately. It's hard to ask for help when the sensei is nowhere to be found. Also, I hope another sword doesn't 'call' out to someone else this time. I dread to think of someone else walking into another death trap."

She shuddered at the memory. Taking a deep breath, she followed Xiuyang into the courtyard until Marceline arrived. Marci shouted while Xiuyang grabbed Roslyn's hand. Together, all three of them rushed toward the portal. Her foot nearly stumbled as she pressed the blade close, keeping it from slicing anyone. Marceline's wheelchair blocked her causing her to slow with a yelp. Meanwhile, Xiuyang pulled harder to help her keep up. The portal edges closed faster causing her feet to pick up speed.

Five...Four...Three...Two...

Safe!

Roslyn's feet stumbled over each other. The edge of her skirt sliced nearly when the portal closed behind her. Surprised by the narrow escape, her balance tilted too far to one side. She smacked into Xiuyang while clutching the sword in hand. "Oomph! Sorry!"

Xiuyang gave Roslyn a noogie for her troubles. The upbeat mood she was maintaining regarding this shopping trip idea had been partly a farce, in the case that they were being eavesdropped upon, but now she found herself genuinely getting into the mood for a girls' night out. "Let's meet back at Dami's cross when we're done," she said to Marci, waving her encouragement. There was a sense of purpose in her that didn't quite match theirs, and Xiuyang didn't wish to hold her up.

Xiuyang walked south, beckoning Roslyn to follow. It was late, but the streets weren't quite deserted yet. She stretched her arms up, groaning loudly as she put up a sonic bubble around the two of them.

"Finally." She sensed around, a satisfied look on her face. Here, at the Ersand'Enise Academy of Thaumaturgy, their sonic bubble was just one of dozens between young students engaging in idle gossip, rather than the beacon of mischief it was in Lindenholdt.

"So here's what I need to catch you and Marci up on that I couldn't back there. Not with much confidence of privacy, that is." She tilted her head and popped her neck enthusiastically.

"*She* is here now, with Ciro. I offered to send her here to keep her and her testimony safe after you-know-who threatened her. He's a strong chemical mage and I don't trust him to leave her alone after that. Not knowing where she is will scare him, hopefully into making a mistake." It was almost unsettling how quickly Xiuyang could shift into talking about something so serious—about how she intended to ruin a man she went to bat for against Evander just yesterday. She pursed her lips, pausing to let Roslyn absorb the information before moving on.

"Here's the deal. It occurred to me these past two days: our enemies seem to know every move we make. They must have eyes and ears all through that damned town, and we're the ones always reacting. So, I'm going to use Ersand'Enise as a back channel for communication. We tell *them* everything we know about what you-know-who is involved with. They send that information back to town through their own channels, which are hopefully better than ours, shut down tight to the ears of the evil guys—and we finally get ahead on the intel game. They won't know how much we know, and we'll finally get one good haymaker past their guard. Their stupid tricks and traps are pissing me off."

She jogged ahead a few steps excitedly. They were heading to the Seagate, on their way to Belleville and the Volta Emporium just across the street from it. "I wanna hit 'em where it hurts. One big domino falls, and... who knows what else will come out? Maybe the big guy will talk when it's his ass or theirs." She smiled back at her.

"Hey! Stop, nooo!" Roslyn cried as she squirmed in her friend's grasp.

Once she broke loose, she gave her best friend a raspberry then adjusted the sword in her grip. She considered leaving it here, but she dismissed the notion. It was best she had it on hand in case Laska requested to see it.

As she watched Marceline roll off, she fell into step beside Xiuyang. The world around the pair deafened and she took in the information poured out to her. It now made sense why she hadn't seen the woman since. She considered asking how, but thought better of it.

"Agreed. The incident with the demons does a few things. No one in the town, aside from Karl, Edith, and Bastian, are going to want to talk with us. I also think they wanted to see how we do in a fight and our reaction time." Roslyn's insides clenched as she forced a breath through her nose. "I should've known it was him. He 'overheard' talk about me going out. Of course, I got attacked by another victim before the cherune arrived."

Roslyn glanced up from the path as they approached a familiar building. "And what happens if the enemy doesn't give us the chance to? I don't think they will simply wait for us to do something. Not with how much we've learned. One of my issues is that I'm running out of tricks to play."

"So he knew you were going out, and you were attacked," Xiuyang calmly repeated. "How convenient." Her hands found her pockets, and the wheels in her head continued to turn. "I agree that they wanted to test us, but the timing was also rather convenient for a distraction. That's how the truly clever groups operate: multiple objectives at once, always." She spoke with authority on the matter, only some of which came from experience. Most of what she said at times like these was the repeated mantra of her family.

"They might've been counting on the townies to not cooperate with us after this—take up the local authorities' time complaining about the danger we put them in, but we killed it today. I'm pissed about what happened to Edith's little boy, and there was some collateral damage to some buildings, but in the end, nobody died, right? While we're licking our wounds, they're celebrating. The bad guys underestimated us this time. Tomorrow, they might get desperate if they think we have enough evidence to bring in even bigger guns. So, I think we kick back and let our 'reliable allies' do a little investigating while we prepare for the big fight. Let them get comfortable keeping an eye on us while our plan unfolds on the other side of the damn continent." She exhaled and smirked.

"You're right, they might attack us first—I think we all sleep in shifts tonight after what just happened—but we shouldn't give in to fear. What tonight's attack tells me is that they don't have the manpower to beat all of us in a fair fight if we stay close together. If they did, they would have just done it by now. They went after those who showed us kindness instead. They want us to leave, because we're a threat to them, and in case we don't leave, they want to know our weaknesses so that they can respond with their best matchups the next time we split up. So what happens if we just don't? Let's say they expect us to go running to the church and the constabulary first thing in the morning, charged with our findings and theories—but what if we just do rounds around town like we're trying to regain goodwill? What can they really do if we never stretch ourselves thin like we have been? Nothing."

Even now, she seemed to be thinking out loud, plotting in real time, but Xiuyang's confidence in her ideas never faltered as she talked on and on.

Eventually, they reached the Emporium. "Okay, I know I said I had the keys, and I do, *but.* I don't have them like, *on* me, so." She put her locksmith skills to work on the door. "I have the right to be here, and I'm gonna pay, so no one's gonna say shit to me," she assured Roslyn.

"Yeah. I gave him the benefit of the doubt. It is a mistake I will never do again." Roslyn rolled her tongue into her cheek. Her gaze averted from Xiuyang, hiding her embarrassment. She didn't seem nearly as confident as her friend.

"I get what you mean, but we're not a cohesive group. Steinbauer and Dorothea bring a lot of issues. Especially if what Laska said is true. I want to empathize with her, but another part of me..." She trained off a bit then meekly shrugged.

"There's something else that bothers me. Laska. We see her a lot when she's here with the church. On top of that, she did a turn with Dorothea. Went from vicious when she threatened to keep the sword to empathetic. She also let me keep the sword. Why? I doubt there's trust there, especially since it's a sanguinare sword."

At Xiuyang's mention of having 'keys', Roslyn cocked her hips and rested her hand on one side. "I swear, if we get into trouble, I'm gonna to stick adhesive in your hair."

*Steinbauer.* Xiuyang smirked at Roslyn using his last name to emotionally distance herself from him. Xiuyang was hiding her anger, too. She got the door open and ushered her in. "We won't. And if we do, Ciro will bail us out." She flashed a mischievous grin.

"I know. We can't get the whole group to coordinate. But if the people who *do* cooperate are the only ones with the most critical information, and we stress how unwise it is to split up at this point, I think we can get close. At least two groups rather than three or more."

There was another locked door between the main building with general goods and the armory, and she had it open in an equally short amount of time. She began to have a look at some small sheaths for her knives, trusting Roslyn to find something for the sword herself.
"I think Marci is right. Laska is testing us to see who can be trusted and who will break off with Johann and Dory. Compared to the threat of what they plan to do, a scary sword or a blood mage are small potatoes."

"The torture you must put that poor boy through." Roslyn mused as she stepped inside. She drifted to the side and gently placed the sword's tip against the floor, keeping an eye out.

"I'm still miffed at the cnaf (knave), so I won't be going off anywhere with him. I try to think the best of people, but even I have limits." Roslyn couldn't say the same thing about Dorothea. She didn't know the woman well enough to make that judgement call. It didn't help Laska's earlier words muddied her judgement even further. Damn that nun!

They entered the building. Immediately, her eyes ran over displays of scabbards and belts.

"The biggest question is: who do we trust? Both out of our group and among our allies?" Her hand rubbed the reddish green stone tied to her wrist. A recent habit she had started to pick up.

She found it hard to decide for some reason as she couldn't settle on the best scabbard. Leaning on logic, Roslyn compared the sizes with the sword until she found one close. Sliding the blade in, she strapped it to her hip where it rested comfortably.

"I do not!" Xiuyang sulked. Then, she took a moment to actually ponder over it. "I might've made him worry, once. My last mission wasn't easy." She quickly moved on from the topic, though.

"I trust you and Marci with my life. Ingrid too, but she tries to do too much on her own sometimes." Xiuyang reflected.

"I guess we all do that sometimes. Maybe we aren't so different. Ingrid too." She nodded to herself. "Though I feel like she might be trying to distance herself because of the upcoming war." She lowered her head as she looked at the equipment.

"Both Laska and Marco. I wouldn't trust them with my personal business, but I don't think either of them would deal with demons. Laska definitely won't. Marco might be hiding something, but church people usually are. Evander... will focus on the mission. With Revidia leaving, we have even fewer reasons to worry that he might betray us."

She settled on a new bandolier, basic leather with six sheaths for the small set of knives. She would worry about getting something tailored and easily concealable later. For now, she told herself that showing herself armed to the people of Lindenholdt would make them feel *less* uneasy. "Both Edith and Bastian are brave souls with a real heart for Lindenholdt and its people. I respect them and want to trust them to help us, but I wonder how it's possible that Edith would not know about a certain person of interest being in the area." She continued to speak in code when referring to Rosalinde.

"Anyone else? Hardly, I think. Dietmar... I really ran him through the ol' wringer. Interrogated him, basically. If he doesn't check out, I don't know if I'll ever trust my instincts again. And our witness under protection can be trusted to act in her own best interest." She nodded.

Whether or not she could trust Ciro with the most critical part of her plan was a question that never entered into her consideration. Of course he would get the job done.

Roslyn resisted a snigger. Her tease had hit its mark and the tension released within her. That joyful moment faded when Xiuyang mentioned her last mission worried Ciro. Even during their trip to rescue Xiuyang from Yarsoc, he had been calm and collected. Hearing of him getting worried tugged at her instinct to want to know more. Of course, her friend moved on quickly to better topics.

"There was a reason I asked Marci to tell Edith specifically about the bodies. It was a test to see if they would 'disappear' or not. The whole time, I tried to be selective about the information I gave out. I thought it might help me trace any traitors, but I'm not good with stuff like that." Roslyn bit her lip for a moment.

"If someone or thing wants to hide bad enough, they will find a way. It could be an item, a spell or something else. Hells, Marci struggled to track me when I was with the cherune. And she's a tethered with academy training." She pointed out then added. "And at least your instincts have had some wins. I feel like mine just run me around in circles lately. "
Speaking of circles, she twisted her conversation back to the earlier one.

"Your last mission, it must've been pretty bad. What happened?" Roslyn didn't want to let this go.
"I had the same idea!" Xiuyang replied with excitement.

"So, I kept a small sample of the red foam stuck in his nose as evidence of the cause of death. I wanted to see if they would tamper with the bodies and try to push a verdict on us." She grinned, and her eyes *gleamed* with pride, like she was soaking up every ounce of validation her friend was offering. "See? You're plenty clever too. Don't deny yourself the credit."

She turned to head back to the main building. "I feel left behind by these rats too. Like I said, I'm pissed." She took out her purse and placed the appropriate number of magus on the front desk, which was quite a bit. "We've all been running around in circles for too long. Now we turn the tables."

Securing the doors behind them, she just smiled apologetically, shook her head and shrugged. "Sorry, Rose. It's not something I'm allowed to talk about—but, I think he feels guilty because I took his place. He was supposed to go, but I told him to leave it to me. I thought I was stronger than him and would be able to handle it better."

She turned to walk back to the Seagate. "Of course, that was stupid of me. Of *course* he's stronger than I thought, or has tricks I don't know about. Just one of many reasons why I love him." Whatever her mission entailed, Roslyn was left to speculate, but she didn't seem nearly as traumatized by whatever had happened there as she had been by the knower titan.

Roslyn managed to snag a rosy wick or two before she pulled out her own money as well to pay for her share. She condoned Xiuyang's continued secretive nature. Unlike her friends, she had laid nearly all her secrets out to them. Almost. A part of her wondered if they thought less of her, but she pushed that thought away. She met her friend's gaze as she smiled.

"I get it. I think it's the risk we take when we love someone, especially if they have been hurt. I still need to head to my dorm to get the skinglue and a letter. Do you think we have time to get any rosy wick? That stuff is useful with the bandit and also alone."

Roslyn followed swiftly beneath so as not to be left behind.

"Yeah, you should be fine to go get some stuff. Don't feel rushed, but I'm gonna run to Dami's, because I feel like running." She flashed Roslyn a smile and took off. She suspected that it was Marci's turn to be hurting, now, and Xiuyang would be there to comfort her and catch her up on everything she'd told Roslyn.

"Try to stay out of trouble." Roslyn called out before she took a turn and headed for her dorm first. It wouldn't take long despite each step bringing an emotional charge to her core.

Along the way, she reflected on things until she reached the doorstep of her dorm. She paused at the door then glanced upward. With the absence of her roommates, the building leered down at her like a cold, distant monster. She lingered there before she reached for the hidden key. The lock clicked open as she pushed in and disappeared inside.

Roslyn sent a bauble of light into her palm. It stretched across the darkness as she crept up the stairs. Her eyes darted to the letter pinned beneath a box of skin glue. After popping the top open, she grabbed another four skinglue and the letter. It had been written since that dreadful day in the bog. Finally, she brought along the rifle and ammo pouch that Desmond built for her. Something that showed she took this seriously and used what he taught her.

Once back outside, her fingers fisted and extinguished the light bauble. She adjusted the rifle strap on her arm then took a step onto the path to Dami's. Suddenly, a flutter of wings caused her to stop. Her eyes turned skyward just in time to spot a black raven stare from a nearby tree. His head cocked, sizing her up with a bright blue eye.

Her eyes narrowed. "Hranf? Is that you?"

She walked closer to the creature, her anxiety growing. "What are you doing here?"

A loud, shrill crow escaped the bird's beak followed by a leap to a nearby hitching post. His eyes zeroed on her wrist and she pulled it behind her. She fought not to roll her eyes. "I don't have time for your little games. Go back to Eike and the ship."

She began to take her leave when he fluttered after her. Her lips pressed when she felt his weight land on her shoulder. With a brush of her hand, she huffed. "No, you can't came!"

A whine emitted from the creature's beak followed by a protesting growl. He clacked his beak and toyed with her hair. "Ugh, fine. You can walk with me, but afterwards, you go back to the ship. Understand?"
Hranf simply blinked. Accepting this as a yes, Roslyn casually walked back to where her friends waited for her.
Marceline could tell that Xiuyang was hiding something. To be fair, so was she, and she would not give it away cheaply. Instead of pressing - for now - she listened. "Well, it's nice not to have to be the brains of the outfit," she declared afterwards, with a hint of a smirk. Pushing herself up with her hands, the sixteen-year-old sat for a moment, leaning back and posting her weight on them.

It was less than a second before the smaller sack that she'd placed on the bench, as if spooked by her sudden movement, twitched, reached out a couple of tentacles and pulled itself onto her wheelchair. "Holy shit," Domino's owner cursed, "You sneaky little bugger."

She reached out with her kinetic magic and plucked the small sumpfkrake from his seat. He dangled there, cross and limp, and let out a small wheeze, his big googly eyes levering her way as his tenacles dangled, noodle-like.

"I guess I owe you my part, huh?" Marceline admitted, letting Domino down onto her lap. He immediately wrapped himself around her knees.

"Long, emotionally-laden story short," she shared, "I spoke with Jocasta, who'd encountered the Mad Avatar in the woods outside of Madelein. She confirmed that Dory's account of Juulet killing Manfred, Qasem, and Ismette couldn't possibly have been true, since she'd been chased off by Jocasta after an absolute brawl between the two."

The tethered shook her head and a sonic bubble dropped around the pair. "She's also on the school's demonic activity watchlist for association with a tier five or above demon," she snorted.

"Jocasta has orders to kill her immediately if she steps out of line or makes a move." She shook her head slowly as Domino began reaching for one of her arms with a tentacle. The sonic bubble fell. "So it's all falling into place not like I hoped, but like I'd feared."

Before she could share anymore, however, there came the distant - and fast-approaching - sound of footfalls in the shallow snow. It was accompanied, as Marci craned her neck, by the sight of Roslyn turning down the street that led to their courtyard, moments later. The tethered released a deep breath, grabbed her legs, and swung them over the edge of the bench, nearly spilling her pet to the ground with the act. He quickly scrambled to his second-favourite place, wrapped snugly around the axle of her wheelchair, which is where Roslyn and her own animal familiar would find him when they arrived, just as Marceline finished placing her feet and straightening and Xiuyang hopped off of her seat on the table.

"You did great on your last performance report, so I thought I'd be gracious and give you a break," Xiuyang joked back, reaching over and giving Domino a playful poke.

She listened to Marci and gave her shoulder an affectionate squeeze. "I'm sorry." It was all she could say. She hadn't suffered the kind of betrayal that Marci was feeling. She didn't leave those kinds of holes in her guard—but neither did Marci, she knew. If it could happen to Marci, it could happen to anyone, even herself.

Then, Roslyn arrived, which meant it was time to go. While the risk was low, leaving Lindenholdt had been a risk, and it continued to climb the longer they stayed. "Ready?" she asked the two.

Upon being poked, Domino reared back. "Domino, Dukes!" Marci commanded, and the little octopus raised a pair of tentacles and balled up the ends, holding them out in front of himself like fists. He bobbed back and forth and flicked one in Xiuyang's direction - a jab, and then another - a right cross. "Good boy, Domino." The cephalopod's eyes levered her way expectantly, and she reached into a pocket in her dress to hold out a dried shrimp cracker. He immediately dropped his fisticuffs act and schnerbled back under her wheelchair with his treat.

"Hi, Rosy!" Marci waved. The gang was back together, almost absurdly encumbered with their - and other people's - gear, with the notable exception of Ingrid's legendary Kagemitsu Kenshin sword, 11 no Namida. It would take all night, Marz had explained gruffly, but she'd seen the cantankerous hegelan's eyes light up at the challenge nonetheless, and he'd assured her that it would be delivered - "by portal if needed, at her cost, ye hear?"

Already, the tethered was searching spacetime, extending her senses and beginning to draw.

"That's cute. " Roslyn cooed a bit, then turned to her own companion.

"First, I need to send Hranf on his way. I think he missed me a bit too much." Roslyn glared at the raven still perched on her shoulder. He picked at her braid, shaking it in protest and producing a gurgling croak. Her hand came out to brush him aside. Like a feathery cobra, he bristled then snapped his beak at her. Her hand jerked back in surprise.

"Oh come now! Shoo!" She frowned then tried to push him off again. His claws dug in as she winched at his surprisingly strong grip. Her eyes found Xiuyang and pleaded for help.

Domino perked up at the mention of the word 'cute', sticking his little head out through the spokes in one of Marci's wheels. Hopefully, he extended a tentacle, suckers up, in her direction.

Xiuyang decided to respond in kind, falling back onto the table like she'd been hit, giggling. She wished she had more time to spend with her own pets. At Roslyn's pleading look, she could only roll her eyes and shrug, as if to say, 'what do you want me to do about it?'
"Seems he doesn't want to let go."

Roslyn sighed and rubbed her temple with her free hand. "Not sure why. It's like he's scared he won't see me. I guess I have no choice, do I?"

She spotted the little outstretched tentacle and hunched down, gently extending her hand toward it. "He was like this two other times too come to think of it."

Neither, for what it was worth, did Domino, though the possibility of a handout from a human was enough to make him take the risk of holding a pleading tentacle out. Upon correctly discerning that Roslyn's outstretched hand carried nothing but the promise of friendship, he made the immediate decision that he had precious little use for such airy-fairy concepts and quickly withdrew his arm with a tired-sounding 'whuff'.

"Dommi," scolded Marci, in her 'stern' voice, and he shrunk back for a moment before deciding to disregard the implied threat. "Octavius Domino Winfield III," she snapped, and he disappeared under the chair but still refused to be pried from the axle. "I've missed you very much, but it is time to go home and I will see you in less than two days."

He clung, for it was all that he could do.

"You have five seconds, so help me, Dami, or I will take your bouncy ball."

In that moment, Domino knew true fear, true hopelessness, but he persevered. It was a standoff between human and octopus and, in the end, the superior brainpower and resolve of the latter triumphed, as it usually did. "Oh for fuck's sake, Winfield, you're going to get like... eaten by a shark demon or some shit and I'll have to get a new octopus."

The statement was alarming, no doubt, but Domino understood that humans were poor judges of the food chain and did not begrudge them their blissful ignorance. He released a tired sigh, schnerbled up onto her lap, conveniently preventing her from pushing her wheels in the process, and wrapped himself around her waist in a large, warm hug. Humans enjoyed this variety physical contact, he had learned, unless it came from Rikard.

"Oh Godsdammit, Dommi." She caved. She reached down and patted him, as she always did; exactly as he'd known she would. "You're gonna be the death of me someday."

Fat chance of that, Octavius Domino Winfield III knew.

"Oh, as for your raven with the Viking name, that's all you, girl," Marci said to Roslyn.

"Thanks for the lesson, Marci. You're not doing any better." Roslyn retorted, unbothered by the octopus' reaction. She straightened up and glanced at Hranf. "Yeah, sadly, he's a wild creature. No control here."

Against her better judgement, she scratched the corvid beneath the chin. "Truthfully, I don't have the energy to fight with him. Usually he sticks around my second mate who's a giant of man."

Upon being compared favourably to the lesser species currently attempting to exert control over its second human, Domino puffed himself up proudly. He was not, at all, wild. He was an octopus of culture. Nonetheless, he could not help but feel a slight sense of kinship with the avian and begrudgingly wished it luck in his head.

"All right, you two. Marci, remind me later to ask Isabella for a bag later. It's going to be a bitch hauling everything back later. I hate not having what I need on hand. " Roslyn commented. Meanwhile, Hranf bobbed his head as if mimicking the octopus with a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

Against this backdrop, Marceline brought to life a second portal. It did not display some room in Die Tanzstiefel but, rather, the street immediately outside of the inn: a place of sparkling snow and the single warm light of a distant oil lamp on a post.

"Okay, very cute," she called, carting Domino away just as he was about to slug that bird and knock it out in one shot, for sure. "But it's time to go." She bustled through the portal, leaving her two friends to quickly follow.

"Well, I haven't had anything all day to eat. " Roslyn said and on cue, her stomach growled loudly. She wrapped her free arm about it to silence it. "And yes, I think that's safer. Marci suggested we take shifts for watch since we kicked the rats nest."

Marci shrugged. "I think I'm gonna have a 'conks out the moment her head touches the pillow' kind of night," she admitted, "but there's no one else I'd rather spend it with." She winked. Then, she scowled in momentary thought. "My room, though, maybe?" She glanced at the stairs and struggled to imagine herself navigating them half-asleep in the middle of the night if she ever needed to. She went to pat her stomach before realizing that Domino was still wrapped around her like a corset. The little sumpfkrake looked up at her and did the deed instead, successfully redirecting her pat towards him.

"I won't say 'no' to food," she agreed. "It's been a nonstop kind of day."

The tethered yawned, ate most of her food (Domino demanded a tithe from the rest) and half-participated in their ambition, for the coming day, to track down and possibly save the as-yet-unfound Berthold Lothmann.

She then promptly rolled off to bed. The pillow fort lay there, half-built, around the time when she nodded off, one of her snuggly warm socks pulled all the way up almost to her knee and the other dangling from her foot. Roslyn lasted a scant five minutes longer, after taking a little time to check over her gear and stifle at least three yawns. Ingrid, supposed creature of the night, was already out. Dory had not been seen since her conversation with Johann, and Johann had not been seen since his with Ingrid. Evander was assumed asleep, as well, and Marco, after having spoken briefly with the girls as they plotted the next day, had also wandered off.

The Riddle of Lindenholdt Part 5

<sub>Date: Zales 34th

Location: Inn to theChurch</sub>

Silence Calls the Storm: Part 1

*

It was the dead of the night and hardly a soul in the great Towne of Lindenholdt was stirring. Snow fell softly on the cold and lonely ground, disturbed only by the footfalls of a handful of beggar priests and drunkards. Wind whistled through the trees and bare branches groaned. Birds hunkered together for warmth. Not a sound came from them, not a song.

Then, the silence called a storm.



From Dom St. Adelheid, the monstrosity that lived at the edge of town, came the most beautiful of sounds. Berthold Lothmann, son of a farmer made to believe that he was Eike, last surviving heir to the Frickmayer dynasty, had returned in the hours when everyone slept. Eyes wild and bloodshot, fingers frostbitten, scarf ragged and draped about his frail shoulders, he splayed his hands across the pipe organ's keys and he did the one thing that he had wanted to do more than anything else for as long as he had lived.

It was not the grand mass on the first day of Ahn-Ipte-Zept 51. His cathedral was bare save for a few remaining pieces of scaffolding and some workman's tools. It did not matter. He would call to them with his music. His eyes bulged and his lip quivered. He played with fervent devotion: with all of his joy, his fear, and his fury. He played, and they would come. They would be his audience for - this - the last concert ever heard in Lindenholdt.

Berthold Frickmayer reached down, bearing pained and joyous at once, let out a breath, and pulled the lever disguised as merely another one of the instrument's plethora of sonic tools. She was a beauty, and he lamented that he might not play her forever. The organ's voice sung deep and pure and stretched out over the town. Even those too far to hear her would feel her song. This, he knew. This, they had assured him of.

It was seconds later when the first foot left its imprint, bare, in the snow. From inside of houses, inns, and even a couple of workplaces, came the sounds of bodies in motion. Some thumped against doors. Others opened them. A handful crashed through windows, landing - broken - on the ground. All rose, if they could, or tried to, if they could not. All placed one foot, trancelike, in front of the other, oblivious to the dark of the night or the cold of the snow.

All began their final walk: to Dom St. Adelheid.

Xiuyang awoke to the sensation of something hitting her shin. *Hard.* Slowly, groggily, she came to the realization that she was outside, in the cold, sans inferno blanket and sans clothes, save for her beanie and stockings. Only the omniphage coils partially preserved her modesty, but that thought hadn't even entered into her mind as a priority when the whole town could clearly see that she was an abomination. The first thing she did was reach for her mirror, the item that had reliably saved her from so many horrible nightmares, only to not find it.

But this wasn't a nightmare. The entire town had gathered outside and were slowly walking towards what could only be their doom. Few were paying her any mind at all, and she took the chance to sense for her allies. There, in the cathedral, were Evander and Johann, also under the spell. Whatever was about to happen, those closest to the destination were in the most danger. She rushed forward, on her four extra limbs, and found Evander. It was him, but she didn't recognize him with her other five senses.

She threw the thought to the back of her mind, scuttled up to him, and injected him with adrenaline. It was the only thing she could think to do, but it seemed to work. Then, she sensed Roslyn, coming up behind her, and her priority shifted. "Distract him!" she called after her fellow Revidian as she rushed to her friend's aid. Hesitantly, she gave her the same treatment, with a lower dose for the smaller girl than she'd given the grown man she now knew Evander to be.

For weeks she had agonized over what to say to her friends if they found out. She still remembered the face of mixed pity and disgust when she first showed Ciro, for she could not bear the guilt of keeping such a secret from her lover, of all people. Now, she had only moments to decide.

She reached out to hold Roslyn's face with her two *human* appendages, keeping the slowly sharpening focus of Roslyn's eyes locked onto her own. "Focus, Rose! Destroy the organ. I'll kill Berthold. Don't ask questions, okay?" Her urgent words trailed off into regret as she released her, slowly backing away, as if it were the last time they would see each other.

As Roslyn woke, her sight beheld what she thought to be a nightmare: a twisted monster with Xiuyang's face. She blinked in stunned silence. She'd been lying if she said she wasn't frightened, but this was still her friend. Right?

"Xiuyang? Wh-what happened? Are you okay?" She couldn't hide the concern or fear in her voice. Her hands lifted to grasp Xiuyang's as she struggled to process the reality before her.

Pushing the fear down, she forced herself to shout over the organ's sound. "Right, but...!"

She recalled that hellish nightmare once more. How Laska tried to stop Niallus only to be too late. "Back in the bog, we killed a demon. Laska tried to stop Niallus, but was too late. Belthagor was summoned."

---

About forty people stood beneath the towering vaulted ceilings of the gothic cathedral, utterly and totally a slave to the command magic of its imposing pipe organ. The organist, Berthold, sat hunched over his keyboard, and barely paid them any heed as he continued to play.

The middle of this holy place had been defaced with a ten-pointed Morningstar of Levidan the Accursed. Already, there were more than a dozen bodies piled up on top of it, one at each of the ten points and a handful in the middle. Desperately, the seven students freed themselves from the grasp of the instrument's command magic and, as one of the two who remained outside slammed the doors shut and barred them with a hastily-built barricade, Berthold's eyes flashed. He changed a handful of his notes and, immediately, the nearly three dozen townspeople inside rushed at their would-be saviours, including some familiar faces. "You're too late," the organist sneered. "This rotten town and the traitors in it will get what they deserve."

---

Xiuyang sighed. She might have appeared disappointed that her friend simply couldn't help but *immediately* start asking questions, but in reality, she was disappointed in herself for never realizing that "are you okay" would always have been the first.

She nodded. "I'll settle for making him *wish* he were dead, then," she replied curtly, giving her friend's hands an affectionate squeeze. Roslyn's gentle acceptance of her *condition* did not make this easier. Tears threatened to come, but she held them back. She would leave no regrets. This would be her final battle, and she would fight it well. If the church was going to kill her anyway, why hold back?

More students arrived, barricading the doors, and Berthold *dared* to taunt them. If Xiuyang had any shred of sympathy for the fool, it evaporated when he showed his utter disdain for his victims—and his words were not his own, but that of Liesl Frickmayer, that much was true, but his sins would rest upon his own back just the same.

"And *you* will not escape Dami's hell, false heir!" she responded in kind. As Hans Grunewald approached, she drew heat from the vapors in the air in front of him, causing them to fall and condense on the ground near his feet before freezing. She then used the energy to bind some of the water into an oily liquid with a lower freezing temperature, creating a slush that was even more slippery than solid ice. As he slid on his backside toward her, she would walk over him like he didn't exist. Her singular target was the demented organist and his tool of command magic. He would bear the fully unfettered fury of a woman with nothing to lose.

Outside, suddenly, the crowd swirled, surged, and grew violent, hurling their bodies at the locked doors and Marci's barricade. Inside, beneath Berthold's imperious, oppressive playing, eleven-year-old Constanze Zimmermann hurled herself at Marco like a wild animal. Sibylle Lorenz leapt forward, fingers curled like claws, aiming to rake Roslyn's face. Hans Grunewald swung with all of his massive bulk at Xiuyang, and Karl von Mollern, town constable, charged at Evander with all the sense of a maddened bull. At Ingrid hurtled the merchant Jana, eyes glassy and berserk. When Johann Krauss rushed at Edyta, she disappeared into greyspace.

This was a fight that there seemed to be no escape from - unless they could find some way to stop the command magic.

---

Xiuyang sighed. She might have appeared disappointed that her friend simply couldn't help but *immediately* start asking questions, but in reality, she was disappointed in herself for never realizing that "are you okay" would always have been the first.

She nodded. "I'll settle for making him *wish* he were dead, then," she replied curtly, giving her friend's hands an affectionate squeeze. Roslyn's gentle acceptance of her *condition* did not make this easier. Tears threatened to come, but she held them back. She would leave no regrets. This would be her final battle, and she would fight it well. If the church was going to kill her anyway, why hold back?

More students arrived, barricading the doors, and Berthold *dared* to taunt them. If Xiuyang had any shred of sympathy for the fool, it evaporated when he showed his utter disdain for his victims—and his words were not his own, but that of Liesl Frickmayer, that much was true, but his sins would rest upon his own back just the same.

"And *you* will not escape Dami's hell, false heir!" she responded in kind. As Hans Grunewald approached, she drew heat from the vapors in the air in front of him, causing them to fall and condense on the ground near his feet before freezing. She then used the energy to bind some of the water into an oily liquid with a lower freezing temperature, creating a slush that was even more slippery than solid ice. As he slid on his backside toward her, she would walk over him like he didn't exist. Her singular target was the demented organist and his tool of command magic. He would bear the fully unfettered fury of a woman with nothing to lose.

"Be careful." Roslyn said when she spotted movement from the corner of her eye. Sibylle. Hair a mess and dressed in her nightgrown, the archivist rushed at her ready to claw her eyes out. The younger girl caught her cousin's wrists before being knocked hard into a pew. Her foot pulled upward then kicked hard into the woman's stomach, sending her flying back with a bit of kinetic energy.

"Sorry, Sibylle." Abruptly, she cast adhesive aura.

A thick, translucent liquid oozed from beneath Roslyn's numb feet. It slid across the floor and clung with a sticky grasp to anything within its range. Not wasting time, she moved for the stairs leading up. There were too many people for her to handle at her level. It was best to bottle neck them and limit the chances they could surround her.

Kuno hit the snow hard, landing flat on his back after Evander collided with him. The kid blinked up, startled, as Evander’s commandeered body strode past without a glance, leaving Kuno floundering in a cloud of frost and confusion. He was leading the town to midnight mass. No one paid him any mind and everyone was walking in the same direction. Toward the cathedral.

He crossed the entrance threshold with Johann, who surprisingly moved quite quickly for a man his size. It was, shall we say, impressive. Still, upon stepping inside, Evander had no control over his faculties. He was simply a bystander behind his eyes. Until, he felt the hand of Xiuyang. A massive pump of energy swelled in his body, as if his lamp was lit and all the darkness and haze crawled to the corners of his mind like the secrets he kept, while the rest filled with vibrant light.

He barely made out the instruction of Xiuyang as his heightened state overwhelmed his senses for a brief moment as he acclimated. His heart fiercely pumping. Distract who? Evander thought. He could feel himself returning to normal as he scanned the nave and west end. But what time did Berthold give them before commanding his mind-leashed hounds to attack.

Hans reached at Xiuyang. Sibylle leapt at Roslyn, Constanze hurled at Marco. Krauss rushed at Edyta. Jana targeted Ingrid, and Karl... he came for Evander. All of them were in the way of the real threat, Berthold and his organ. The organ that kept all of them under his wicked spell.

Evander waiting for the moment to separate himself from the nave's floor, found it right as Karl was within reach. The momentum behind Karl's legs would carry him far forward if Evander could clear Karl's head by launching up and skywalking toward Berthold. If he could get in range, it's possible he could create an opening for Xiuyang to clear Berthold from the board.

---

Marceline tore at the scaffolding with wild abandon, hurling more and more pieces into her barricade, but some of the command zombies were now rushing for the other doors or leaping at the windows. The majority threw themselves at her barrier, and the tethered could hear the thump of bodies against it, the slap of skin, the snap - in some cases - of bones.

She drew to her full capacity, feeling a pressure in her head and a tingling around her waistline, and swept a couple dozen away with a telekinetic push. She shoved a few back from a secondary door and tried to start building a barricade there as well, but then a group of them blasted through her main defense and she needed to stop them.

It was too much! They were too many!

Marceline wracked her brain, still hazy from her own spell under the vile magic's influence. She used what little ability she had in the arcane to create a bubble of warmth around herself and loyal little Domino, but she was losing the war here. She knew that she was, even if she had won some battles. Magnetic! Maybe she could render them unconscious! But in this weather? It was just a slower death by hypothermia. She couldn't save them all - not like this. Marci ground her teeth and felt the urge to move, but the snow was brutal and it clung to her wheelchair and she needed the Gift to save people, not move herself. She would have to take the risk of -

A woman slammed into the door hard enough that she fell back, conked her head on a plank of wood and rose, a moment later, woozy but very much in control again. Of course! A new idea occurred to the tethered and she thought herself rather thick for not having come upon it earlier. A second maximum draw, more pounding and tingling, but utter focus.

She called upon her best binding - the unsavoury side of binding that rubbed up against magic that the church did not like, but this was what would save the church, literally. She rendered the debris metallic, as people began to batter their way through it. She rendered it conductive. One man thumped against the door itself. She imbued it with a ferocious charge of static electricity, and then she watched, channeling her magic and maintaining it.

The moment each one hit, they would be zapped awake, and Marceline would put an end to this whole macabre affair.

---

Dorothea's body moved despite her still being fast asleep. It was not a pleasant one, but she could not wake up from it. Her body dragged itself towards the cathedral at a snail's pace.

Within her dream were friends and family, past and present. Their appearances are unclear but the feeling from them is nostalgic. It was warm, almost too nice of a sensation to feel. "Have I done enough?" A faint smile would be the only thing she could muster. Yet as the echo of her own voice fell deep into the abyss, two silhouettes revealed themselves too clearly.

"You have endured more than most, yet you still stand." A moustached figure would slowly be made out.

"But you have chosen this path so that the world would be more fair to people like me, like us, right?" A figure that looked eerily similar, yet without any facial hair spoke.

The woman's lip trembled. "But why must this path be so lonely? Why does seeing them.. hurt so much?"

"You're almost there, Dory. So close to salvation." The two spoke in unison as the silhouettes slowly faded away.

"No. No. Stay with me!" She rushed over to the two men, yet they were already as good as gone. "Don't leave me!!" Tears fell down her cheek as only one figure remained within her vision.

"When will you accept that they are not your friends."

"They are.."

The rotund figure snorted. "If they were, they would've helped you save this damned world." The form of the man grew, looming over the woman. "I just need you to push through."

Any shred of confidence was gone from the woman, only despair and doubt were written on her self. "I know..." The pained expression only worsened. "I know what I have to do.... but I don't know if I have the strength left to do it."

"See this through." And with that, the final figure left. Only herself left to linger in her own mind as her body moved without her permission.

---

The distressing quality of command magic was that it left your mind aware of what you were doing, and what was happening to you. Marco had mentally prepared himself to contend with a command mage a second time after his close call at the crypt, but what he had not prepared himself for was to be dragged into the cold in the dead of night without a coat. The shock of his bare toes sinking through the freezing snow might have stolen his breath away if his impulses weren’t under the control of his traitorous manas. He chose a bad night to take his socks off before bed…

All Marco could do was stick by the teachings of his masters. When enthralled by a command mage, he could not allow fear or desperation to cloud his emotions. Remain calm, and be persistent. He had to spend every second giving orders until his manas obeyed him again. No matter how good they were, his captor could not maintain perfect control over hundreds of people at once. A crack in the spell would soon reveal itself, and when it did, Marco would slither through it like a slime.

Eventually, the Century won his battle, approximately a hundred forty meters away from the cathedral. When his bodily autonomy finally returned to him, he chased after his colleagues without delay, all of them headed for the cathedral doors. He thought he might have been rushing into battle empty handed, but as luck would have it only one of his hands was empty. Marco’s body was so numb from the cold that he hadn’t noticed he was holding his longsword in a death grip, until he nearly sliced his own thigh at the start of his sprint.

Must have grabbed her in the middle of a bad dream. Marco kissed the hilt of his beloved weapon. He didn’t need armor or tools as long as this beauty was by his side. Out of reflex the Century attempted to sheathe his sword, only to find that his belt and scabbard were absent. Not wanting to accidentally slice the townsfolk to ribbons in the heat of the moment, he made the choice to hurl his sword onto a nearby rooftop. If Marco needed Haghoridir he could always get her back later.

He was through the door, and they were slammed shut behind him. It must have been the work of Marceline or Dorothea, as Marco couldn’t see either of them among his peers who made it inside the cathedral. They were clearly working hard to protect everyone though. The sound of bodies thumping against the entrances was still audible even over the sound of music. Thanks to the efforts of the girls outside, he would only have to break through a few dozen thralls instead of a thousand of them.

Marco had the desire to ask his allies for context, but there was no need to. He could see the sacrificial circle plain as day, and the perpetrator of tonight’s chaos was ranting at them like a madman from behind his grand organ. Berthold’s treachery was an unexpected surprise to Marco. The Century was apparently not a great detective. It was good that the fool was too impatient to wait for the academy’s delegation to leave before enacting his final gambit. They would crush him here and now and bring peace to Lindenholdt at last.

Marco wasted no words and simply charged at Bertholdt, hoping to snap the musician’s fingers before everyone's resistance towards the command magic faltered once more. He managed to duck and weave through the crowd long enough to make it halfway to the altar, but along the way Marco’s feet left the ground as his legs were tackled by a small child, sending him tumbling to the floor. Marco rolled his shoulder against the ground and landed upright just in time to intercept Constanze before the little girl could tackle him again. His feet were slippery from the blood of Berdholdt’s victims, and Constanze’s weight nearly knocked him down because of it.

”Ow! Fuck!” She bit him, and hard. Marco pushed his hand against her forehead and forced her off of him, leaving a bloody wound in his left forearm where her teeth had broken the skin. Her fists and feet came flying at him with all the force a little girl could muster, but he casually held her back before dragging her to the ground. Using the abundant material beneath his feet, he bound a pair of makeshift shackles over her wrists that kept her stuck to the floor.

Perhaps recognizing the unique threat Marco presented to the master plan, a large portion of Bertholdt’s slaves began to swarm towards him in unison, surrounding him from all sides before he could pull enough magic to rush past them. He was forced to divert his kinetic draw towards holding back the weight of the crowd with a force barrier, pinning him in place, unable to move forward.

”Bastard…” Marco knew he could easily disperse the mob by simply blowing them all away, but he didn’t want to hurt these people. Someone needed to stop the blasted organ before he was forced to take more drastic self defense measures!



It was a danse macabre. Bodies smashed into the floor and walls. Others crashed through the windows, joining the growing mob inside. Some slammed their heads into the floor or strangled themselves and others. At least five or six collapsed, dead, within the ten-pointed star. Most of the academy students who were valiantly trying to stop the mad organist were so singularly focused on the man himself, however, that they did little to prevent the incursions.

Of course, there were the poor mind-controlled souls hurling themselves at the young thaumaturges and, for those with restraint, it proved to be a mounting and even existential threat. Ingrid, focused on deleting Berthold from existence with her most advanced temporal spell, took a roundhouse right in the face from a bestial Jana, who hit her fellow Eskandishwoman so hard that both broken knuckles and a broken nose ensued. Roslyn was forced to wrestle an even more rabid Sybille to the ground with a mix of chemical magic, binding, and a good old-fashioned boot to the face. Edyta ducked into greyspace as Johann Krauss tried to murder her.

Outside of the church itself, Marceline found herself beset by nearly a dozen humans snapping and snarling like dogs. Within, an even larger rush confronted Marco, grasping, clawing, and swinging wildly. It was appearing increasingly inevitable that he would soon have no choice but to employ 'drastic self defense measures', lest he be overwhelmed.

Then, came the aura and, with it, deliverance. A swirling cloud of adhesive mist surrounded Roslyn and she made a beeline for the stairs to the organist's balcony. Sliding across the floor, she left a wide swathe of it coated with the incredibly sticky substance. The helpless thralls rushed right into it by the dozens and more than half were stopped dead, few reaching Marco. They cried and shouted inarticulately. Some began to claw their own skin away to escape, but Roslyn had bought her allies time; of that, there was no doubt.

Xiuyang was rushing forward over the collapsed form of Hans Grunewald, Evander had sent Karl von Mollern to the floor and was lifting into the air at everyone's common target. Ingrid staggered backwards, her nose busted and bell rung, even as the pain of broken knuckles broke Jana free of the command magic's spell and her eyes widened in horror and apology.

Ingrid staggered backwards, but she twisted even as she struggled for her balance, all for her spell: all to look for its effects. The space around Berthold Lothmann and his instrument of death warped, stretched, and then collapsed into nothingness for a moment. When the impossible scene cleared with a flash, there was a hole, and the simplest matter possible rushed to fill it: air.

A sizable gap loomed where the balcony had been and, of Lothmann himself, there was no sign. He had been deleted in his entirety from existence. In one fell swoop, and thanks to Ingrid's willingness to sacrifice, they had put an end to him.

...

......

............

For a moment, more than one of the students stood there, admiring their triumph. Their eyes darted about and their ears listened, and it occurred to them, then, that they could still hear the music of the great pipe organ of Dom St. Adelheid, as loud and clear as ever. It occurred to them that the townspeople remained, for the most part, enthralled. They cast about and, there, they saw the truth of it, even before the illusion disappeared. So eager had they been in their pursuit that they had not thought to do a sensory sweep. The pipe organ, the balcony, and Berthold, were on the opposite wall. More thralls broke in. Marceline shocked at least a dozen back to lucidity, but they just kept coming. Roslyn, pausing before a staircase that didn't exist, stuck at least that many more.

It mattered less than it should've. The windows continued to break. Lesser doors gave way. Two more killed themselves, and the ten-pointed star began to glow. It had now become a desperate race against time.

Roslyn would've shot Marco a cheeky smirk if not for the focus etched on her face. Feet slapped the floor and spread the thick ooze. In the background, windows shattered and doors splintered as more bodies flooded in. Beneath their feet, the demonic circle buzzed with energy. She knew she had to stop this. The familiarity threatened to bring her down as she locked on the stairwell. Her hand reached out... and grasped nothing. She dug in her heel and skidded to a stop. What, what? She panicked at seeing nothing, but the melody hadn't stopped.

The bastard had tricked her.

She couldn't reach him without wasting time and back tracking. Her eyes glanced at the people tearing into each or attacking her friends. The only ones not doing it were... Realization clicked in her head. Roslyn grounded herself as she rushed back to help Marco.

Her hand wound back then shot forward. Lightning flicked across the skin as she punched one of his reminding attackers. The victim's muscles froze up for a few seconds. It would hurt, but she wasn't out to kill them. Reaching for another to throw him back into the adhesive, she shouted.

"Marco, we need to wake people up! It will stop them from attacking!"

A large, burly fellow came up behind her. She turned too late. His hand reached out and seized her long hair. He jerked back sending her on her back. The breath knocked out of her as his fist raised to bash her face in.

# The Shield

Xiuyang whirled around, filled with a wide-eyed fury, so focused was she on her singular mission: taking that organist by the throat and *unraveling* his traitorous fingers with blood magic until he *begged* her to destroy his precious instrument, which he valued more than human life. She ought to have told Edith that she was not, in fact, 'done there,' and tracked down the little rat—

—but now, the morningstar of Levidan was glowing, and Xiuyang remembered the stakes of what he was doing. She did not have time for his fucking game of musical chairs. Any one of them, if they caught up to him, could kill him, and plenty of the students were focused on that objective. That was his aim: waste enough time for the ritual to succeed. Berthold likely did not care if he survived to see the results of his work, and Xiuyang had no guarantee that destroying the organ would just break the thralls from the spell instantly. What if the command persisted until they broke free on an individual basis?

The conclusion was as simple as it was terrible. There was only one thing Xiuyang, with her specialized focus on Shune and Oraff's magics could meaningfully accomplish to keep the thralls from the circle without slaughtering them, and she did not want to do it—but she was the only one who could. Her allies would curse her for her stupidity if this risk did not pay off. It could cost her everything.

*Yours to gamble, my Eshiran.*



Her coils compressed and sprung her into action, directly into the pit of sacrifices. Two of her tendrils struck down into the pooling blood and began to suck it up, sending streaks of red through the white bandaged appendages covering her body. The limbs gorged and expanded like the body of a blood-sucking insect, and the two that weren't feeding began throwing dead bodies out of the circle and protecting Xiuyang from the living hordes trying to prevent her.

"Stop!" She raised a hand and used the blood she'd drained as fuel to heal the innocents desperately trying to kill themselves in obedience to their unholy command. "It wasn't your fault! Don't do this!" she cried, as if words alone could awaken them. Even six limbs were not enough to fuel her healing, keep the hordes at bay, and make any earnest attempt to awaken them short of slapping them across the face in self-defense.

They came at her with fists. They came at her with nails and with knives of sacrifice picked up off the floor. They struck her, and her body healed itself. They stabbed her, and her body healed itself.

She remembered her oath, from the time before she'd decided that Oraff had abandoned her to be used by Eshiran—to protect life, and especially the innocent.

She was the Regenerating Shield of Oraff-Zept.

---

Hranf, in his slumber, had taken flight alongside the students. The cold air fluttered across his inky black feathers as his wings lifted him aloft on the warm drafts. Below, numerous specks of humans flocked to the church's melody. A primal instinct-older than him- stirred. It poked and nudged his half-sleep brain awake once more.

The other eyes popped open as his head glanced down. This wasn't the warm, safe room he had been in earlier. Where was he? That instinct to seek out familiarity tugged at him. Finally, the raven's wings tucked in then dove downward. He scanned the crowd below as he swept over them.

His eyes locked onto a chestnut haired woman trailing behind. Tilting his feathered tail downward, his claws reached out and dug into the shoulder. He found her ear. A quick nibble did nothing causing him to puff up. He edged closer then he pressed the tip of his beak into her ear. With a mighty inhale, he let out a shrill throaty CAW!

The entranced woman moved ever so slowly towards her ordered destination. Too deep in her slumber for anything from within to wake her from that hellish dream. Yet one very unlikely feathered hero rescued her from this dreadful magic.

Dory had been woken up by a sound that she had never expected to hear up close.

# CAAAAW!

Her face would soon turn to the corvid companion of the Hendlish girl who had made her shoulder its resting spot. "Now, ain't that a surprise visit." The Raven's appearance would take her eyes away from the obvious goings-on. "To think such disgusting magic could be hidden in beauty."

She patted the Raven before moving herself. "Go see if you can help some of the others, okay?"

A nervous chuckle left her vocal chords as she headed towards the cathedral, the place she seemed to be drawn to before. "Never have been the brightest."

Being closer to the woman, Hranf inhaled a strange scent. Something sulfuric and... unsettling. Blagh dark magic, he shuddered. He couldn't understand how or why this fledgling got herself tangled up in such things. No different than those Seeing Eye fledglings he once aided.

Alas, it wasn't his place to judge. No point in wasting the energy.

Besides, he thought as he stretched out his head for the pats, She knew how to pet properly. His eyes closed briefly to savor the touch then let out a harsh croak. A warning or urge to be careful? Dory would never know unless she knew raven. He bounced a bit before he dropped into the air and flapped off toward the church. It wasn't hard for him to figure out where they went. Now to find that beer fledgling or the worm star and his rolling pet.

~~~~

Hranf floated higher and higher. His wings evened out on the updraft when he spotted something in the distance. The old bird inhaled, processing what he saw. How... odd, he thought. With a quick, agile twist of his tail, he circled about then once more lifted his claws to land upon the fledgling's shoulder. His throat puffed up before he let out a bellowing croak. He turned his head to the east-southeast direction, then picked at her hair. Follow me, fledgling over there, he pleaded.

Immediately, his large form dipped from his perch and began to soar in that direction. Away from the church.

---

Anger rushed into her as she fell victim to trickery. Had the pipe organ always been there, or was it just an illusion from the start? Whatever the case, his plan was moving forward, and their time was running out. They couldn't simply keep guessing if they had him dead.

She leapt to a high spot of the wall, forming a place to hold onto it from the stonework. "I'm going to try and find the pipe organ!" Ingrid yelled to her companions, only to then see what Xiuyang was doing. It was a horrible and gruesome thing, but she had trust Xiuyang was not going to throw her life away, not when it mattered so little here.

She found the sound of the pipe organ and followed it through time, trying to find just where it came out of and where it originated. That was her only method available to her presently.

The horde continued to come, and Xiuyang dutifully rebuffed them, but she had not been cautious in her consumption of the sacrificed blood. She knew that there could be consequences, but believed that her biology would hold strong. This was the nature of the duties the gods had uniquely given her. Oraff had crafted her precisely for her work in the Forge, and Eshiran had sharpened her edge into a deadly weapon for combating evil.

It began as a creeping doubt. What had only been about a minute of fending off the mind-controlled civilians felt like fifteen, and that damnable organ was still playing. *Are you really going to give up your future for these minnows?*

*What future?* Xiuyang rebuked. There was no choice but to focus on the present moment, because it was all she had for certainty. There was still a moment's hesitation when the barricade failed and roughly thirty new bodies flung themselves at her and the cult's circle of death.

Her coils were ready to propel her out, but she stood her ground. A vision from the Weggosi beanie showed her that Roslyn was in danger of turning back to rescue her. "Focus, Rose! I'm okay! Stop the organ!"

It was a pitched battle now. Xiuyang performed a desperate defence, risking her very soul to absorb the blood sacrifice. There were no demonic whispers in her ears yet, no 'temptations' or anything of the like. She was almost unbelievably effective, until nearly thirty new thralls hurled themselves not at her, but from the church's balconies and landings, intent on smashing their fragile bodies into the unforgiving marble below.

There were more now, too. Over twenty swarmed Marceline who was trying, at once, to maintain a barricade over the cathedral's massive double doors, keep it charged to shock them into consciousness, maintain a bubble of warmth around herself and Domino, and pull others away from secondary entrances.

It was too much. A big raging man came charging through her kinetic slam with strength to spare and smashed into the much smaller tethered girl. Thrown from her wheelchair, Marceline panicked and hit back at him with her full magical force, hurling her attacker a solid fifty feet through the air. He landed broken and unmoving, but there were still more. These, she warded off with desperate defenses, but her concentration on the barricade collapsed, even as a few more thralls joined the ranks of the lucid.

Ingrid, high up on the wall, could see the doors give way and at least a hundred new bodies pouring into this cauldron of destruction. When it came to berthold, however, she did not trust her eyes after the earlier deception. Her nose stung and dripped blood - a reminder that this was a clever and ruthless enemy - but she could hardly allow herself to be distracted. Then, there was a pitchfork hurtling at her head from someone in the crowd, and only her sanguinaire reflexes allowed her to pluck it from the air. She now had a pitchfork. The organist. Was it really him there? She could see him on the far wall on the balcony, clear as day, but did she dare trust her senses this time?

Roslyn, meanwhile, found her tactic's success to be a mixed blessing. Dozens of onrushing thralls were stopped, and a few even came to their senses, but now their eyes were on her, and almost forty charged in her direction, eager to trample each other and their new target. This was, as it stood, clearly a losing battle.

For Marco, the situation was similar. The threat that he represented could not be ignored, and even more than raced after Roslyn came for him. Some were still stopped by her adhesives, but there were so many glued to the floor and fallen over, now, that others simply used their bodies as a bridge, not caring about - or, more aptly, aware of - the damage that they were doing to their fellow people.

Evander, quick to act, decisive, nimble, and not yet representing a direct threat to Berthold Lothmann, found himself comparatively unmolested, with only a dozen or so thralls in pursuit of him. Xiuyang had revealed herself to be a monstrosity, and eagerly sucked up blood. Marco was soon to be overwhelmed, along with Roslyn. Ingrid was up on one of the walls like some sort of spider, even though it was her Retanese counterpart who was more spiderlike in appearance. Of Johann, the last he had seen was the hefty Kerreman still under demonic control. Edyta Laska, meanwhile, had disappeared entirely.

Matters were rather less dire for Dory, at her extreme range, at least in an immediate sense, but she could see the crowd pinch and swirl as they mobbed a target about eighty meters from her: Marceline. Then, there was Hranf, pulling her hair and cawing at her before taking off. He was trying to draw her attention somewhere to the east-southeast. Just what it was lay beyond her, but it was likely worth her time. The issue was, however: did it outstrip the value of Marceline's contribution and possibly her life?

Through it all, Berthold continued to hammer away at his pipe organ. The music was beautiful, haunting, passionate, and the funeral march for this town. He had to be stopped... at any cost.

There was a moment in flight. Between Evander's heel striking the back of Karl's skull and the beauty of the organ's music tugging at reality. If not for the organ's threatening power, it was sublime to witness. As Evander landed beyond Karl's reach, up on a ledge. He witnessed Roslyn sliding into action. Her small figure colliding with Berthold's machine and what happened shot pain into Evander's gut.

He tricked us.

The realization of Berthold's game was painful because it was obvious and it worked. His eyes darted upward, scanning the cathedral. Bodies continued to fall in, fly around, and fight. Some were destroying their own lives in the ritualistic circle bounded in the cathedral before the students. It was... surreal.

Lives unknowingly throwing themselves at the devil's feet.

Evander froze. His eyes widened more, he didn't have time to think, he needed to act. The music was still playing. The organ was still alive.

He turned his head sharply, his senses extending through the magnetic fields like invisible tendrils. Where are you? There! The balcony, the organ, the heir to darkness. He was across the chamber.

"Damn it," he muttered, teeth clenched.

As the star on the floor began to glow, Evander’s composure faltered for just an instant — the first flicker of genuine frustration. He was controlled by Berthold, tricked by Berthold, by Pentad he would not be killed by him too. The overwhelming sensory information bombarding him from the organ playing, the fighting, and his own disturbance clouded his ability to definitively say it was the real Berthold. But, it certainly appeared to be and it was certainly someone or something performing strenuous work to keep things under control, this was enough for Evander to take his shot.

"Up on the balcony!" He shouted to the others.

From where Evander was positioned on a ledge, he focused intensely on Berthold's position. Taking a deep breath to calm his nerves. He followed up by attempting to electromagnetically disrupt Berthold's manas.

The distance, the noise, the scene. It was too difficult to focus. Too challenging to force the manas into disarray. Instead, nothing. Not even a shrug from Berthold. Evander knew it was futile from this range with everything going on to try again. He broke concentration to focus elsewhere.

Roslyn's head jerked to the side, narrowly avoiding the punch. Using kinetic, she sent the man flying over her head and back into the mass behind her. She just got to her feet when she saw Xiuyang toss herself to the 'wolves'.

No... NO! Her heart stopped in her chest. She took a step only for her friend's words to stop her in her tracks. Conflict and fear etched on the younger girl's face. Then her hesitation ripped her chance to help away. Feet shambled toward her as they started to circle her. Her wide eyes tracked them, her mind berating her and lashing out at her weakness.

Weak... always weak. That was all she ever was.

"Enough...ENOUGH!" Roslyn screamed, her voice lost in the organ's malice.

Her feet pulled back and her gift swirled about her. Chunks of wood cracked and formed into a waist high barrier, slowing the mob's approach. Their fingers clawed and tore at the flimsy wall. Their blood stained the surface. Roslyn whipped to the left sending a shock into the nearest threat. He crumbled and seized.

One jumped over the barrier and rushed at her. A shard of broken glass fisted in his hand slashed toward her eye. Her arm came up as it stabbed deep. She hissed and kicked hard at his leg. He dropped only for her to bring his face to her knee.

Keep going... she demanded.

Ignoring the bleeding, she telekinetic sent another man flying backwards into his companions. She continued to cycle through her magics. Binding to block, magnetic to shock, chemical to boost adrenaline, arcane to blind, and kinetic to send flying back. Her body fell into numbing motions as she fought to keep back the mob.

They continued to pour forth like fish out of a net, throwing their lives away for their would-be master. A new group came from the windows, hurling themselves at the ground in an attempt to snap their own necks against the cathedral floor. Xiuyang's tendrils surged with blood magic, and she covered the floors in a spongy substance that would break their falls and absorb even more blood.

An overwhelming horde advanced, fearlessly attacking the Revidian monstrosity in groups of five. Yet Xiuyang knew they only appeared fearless because of the control Berthold's command had over even the smallest facial muscles. Beneath the veneer of blind rage, their souls surely felt absolute terror. Using the sacrificial blood as fuel for her attacks simplified the process of drawing, letting her put her full focus into prioritizing her opponents. Three, sometimes four of them demanded her focus at once, but hers never broke. She smote them back with a ruthless efficiency and angelic grace. Their strikes hardly phased her anymore.

She was getting accustomed to the pain. She was adapting well to the flow of combat. It felt as if nothing and no one could make her stop, except herself. Doubts would seep into even the smallest cracks found in every human psyche, however, no matter how cold and hardened. A feeling of dread had slowly come over her as she began to think... this was *too easy.* Had she fallen for another of the organist's tricks? Was she under an illusion, and rather than saving these souls, she was killing them, completely unaware? No, Berthold was occupied defending his organ, and her mental faculties nominal. A brief glance his direction aside, her focus remained as sharp and direct as an arcane lance.

Was she... *enjoying this too much?* Was this how it felt to become a demon? Unknowing, unfeeling violence? Such a lonely existence was something she couldn't bear alone. Ciro... She missed him. She made him sick with worry once. Would she do it again, now? But Ciro wasn't here. She was alone. Sure, her friends were here, but they were horrified beneath their plastic expressions of concern, pity and affection—

No... She wasn't alone. A subtle presence was trying to corrupt her without making itself known to her. Clear her mind—if she could just take a moment to breathe and clear her mind... *No, I need to purge my body!* she realized, urgently.

"I can't—do this anymore!" she cried out, staggering away from the pit of bodies. Tangled, writhing, trying to get to their feet in a stack three high in a circle all around her, the piles of bodies really did resemble a macabre fire pit, with only a few left in the center. Her desperate gambit had born fruit, but she could continue no longer. She still had people who cared about her—she could not risk tying her soul to a demon—she would not go down this way, not like Dorothea! With another surge of blood magic, she formed a temporary hole in the wall of the cathedral to crash through. Outside—she had to go outside, away from the sacrifice.

With a horrible squelch and cry of pain, the coils constricted tightly around Xiuyang and around themselves, wringing a great pool of blood onto the earth outside the cathedral—in full view of Marci.

---

The barrier had given way and no help was coming. Instead, it was the opposite. They continued to swarm forward and Marceline could not so much as even climb back into her wheelchair before she had to blast a thrall back with a telekinetic wave or electrocute another. They surged from all directions and that was it. She could do no more like this. She drew all of the momentum from a quintet that had nearly reached her and blasted into the air, barely pulling her wheelchair free and dumping it ungracefully in a tree.

Within seconds, the spot where she had been was subsumed. People writhed and twisted, they jerked and grated their teeth but, with her out of the way, they now resumed their death march to Dom. St. Adelheid. It was relentless. It was unstoppable! What were her friends inside of the cathedral doing!?

She settled upon the tree where her wheelchair rested, feet dangling from the branch. No, they would fight with all that they had. She knew it. They would fight with compassion and determination and, if they were not succeeding, it was because the enemy was strong enough to stop them.

A sudden fear seized the young tethered's stomach, and she reached out with her senses, focused on the cathedral. It was such an energetic cacophony that it nearly overwhelmed her. She shook her head and had to grab onto a smaller branch for support while she tried again.

There were so many people - so many - streaming towards the great monolith on the hill at the edge of town, and yet... given the size of Lindenholdt, it felt as if there should be -

And then, the organ stopped! Marceline was wrenched by the sudden reprieve. People everywhere, enslaved by its call, simply... stopped. They didn't return to consciousness, but they didn't move. They stood there, imperfect in their stillness, to be fair. They swayed. They twitched. They were, generally, uncanny.

That was not what grabbed her attention the most, however. Among the many thumps, bangs, and crashes that had assaulted her senses over the past few minutes, this one stood out. A monster with a vaguely human frame but multiple spider-like limbs came flying through a hole in the cathedral's wall, drenched in blood, its arms constricting and soaking the ground in cascades.

It took Marceline a moment to realize that this was not... a monster... at all. Xiuyang.

---

"You think I hadn't already thought of- ACK!" Marco was about to shoot Roslyn a sarcastic remark, but as soon as he opened his mouth his breath was squeezed out of him by the weight of the mob swarming over him once more. Perhaps she had meant to help him, but breaking his concentration only served to release the hold he had on the brainwashed crowd. Now they were dogpiling him in an attempt to suffocate him, and the combined mass was crushing many of the townsfolk underneath it. If Roslyn needed his help now, he was in no position to offer it. Everyone had their own problems to deal with first.

Underneath the pile of squirming bodies, Marco's nostrils were assaulted by the stench of unwashed bodies, and as the weight on top of him grew, he came closer and closer to blacking out. Before he fell unconscious, the Century absorbed all the energy he could from the townsfolk. Kinetic motion, chemical signals, electrical impulses, it didn't matter. He took whatever his manas could wrestle out of them until he was full to bursting. Enhancing the power of his own muscles, Marco forced his way out from underneath the human crush, kicking and clawing his way forward one inch at a time. When his head finally breached, he gasped for air. When his arms were free, he pulled himself along the floor with all the strength he had. Another thrall fell on top of him in a mindless attempt to stop his escape, but Marco grabbed the woman's shirt from behind and flung her across the floor into the people trapped by the adhesive.

With a final push, Marco was free, but he was not yet safe. He hunched over to rest and catch his breath, but the townsfolk weren't about to let him off so easily. Pairs of eyes locked onto him one after the other, and as the brainwashed slaves began to notice their target's escape, the mass of bodies began to collapse as they all attempted to chase after him in unison. At the bottom of the pile, many of the victims were expired or unconscious, having succumbed to a lack of air or simply internal trauma. Marco thought he could see a couple of children amongst the dead, but there was no time to mourn them. The thralls were coming for him again.

A jolt of pain from his bleeding arm distracted Marco. He was almost too late to spin out of the way of a tackle from one of the constables. As the man tumbled to the ground, Marco slapped him in the back of the head with a handful of electricity, sending him into a spasm, all of his muscles seizing up at once. After knocking out two more of his unwilling attackers, Marco punched the ground with both of his fists, shattering the wood and stone and laying out dozens of people as their footing caved in underneath them. He clambered out of the rubble and flew into the air like a bird, landing gracefully behind Roslyn just as she sent another member of the mob flying, and nearly getting himself punched in the process.

"Easy there tiger!" Marco's calloused hand squeezed her wounded limb. He couldn't make it pretty, but a few seconds was enough to at least form some fibrous tissue and stop the bleeding. He did the same for himself, leaving a circle of tooth shaped scars on his forearm.

"Listen lady, we need to work faster than this. I'll keep them off your back while you knock them all out!" Marco intercepted a trio of townspeople by squashing them to the floor with a surge of gravity. His eyes remained on Roslyn, expecting a favorable answer from her.

Roslyn didn't hear the thump behind her or Xiuyang's abrupt exit. She was lost in the flashbacks of the Wailing Leviathan. Screams and pleads, both present and past, echoed in her head. Men, women, and child dying in their own blood around her. Some crawling over each other to reach and drag her down. No escape.

She was no soldier. There was no training to kill or die, just the basic instinct to live.

Another tingle of magnetic rushed through the girl's fist when someone grabbed her wounded arm. Pivoting on her foot, she spun to sock him when she stopped abruptly. She blinked. Marco?

Her fist lowered at his words as she slowly collected herself. She noticed the bleeding had stopped."Right. On it."

Taking a deep breath, Roslyn's mind darted through her list of spells. The townsfolk were already knocked out so putting them even deeper under wasn't going to help. Sticking them in place worked, but they tore themselves up getting loose. Then a simple solution came. She had woken in fright so many times, she almost smacked herself for not thinking of it earlier.

Gaze of terror! It might work. Truthfully, she had little choice and prayed they might not stampede over each other. It wasn't going to be easy to affect this big of a crowd and she just started to draw when the music stopped.

This was their chance.

---

The domineering presence in the air was enough to choke any other manifestation mage worth their salt. For the people who commanded demons to do their bidding, it was always the ones that could not be controlled that frightened most. It made her flesh crawl. Was this the reason she had avoided any other encounter with a Grand Demon before?

It would be then that her feathered friend gave her a different direction to go. "Why are we going this way?" Were the only words she could muster as she followed the raven. If there was another threat she needed to deal with it before it could become a problem.

Hranf's eye stared and gave off a sense of experience. It seemed like he knew something she didn't. However, it was impossible tell for certain. His feathers puffed with hope when her eyes locked with his. The raven, who rarely spoke the human language, managed to croak out a single Eskandish word. "Folk."

Abruptly he fluttered off her shoulder into the air. Higher he rose until he once more spotted the dark dots from earlier. Every so often, he checked to see if the woman kept up before circling to stay in sight. They had trailed further from the lambs marching to the slaughter as the music fell into silence. Maybe those caught fledglings might have a chance after all.

---

Roslyn didn't hear the thump behind her or Xiuyang's abrupt exit. She was lost in the flashbacks of the Wailing Leviathan. Screams and pleads, both present and past, echoed in her head. Men, women, and children dying in their own blood around her. Some crawled over each other to reach and drag her down. No escape.

She was no soldier. There was no training to kill or die, just the basic instinct to live.

Another tingle of magnetic rushed through the girl's fist when someone grabbed her wounded arm. Pivoting on her foot, she spun to sock him when she stopped abruptly. She blinked. Marco?

Her fist lowered at his words as she slowly collected herself. She noticed the bleeding had stopped."Right. On it."

Taking a deep breath, Roslyn's mind darted through her list of spells. The townsfolk were already knocked out so putting them even deeper under wasn't going to help. Sticking them in place worked, but they tore themselves up getting loose. Then a simple solution came. She had woken in fright so many times, she almost smacked herself for not thinking of it earlier.

Gaze of terror! It might work. Truthfully, she had little choice and prayed they might not stampede over each other. It wasn't going to be easy to affect this big of a crowd and she just started to draw when the music stopped.

This was their chance.

Evander froze mid-step, eyes widening. "What the fuck is that?" he hissed, watching Xiuyang's body contort, skin splitting as something hungry and wrong forced its way through the hole it just created through the cathedral wall. Was she still... Xiuyang?

His jaw tightened, a vein twitching along his temple. "A little pressure and she turns into that, then the bitch splits?" he muttered under his breath. His fists clenched, and a surge of adrenaline clawed up his spine.

"Doesn't matter, she isn't here, and that monster behind the organ is. Focus." Evander retrained his sights on Berthold. He may have been unable to disrupt his manas from this distance, but closer, he'd have a greater shot.

He tore his gaze from the abomination for only a moment to see where the others were positioned. Could they be useful? Roslyn and Marco were locked, hacking through the horde of glassy-eyed townsfolk. If Berthold wasn't stopped soon, exhaustion would certainly end the group of students before Berthold did.

If Evander were honest with himself, the lives of the others weren't important. Not really. But letting Lindenholdt rot into a demonic hive sure was. If not on principle, there was also strategic value for Revidia to keep this place afloat.

Evander's breath steaded. His eyes tracked Berthold's silhouette as he played, until he didn't. The sounds of the organ stopped. This was their moment! Evander had to close the distance.

He broke into a sprint along the narrow beams, the cracking of settling wood was drowned out by the chaos below. He raised his hand, snapping his wrist forward in a practiced motion. A tear in space unfurled, he would dive through and end up next to Berthold and the organ.

Xiuyang dropped to her knees with a groan. The demonic influence was not completely gone, but it had subsided fairly significantly. *Even if wrung dry, a rag will never lose its stain.* Doubt lingered, but she pushed it to the back of her mind.

She staggered past the frozen bodies of the unconscious mob to the front doors of the cathedral, ready to make another stand if the music continued to play. Out here, there were even more potential thralls than inside, but she could keep the situation inside from getting any worse.

She did not seem to see Marci. If the tethered wanted protection, she would have to call out to her—but *would* she, with her friend in such a state?

Marci saw Xiuyang, but the reverse was not true. The tethered blinked, shook her head, and had no choice but to look out over the crowd. They just... stood there, idle, in some sort of... holding state.

Indeed, it was the same picture inside. For a moment, the unwilling mob stilled, and Roslyn saw her opportunity. Unleashing a Gaze of Terror on them was a risk that she had to take - anything to use this window to free them from their stupor. Whatever the process, the result was immediate and effective. A few stampeded, but something like seventy found themselves called back to consciousness. Marco's efforts only added to this number, and the freed former thralls, who included quite a few of the friendly townsfolk the students had met at various points, could now contribute to the defense against their fellows.

Ingrid, still shaken by the sheer scale of the unfolding disaster and her near-miss while trying to kill Berthold's precious pipe organ, clung to the wall and watched in growing horror, but Evander merely redoubled his efforts. Ripping through spacetime, he struck directly at the organ.

Marceline, recovering herself, lost track of Xiuyang as she returned to a normal-ish shape and weaved through the crowd. She did not know what to make of what she had seen. She did not have the chance to process it, but the sense that the Revidian had held some deeper secret close to her chest earlier was inescapable.

The tethered glanced down. She glanced over at her wheelchair, perched precariously on another branch, and spotted something she had not noticed before, stuck between her backrest and cushion: Roslyn's compass! Snapping it to her hand with telekinesis, she looked out over the scene and took a steadying breath. She had to do something. So, for the third time this very early day, Marceline drew with all the capacity that she had. Her head throbbed, a slight tinnitus filled her ears, and her waistline prickled with pins and needles. Another fifty townsfolk were shocked back to alertness. She drew again and went to repeat the same ritual.

Xiuyang was still out there. Was she... still Xiuyang? Marci didn't have time. She likely was. This was likely the secret from before. She had other things to focus on. Their gear! She could retrieve it. They would need it!

Much closer to the place where Marci would find it was Dorothea Hohnstein von Albesatz-Danzau. She hurried after the persistent black bird, through endless crowds, but she began to get the sense that there were, perhaps, not quite as many people here as there should've been. Further, she went, breaking off from the main crowd, but, much to her surprise and confusion, there was a second stream of bodies. It was smaller than the first, but it was headed... across the fields at Lindenholdt's edge, past the farms and a swampy area where the forest rose on rocky ridges and, beyond, to the...

"Mein Eschi!" shouted Berthold, leaping out of the way as Evander appeared, but he was not the target. It was the organ, and nothing now stood between the devilish instrument and his attack.



Except for Marcella Brandt. She reached out an arm and blocked the entirety of his magic with an exceptionally strong magnetic pulse. Her sleeve shattered in the act and, with it, some of her skin. An ugly sneer twisted her face. "Our ceremony will proceed just as planned, interloper." She tilted her head and, from her fingertip, a beam of pure light emerged. It widened into a great scything blade that aimed to slice the Revidian in twain..

Xiuyang narrowly dodged the stampede of newly-awakened townfolk rushing to the exit. It was a horror show—people climbed over the unconscious bodies left in the doorway while the Revidian sidled along the wall to avoid the crowds as much as possible, but she was pinned and couldn't move.

Marcella Brandt appeared, and Xiuyang clicked her tongue. How many more of these cheap tricks would they have to endure? She reached out with her senses, both to find more hidden enemies and allies not yet awakened. Instead of doing a head count of everyone she knew was awake, she simply looked for beacons of high RAS.

Closing her eyes, Roslyn focused on her task. Her ears blotted out the chaos and forced her heart steady, her attention faded from the present. Among the discord, she tried to replicate the fear within herself. She let it fuel her efforts. Making a ring with her fingers, she blew through the center. A thick, unsettling mist erupted from her lips to surround those surrounding her.

At the spell's peak, her eyes snapped open. Her pupils dilated when her gift flooded their system and latch onto their hormones. In an instant, horror poured into their souls. The impact was immediate. Several eyes shot open as they left one nightmare and woke into another. Their bodies slammed into each other as a poor soul fell underfoot, their life swiftly ushered into Eshiran's embrace.

Among them, Roslyn spotted a familiar face among the group. Constanze.. She was getting trampled. Empathy won over logic in the end.

"Constanze!" Roslyn stepped away from Marco's side to keep the child in sight.

Her telekinesis roughly pulled Constanze into her arms. Pressing the girl close to her body, Roslyn had just turned when an elbow found her cheek. Pain and stars spun her vision as they both crumbled. She pressed them both against an upturned pew while more bodies shoved them about. Still, she held the zombie-like child close.

When a gap appeared, she pushed back onto her feet.

A sudden boom of magnetic waves caught her attention. Instead of the crushed remains of the organ, a woman stood in its defense. A few chunks of skin had broken off her arm before she summoned a humming blade of light then lashed out at Evander.

"Who the fuck is that?" Roslyn asked as she acted quickly. Drawing from time, she aimed the Light of Ahn-Shune at the woman's eyes to disorient her. Roslyn might've disliked Evander, but she didn't want to see him killed.

Stuck between a wall of bricks and a wall of bodies, Xiuyang felt like there was nothing she could do. Her senses as a mage told her the same old story they always did: once more, they were fucked. Five new and very strong energy signatures approached from Die Tanzstiefel. Either they were Edyta's allies from the church or they were cultists who had just armed themselves with the biros' weapons—Marci was either very happy right now or very dead soon. A situation out of her control.

The inside of the cathedral was much the same. Fritz von Mollern was drawing an amount of energy that would give Jocasta pause. Either Roslyn's hunch was right, and the von Mollerns were secret allies, or they were all going to die here, pincered as they were between him and Marcella. Xiuyang did not want to abandon her friends, but even if she did have the heart to do it, there were five more mages she couldn't handle standing between her and her precious mirror. Just another situation out of her control. She scoffed. She thought she was going somewhere with her plans last night. She was nothing and nobody. Without the direct intervention of Eshiran, Laska was right: she was paste.

But there was exactly one person in this situation that she could kill on her way to Eshiran's final embrace, and that was Berthold. He would die here, he would die before her friends did. He would die painfully. But first, she needed a distraction.

Two targets—one call to make. Xiuyang's voice caught in her throat as the words came to her, but did she have the courage to make the call again? In Belleville, with the Colas, she had made the call, and everyone blamed her when it didn't work out. It would happen again if she made the wrong call. Could she trust Fritz von Mollern? She had heard his name in the mines. The demonic woman whom she now theorized to be Marcella Brandt had spoken to him, seemingly asked him for orders.

But if Fritz were an enemy, what then? They all converge on him, and Marcella blasts them all in the back one by one as they stall for time in the hope that those approaching from the inn were allies? So she'd foil an attempted back stab from the von Mollerns, but only succeed in delaying the inevitable, unless they were lucky enough to have reinforcements. If Fritz were not an enemy, then she'd kill him if she made the wrong call. If he was, she accepted that she and her friends were dead if she made the call to converge on Marcella. Did she trust Roslyn's judgment, or her own?

Karl von Mollern did not hurt Roslyn. He'd caught Johann in a lie when Roslyn was none the wiser. Would a person like that work with demons? She'd doubted Roslyn's judgment on account of her innocence before, and the incident with the sword was a fresh wound, learning that Marci had been in on it but not her. *Not this time. I can't make the call. It's yours, Roslyn.*

"ON MAGUS!!" Xiuyang shouted the universally recognized order, pointing at Marcella. There were no magusjaegers in the building, but she hoped her allies would get the point.

The attack unleashed was unassuming, but it seemed to have endless power, and only the collective efforts of Evander and Roslyn, combined with some quick thought, divine armour, and mobility, saved the former's life. For a moment, as the Light of Ahn-Shune bathed her form in its holy, blinding light, a couple of the more perceptive Biro's caught sight of something truly monstrous beneath. It was... goatlike or sheeplike and twisted an sneering, with black soulless eyes.

Ingrid was one of those who saw, with her keen senses, and that also made her a target. She dodged only with the help of superhuman reflexes and a spot-teleport behind a wall. Marcella's beam of pure fiery death scythed through support pillars, melted stonework, and evaporated bodies. More of the former thralls broke free of their mind control and the screams of terror that rose from Dom St. Adelheid were enough to induce only further chaos.

Hair undone, eyes bloodshot, and a wild triumphant grin on her face, the right-hand woman of Liesl Frickmayer strode forward. "Eight hundred years!" she crowed, drawing with a speed and deep strength that simply wasn't human. "Endless sacrifice, living within the filth of these people. Watching them fail again and again, bearing witness their stupidity, simplicity, and weakness, all for this moment." She shook her head and turned her gaze upon Xiuyang, who, this moment, was focusing her energy sense and perceiving things of truly great import. "You won't stop us," she declared factually, with a small tight shake of her head. "This is greater than you and, Levidan knows, this disgusting world needs it."



As if to punctuate her point, the hulking pipe organ that infected this cathedral started up again, Berthold playing madly, hair disheveled, eyes bugged out, scarf tossed carelessly over one shoulder. The thralls began to move under his command once more. Perhaps seventy or eighty people had now died and the ten-pointed star was bubbling with their blood and glowing. The entire building thrummed with a fell and otherworldly energy. All could sense it.

Chin raised high, bearing disdainful and imperious, she reached one hand out, clawlike, and conjured a thousand small explosions all around Xiuyang with a flick of her wrist. "By the Gods, you're ugly," she sneered. "Please disappear."

The Revidian could sense what was coming, however, and she had decided that her singular focus should be on eliminating Berthold once and for all. "ON MAGUS!!" came her call and gesture, and everyone who could muster an attack turned to launch what they had at Marcella.

It was at that moment that there was a colossal surge of energy from the center of the church. People fell, writhing and vomiting. Others gripped their temples and screamed. A handful simply passed out. Even Evander and Roslyn felt a distinct discomfort and dizziness.

Fritz von Mollern, patriarch of his noble house, stood alone, as others collapsed or fled, the fine silks of his nightgown tattered and filthy, bloodshot eyes narrowed. "You talk too much," he growled, unheard, even as blood began to trickle from his nose. With that, like a dam bursting, all of the energy he had been holding was unleashed, and it was a mighty torrent indeed. Great stone pillars, thousands of pounds each, gargoyles, pews, parts of the floor and roof: all of them shot towards the demon opposite him with the velocity of bullets fired from a magusjaeger's rifle.

It took less than a second and Marcella was so busy defending the other attacks that she didn't even notice until the maelstrom converged. The massive "CRACK!!!" and shockwave that followed flattened even more people as eruptions of dust and rubble billowed outwards. Dom St. Adelheid trembled under the onslaught and those with the ability to sense energy reached out even before they could see.

In the middle stood, not Marcella Brandt, head maid of the noble House of Frickmayer, but the vendemon Saivel, the wolf in sheep's clothing and second of Lord Iptacht himself. The scraps of human form sloughed away and she stood there, bloodied and panting. Her canine lips curled up in a snarl and her claws extended. "That's everything, then," she coughed. "That's all you've got." Despite herself, she smiled. "My turn now!"

What she wasn't watching, however, was Berthold Lothmann, her most useful dupe. He and his instrument of coercion had lain, for a moment, utterly undefended.

Saivel attacked, but so did Fritz, and Xiuyang received the cover she needed. With her mastery of Arcane magics, the remnants of Saivel's assault were defended and the Revidian dived in for the kill. A Loon's Call rang out, and Berthold found a six-legged, blood-hungry beast skittering in his direction, weaving through the crowd as if all those people simply didn't exist. Ingrid seemed to catch on to Xiuyang's plan and bound the man in place with stasis, bindings, and a touch of her own dark magic.

The Revidian was on him and there was neither any escape nor anyone to help him. His fingers began to unravel, in a manner not unlike the omniphage coils on her own body. "Going to be hard to play like that," Xiuyang quipped callously, as the curse progressed past his hands and up his arms. Still, he was not suffering enough. Two of the coils latched onto him next, draining his blood. At this rate, if no one stopped her, she would simply devour him.

Fritz von Mollern's face curdled in disgust. "Of course you would not die from this," he sneered, wiping the blood dribbling from his nose with the back of his wrist. he swayed a bit where he stood, clearly exhausted from the barrage, but then came the students' attack on Berthold, and his eyebrows shot together in alarm. "I came to defeat demons," he shouted, "not ally with them!"

He was drawing again, but Saivel's claws shot out and she launched herself at the lord of Lindenholdt. As strong as he was, a previous graduate of Ersand'Enise and victor of the AIZ55 Trials, he could not hope to stand alone against the power of this vendemon now that his ironblood manas had exhausted themselves to their utmost. Nonetheless, he would not budge as Saivel came at him with tooth and claw empowered to ridiculous levels of speed, force, and sharpness by her magic.

Fritz stood his ground and, suddenly, there were five of him. Before each was a wall. Behind each, he was in motion, slipping to the side or laying down another barrier. The vendemon swiped and slashed, obliterating most everything in her path, but she laid not a finger on the good Baron.

In the meantime, as Xiuyang tortured Berthold to death and reveled in it, Roslyn came in to blow up the pipe organ that had called so many people here to their deaths. Below, Baron von Mollern and Saivel exchanged taunts as Ingrid clung to the wall, offering an unseen helping hand to the former. The massive instrument detonated with a far larger explosion than it should've, shaking the entire building as if collapsed to the floor below.



Roslyn emerged from the dust and smoke, coughing and scalded but unharmed. Xiuyang and the terribly wounded Berthold were thrown apart by the calamity. Marco and Evander were unaffected, but there was still Saivel to deal with, who might kill any one of them in a single blow. She was, for what it was worth, subtly avoiding the former. Perhaps he was their best shot at actually winning this fight.

---

Then, there was Marceline. <I'm. At. The. Inn. And. I. Have. Your. Gear.> she messaged all but Johann and Dory. <Is. It. Safe. To. Teleport. Back. With. It. Question.> She reached out with her senses, however, and could feel that something wasn't right. The townspeople had gone still, for the most part, but there were two streams' worth. While the majority had ended up at the church, hundreds more had gone a different way and they were... "Mines," the tethered whispered to herself, heartrate quickening. She had left her wheelchair in the tree as she'd rocketed back to the inn, and was now sitting awkwardly on her bed, having gathered everything of use that she could. Before Marci sat a small chest with a secret in it. She swallowed, took a steadying breath, and decided against using it. Not yet. The time wasn't right. She still looked half a girl and still had half a body. Patience, she counseled herself.

Patience. She began rifling through the threads of space and time, eager to open a portal and deliver what was so sorely needed.

To Dory, however, she sent a different message, as the Feskan drew close to the mines and Johann drew close to her. <Dory. I. Have. Your. Things. | Why. Are. You. Out. There. Question. | What. Is. Going. On. There. Question.> Indeed, Lady Dorothea could see it for herself: the human sacrifices standing motionless outside of the mine, a long line of them stretching into its depths. There were a multitude already present and, in their midst... that was a demon of the sixth tier! Not a grand demon, perhaps, but... No! Not yet, only! Not yet! Something far more terrible than a mere vendemon was about to emerge from that unholy place! It was at about the same time as Marceline's message that a voice came to Dory, inside of her head, and this was chilling in its simplicity: "Are you with us or are you against us?"

The Hourglass Order

Roslyn Wicke

The Riddle of Lindenholdt Part 4. cont

_{Date: Zales 33rd
Location: Inn}

Hidden Links

********

They arrived back at Die Tanzstiefel sometime after Shune had just slipped into Oraph, to find Marco in the middle of an intense stick-swordfight with a young boy who seemed to be picking up Revidian academy techniques with surprising ease. Johann was in the kitchen, Margarethe was cleaning the stables, and Jana had hurried off to the Weberplatz to try selling her wares. In truth, there was a lot to discuss. There were feelings to unpack. Time, at this juncture, was one thing that the group did not possess in spades, however.

There were a few brief exchanges. There were snacks eaten and thanks given to the Pentad for the break in the severe weather. Lümee's backpack was set aside for later, because nothing would exacerbate existing tensions quite like the divvying up of loot. Then, the nine youths split into their groups. Dory took Xiuyang, Marceline, and Marco as a messenger was dispatched and they waited for their coach to arrive and bring them to Lady Frickmayer's estate-in-exile. Roslyn paired up with Johann to visit the archives, Evander asked to join them in their investigation. Finally, once Evander had left, Ingrid slipped away to the mines, Edyta Laska following in ripe and portentous silence.

It would all come together within the next hour - the Frickmayers' truth revealed, the role of the von Mollerns made clear, and the Revidian agents goaded into parlay with their Kerreman counterparts - or it would all fall apart.

---

Johann took the bag from Ingrid and greeted Evander and Roslyn, both, with a hot mug of cocoa, a plate of sweets, and a warm handshake. He did not inquire as to what had happened unless they spoke first, but he didn't hide his curious look at Roslyn's new weapon. "So, I am to understand that our part in the plan is to research and see if there's anything that the old Constable objects to having found?"

He reached over the counter, where only staff were allowed to go (though there were none present at the moment), and set the bag of items down. "I gather that this morning was... a bit more of an adventure than you'd hoped for," he added, as if in conclusion. One could see that his bag was already packed and ready for the day ahead.

At an early age, Roslyn had learned the values of working well past her limits thanks to her grandfather. Rarely did she let the aftermath show on her outside, but this was different. The rawness of her experience left her depleted. Not just physically, but emotionally and mentally. Still, she had a job to do and she pushed unwisely onward.

She took one of the cocoa mugs with her free hand. Blowing lightly on the steam, she forced the hot liquid down and set it back in its place. The warmth gave some feeling back to her numb insides as she let it settle.

Roslyn meekly nodded before she spoke. "Yeah. For the research, we need to focus on anything to do with the von Mollerns and connections to Krauss. We make two copies. You two aren't supposed to be seen, but I am. It will test what he does to see if we can trust him or not."

The sword still dangled in her hand drawing a heavy sigh. "I need to put this away, and clean up. Excuse me."

Johann didn't get in her way, but he could tell that something was... 'off' about the Hendlish girl. He considered talking for a moment, and he'd have been lying if he didn't admit that he was curious about the sword, but people needed their space sometimes.

Roslyn pushed open the door to her room, expecting to find it quiet and empty, perhaps cleaned by the maid but, instead, she was greeted by a startled expression on Margarethe's face as the girl looked up, caught in the act of spreading a blanket over the bed. "Oh! I'm very sorry!" she squeaked. "I thought you were gone for the day. I'll come back later." She bowed her head, quickly smoothing out the corners of the sheet before making to leave.

Though she didn't show it, Roslyn was grateful for the space. She dragged her feet up the stairs and toward her room. Her arm reached out and quietly she took a breath, cracking the door open before she stepped inside. The girl's eyes widened upon spotting Margarethe in the process of cleaning the room.

"No, it's all right. I just came to clean up is all." She shifted the sword a bit out of the line of sight to avoid frightening the girl. Meanwhile, she began to remove her outer wear and satchel."I'm sorry for the interruption. Did you just get started or nearly done?"

She had stepped aside to let the woman leave, but only if she wanted to. Truth be told, she didn't look forward to taming her unruly hair by herself.

"It's no bother, my lady." She curtsied quickly.

"Truly." She began to exit, but she paused in the doorway, noticing Roslyn's ragged appearance. "Forgive me if I overstep, but... are you quite well?"

This was a mistake. Roslyn knew it, but a selfish part of her wanted to delay the inevitable task before her. The woman's rosebud also might've encouraged her tongue to loosen. Slowly she moved deeper into the room and set the cursed blade against her things.

"It's fine. You aren't overstepping, and it's just Roslyn." She leaned back into the wall to remain upright.

"To be honest, I don't know. I don't have the time to figure it out. I don't even know where to begin." Her eyes glanced at her sleeve, knowing she had to mend it later. She wasn't even sure if she had brought her sewing kit with her.

The serving girl made her way back, taking the tattered sleeved in her hands and examining it. She said nothing, and studied it with the dispassionate eyes of someone who was interested only in doing her job. "Begin with knowing that you're safe, my lady," Margarethe advised, "and fixing what is within your power to fix." She twisted and undid the clasps on her satchel, pulling out a small hand-carved wooden case. "If you've saved the missing fabric," she offered, gesturing towards the seat in front of the vanity, "I believe I can piece it back together."

Her eyes walked over the torn clothing once more, pausing for a moment on the ring of bruises surrounding where the hand had been reattached. Then, abruptly, everything about Margarethe froze, and her eyes became as saucers. They had found the mark - not just any mark, but the mark.

At Margarethe's words, Roslyn inhaled and took in the advice. It was far better than something her grandfather had said to her.

"Thank you." She moved toward the vanity before she sat down. Her arm lifted and presented itself as the woman took it. It took Roslyn a moment to notice that Margarethe hadn't moved. Her eyes noticed the fearful look.

'What now?' She swallowed, then asked. "Is something... wrong? "

Margarethe swallowed again. She reached out with the Gift and the door closed and locked. Her voice lowered. Perhaps she wasn't capable of forming a sonic bubble. "That's... a Knower mark, isn't it." She commented. It wasn't even really a question. "Are... they involved somehow?"

Roslyn's confusion grew, followed by her anxiety. Something wasn't right. Everything said or mentioned about Margarethe came rushing to the front of her mind. Her nerves couldn't handle any more surprises. As if to prove her point, the shut of the door and click of the lock made her jump in her seat. Her teeth gritted to stop her from shouting for help as she caught Margarethe's words.

Without thinking, she sent up a sonic bubble. It risked alerting someone, but at least they wouldn't be overheard. She didn't feel like having someone 'overhearing' her again.

I am not mentally ready for this.. Sadly, she had no choice. She had to focus on what she could control rather than what she couldn't.

With a deep breath, she replied. "The mark, yes. It's... complicated. But how do you know about them?"

Margarethe nibbled her lower lip for a moment. Then, she sighed, though little of the tenseness seemed to leave her. She rolled up her sleeve. "I have one too." She shook her head. "Didn't know a thing about it or them until I got it." The serving girl shrugged weakly. "Still don't, to be honest."

"May I?" Roslyn's curiosity managed to pull away at the haze in her head. She gestured with her hands to take Margarethe's arm and examine the mark. Mainly for any differences from what she recalled with her brother and her own.

This was the first time she had met another marked person. Truthfully, she started to wonder how common it was getting and what the marks meant. "When did you get yours? I've had mine since birth. Were you casting any temporal magics? "

Margarethe, who had initially allowed Roslyn to have a look, drew back a little at the question. "I..." She started to draw into herself. Roslyn could sense the girl's pulse racing. "Oh Gods. This was a mistake." She shook her head, bleeding anxiety. "I'm sorry. That Rezaindian..." She glanced nervously at the door.

"Margarethe, breathe. As my father told me, don't you go heating up the kettle without the hops. It's fine. I got a sonic bubble up, she's not going to hear anything." Roslyn kept her voice even and gentle. "I'm sorry if my questions spooked you, but my friends and I have been trying to understand these marks. You're the first one I've met, aside from my brother, that has this. My mother did too."

Roslyn focused on trying to calm the girl. Against her better judgement, she had been about to apply her gift with chemical when the door came open. In a reaction driven by instinct more than logic, she jerked up. The light in the room dimmed when she drew and the sword snapped to her hand. She twisted, planting herself firmly in front of Margarethe before she recognized the two lurking figures.

"For the love of Ipte, what in the hells are you all doing outside my room?" Roslyn snapped sharply.

Xiuyang held the door open and blinked, as if surprised to see what she found on the other side. "Nice reaction time," she quipped with a finger gun. "Sorry, but it's an emergency. Another townie has gone missing and it's become my job to find him, so I need to gear up for another hike in this damned snow. Also, can I borrow your compass, Rose? Mine has been acting funky after my last outing."

Dory smirked as she appeared behind the two shorter silhouettes, her eyes on the blade. "I think you mean for the love of Escheran," She lazily shrugged to her own comment. "I wouldn't mind clashing blades, but I doubt it'd be a good time for either of us."

"I think she needs that thingmajig of yours." She yawned.

"I apologize." Margarethe practically doubled over, Nikanese-style as the others entered. She had jumped back nearly as much as Roslyn, and drawn as well, though it was nothing compared to the monsters of Ersand'Enise. She quickly let the energy go. "I was just commenting on her ladyship's appearance and we found that we have something in common. I shall excuse myself now."

Marci damn near rolled her eyes at the display. Bullshit, she thought. You wouldn't have had a sonic bubble up if it was just smalltalk. Once again, though, she had to play the social game and accept the deceitful words at face value. "Possibly Shune, if Xiuyang's going to be looking for someone." She could crank those little defusing statements out on demand.

Xiuyang shrugged, stepping aside to let Margarethe leave. "Sorry about the crowd. We were discussing who should go with me on the search and rescue. Is it okay if I take Johann?" She asked Roslyn as she ruffled through her things, checking for any evidence that Margarethe had searched their belongings.

Roslyn ignored Lady Hohnstein's comment, gripping the blade tightly. She still fumed from the woman's words earlier. Deciding to move on, she addressed Xiuyang. "Yeah. Who? Did we miss someone?"

A part of her wished Margarethe had stayed, but this looked bad. Like everything else she had done today. Meanwhile, she reached into her skirt pocket and withdrew the compass. She didn't hand it over until she got an answer though.

Dorothea rolled her eyes at the lack of reaction. Sheesh, what's got her panties in a bunch? Can't even make a little joke?.

Her frame stood firmly in the doorway as the others stepped aside. "Now, now, there is no need to leave. We aren't here to disturb your talk." She squinted slightly. "If anything I'd like to hear it too." She rubbed her chin.

"Come to think of it, where are my manners? I realize I have yet to introduce myself." Dory winked. "Or is my name already known to you?"

<Berthold. Is. Missing.> came Marceline's message.
<Xiuyang's. Answer. Might. Be. Different.>

Roslyn perceived a second set of pinch messages in quick succession. <No. Tell. Please. Secret. Later.> They were noticeably less delicate and detailed than Marci's.

"Oh, it's that damn organist. Since he isn't blasting our ears out presently, the assumption is foul play, apparently." Xiuyang huffed and rolled her eyes. Perhaps she was softening the reality for the other "townie" in the room. Satisfied that her things were in order, she retrieved some random scraps of clothing she didn't really need and reached for the compass. "Consider my earlier favor repaid with this. I won't require the bakery's stock of fritters." She grinned.

Marceline's eyes widened. She had thought, given her imprecise wording, that Xiuyang might've been wanting to keep the identity secret, though she'd have preferred not to. Instead, she was, once more, the last mule in the train. She bowed her head and started to turn, leaving Margarethe, who she didn't much like anyhow, to deal with Dory, who seemed in fine form.

The fear that radiated off of Margarethe was palpable. She swallowed and bowed again. "Your reputation precedes you, your grace." She straightened, though she remained mousy. "I am flattered to have gained your interest, though I fear that our conversation might not interest you much," she mewed. "We simply both know a good deal about hops, yeast, and barley, given my father's profession." The miller's daughter shrugged weakly.

Dory sighed. "Such official feelings towards it all. I am a student too. Like everyone else.... I just have more responsibilities..." The woman slumped, a reminder of her duties waiting for her back home. You gain a new title and suddenly you're a different person. She blinked her own frustrations away. "But I understand.... I am a scary duchess.."

Xiuyang moved to leave the room, placing herself behind Margarethe. "Excuse me, but unlike the rest of us, I can't teleport past you," she informed the Duchess.

"Oh, right." Dory blinked, did she look... confused? She made way for the other. A soft chuckle left her lips."I'm sorry, I just assumed."

Her comment was cut short by Roslyn's words. "Ach, that's more than okay. My new friend and I can move to another room to continue our chat, right?"

Xiuyang removed herself from the burgeoning situation, partially dressed for the cold and some kind of device in hand. Mission more or less accomplished, she stood behind Margarethe, ready to make for her room.

Roslyn, Margarethe, and Dory remained in the room, door open for a moment, their unguarded words spilling. It was something about grains and brewing and trade secrets in the face of an only semi-subtle attempt to coerce a larger truth from them by Lady Dorothea.

Finally, Marceline, looking stressed for a moment before she reset her face, rolled only a push or two down the hall, exchanging some perfunctory words with Xiuyang, and then sitting very still in the way that she did when sending and receiving pinch messages.

"Oh, right." Dory blinked, did she look... confused? She made way for the other. A soft chuckle left her lips."I'm sorry, I just assumed."

Her comment was cut short by Roslyn's words. "Ach, that's more than okay. My new friend and I can move to another room to continue our chat, right?"

"With all due respect, Lady Hohnstein. I'm a little worried you might try and pry things from the poor girl. Especially about my brew experiments." Roslyn's words were a subtle hint to Margarethe not to speak of her mark to the Duchess. She watched her two friends leave, feeling a bit hurt. She swallowed it down as she tried to be stronger.

Dory waved her hand lazily alongside her laugh. "So formal, so formal. That's unexpected." Her jovial mood fastly turned sour. Manipulative speech. Words of respect without the courtesy of anything genuine. The woman shook her head. "But I did ask for every Biro to call me by my first name. Don't be so distant now. We're colleagues after all."

"Oh, that is my mistake. I thought I was unworthy of that, especially after this morning." Roslyn imagined her family's reaction in the back of her head. Her father's caution and Garith's scorn, both unease by her behavior. For once, she found herself not caring about upholding the family name.

The more Hohnstein talked, the more she remembered a certain Viscount. Sweet words with an edge and mockery. It didn't help her mood. At this point, she had to retreat before she escalated things more than she had. "Now, I think I've wasted enough time. Today has been more than I expected and I still have more to do."

She waited until they departed.

They were arguing now: two people who could crush her with a thought. It occurred to Margarethe, right then and there, that it had all been stupid and she wished she'd never come here and could forget Johann and what a colossal threat he was to everything. Roslyn didn't seem like a bad person; she wielded her words like daggers, but she'd treated a servant girl like a person and now stood up for her. Lady Dorothea just radiated malicious intent, though: like a child placing a mouse in a glass jar for her own amusement and seeing when it would die.

If Margarethe could imagine being able to harm the first - not that she had any desire to - the second was so far out of her reach that it only filled her with a pounding, building, hopeless anxiety that built pressure behind her eyes. This was a high noble: someone even beyond Johann, and she was untouchable. Margarethe had to think of a way out of this. She had to think of a way to defuse it! Her pulse raced as she fixed upon a solution. Her vision swam as she started to draw. Then, the world swayed violently and went soundless and white.

"You know, you remind me of myself." Dory squinted her eyes at Roslyn's comments. "Able to sling around such fire in your words, but never having the strength to back it up." She shook her head, rather sorrowful. "I used to be nothing but a fly on the wall too, you know? Always relying on others because I was too weak."

She would pause for but a second. "But no more, never again will I be an accessory of the strong." It would be then that she noticed the girl start to draw, only to slap her across the cheek. No noble flair, no formalities, not even a fancy spell. "There is no need for magic."

Margarethe, already in the process of blacking out, fainted and collapsed on the spot, landing with an ugly-sounding thud and lying still.

Roslyn had braced for Hohnstein's next comment, expecting venom or anger. She had overstepped her station after all. Few high nobles passed up the chance to slap down an upstart. However, the words that came surprised her.

Then came the familiar sensation of drawing. For a moment, she thought it was Hohnstein, but that didn't make sense. Not after what was said and the woman wasn't stupid enough to attack her here with all the other students.

Margarethe.

Her eyes shot to the meeker woman just as the duchess struck out, slapping the woman on the cheek. Roslyn's arms jerked out to catch the girl before she hit the floor and knocked her head. The Hendlish girl couldn't help, but mumble. " That's one way to get out of this."

Dory blinked as she stared at the fallen girl, before she went back to the one who threw venom, then back to the other and then back to Roslyn. It continued for a couple seconds before she squatted down. "We can continue this later. I'll allow any bottled up, vile words you have towards me to be emptied." She paused, looking up at the Hendlish gal. "You might even get the skip the queue."

Her gaze returned to Margarethe, focused on sensing for any potential abnormality in her body... whilst she tried to slap her awake.

"Wait, before you slap her black and blue... I got something better. " Roslyn stated as she reached into her bag and pulled out a snowpepper sniffing powder. It wasn't easy to keep the girl upright and untie the bag. After a few moments of struggling, she passed it off to the duchess. "A little help, please."

Margarethe didn't rise, but she scrabbled backwards, eyes bugged out and ears ringing as she broke free of their grip. She let out a little animal noise of fear and half-collapsed onto her elbows, still unsteady, trembling, even. "I..." She stammered. "I-I..." Her eyes like saucers. She couldn't seem to form the next word.

"Calm down, it's just us." Dory tried to form a smile through her curiosity around the faint still. "You look like you're staring at two demons." A chuckle left her lips. "Now, may I ask why you began to draw?"

The professional civility and courtesy fell off of Margarethe's face. Her eyes darted, still somewhat glassy but beginning to focus, from Dory to Roslyn. Was this some sort of good cop - bad cop routine? "P-please," she begged, starting to cry. "I'm nobody and I don't know anything!" She shook her head adamantly and then immediately swayed where she sat. "I was just trying to get revenge on a boy who was a possessive asshole to me! That's all! I swear on Shune, and may they strike me down if I speak a lie on this holy day!" She started to look Roslyn's way, but she stopped. She couldn't trust that one. She was either complicit or just as frightened of the duchess as Margarethe.

Margarethe's eyes went from one to the other and back. She rose to her feet, somewhat steadier, and shook her head. "I apologize, but I think that I need to go now. Please excuse me." Still shaky, she remembered to bow towards her social betters and made for the door.

Upon the realization that she could not get much more out of the girl for now, she obliged with her wish for an exit. "Don't be a stranger now, if you need anything. You know where to look." She waved before turning back to the Baron's daughter. "Sure thing." The Duchess nodded. "What would you like me to help you with?"

Roslyn watched Margarethe swiftly depart when given the chance. That left her alone with Dorothea and those conflicted feelings stirred. She leaned down to pick up her sword then set it against the wall.

"My dress might be a good place to start." She gestured to her sliced off sleeve, "The arm repaired, but the fabric didn't. For the plan to work, I need to be caught looking like my cousin, Sibylle. She is the town's archivist here."

"I see." Dory leaned forward to inspect the lacking sleeve. "I'm not much a binder, not at all actually. Nor the best seamstress." The woman rubbed her chin in thought. "But my sword's portals can potentially bring us some new clothes, but..." She paused. "It could also bring us something strange to say the very least." A nervous chuckle left her lips. "But I can assure almost everything coming from it will be clothing as I will it."

While Roslyn's temper might've simmered down, she hadn't forgotten this morning's events. The woman before her almost seemed completely different. Almost. Though it was unlikely Dorothea might hurt her, her flight instinct threatened to kick up.

Her eyebrow arched. "It's probably not wise to take the risk. And honestly, I've had enough of strange magics to last me a life time."

She weighed her options then decided on the laziest one. " I will try with my binding. Not as good as Tku's, but should work for now."

Once she slid on the sleeve, she focused her gift. Gradually the fabric began to stitch itself together. It wasn't perfect, but better than looking like a wreck. She then pulled out her brush and made up accessories.

The Duchess looked at the other's work with slight disappointment in her eyes. "That is fair..." She slumped over slightly. "I understand. I am quite scary, aren't I?"

She examined Roslyn's sleeve. "It looks almost as good as new, I'd say." The woman straightened herself. "Then after this is done, go explore the city and find something you'd like to wear. It'll be the burden on my purse."

On her way past the two ladies deep in their makeover plans, Xiuyang also paused at their door. "Get yourself a nice scabbard for that sword, too. You'll fetch some odd looks for having a sharp edge bared like that. Ciao!" She waved, and was gone.

Evander rose from the bed. He walked down the hall and crossed the room with Dory and Roslyn. Standing at the threshold of the door, he found it odd the two were conversing casually after earlier. Maybe Roslyn needed a way out of the conversation, maybe she didn't. In any event, he'd give her a choice.

Instead of listening to anything further, he interjected, "Scary isn't how I'd put it. More like, unpredictable." His sights locked on the Duchess.

Roslyn caught Dorothea's compliment, but she didn't believe the words. There was little to no effort put into it and she knew it. "Uh, thank you. I'm better with brews really."

As soon as she finished her words, Xiuyang's voice came from the other side. She blinked at her friend's 'encouragement' and abruptly questioned the logic of it. Any reason to escape the woman's offer was gone. With a slight shake of her head, she commented. "And that is why I do a sonic bubble for normal conversations now. I guess that settles it, but I am not sure if anything is open. It is Caldores."

It seemed her small window to get ready had faded when Evander interrupted.

"Any mage from the academy is terrifying. I think we're so use to being around our peers that we forget it." Roslyn commented, her face annoyed. "I knew I wasted too much time. Guess, I'll have to use a hat to hide the hair. I'm coming."

She grabbed a small rimmed hat from her things and moved toward the door. Recalling her manners, she politely bid Dorothea good bye. "Good day, Lady Hohnstein. It was nice talking to you."

Her form began to disappear through the door as she paused long enough for Evander to follow.

Dorothea looked at the other leave, the presence of the Revidian man hurt her head. Unpredictable? Coming from the man that disappeared completely and now just acts like nothing happened. Her gaze turned to the fading frame of the girl she had conversed with. "It was nice talking to you as well."

As the other's seemed to disappear, the woman snapped her fingers and what seemed like a small distortion appeared above her hand, in the place of the small distortion came a bottle of Ellermane bleu as it slid into her grip. "You try to be helpful. You try to make amends. You try and try, but they just end up more afraid of you." The woman mumbled to herself softly as she leaned against the wall, hitting the back of her head against it.

She pulled the cork off and took a hefty swig. "I guess I should get ready for the meeting with the good lady Frickmayer." With a lazy strut, she returned to her own quarters.

Johann waved her off and took another puff of his pipe. He winked fondly. "Don't you worry about me. I'll keep an eye out for her. Stay safe yourself, alright?"

With that, Marceline, Marco, Roslyn, and Evander made their ways outside. Dory followed shortly thereafter. Ingrid was already on the hunt. Goodbyes were spoken, and wishes of good fortune. It was time for the day - after numerous delays - to begin in earnest.

Evander's eyes narrowed at Dory's own admission by deflection. "Sure," he answered flatly and sardonically. Without further words, he turned to follow Roslyn. The two made their way down the steps and into the main hall. It was here they bumped into Marci, Marco, and Johann. Shortly after, Dory came down. Goodbyes and good lucks before they each set off on their respective leads.

Last Chance for Research

********

Roslyn was minimally kitted out, aside from a nice hundri cloak and a satchel. Johann traveled similarly, though his pack bulged somewhat. People resisted the temptation to joke that it was full of snacks as they set off on foot. A thin ribbon of smoke streamed, occasionally, from the pipe clenched between his lips and Evander, too, seemed in good spirits.

The town was in the process of unburying itself from the unseasonal snowfall. Everywhere, the scrape of shovels and the rasp of brooms could be heard, mingling with human voices in conversation and the shouts of children building snowmen or throwing snowballs. Shops were - officially - closed, but people could be seen inside a handful, and neighbours exchanged gifts and small talk in equal measure.

It was obvious, in most cases, who had been visited by the monks overnight and in the early morning, as fresh toys, rare tropical fruits, and new tools, clothes, or other implements were proudly used or displayed in windows. In a couple of places, people were spontaneously singing. And yet, there seemed to be a general movement towards one area in the south of Lindenholdt; those who were familiar with the place would've guessed it to be the docks. Clearly, there was a spectacle there worth watching.

Not that the small group of three had much opportunity to do so. They skirted the edge of the Weberplatz until they were on quieter sideroads, and came up to the archives, which lay still and silent, with darkened, frost-covered windows and slumbering shelves inside. Having a key might've been nice about now.

Once the archives came into view, Roslyn quickened her step. She broke from the two boys to examine the lock. Her head tilted to the side as she gently wiggled the door. There was something odd in the inner workings and if she had to guess, it was an emergency bolt. It made sense after all.

She pulled back with a frown then turned to her companions. "I'm no expert, but there's an emergency bolt that will jam the door without a key. I'm not the best in magnetic, are any of you?"

It didn't matter if the bolt was broken, Roslyn would take the blame and make her story more plausible.

Johann tilted his head to regard Evander and the two men exchanged a look. "I'm not bad with magnetism," he admitted, knowing that Evander was every bit as skilled. Being semi-local, he might be able to explain his way out of matters better if they went south. He stepped forward and crouched, brow furrowed as he studied the keyhole, pipe clenched between his teeth. After a moment, he plucked it out and peered more intently in, conjuring a light at the tip of his finger and fiddling at something. "I am... hardly an experienced thief," he allowed, pulling back slightly to address the others, "but I have a theory that, if you simulate the rough mass of a key with some kinetic magic - not a school I am very good in, I'm afraid - and shift the inner catches aside in the right order, just as if you're inserting a key, you can probably prevent the bolt from springing."

Evander watched the other two try to figure out what to do. He appreciated their initiative and immediate effort, but this was more his area of expertise.

He stepped up, "Helpful theory, Johann, and helpful intentions, Roslyn. I have experience in this. I'll work the lock with my kinetic and magnetism. Give me a moment."

Evander slid between the two, his brows narrowed as his focus became apparent on his face. It was both a science and an art. Evander understood both when it came to complex locked doors, safes, and gates. He inhaled and exhaled slowly, drawing his Gift in a way to intricately balance his kinetic and magnetic to manipulate the mechanics of the door in front of them.

Roslyn stepped back and gestured for him to go. She leaned against the wall while Evander worked. Her eyes watched him work the tumblers and adjust the bolt, slightly impressed. Then he struggled a bit causing her to snap her fingers softly. A translucent blue butterfly materialized and darted across the Revidian's gaze. It rewound time as she casually smirked.

Johann tilted his head, watching Evander work. This was more information on the Revidian than he'd had previously. Who'd have thought you so skilled in those particular arts? Nonetheless, he appreciated the efforts, even as he tried to look nonchalant, as if he were simply standing outside of a building and smoking. That was the key, really: a man standing outside of a building doing nothing looks suspicious, while a man standing outside of a building smoking draws but the most cursory of glances.

He maneuvered his wrists, stretched his fingers, and attempted to sense the mechanisms holding the door locked. It wasn't his toughest nut to crack but it wasn't an average shop door lock either. There were some additional security measures equipped that gave Evander some pause as he rendered a kinetic mass that would simulate a key. Pushing the key inside the door's lock, he worked it up and down, right and left. He could feel where the ridges were, where the tension laid and where the grooves were smoother.

He pulled back and forth using his magnetic. "Ok, I think I got it." The first click sounded off. Then the second. But the third made an awkward noise. "Mannaggia." He could hear the internal emergency mechanism begin to shift. It likely had a three-strikes rule or some other safeguard. He couldn't mess it up again. Then, another awkward click. But before another shift was heard, Evander spotted a translucent butterfly and his sensitivity to temporal caught him realizing time had been locally rewound.

In his peripheral he saw Roslyn making some gesture, likely her doing, *Thanks kid*. He moved the massed kinetic key once more.

CLICK.

Evander immediately rose his other hand using magnetic to lift the mechanism holding the door locked, and voila. The door began to open.

"Alright, in we go."

"After you two. " Roslyn said, following them in.

As she closed the door gently behind them- careful not to lock them inside- she glanced at the two boys. "Okay, I think we need to find the catalogue. My first guess is somewhere near the front desk, but it won't hurt to look in other places. Sybille tends to be by the book from what I remember."

She was already heading to the desk to start her search.

Evander stepped into the dark archives. In contrast to the bright day outside, it was a cold comfort to the eyes. Snow could sometimes be so blinding. He scanned the archives along with Roslyn, while Johann, well was doing whatever Johann does.

Roslyn reached the catalogue just before Evander. She was pulling it out at the same time Johann began to throw up his best theatrics. His best didn't come close to the best, if he were judged, there might be some points for the effort.

"Mm," Evander murmured, "You're a recruiter now?" He was half-amused. "Does this *team* provide hazard pay? I find glory doesn't quite cover the costs and risks if things go south."

"Eh, why do you think we ended up with this motley crew?" Johann joked. He quickly shook his head to move on, however. "I know we're looking for information on connections between Johann Krauss and the von Mollerns, or just to see who hired him." He considered. The previous architect might be worth looking into as well. He didn't end up voicing the thought, though.

Roslyn pressed her fist to her lips. She fought the giggle threatening to surface on her expression, appreciating the humor from both of them. It had done the job in lightening her melancholy mood. She cleared her throat before she got down to business. "Yes. There's also the Frickmayer heir to coordinate with the others. I think it might be wise to consider the prior architect too. I don't know his name."

She licked her dried lips before adding. "I'll be making two copies to be safe. I'm not sure what Karl von Mollern will do and this information needs to get back to the others. With or without me. "

Johann leaned in conspiratorially, eager to please. "You got it, bawss." he set about looking for records on the cathedral project.

Evander watched as Johann jollied about deeper into the archives.

Turning to Roslyn, Evander spoke, "I can look into the Frickmayers. There's likely permits, land deeds, parcel maps, architectural and historical records that can shine some light on the dealings of the family and maybe this heir."

He turned to go deeper into the archives, but before he did, he glanced back at Roslyn, "Are you okay with searching for information on the von Mollerns?"

As long as I don't get beaten over the head by new information on me, I'm good. Roslyn thought and let her posture relax. "I'll set up a table space we can put the research on. We're going to need Johann's help to translate. And yes, I don't mind."

She took note over the catalogue before then adding. " Today's been... a lot, but I got to pull my weight here. Or the guilt will just eat me alive."

The trick, thought Johann, is just to not care! He pulled out some likely-looking files: a catalogue of costs, a compilation of contracts, a donors' list, and some calls for tender. These, he placed gently on the table. "Well, at least you don't have to pull my weight," the fat man joked, with a wink. He leaned in and studied the various documents thoughtfully before looking up to regard the others. "Some of it's in Avincian, but most isn't." He tilted his head. "What would you prefer I start with?"

"Fair. I'm pretty easy to toss." Roslyn joked back then pulled back to the table. She sorted her share carefully into groups for easy return.

"I say start with the stuff that isn't in Avincian. I can likely help if I finish up sooner." She commented as she started to take out her writing supplies.

Evander grabbed what he could as well. Bringing over to the table a suitable arm of documents on the Frickmayer's. He dropped the documents on the table like everyone else. Then, glancing over to Johann and Roslyn, "Start with the donors' list followed by the contracts, whatever is in Avincian, I can look it over."

He then began to sort through his pile. Laying each document out with care. If they were going to leave this place as they left it as to not draw any suspicion, nothing could be disturbed or ripped.

Evander's eyes swept over the parchments.

"Hm..." he murmured. "Eike." The name threaded through everything. Doctor visits, a commissioned portrait, an elaborate dollhouse. This was no ordinary affection. He glanced up, "I think this Eike was someone being invested in."

He tapped his chin. "Several visits from the doctor, but I don't know if it was for an illness. Seems like a lot of visitations, unless the illness was evolving fast." He paused. Stopped tapping and looked back down, "On top of all this, it's a bit out of character for the Frickmayer's to throw as much as they did to charity. In fact, anything to charity. Let alone selling to their adversary the von Mollerns. I wonder, right after the fire, if the family donates nearly everything to keep something else quiet. Acting more out of penance than piety. Nobles don't just give up their estates unless they owe someone, or something."

He leaned over the table. "There's a couple leads here. The Schuttmanns may know more as their longest historical serving family. The Brandt's might've stumbled on something they shouldn't have in their short tenure. And the painting..." A pause. "You don't hire a Huulisch master painter to portrait a child and not keep it close."

He looked at the group, "What are your thoughts?"

As he kept his gaze on the group, he Whispered to Marceline, "Marci. Marci. Can you hear me?"

"Eike, if I recall right, was the child heir. The heir has no gender mentioned and was hidden away a bit. I will admit, the idea of an illness crossed my mind when I noticed it." Roslyn attempted to hide the familiarity of that story.

"Seems like my gut was right. There is a connection with the von Mollerns and Krauss. It turns out, he was in town the same day he was hired by Fritz. Frickmayer didn't want to fire Hartmann. They had to have a panel come in and it ended in the von Mollerns winning months later." Roslyn shared out loud with Evander.

Her hand scribbled her findings on both parchments as red flags continued to crop up. "Krauss was promised bonuses to bring the project back on schedule. And-"

Roslyn's eyes widened in surprise. "Police records show an interesting story too. Krauss isn't a fan of the locals. He filed a lawsuit against Ernst Zimmermann due to a 'supposed' pass at his daughter, two disagreements with Rudolf Hanneman over a quarry, a charge of physical assault, and also issues with... No surprise, the organist himself. I feel like I know how that happened."

Johann did his best to translate for the others, adding his own comments and flavour where he thought these appropriate. He did not neglect his own line of research, however. "Hartmann," he murmured. "Hartmann. Just what did you do? Just what happened to you?"

He pored over arbitration records, constabulary reports, and personal statements entered into the record and - my! - had it gotten messy. Shaking his head, the hefty young man let out a low whistle. There was information on the financing of the church as well, but he could see the others already deep into that. He translated where needed, as the former clerk - Ada Fuchs - had been a sloppy woman with the habit of switching fluidly between Kerreman and Avincian, but both of his partners would notice him probing further into this Theodore Hartmann fellow - a fellow native of Ostermark.

He knew this man, but he hid his discomfort well. Opening up the birth records, death records, and registration records, he spent the next fifteen or so minutes looking for a specific piece of information until he found it. "Hartmann was young and only starting to make a name for himself when hired," Johann began. "He was known for his unorthodox designs and opinions and was close to Lady Frickmayer's late son, Leo, as well as - somewhat scandalously - her maid, Marcella Brandt." He arched an eyebrow and continued. "Apparently, under his tenure, the project fell behind as he kept adding to it and encountering crypts and catacombs that interfered with the foundations."

Here came the good part. Johann cleared his throat. "Apparently, he was involved, along with then-deputy Dietmar Schuttmann, in breaking up a ring of demon worshippers operating in the woods outside of the town, involving some of his workers in the final confrontation, in which four of them died, the north belltower was damaged, and he was summarily dismissed for endangering the project and not calling upon the proper authorities." Johann held up a page that was roughly half-blotted out with inked strips. He shook his head. "It's all redacted, but I can still read it with a little trick that I know." He winked. "How much do you want to bet that this was intentionally buried and used as cause to dismiss him?"

He clapped the book shut and picked up another. "After dismissal, he returned to his hometown in disgrace, became a boozer, and stumbled back to Lindenholdt this Stresia, where he was found dead a week later, in the river, with strange burn marks." Johann narrowed his eyes and shook his head. "This reeks," he opined.

It took a minute or so before Marci came back. <Evander. Question. | Did. You. Just. Speak. Into. My. Head. Question.> The answer being self-explanatory, if its causes remained mysterious, she moved quickly on. <What's. Going. On. | I'm. Scanning. Bracket. And. Almost. Falling. On. My. Ass. In. Surprise. Bracket. And Sensing. Nothing. Unusual. Except. For. Johann. Seeming. Stressed.>

That explains how the sword or whatever knew about the creatures of the damned. I found it in the damn woods after all. And remember, Laska warned you there was a grand demon here.

Roslyn paused and held her face in her hands. That familiar build up crept into her chest causing her eyes to squeeze tightly. "Beth yw hwn, y trydydd neu'r pedwerydd cyfarfyddiad yn y pum mis diwethaf? Ni allaf ymdopi â llawer mwy o hyn.
(What is this, the third or fourth encounter in the last five months? I can't handle much more of this.)"

Taking a deep breath to settle her nerves, "I agree. Surprised they didn't call in the church. Demons aren't something you mess with, not without consequences."

<Oop. And. Roslyn.> Marceline added. <She's. Freaking. Out. Too.>

Evander took a moment to think. "Dietmar Schuttmann..." He tapped his chin. "Where do I know that name?" Another pause. "The constabulary."

"I've met Dietmar. A man steeped in guilt. He told me how the Schuttmanns turned their backs on the Frickmayers for von Mollern's promise in banking and wool. A promise that crumbled soon after. He probably regrets it." Evaner's tone sharpened as his mind moved through the labyrinth. "He claimed he was there during the fire, said a servant, one placed by the von Mollerns started it. That points to one of the Brandts. Perhaps Marcella Brandt, who was close to Hartmann?"

He began pacing slowly. "And then there's Hartmann, the small-town architect who caught von Mollern's ire after breaking up a ring of demon worshippers with Dietmar. Dietmar added that the Frickmayers were keeping a curse at bay, but not for long. If true, that curse might be tied to the same cult. The same cult that took down Hartmann's position and opened von Mollern's move to replace Hartmann with Krauss, an architect who could be controlled through bonuses and pay versus direct loyalty to Frickmayer."

As soon as he finished his theory, a pinch from Marci came in. While the other two were absorbing Evander's proposed ideas, he whispered back, "I did. I thought you wouldn't mind since you've spoken into mine plenty of times." He paused, "Roslyn and Johann are fine, albeit a little tense from some pieces of information we've been uncovering. One of those pieces were documents speaking to a master Huulisch artist Dirk Huyghens van Rozendoorn. These documents suggest there is a painting of a child in the Frickmayer manor, a child who is likely Eike, the heir of the Frickmayer house. May you be a darling and find it?"

Johann let out a low whistle. "That's... crazy," he allowed, still clutching his handful of books tightly. "But it makes... sense." He shook his head, expression working through his disbelief. "But how?" He shook it again, adamantly. "How can it be?" He found a seat and took a couple of deep breaths, face still somewhere between incredulous and accepting. "I know them. I've known them since I was a boy - The von Mollerns, that is."

Johann looked up, books still in hand. "They're not like that. Oh -" He waved dismissively. "They are as much money-grubbing merchants as true bluebloods, but they are not secretive folk. They... walk among the townspeople. They invest in their public spaces. They invite the poor into their home during Caldores and Champs Vides." His expression was stricken, now. "It can't be..."

"If the crypt is a seal and the curse's story is real, we're likely dealing with Iptacht. Or a minion of his." Roslyn's blood pounded in her brain ruthlessly. She had to be careful about what she said as she reflected on Evander's theory. It was sound enough and had enough evidence to support it, but... she felt something was missing. She couldn't place what.

Noticing Johann's mixed feelings, she reached out a hand and gently patted his shoulder. It was a small gesture, but it worked well for her.

"It might not be the whole family that is involved. My idea of getting caught is hopefully going to show who we can trust."

She wrote down a bit about the demon worshipers. It obviously gave her the reason to go to the church and put the von Mollerns in the hot seat. "I hope Marci contacts us soon. I have a question I want Xiuyang to ask the organist- if he's alive. Also, I am guessing M. Brandt is Marcella Brandt here."

She pointed to the document about Krauss being hired. "Maybe she was put there to keep an eye on Lady Frickmayer and to block any problems from her."

I wonder if the person I was attacked by this morning was also from the town. Or just a random victim in the wrong place, at the wrong time.

It was as if on cue when Marceline's pinch message came in: first, to Roslyn, then to Evander, and - finally - to Johann. <Check-in. | Need. Anything. Question.> To the first two, she extended the message slightly. <I'm. Headed. Into. The. Meeting. | You. Ready. To. Get. Busted. Yet. Question.> Finally, for Roslyn only, she saved, <Hey. Suunei. You. Doing. Okay. Question. | Any. Really. Good. Finds. Question.>

"Ah, and there is Marceline," remarked Johann, "just like clockwork." He arched a brow thoughtfully, smiling gratefully over at Roslyn as he got back to his feet and shook his head as if to clear it. Still, he was holding those books, having never let go of them since sharing the revelations carried within. "Anything else we need to follow up on, or is it time to declare our little information caper a success and make our getaway?"

"I swear, that girl has a sense for when someone is talking about her. " Roslyn chuckled, noticing Johann's grip on the books. That was... odd. She fell into a thoughtful expression as if weighing his words. "Give me a bit to think and make sure I got everything written down. My insides are jerking around pretty badly."

<I. Think. Question.> A moment passed as she then added. <Can. You. Sense. Johann's. Emotions. Question.>

<Let. Me. Look. Into. My. Crystal. Ball.> came the response, and she could well imagine the flat tone and pursed lips had it been delivered in person. There was an extended pause as she must've been searching. <It's. A. Weird. Mix. Of. Anxiety. Elation. And.> A brief interlude followed. <He's. Spiking. Adrenaline. And. Cortisol. Like. Crazy. | There's. Some. Endorphins. Too.> She had to be considering. <If. I. Had. To. Guess. I'd. Say. He's. Just. Done. Something. Risky. And. Succeeded. | I've. Seen. That. Combo. Before.>

< Sending. Boys. Out. Now. | And. Have. Xiuyang. Ask. About. Cathedral. Incident.>

Roslyn finished her message to Marci as she grabbed her quill then scratched down the last bit of info. She pulled up from her seat. "Okay, I don't think we'll find anything else useful here. You two should head out. Leave the books out, I'll put them away and have the constable catch me in the act."

She walked over to Johann, offering the paper copy to him. Her expression shined with concern as her hands offered to take the books from him. "You take this and I'll take those. You really are out of sorts. Now go, and hopefully I'll meet you two back at the inn soon."

<Situation. Has. Changed.> came Marceline's reply. <They. Haven't. Found. Berthold. But. They've. Found. Something. Else. | You. Stay. Focused. On. Your. Part. And. Trust. in. The. Plan. | I'm. Going. To. Contact. Edith.>

Evander didn't quite understand what Roslyn was going on about... *Iptacht*? Quite frankly, it didn't matter. A demon was a demon. They were all the same to him. Vile counterfeits to the Pentadic gods themselves. He nodded.

Evander's gaze lingered on Johann a moment longer than comfort allowed before turning back to the documents. His voice, when it arrived, was messured, as if he were thinking aloud.

"It's a tangled mess, Johann. I don't know, maybe you're right. Maybe the von Mollerns are blameless in all this." He traced a fingertip along the edge of a parchment. "But it's just as possible that the compromise lies with them. This place is ancient, these families' legacies are buried deep with roots running along history with the rest of this city and those in it... of course... things buried tend to resurface when the ground shifts."

He looked up, almost sympathetically. "Hard to know what's truth anymore. What's convenient. What's set up to *look* like one thing while concealing another." A faint smile pulled up on Evander's face, unreadable, "Of course, whenever it's revealed, so too are our loyalties." He kept his gaze on Johann, watching his reaction. No matter the performance, he was not to be trusted; this much was obvious next to the hearth.

As Roslyn's hand came to rest on Johann's shoulder, Evander's tone softened, his words a bit more careful. "If you believe they're innocent, then let's see it through. Let's prove it."

At that moment, Marci pinched.

*Yes, have you come across any information about the former deputy, Dietmar Schuttman?* Evander responded with a whisper.

Then, Roslyn gave one set of copies to Johann, while recommending the two leave.

"Ah, yes!" Johann exclaimed, even as Marceline - nestled comfortably in Lady Frickmayer's sun room - reached out to give Edith a small tweak of warning. "I should be putting my things away."
He began moving towards one of the shelves, and there was a small, sudden, intense draw of magic that Roslyn, in her hurried state, did not catch. Evander, in the midst of speaking, noticed some sort of magic use, but was not actively sensing it and did not catch any details of its type or origin. "You have very many out. I shall quickly put these back and be on my way." He nodded quickly and smiled.
Then, in the process of sliding them in between some other records, he paused. "You know, it occurs to me that we never did look into the illness that Eike, the mysterious heir, suffered from." He shook his head. "There must be something on it. Perhaps a quick check to calm your nerves while you wait?" He put the books away, squeezed her shoulder, and offered up a reassuring smile.
Roslyn pulled her hands back as she let Johann step past her. Her insides curled in on itself, but she pushed down the anxiety and ignored it. Maybe she was being paranoid. All this conspiracy conversation finally had gotten to her and she hated it. It didn't help that the conversation of demons had dug up unwanted memories. She didn't look forward to the nightmares to come later that night.
"Uh, thank you, but we don't have time for that. Marci already contacted Edith and it's only a matter of time before the constable arrives." Her voice strained to keep calm while she turned on the spot. Johann didn't seem to share her concerns as he put away the books and then gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. It only helped some.

As they were walking out in the company of only each other, Evander asked, "Johann, serious question." He paused to give Johann time to find his listening ears, "Do you think Margarethe is involved in some of this, somehow?"
Presently, Johann headed for the door, rubbing shoulders with Evander as he did so. "My good fellow, I do not 'think'. I am certain of it." He scoffed lightly. "Why, I would bet my inheritance that she is, this very moment, yelping off to her handlers in distress after the great performance of our own Lady Hohnstein this morning." He grinned wickedly as they made their way out into the cold.

Betrayal Has Many Flavors

*********

She stood there in silence and the dim light. It was the first moment her own inner voice became the loudest thing in her head. Her heart thumped in her chest, but it only added fuel to the emotional wildfire in her core. At this point, the whole day felt like someone had dropped her in water and she could no longer swim. It took all her strength not to simply crumble into a ball.

With a heavy sigh that echoed in the room, Roslyn dragged her feet to check if the books had really been put back. Once reassured, she began to look for whatever medical records she could find over the heir.

No sooner had the door closed than Roslyn felt it: a pinch message that came without Marceline's familiar and - usually - reassuring touch. <Roslyn. Question.> It was Edith Grunewald.

She answered with a tapping on her wrist. <Yes? What. Is. It. Question.>

<First. Are. You. Okay. Question.> Edith replied. <Second. Are. You. Ready. For. Me. To. Call. It. In. Or. Do. You. Need. More. Time. Question.>

That was, indeed, the question, but Roslyn had noticed both the books, exactly where Johann had put them on the shelf, and two helpful leads on the second question: one pertaining to the Frickmayers' accounts and the other a set of doctors' records in the town, divided into five year blocks.

Roslyn knew the answer and it was simple: No. She hadn't been since this morning and things seemed to continue to get worse. It became painfully clear how obvious it was to the tethers. Her eyes closed and she drew. Tick... tock... tick... tock.. She counted the seconds before pouring a calming dose of her chemical gift into her system.

<No. But. I. Have. To. Be.| Can. Not. Let. Anyone. Down.| And. Yes. I. Am. Ready. As. I. Ever. Will. Be.>
She began to look for any information on herbs used, abnormalities or anything odd that stuck out.

Roslyn first checked the Frickmayers' records for a family doctor and, once she'd located 'D. Renhoffer', she could hurry and dive into the doctor's records. There were notes about 'unreceptiveness to traditional binding', 'extreme sensitivity to bleeding', and 'extreme difficulty healing even small wounds'. There were a number of treatments, magical and mundane, listed. These included extract of witch hazel, yarrow, and a regular order of plantains. There was paperwork for the sourcing of rare aloe vera from Xolexocto, as well.

<You. Don't. Have. To. Be. A. Hero.> came Edith's slightly pained response. However, after another minute or so, it was followed by, <I. Have. Contacted. Him. And. Said. That. I. Sensed. Someone. Moving. Around. In. The. Archives. Who. Is. Not. Sybille. Possible. Break. And. Enter. | Don't. Fight. Or. Run. | Stay. Safe. Rose.>

Roslyn had forgotten how much the truth hurt. She wasn't some legendary hero. Not like her friends who seemed to be able to explode barriers, fight monsters, and do so much more than her. Even keep their own shit together unlike her. No, she was a simple brewery girl trying her best and in her mind, it never seemed to be enough.

She even suspected the reason dark things lurked around her had been because she bled weakness. It was tasty to them like blood to some types of threshers. Her only issue was figuring out how to stop the 'bleeding'. That was a problem for another day and time.
With a deep breath, she tapped back. <I. Am. Not. A. Hero.| Never. Was.| I. Promise. I. Will. Be. Safe. |Thank. You.| Ask. Marci. To. Contact. Me.>

The ''unreceptiveness to traditional binding' was familiar to her, but she could only guess its origins. She looked into the account records to determine if there was a pattern. Mainly if the visits had a certain time they were always held or followed a certain holy number. However, time was short. She scrambled for the proper documents to get caught by as she then sat back down, eyes glued to the words.

Roslyn's research was hurried, but her answers seemed straightforward enough to find. Regular visits had come once every two weeks, on Victendes. There were some that broke the pattern and carried a higher fee, which she assumed were emergency visits. There were also a handful with a specialist. Beyond that, however, there didn't appear to be any particular pattern to the child's medical history.
Time was growing short, however. She'd swept with her energy sense a couple of times and, on her third one, she picked up on two people, carrying the typically higher-than-normal energy that denoted Gift users, quickly headed her way. They were, perhaps, two hundred-fifty yards distant, a little bit inside the edge of her range, and closing.

She hastily gathered the files that Johann had been so attached to and laid them out in front of her, opening them up. She found that they were, indeed, redacted. If she focused particularly hard, she could make out some of the letters, and even a handful of words, but then her time was up.

Outside of the archives, striding into view through its windows, were Karl von Mollern and Bastian Schuttmann. They wasted no time on hurling the door open.

<Dietmar.| Evander. Met. And. Was. Steeped. In. Guilt.| Told. Schuttmanns. Turned. Back. On. Frickmayers. For. Banking. And. Wool.| Promise. Crumbled.| Claimed. Servant. Placed. By. Von. Mollerns. Started. Fire.| Claimed. Frickmayer. Kept. Curse. At. Bay.|

She then moved onto her next string of information. Heir. Info.| Suspect. Something. Wrong. With. Blood.| Normal. Binding. No. Work. | Extreme. Sensitive. To. Bleeding. |Even. Small. Cut. Hard. To. Heal.| Routine. Visits. Every. Two. Weeks. On. Victendes.| Some. Emergencies. | A. Few. With. Specialists.>

After filling in Marci on all she could, Roslyn sensed them heading her way. <They. Are. Coming.>
The girl had barely sunk into her role when she heard them enter. She flinched, her small form jumping to her feet and whirled to face them. Like a mouse, she forced herself to freeze on the spot clutching the papers. She recalled Edith's advice and hoped this worked.
"Girl," exclaimed Karl von Mollern, striding through the door, "what in Shune's name are you doing at work today?" His eyes flicked up and down Roslyn and then, belatedly, a light of understanding came to them. He leaned in to Bastian. "Warte ... Ist das das andere Mädchen? Die Ermittlerin von der Akademie?" (Wait... is this the other girl? The investigator from the academy?)

"Ja, mein Herr," came the reply in a low voice. "Das kann leicht passieren. Sie sehen fast gleich aus." (Yes, sir. That can happen easily. They look almost the same.)

Karl turned back to face her, thumbs looped into his belt, and scowled. "Well? What is ze meaning of this?" he shook his head and strode forward, him and Bastian cutting off her routes of escape. The latter's eyes briefly flashed with a look that seemed to say 'what the five hells were you thinking?' "I am a fair man, but we have rules in zis town, even for people who are doing good work." He glanced at the materials she was clutching. "And, for Shune's sake, it's a holiday!"
Okay, channel your inner Sybille. Roslyn thought trying to recall the right mannerisms. With a deep breath, she schooled her face into her best impression of her cousin's stern look.

The girl pushed down the flight instinct as she evened out her tone. "I am aware and I'm sorry. Miss Wicke mentioned she left something here. I did tell her numerous times, the archives were closed until after Caldores. She insisted it was important and it couldn't wait."

Roslyn hid the contents of the document against her chest as she glanced at the table. "I had just found it and was about to clean up when you two arrived."

She frowned, observing their reaction. "Why are you here?"

"And you are not Fraulein Wicke?" Karl questioned, pulling out a small book and extracting an inkpot from a cubby on the counter. "Remember zat it is I who will ask the questions."

A stubborn part of Roslyn wanted to keep the deception up, but she already knew she was busted. The question was how tangled did she want to make this web and risk it strangling herself. A moment of silence passed before her shoulders slacked as her confidence deflated. She really needed to learn to lie better. "You can't blame me for trying. I was hoping to be in and out. Guessing someone noticed?"

Bastian's eyes flicked Karl's way. "An undisclosed source," the veteran constable replied to the girl's query. Bastian remembered to nod sternly and supportively as Karl sauntered over, thumbs hooked into his belt. "Seems this was a little more than 'in and out'," he observed, taking in the sheer volume of research laid out on the tables. He leaned in and narrowed his eyes. "'In and out' is what Herr Schuttmann here is known for." His mustache bristled. "What were you really after?"

Roslyn's eyes glanced at Bastian. For a split moment, her innocence of the topic showed until it clicked and she fought not to blush. Stay on topic, Roslyn! She snapped at herself. "Something bothered me about Krauss and that led me to question other things. Eventually, I came across... this."

She held out the redacted report about the demon worshippers to Karl. "I was going to ask the church if they knew about it."

Karl von Mollern's hand darted out and snatched the folder, clawlike. His eyes flicked from side-to side across its cover. "How did you even read this?" He shook his head tightly. "Most of it is redacted. I know. I did the redacting."

Roslyn didn't expect Karl von Mollern's quick reaction. One he snatched the paper, she jerked back her hand and held it close to her form. Her eyes narrowed at him as she considered what to say. Truthfully, it was Johann's doing rather than hers. She wasn't sure if she should reveal that information and risk admitting others were here. Better safe than sorry, the girl decided.

"Sorry to say, it wasn't enough. Especially for someone who has a few tricks up her sleeves." She commented, not answering his question.

"So there are two possibilities, then." He matched her smug tone with his own, though there was some venom behind it. "You are either a fool or a liar - possibly both." He shook his head and motioned for Bastian to step forward, prepared to detain her. "If the latter, one must wonder as to why." There was not so much as a hint of playfulness left in him now, and Karl von Mollern finally seemed the head of police that he, indeed, was.

"Beobachte sie," (Watch her.) he ordered. "Vielleicht versucht sie etwas." (She might try something.) Awkwardly, eyes darting from one to the other, Bastian composed himself and obeyed. His face quickly faded from its usual good-natured jolliness to stony.

<How. Is. It. Going. Question.> came Marceline's check-in.

Karl stalked around the front counter, brusque and businesslike, but there was a palpable tension in the air now. He unclipped the keyring from his belt and fished out a particular key. Posting both hands on the counter, he had Bastian usher Roslyn toward him. The constable leaned forward, eyes narrowed, studying her. "If you have read it, then you will know what it says," he told her. "So, Fraulein Wicke?" He leaned in ever closer, almost threatening. "What does it say?"

Stay calm, stay calm. Roslyn told herself as she caught the shift in his voice. Johann's little discovery had hit a nerve with the man and now she was paying the price. She went to step back only to spot Bastian move closer to stop her.
Nervously, she rubbed her arm and shuffled in place. Upon feeling Marci's tether message, she tapped her palm out of sight.

<Redacted. Paper. Hit. Nerve.| One. About. Demon. Worshipers.| I. Lied. To. Keep. Boys. Safe.| Does. Not. Look. Good.>

"There was an incident involving Hartmann and a then Deputy Dietmar Schuttmann in breaking up a ring of demon worshipers in the woods, just outside of town. That was what I could make out." Roslyn spoke firmly, keeping the fear out of her voice.
"As I said, both were trying to stop them. Hartmann brought in some of his workers, four of them died. In the end, both were dismissed. Hartmann returned home in disgrace and became a drunk. He came back, but was found in the river a week later. Strange burns on-" Roslyn's eyes widened in realization. She was a fool for not realizing it earlier as she finished her thought. "-his body."

Karl pursed his lips. "And what are you acting all surprised about?" he sniped back. Without further word, he took his keys out, found the right one, and unlocked a small secure cupboard. From it, he pulled a particular inkpot with a particular musty minty stench. "Bastian, would you use the Lassalac ink to un-redact the log kraken ink?"

Hesitantly, Bastian agreed and stepped forward. "I would ask if you agree to this," Karl put to Roslyn, his voice stern and clipped, "but you - frankly - have no choice. You are on the thinnest of ice in thermal boots."
carefully, Bastian took a small brush, dipped it in the lassalac, and painted gently over the special ink that obscured the document. Gradually, it revealed the true message beneath. Karl posted his hands on his hips. "Hold it out for her to read." He nodded at Bastian who, with an ambiguous sort of look, agreed.

There lay the police report, in all of its glory, revealed to Roslyn's eyes.

"I-I just had a thought crossed my mind was all." Roslyn stated quickly. She didn't bother to elaborate as she watched him pull a few things out of a cabinet. The strong, minty scent she recognized instantly as Lassalac. It was impossible for her to mistake it for anything else.

She leaned in to read the report. Some of the details matched what Johann had said, but... he had left key things out. Hurt unlike anything she had felt before hit her harder than she thought possible. Her eyes squeezed tightly as she gripped her arm in a vice like grip. Johann had seen this and kept it from them. Played her like a fool after she trusted him.

"I think you were right. I am a fool." Her voice cracked with pain and anger. She blinked back the tears threatening to blur her vision.

Karl von Mollern's face softened, just a bit. Bastian's, however, became pinched. Before the constable could reassure, comfort, or question Roslyn, his deputy butted in with a raised, incredulous voice. "What is this!?" he shook his head, eyes bugging out. "Why... why didn't I hear about any of this?"

If the constable's face had softened earlier, as Roslyn worked through her unwelcome revelation, it visibly cracked at Bastian's reaction. "I..." He bit his lower lip. "I should've," he admitted. "I should've and I know it, but he asked me not to."

"You fired him!" Bastian nearly shouted. "You pinned it all on him and fired him and he lives as a broken man in disgrace!"

Karl swallowed, but did not flinch back. "And I like it no more than you do, Bastian, same as I disliked it back then."

"Hmph!" the younger man snorted. "But - let me guess - ze orders came from someone else and weren't your fault and you couldn't stop zem."

Karl scowled only slightly, but he nodded. "They did," he confessed, taking a deep breath and looking his resentful deputy square in the eye. "They came from him." He nodded slowly. "I don't know why. He wouldn't tell me. I tried to talk him out of it, but he was insistent - as insistent as I've ever seen him, and you and I both know how stubborn he can be."

Bastian's face remained incredulous. "But why!?" He shook his head. "You're lying. You have to be lying! What kind of reason is that!?"

The constable stood his ground. "You need to calm down and accept the truth, even when it is difficult. I cannot say what his reasons were for certain," the mustachioed man admitted, "but I am of the opinion that he was - and perhaps still is - protecting something, or someone, of vital importance." he shook his head, and Bastian, left open-mouthed, closed his mouth so as not to look stupid, and took a moment to think.

"So, you see," said Karl, turning to Roslyn, "You are not alone in that feeling, girl." He was not the type to offer a hug or a pat on the shoulder, but he nodded in understanding.

"All we can do is move forward, learn from it, and not be a fool with the next thing. Now -" He leaned over the counter, elbows on its surface, and offered her a quill.

"No tears. We can cry them and we should, but there is a time and place, when they can be tears of relief as well as sadness." He pressed his lips together in a thin, serious smile or reassurance. "I need a name. Not to put any more pressure on you, but I have a feeling that a great many lives could be at stake and you have the power to save them."

While Bastian and Karl von Mollern had their exchange, Roslyn's world spun. She had thought Shune was done with her, but she had let her guard down and paid the price. Once more, everything ranging from this morning to now bubbled up in her chest. Her heart splintered into pieces as her fingers held onto her to ground herself. Why did it hurt so much?

Her head tilted up when Karl von Mollern addressed her, holding out a quill. She nodded then reached for it. Without hesitation, the tip scratched across the surface writing Johann's name.

Karl nodded, businesslike but not unsympathetic. Perhaps, in some ways, this mirrored a moment in his life from years ago.

"Ze young Herr Steinbauer." He shook his head and let out a low whistle. Bastian was still lost in his thoughts, perhaps starting to emerge, but not there yet. He leaned on a table nearby. "This is a very big fish to fry, I believe the expression is." The constable stroked his chin for a moment. "We will need conclusive evidence."

That was when, as if on cue, Marceline entered Roslyn's world of bitter melancholy. <Rose. Be. Careful. Exclaim. | I. Don't. Know. How. Else. To. Say. This. But. Johann. Might. Be. Working. Against. Us.> She paused momentarily, as if collecting her thoughts, or perhaps she was just distracted by a half-dozen other messages, opportunities, and threats.

<I'm. In. Shock. I'll. Admit. So. I. Know. It. Must. Be. Even. Harder. For. You. | Stay. Safe. Stay. In. Contact. And. Throw. Him. Under. The. Wagon. If. Needed.> Another pause. <I. Will. Hug. You. With. These. Great. Big. Rib-breaking. Arms. Tonight. And. We. Will. Fall. Asleep. On. Beds. Beside. Each. Other. | I. Love. You. Suunei.>

Within the storm of pain brewing, Roslyn noticed Marci. She relaxed and took comfort in knowing she could lean on her friends. With a deep breath, she stilled those emotions once more. She considered what her friends might've done in this situation. The answer was obvious: set a trap for the fucking snake.

At Karl's words Roslyn swallowed the lump in her throat. " Yeah, I doubt my word alone will be enough. However, I recalled something my father once said to me. A person's greatest enemy was overconfidence and they are more likely to make mistakes."
She latched onto that anger, forcing her voice cold and steady. It was better than feeling anything else right now. "So, what if he thinks he got away with it? "

The constable arched an eyebrow. "If I'm going to be honest, my dear girl, this warrants little more than a search of your belongings and then a slap on the wrist." He scowled. "You being put in a cell for a bit would help put him at ease while your friends gather more evidence, but it would be overreach on our part."

Then, suddenly, Bastian spoke. "I'm not trying to be rude," he began, "but I also need to be honest." He leveled a pointer at Roslyn. "You have been about as open as him up to zis point." The pointer found Karl and he shook his head. "You Academy kids have shared almost nossing wiss us - ze police of zis town. It needs to stop." His voice was not hard, but it was firm and... perhaps a bit hurt. "What else do you know and have going on in ze background? It is about time we work togezer properly."

For about the next five minutes, they exchanged information. In parallel, the police had come to some of the same conclusions that she and her fellow students had, even though there had only been three of them. What they were missing were a couple of the latest developments.
They were just circling back to the topic of how to 'punish' her and make it believable when it began.

Hellish Ambush

**********

Roslyn had been about to respond when pain tickled the back of her eyes. Her bandit ring glowed, the only warning she had, before the attack hit her. The room spun. It sent her hands to grip the edges of her seat. Sweat crawled across her skin and she became pale, her form trembling. Chemical, magnetic and temporal poured into her system as it countered the damage. Her eyes widened with fear and then she shut them. The warmth of blood trickled down her nose before the pain faded.

Her stomach curdled and she leaned to one side. A sourness lingered in the back of her throat. Vomit. Scrunching up her face, she swallowed it down.

The two officers glanced about, on high alert, and she could see Bastian sensing while Karl rushed over, put his hands on her shoulders to steady Roslyn, and began using binding to heal the internal damage. "Still, or you will lose memories."

It took him only moments. Perhaps he had done this before. "Bastian, report!" he ordered and, a moment later, Edith was checking in. <I. Will. Sense.> she messaged all three of them. <You Hit. Targets. And. I. Will. Assist. If. Needed.>

"I sense a tier three not too far from us. I think I'm picking up something bigger down south near the edge of my range."

<They. Attacked. Kuno.> came a message from Edith. <My. Son. Is. Unconscious. And. Bleeding.> One could not sense emotion through pinch language. <Your First Target. Is. 100m. Due West. And. 40. More. North. Near. The. Schuttmann. Residence.>

Roslyn tried her best to listen as a small, angry whimper escaped her throat. She realized quickly how vulnerable she was right there. No weapon, barely any proper gear, and worst of all... no one nearby. There was little doubt in her mind that Evander and Steinbauer had fucked off somewhere else.

As Karl's gift mended her brain, the girl's chest heaved and she spoke through gritted teeth."Thanks. That was... unpleasant."

She felt that emotional bottle cracking again, forcing her to push it down. "The rest of my gear is back at the inn. No time to get it. I didn't expect things to go bad this fast. We're going to need help. Can Edith get a message to Marci?"

Marceline received a pinch message from Edith. <Marci. Wellness. Check.>

<Survived. Recovered. Going. After. Demons.>

<You. Can. Teleport.>

<What. Do. You. Want. Question.>

<Roslyn. Needs. Her. Gear.>

<I. Know. Where. It. Is.>

<Can. You ->

<Already. There.>

<Good. News. Roslyn.> came a message from Edith. <Marci. Is. Going. To. Get. Your. Stuff. And- >

The younger of the two tethered appeared before Roslyn, a large sack of items across her lap. "I would ask if you're keeping a dead body or something in here," she griped, struggling to handle it, though a fond smirk softened her features, "but I wouldn't joke about that in front of officers of the peace." She threw a little salute Roslyn's way and wished her, "Good luck, and stay safe!" She was already drawing to head for another target.

"Will try, but today seems to want to test that skill. And Marci, wait! Going to give you all a little extra power." A weight of anxiety lifted off her shoulders upon seeing Marci and her gear. Roslyn quickly withdrew her satchel of ammo and smoking bandit. Popping in the rosy wick, she gestured for Bastian and Karl to come closer quickly.

"This should give our gift a bigger kick. She squeezed the small cannon's trigger. A brief burst of smoke erupted and engulfed them, dissipating shortly after. "One shot left."

She put it away, moving onto the rest of her gear. Lastly, she pulled out the sword. A flutter of nerves darted over her as she took a moment to stare at the accursed item. Hopefully this thing is useful and not trouble.

Lowering it to her side, her eyes turned to the officers. "All right, which way are you two heading? I'll take the other direction."

Marceline was gone moments later. "You ladies take east," commanded Karl, "we take northwest." He was already headed for the door. "Eshiran empower us all."

Roslyn wasted no time as she followed the two men out and turned eastward. She wasn’t the strongest of faith, but Karl's prayer gave her strength. These demons were about to learn of a new monster. One that held no mercy.

She became a blurry, multicolored streak rushing at the open gap. A rumble echoed when another wall jumped up in front of her and forced her to skid to a stop. Roslyn twisted another direction when she spotted another wall forming. Drawing in the energy around her, she focused on cold over heat. The wall's formation slowed, but didn't stop. Before she reached it, the white material blocked her path. She hissed when she slammed into it then spotted the final one start to form.

One last shot.

It closed in to trap her as she flung her bombs again at it.

The metal sphere hit once, rewound, then hit again. The shockwave vibrated the air. Cracks formed along the surface until chunks started to fall and the wall became a heap of rumble. As the dust cleared, Roslyn stepped out into the open. Her hand dusted off her shoulder with a smile. Seemed Reshta had bestowed her favor upon the young Hendlish girl, but the fight was far from done.

She seized the ball in a magnetic field. It shook in resistance then she shot into the ground and the wall, slamming from one hard surface to another. Each impact made the demon bloodier. Ruptures spilled the thick steam from its inside as it wheezed. The outside stretched and grew, a reddish discoloring spread across its throbbing bulbs.
It was going to blow.

Roslyn inhaled and prayed to Ahn-Oraff, hoping this crazy plan of hers worked. Channeling her inner Ingrid, she focused on block buster. The air around her tensed and crackled then sizzled. She urged for speed as her race for destruction climbed. The demon inflated, but in the end it was futile. It ruptured into pieces when her chain actions began. The shockwave rumbled past her, nearly knocking her off her feet.

Coughing, Roslyn wiped her eyes. No one seemed hurt... but the buildings were another story. Deciding to think of that later, she tapped her wrist.<Where. Next. Question.>

She rushed off toward the next demon.

*Fin.*

The Hourglass Order

Roslyn Wicke

" "

The Riddle of Lindenholdt Part 4.1

_{Date: Zales 33rd
Location: Inn, Outside of Lindenholdt,}

Light and Shadow

*

Ipté gave way to Shune on their fourth day in Lindenholdt and snow fell gently - silently - on the rooftops of the slumbering town.

A dog howled in the predawn murk and a shutter that had come loose at some point during the night flapped in unsteady rhythm, keeping time with less certainty but just as much persistence as any clock. Yet, not one of the nine students of Ersand'Enise stirred.

The streets lay still and empty. One of the great bells of the Dom St. Adelheid swayed softly as a crow took flight.

Bare trees.

Frozen river.

Darkened windows.

Then... consciousness! One of the students woke with a singular and determined purpose. She dressed quietly, having chosen to sleep separately from her friends. She grabbed an orange and some bread and slipped out from the door. There were a great many gambits - clever and risky and interwoven in a game of queens, knights, and pawns - that she may have been leaving to enact her part in. Yet, this venture was a purely selfish one. Only she and one other knew why she had journeyed outside.

And, so, the others slept. They slept as the wind rapped upon on their shutters, the embers crackled in the inn's fireplace, and dreams led them on threads through their slumber, mingling with their plans and anxieties for the day still to come.

The sun of Shune broke the barrier of snow and silhouette and reached out with arms of light to take Lindenholdt up in its embrace. It is only through light, the Stresians say, that we can see where shadow lies deepest. Here, its nascent glow revealed dark daggers and serrations stretching across town. The towering spires of Dom St. Adelheid skewered the wintry homes, squares, and businesses that they met with in warped outline.

It was a poet's dream without a poet to appreciate it.

The von Mollern family were the practical sort, not much inclined to wordplay, wit, or the arts. The Grunewalds put their business and the interests of their country first and foremost and left the soaring appeals to others better suited for the job. The farmers, miners, merchants, and builders of the town spoke not a word of flowered prose and Berthold Lothmann, alone among these people who made but did not create, was not to be found at the new church's great pipe organ, as had been his custom since its completion four months prior.

One by one, in an inn named for dancing boots, the eight remaining youths - and many others - rose for the day. They rose and walked by the kitchen where Margarethe was preparing breakfast and on to the dining hall, where Margit - fresh from the snowy outdoors - had appeared to serve the tables. Had they slept well or had the threads of their dreams woven, instead, into nightmares?

Roslyn had no illusions this was going to be easy. In fact, she expected a fight and dressed for the worst. She donned the three pieces of the Trappings of Sheer Menace, her ring and brought along the smoking bandit. Finally, in her satchel she hid away the pirate gloves, her ammo, anything else she thought might help her.

It was then, her hand bumped one of the small figurines she purchased from Jana the day before. She stared for a moment. Casually, she reached for it and gave it a small squeeze for a little luck. Maybe the gods might watch over her and if they didn't, she didn't blame them. This was not smart to go out alone. Not with a command mage around, but what choice did she really have?

Securing Xiuyang's inferno blanket around her, she quickly crept down the stairs. She stopped long enough to snitch some breakfast before exiting out the door.

She didn't worry about her friends noticing her absence. Marci said she'd cover for her and the tethered seemed confident in that task. Suddenly the chill plowed into her face causing her to pull the scarf higher. Her hand reached for her compass and she thought of the words spoken to her through Marci and Zarina.

The spirit of the sword is found in its manas and its manas seek a worthy spirit.
You are awaited, Aratana Zankoku-sa says to me.
Make haste, Hocho Kyuu Juu Kyuu says to me.
You shall find she who hungers in a land with a flourishing people and a broken church.
Hidden from those sharpening their daggers and creatures of the damned, she craves a nascent potential.
It is here that you will seek her and fight for her.
It is here you will be tried and deemed worthy.

---

"Let's see if you're right about me being worthy." She mumbled then stepped off into the snow.

Marceline had a job to do. Her energy level didn't matter. Her emotional state didn't matter. For some reason she was - figuratively - jumping through hoops for the academy: going to one exotic destination after another and risking her life to do their bidding for little but vague promises of advancement.

The job came first.

Her hair, usually kept in a bob, was noticeably past her shoulders now. She threw a tie around it. Instead of bathing, she spot-cleaned herself with the Gift as she dressed, the act of it waking her further. Already, she was reaching out with her senses, spreading her awareness across town, filtering the wheat from the chaff, as her mother had taught her some seven years ago.

Blessedly, there were no stairs today, for she had fallen asleep in her own room. Marci pushed the door open with a shy creak and rolled noiselessly out into the hallway. She heard a set of footsteps - large, bouncy, Ingrid - making their way down the steps. She thought to greet the Eskandishwoman before thinking again and thinking better of it. She needed to focus on Roslyn. The fewer who knew what they were doing, the better. The sooner the Hendlishwoman got it over with, the better. Marceline picked out a corner for herself near the storage pantries, locked her brakes, and focused.

She found Roslyn headed south, along the bank of the Althern. She had passed the Weberplatz, the port, and the small Frickmayer Estate and was, now, striking out past the farms that ringed the town. Presently, she seemed to have woken a farmer as she cut across his empty fields, but nothing came of it. She was more careful with a second.

Onwards, she went, and Marceline's attention was drawn, momentarily, to the steps. What is it with people waking up at a reasonable hour today? These steps were smaller, trudging, purposeful: Xiuyang. Nobody would recognize Marci by her footsteps. Again, she thought of interacting; she wanted to, but the job came first.

Roslyn was approaching a forested area and, with some alarm, Marci noticed the energy signature of a large animal present, but a closer inspection revealed it to be a stag. She sent a quick warning. <Large. Stag. Ahead. Don't. Startle. Him.> The crisis seemed to resolve itself as the two skittish beings skirted widely around each other in the trees, but then a new one presented itself immediately. Distracted, she stepped into a sudden and steep ravine and began to tumble. Before Marci could intervene, Roslyn had caught herself, more or less intact, and was crouching in the snow, rubbing at her wrist and checking her things. The tethered did the same. <Dropped. Your. Snowpepper. | It's. Hanging. From. That. Big. Elm. With. The. Weird. Roots.>

A quick thanks and Roslyn was moving to retrieve the little pouch from the branch it had snagged on, but then came a distraction. Heavy - very heavy footsteps on the stairs: Johann. He was whistling and it was annoying. Marci pressed two fingers to each temple, breathed, and reached out with her senses.

"Oh! Hallo, Marci!" came his pleasant singsong voice, and she could just smack him right now. "What are you doing hiding under the stairs like a little troll?" he laughed.

She glared sugary-sweet daggers at him. "I'm doing my morning sweep of the town and this was the only place where I could get some peace and quiet." Her smile was a fixed thing: levered at him like a cannon. Johann scratched at the back of his head. "Ah, yes. Well, um... good luck." He gave her a double thumbs-up and backed away a couple steps. "I shall see you at breakfast soon, then!"

She nodded and sought out Roslyn again in the woods to the south. Only, when she found the Hendlishwoman, she was not alone. "Oh, Gods no," she whispered.

Hidden Among the Woods

**

You hid yourself well, no doubt about that. Roslyn kept flipping her eyes from the path to the compass. She hurt a bit, but ignored the sting of her flesh wounds. The compass continued to lead her further out than she expected.

The cold bit at her flesh caused her to tighten the blanket about her and adjust the scarf. She couldn't help the small smile at recalling the farmer's stunned expression. If she had to guess, she looked like a right old fright to the old man. A ghost, splattered by color and a rainbow colored scarf with a red blanket like cape. Who wouldn't have thought their mind was playing tricks on them from a sight like that?

Her eyes noticed the deep indentations near some trees. Footprints. Shit...

Not wanting to give away the fact she knew, Roslyn continued onward. She attempted to stretch out her senses, but the elements and fear battered away at her ability to focus. All she could think about was how bad of an idea this was. Keep going and don't stop, she told herself. Maybe she could lose them along the way.

It was moments later, as Roslyn was focusing on the footprints and moving quickly, that Marceline's message came through. <Rosy. Watch. Out. | He's. Coming. From. - >

A wild-eyed man, ragged with frostbite and some sort of madness, came crashing out of the bushes at her, and he swung for her head with an axe, letting out an inarticulate cry.

Roslyn's eyes went wide when the man came rushing out of the bush. Her body twisted and she jerked away, tugging her face back to try and avoid the swing. She gritted her teeth then drew. Deep down, the girl didn't want to hurt him. It seemed like he was crazy or something. Better to put him down, she realized and immediately cast chemical with a dose of temporal.

It didn't work like she had hoped.

"Shit!" Roslyn hissed as she pulled back, trying to keep her head on her shoulders. This was bad, she thought.

The cast had been quick and panicked and he was in such a worked-up state that he'd be difficult to stop cleanly. His swing missed and his axe went into the ground and his frostbitten fingers lost their grip on it.

<Holy. Shit. Rose.> came Marceline's pinch message, as both parties struggled to recover from the initial near-miss. <Want. Me. To. Put. Him. Down. Question.>

Roslyn panted heavily, her form trembling. She had tried and... failed. Failed like always. It seemed when she was alone, she always came up short. Even worse, the man seemed half dead. It was a painful reminder of who the weakest in their group was and she felt helpless to change that. Any one of her friends could've easily defended that...

"It feels like she who hungers is full of shit now." Roslyn mumbled, realizing how stupid she was doing this. <Might. Be. Best.>



Marceline could sense her friend's brain activity in turmoil but, for all of her skill and natural ability in precise sensing, she couldn't read minds. Roslyn was in danger, and so she cursed under her breath and began drawing.

Above Roslyn and her desperate opponent, the clouds rumbled and crackled with electricity. The tethered drew past six, past seven, and on past eight. Margarethe, not so very far from her and in the midst of a conversation with Evander, grimaced and pressed her hands to her temples. "Oww! Scheiße!" she hissed, leaning against the counter for support.

Lightning danced within the clouds and Marci focused on the wildman. His bios were all way off. He was hypothermic. Signals to his nerves were being blocked. He'd been out there, possibly, all night. At the last second, the tethered pulled back on her attack as Roslyn's assailant ground his teeth and missed again, clumsily. His manas! That was it! Marceline had thought that something weird was going on with them. Command magic, again!

She altered her approach, trying commandment instead - a spell that she was less familiar with and confident in, but this man had to be taken alive if, indeed, he would even survive without a highly skilled binder onsite.



Then, they were there and her spell simply... stopped. Six... humanoids. Somehow, one of Ersand'Enise's most skilled and promising young tethered mages had completely failed to detect them.

"Ei schü! Fansem!" called one of the voices.

"Nezmeir zünchee fei ca bausch!" another shouted back as they arrayed themselves.

"Fei hahlee cöhlee!" called out a third, commandingly.

"Fei hahlee!"

"Fei cöhlee!"

"Fei hahlee."

"Fei cöhlee"

A glow filled the entire small clearing that Roslyn and the ragged man who had assaulted her stood in. He was not moving, she noticed, but when she tried to turn to get a better look at one of the newcomers, she found that she could not either. Six of them: none more than four feet tall. They wore long tasseled cloaks in white, with hoods embroidered in silver and short staves that wrapped about their forearms as if alive. This magic. She had never read about it. She had never been told about it and, yet, somehow, Roslyn knew it.

Mahzeree Chrümsah fei ca Frinzen-töft: Old Magic of the Valley Cherune.

The familiar pain clung to her insides as Roslyn watched the man rise again then attack her again. Her feet snapped back with quickness born from instinct. She side stepped, narrowly ducking out of the way. The swing battered her hair away as snow crunched beneath her. Terrified that Marci couldn't put him down, Roslyn began to draw again.

Then someone shouted, followed by another. Roslyn could only focus on not having her head taken off when light abruptly filled her vision. The glow that filled her felt... familiar. Like an old friend saying hello after years of absence. It reminded her of how she learned magic best. She always preferred a more personal touch and to 'feel' it over written instruction. It tied back to the first time she was exposed to it, though she didn't properly remember it. Faint, hazy dreams eluded her whenever she tried to focus on them. Her childish giggles ran from playful figures as she darted through the woods behind her home.

Unfortunately, the lighthearted comfort became shrouded by fear. She couldn't move or defend herself. Just like the encounter with Belthagor, she was helpless and at the mercy of someone stronger. She tried to speak, but whether it was terror or the spell, she found the words stuck in her throat.

"Girling's being friendlike," came a voice. "Madness all of the inside in that man - Churchlike madness." A young woman - a human woman - materialized as if from nowhere and strode into the center of the clearing. "Girl can speakings now. Her naming is of the flowerlike, sü?"

The new arrival was petite and pale, with wavy light brown hair, a button nose, and freckles. She studied Roslyn with curious but shrewd hazel eyes, her too-wide mouth eventually cracking a smirk. "Hi!" she chirped. Meanwhile, the Hendlishwoman's assailant remained incapacitated.

If Roslyn could've moved at that point, her nose would've scrunched up in confusion. She almost nodded, but instead focused on calming herself. Why did this feel so familiar?

Her voice remained timid as she spoke. "Y-yes, my name is Roslyn. Who are you? And them?"

"Oh, uslike?" she jerked a thumb back at the others. "We livings here secretlike... even though Lindenholdt being our land since forevering." Her eyes flicked back and forth between Roslyn and the trapped man as the others spoke rapidly, one appearing to give the lone human among them a command. She nodded.

"Man-guy not being this girl's friend, huh?" she prodded, before arching an eyebrow. "Whatlike Roslyn doin' alone in the spooky forest this morning so earlylike? Reshta's luck we findings you..." She shook her head and Roslyn could feel the magical restraints on her body start to loosen, though they didn't go all the way. If she was wary of these small people, they were wary of her, as well.

Roslyn took in the woman's words, her anxiety fading only so far. Slowly she tested her mobility as the magical restraints faded. A relief washed over her face when she could move again, but she'd need to contact Marci quickly. To let her know she was all right in case the tethered worry.

First she had to deal with this. "I see, and yes, you're right. He just came at me and..."

She trailed off recalling what happened. With a heavy sigh, she attempted to move closer to him and reached out with her gift. "I can't leave him like that. I wish I was a better healer though."

A slow, gentle attempt to mend what she could. Sadly, she wasn't a healer like Xiuyang or Seviin. She still had to try despite the lacking wisdom of her actions. "I'm... looking for something. I didn't expect trouble, but it seems like it has a talent for finding me."

"Oh ya?" the girl followed up, motioning to some of the others to move inward. "They fixings him up real goodlike, don't worrying, Rosee." She furrowed her brow, strutting in close. "Well, if she needing's to find something, she can ask they. Maybe they helpings can." She smiled sweetly and shrugged, but still didn't seem to trust Roslyn enough to full release her.

"She knowings this girl, Margo?" said one of the tiny people. She was perhaps of an age with them, her long platinum blonde hair done up in intricate braids, her eyes a pale grey-blue. "Cheh, Lümee. Sen teh fune cetahlee," the human replied. "Juhé, fönzeen tac ä lartön!"

"Nacu nacu." The tiny woman grimaced and held up a placating hand as her eyes darted between the two of them. Margot sighed. "Felümee, her sister." She gestured at the girl. "Lümee for shortlike."

Lümee scrunched up her face and glared at Margot. "Greating shortlike," the human girl doubled down, grinning wickedly.

"Nice to meet you." Roslyn politely said, letting herself relax some.

"As much as I want to, I'm not sure anyone can help me with it." She walked the line of truth as far as she felt comfortable doing. However, she kept tabs on their position. "I think if someone sticks with me, they might be attacked. I don't want anyone getting hurt."

Behind her skirt, she tapped her finger against her palm in a discreet fashion. She hoped to keep Marci from doing something rash. <I'm. okay.| Safe. Maybe. Question.>

That familiarity kept gnawing at her, but she pushed it down. Time was ticking away and she had to keep going. "Are you going to take him back? And let me be on my way?"

From Marceline, there was only an ominous silence. It appeared that Roslyn was on her own. "Oh," came the reply. Margot cracked a smile. "They's not fearing anylike in those woods." She shook her head. "They's living here since well before humans. And don't the worrying; they's healing this madmanlike who tried making dead on her." She blinked, one eye at a time. "Good news: I think they's gonna helping her. She's gonna being much safelike now." Her smile was large and toothy and her breath smelled of iron. "They's generous peopling. Wanna be the helping to her. She's wiselike to be accepting their offer."

Roslyn tried to school her reaction, but she didn't like the silence. Did something happen to her friend? Her anxiety spiked in her chest and the want to flee grew with her racing heart. Her eyes closed for a moment then she exhaled. She finished by shaking her skirt out before she broke her silence.

"It feels like I have little choice, but I can use the help." Roslyn paused for a moment before she finally began to feed her curiosity. She uttered the first question on her mind. "What type of magic are they using? There's something about it I can't quite place about it."

She reached for her compass as her eyes flicked down to it. While she eyed the second needle's movement and listened, she considered downing a mana brew. Was it needed though with the escort she had now?

Margot smiled sweetly. "Nonsenseness!" she chirped, as Roslyn was released from the spell. "She is always having a choice-make." She shook her head.

Three of the strange small people - they were neither hegelan nor cazenax - were tending to the now-unconscious man. A fourth and fifth seemed to be weaving some form of spell, tending to the perimeter. The sixth was Lümee, who spoke in uncertain and heavily-accented Avincian, eyes darting towards Roslyn's satchel and the tenseness in her arm. "We's is Elder Magic-kind. Uses magic of the all-world and none by the body-self." She shook her head. "Yumans not knowing herewith."

Roslyn's right eyebrow raised at the woman's syrupy attitude, but said nothing. A clear doubt in her expression said it all. Her mind reflected on the interaction so far. None of them had done any harm to her aside from frighten her a bit. Their reasons were valid and she'd likely done the same.

Spotting Lümee's darting eyes, she reassured the odd humanoid. "If you're worried I'm going to pull out something harmful, don't be. I only brought things along that would help me stay safe. Nothing more."

*Not that I could do anything against you*, her inner critic shot back.

Something about what the woman said stirred something inside of her. A faint sorrow and joy that she couldn't explain. Something dream-like almost. "All-world? Like the world around us? That shouldn't be possible. At least, that isn't what we're taught at the academy."

The moment she was able, Roslyn took a step in the direction of the sword. She needed to keep moving while she talked.

Lümee seemed to accept Roslyn's explanation. She shrugged and let herself fall a few paces behind as the greater group broke apart. One of the healers peeled away from the now-semiconscious man, as did one of the perimeter guardians. Both followed. "Oh, surune," Margot's sister chided, "there's being very much things she hasn't know-made. She's academy -"

"Precious academy," giggled another.

"Preeeeccccious!"

"Very-much preciouslike." teased a third.

"Ersand'Enise-place is not knowledge-lock of all magic-making there is," the tiny girl concluded. She raised her arm to shield her eyes from a gust full of icy snow, the tassels on her sleeve fluttering as she did so.

"So, what's this compass-device she's having?" prodded Margot, skipping curiously along beside Roslyn. The roguish girl's sister glanced up and nodded in curious agreement, suddenly floating with each step as if her legs were twice as long as they were.

Roslyn could not have been far now. The compass needle swung visibly with each step, the way it always did when she was close and even the slightest change in direction would cause a wobble.

"I'm sorry I'm not well educated on all magic in the world." Roslyn couldn't help the bitterness in her tone. It felt like they were mocking her, but she was likely being oversensitive. "Still, I can't explain it. It feels... familiar. Makes me think of home."

She shook her thoughts away from her foolish thoughts and tugged up her scarf, blocking the wind from her skin. When they asked about her compass, she sighed. "It's something I earned from the trials. It helps me when I need to find... things."

A little bug of worry wormed into the back of her mind. Her eyes looked down at the needle and her pace slowed, careful to match the direction best she could. What was going to happen next?

"Ah!" exclaimed Margot. "Looking-see she's close." She grinned. "Bestings lucky. She's hoping Rosee will find-get something dangerless." Margot blushed a bit. "Mostmuch because She's a biglike coward."

Meanwhile, Lümee seemed to be thinking on another tangent. "Homehearth's where her heartbeat goes," She smiled warmly, but her eyes sparkled with curiosity. "Where's that for her?"

In the meantime, the other two strange little people were spreading out to flank the central trio. They spoke back and forth in short, rapid bursts, their body language, insofar as a 'surune' could read it, betraying a level of anxiety.

Roslyn gave them a sheepish smile. "I wish I could put her mind at ease, but that's not likely. Based on a riddle, it mentions a fight where I'll be tried and deemed worthy. But... after failing to deal with the last threat, I dread it might be wrong about me."

She took her eyes off her compass for a moment. A wistfulness entered her eyes as she thought of home. "Arkney in Hendland. It's beautiful."

A small laugh came from her chest, bringing a smile. "I recall playing in the woods when I was younger. While everyone, including my brother avoided them, I was never scared. I used to bring a few small trinkets in there sometimes. I faintly recall running and giggling while someone chased me. It's hard to tell what's a dream and what's memories now."

She hadn't noticed the nervousness that spread among the others.

Lümee and Margo exchanged a look at Roslyn's self-doubt and the former dashed in to deliver the proper 'encouragement'. She leapt up and socked Roslyn just below the shoulder, hard. "That is weakenings-talk. Sameself weakenings. Do not talking that way." The tiny woman wagged her finger. "She is capablelike magicmaker."

"Even if magicmaking is suruneside," snickered one of the two men behind them - more of a teenage boy, really.

"She can doings it and winning magnificent-seen prize or she will beating all weak-think out of this silly-think surune. Comprende?"

The expressions of all four of Roslyn's escorts perked up at her mention of her hometown, though. "Arcnee!" Lümee exclaimed. "She have-knows a cousin there!"

"He have-knowing three cousins, an aunt, and a girlfriendly-no-longer, there!"

"It being yoursame fault, Zender," teased Margot. "Them call he 'wandering worm' for the bestings of reason." She shook her head.

"If she remember-knows these things from childtime," replied the oldest of the group, "Then she is knowing the cherune-people. They made remembering-not for protecting them-people, mostlike." he nodded sagely, but, before anything more could be said, all of the tree branches around them shivered and a chill rose in the air.

From somewhere not so very far away came a feeling of discomfort that each of them could sense in their manas.

Roslyn had looked back at her compass when suddenly... SMACK! The impact sent a heavy sting into her shoulder as she gritted her teeth, biting back the flinch. Her other hand came up to rub the spot gingerly. That hurt, but she resisted saying anything. The girl's eyes peered down at the smaller humanoid.

"Beth oedd pwrpas hynny? ||What was that for?||" Her voice slipped into Hendlish, proving without a doubt her heritage. "You jump high and hit harder than you look. And yes, I understand."

She sighed, grumbling underneath her breath. "It's just... not easy when it feels like I'm playing catch up with my friends."

Roslyn considered what they said, but before she could inquire more on the subject... something changed. Even she felt it and it sent shivers down her spine. Her eyes once more looked to her compass to ensure she was still on the trail. Cautiously, she slipped her hand into her bag and withdrew a bottle. A mana brew. Her teeth gripped the cork then tugged it out fast. With a quick press to her mouth, she downed it without hesitation.

If she had learned anything, it was to be better safe than sorry.

"Ah shittings!" growled Margot, dancing back nimbly and withdrawing some sort of mace from the pack slung across her shoulders. "This thing and this hereplace?" The air became rich with energy and she could feel the cherune-like human draw in the way she was more accustomed to. "It's fucking cursed-land."

Roslyn was just barely out in front of the others now, and her compass pointed to a great mound in the middle of a clearing. It was difficult to sense clearly with all of the ambient energy swirling around, but there was no mistaking the sight of a sword, jammed into it almost up to the hilt. The cherune fanned out.

"This is suicide-making!" Lümee shouted, and a tornado of heat and light began to form around her.

Roslyn turned, momentarily, to glance her ally's way, but, then, the ground erupted and every single one of the cherune was hurled back into the trees. It was only Roslyn left: Roslyn and the sword in the stone.

Blood Trap

***

Roslyn glanced once, twice and even a third time to ensure what she was seeing was right. It pointed directly at the sword before her. What the hells?!? She tensed on the spot and fought the impulse to freeze. What did she get herself into? Upon hearing Margo's words, followed by Lümee's fear, she turned to look at them. The ground erupted beneath them as she shifted her feet to stay up. Suddenly, all the small humaniods had been flung away back into the woods. Her eyes widened then glanced at the sword in the stone. Did it do this?

She didn't touch it. Not yet. Roslyn took deep, purging breaths as she tucked her compass into her bag. She couldn't act rash here. Her hands cupped about her mouth and let her kinetic magnify her voice. "Lümee! Margo! Is everyone all right?"

*Please, please be all right*, she prayed as she took a cautious step away from the sword.

There was no reply from Margot or the cherune and it couldn't help but inject a further shot of panic into Roslyn's heart. Perhaps as a consequence, it took her a moment to notice that, not only could she not hear her allies, she could not hear anything from outside of her immediate vicinity. She was in a sonic bubble.

Then, that was the least of her problems. She took a step back from the sword and a second to gather her thoughts, and everything changed. The mound of stones that the sword was located on shifted. The center rose, sword sunk deep into the largest of its stones. The periphery swirled and congealed into a statue. It was of a tall and beautiful woman dressed in a Nikanese-style kimono.

She stood, unmoving, before Roslyn, energies of Earth, wind, water, fire, and lightning swirling behind her, surrounding the legendary lost blade. Though the statue's lips did not part and the Hendlishwoman's ears heard nothing but the gusting wind and crackle of branches and rubble, a voice spoke to her nonetheless.

"The spirit of the sword is found in its manas," it declared, in a serene voice, "and its manas seek a worthy spirit." The ice and snow began to melt around the sword itself. "You were awaited, Aratana Zankoku-sa said to you. Make haste, Hocho Kyuu Juu Kyuu said to you." In her periphery, Roslyn could see a couple of semi-familiar figures moving. "You have found she who hungers in a land with a flourishing people and a broken church." The voice repeated a new version of the words that had sent her on this mad quest in the first place. "Hidden from those sharpening their daggers and creatures of the damned, she craves a nascent potential." They were Margot and at least two of the cherune, but they seemed unable to come any closer or interact with her. "It is here that you have found her and will fight for her." Winds swirled about the statue's base. Had its eyes moved!? "It is here you will be tried and deemed worthy," it concluded.

She hadn't even seen it move. It was right beside her, swinging a phantom blade at her neck. "or not."

Upon hearing the rumble of stone, Roslyn's eyes flicked to the mound and sword. Her eyes widened at their pieces floating up and stacking into a feminine form. It smoothed out to a pretty woman, dressed in an odd garment. Something similar to something Xiuyang might wear. Energies flared about the statue as she stood motionless.

Roslyn's breath stuck in her throat. The words echoed in her head while she noticed movement out of the corner of her eye. However, her attention fixated on the statue before her. Something told her not to look away.

Suddenly it was there... then it wasn't.

Wait, where did it go-

The statue materializing next to her interrupted the girl's thoughts. The need to survive acted first before her brain caught up. Drawing from heat at her side, Roslyn's kinetic sped herself forward. Fear filled the girl's face as she felt the blood trickle down from a shallow line on the back of her neck.

That was close, she shuddered. She twisted about mid-step. Her arm jerked up the smoking bandit. The tip ignited and fired.



Roslyn fired without hesitation, and the statue did not even try to dodge. A colossal burst of smoke and sticky scalding mist exploded out of the hand-cannon's barrel and enveloped it in its entirety. When the obstruction began to fade, the young mage's heart couldn't help but skip a beat.

As she watched, her opponent stood unmoving, completely covered in the devilish solution, but the barrier did not fade or drop. Powerful energies still swirled around the sword. Then, the ground shuddered. Both the snow and the yellowed grass beneath it faded and blackened, disappearing into the base of the statue. Roslyn's eyes flicked up and down for any visible change and it was then that the Hendlishwoman beheld the face of damnation. Its carefully-carved stone pupils shifted and narrowed, an eerie light emanating from them.

Then, Roslyn felt a tug on the very fabric of her being: blood drawing. The statue smiled... hungrily.

Roslyn kept on her toes as the smoke cleared. The sticky substance smeared across the surface as the statue came to a stop, eerily still. Again, the ground shuddered beneath her feet. She heard the energies swirl around the sword while her heart hammered in her chest. Everything seemed to wither and die at the statue's feet.

Her attack did nothing!

The immobile face's eyes glowed. It cracked a grin, a wickedness bleeding from its features. Fanged teeth flashed in her direction when something tugged at her. A sensation of invisible spiders seemed to crawl along her hair, nails and being. Immediately, she drew and countered. Binding went to work alongside magnetic. It seemed to weakly push at the attack.

No... fuck! Roslyn focused on her butterfly wings. The pale, ghostly creature fluttered across her vision. It surged with temporal then popped into faint lights. Immediately, her gift powered through with new strength.

This isn't working. Her eyes flicked to the sword, but the swirling power felt too strong for her. It came to her instantly. Her gloves! She couldn't attack as she slipped them on. Her hand then reached into her bag, watching the statue, for a pouch of snow pepper powder. It darkened then withered into dust. She held out her other hand and focused on the sword.

Come on, come on... She pleaded.

Roslyn's focus was absolute. This was her gambit and she was committed to it. She slipped the gloves on, visualized the sword, and imagined it snapping right into her hand as if called by kinetic magic.

That was... not what happened.



It seemed like longer, but it must've been less than a second. The statue disintegrated and formed into a serpentine beast of stone and malice. It reared forward, jaws distending open, fangs flashing. Its head plunged towards her neck.

The sword wasn't flying over.

Roslyn's eyes widened.

The serpent's knifelike tail flashed across her vision.

She felt a tingling in her hand - a firmness.

She didn't register the damage immediately, as it carved across her chest.

The tail skipped through open air, tip soaked in blood.

It sliced through Roslyn's arm and separated it from her body.

Kyuketsuki 2 materialized in the dismembered hand.

Before gravity could take it, before its strength could fade, the hilt of the newly materialized blade was in its grip. The tip, and half of its length, had appeared right where the head of the beast was.

It stiffened, shrieked, and thrashed and She Who Hungers drank. Chunks, like dried blood, peeled off from the monstrosity. They poured into the blade and then into the hand holding it. Tendrils of material - dark and red and sinewy - writhed and whipped about. They connected Roslyn to the piece that she had lost and tethered them together.

"Perrrrfect," the guardian of the blade hissed into her mind's ear. She could picture its wicked smile. "Your hunger, your thirst for wealth and power, has brought you this far. You are clever," it laughed gutturally. "You... are... worthy."

Then the nightmare apparition shuddered and hissed as it fell away to nothing, the last of its energies sucked into the final unclaimed blade of Kagemitsu Kenshin. The impossible cold and shock that had just started to set in as Roslyn's nerves screamed after their severed part quickly turned to a burning, crackling pain. Bone reformed. Blood and tissue weaved themselves back together. The ground around the sword's new wielder became dry, cold, and desiccated, until all that remained was bare stone.

With the mysterious barrier having fallen the moment that the sword's cruel guardian had, the others had rushed in. At least a few were now reaching and surrounding their friend, concern, admonishment, awe, and a maelstrom of other emotions and impulses etched onto their faces.

It was then that Roslyn felt it in her newly reattached hand: a cold hunger and a burning desire, fire and ice. The blade tugged. It tugged her towards the others, towards their power and their blood, though not with much insistence…

...yet.

Mistakes were Made

****

The town was nothing but a blur at her speed. There was no subtlety, no effort to cloak oneself. Just unadulterated power that propelled her fast enough to make her whistle through the farms like an arrow. Radiation was brewing in her, collecting deep in her as she waited to face whatever enemy befell Roslyn.

Bark scorched and snow melted as Ingrid went by them, it was all so unfamiliar, no markings or show of a fight. Nothing to give Ingrid any sense if she had been on the right path. But then she sensed 'it'. It was not within her understanding just what 'it' was but she didn't care, that is where Roslyn was, it had to be.

The scene that laid in front of her was horrifying, enough to make her grimace. Her first thought was that it was a possession and she could only scowl at the thought. Something had happened but Ingrid did not know just what it was. A part of her knew she should just fire, end it before a beast sprouts from her and consumes the others. But another part, a much weaker but louder part, begged that this was just some odd blood magic, not some evil possession.

In the end, Ingrid released her spear far into the woods. No sense of relief came as she knew that until she could confirm what was standing there was indeed Roslyn, she would have to view her as an enemy. But that didn't stop Ingrid from moving to Margot, she had been in too many battles to freeze when someone was dying in front of her.

She looked Margot in the eyes for just a moment, telling her she was here to help. This cazenax was not like the others she had seen though they seemed to vary greatly from one to another. She unlatched her Scepter of Ahn-Shune and started to chant"Shune, enlighten me to the nature of Oraff so that this woman may come to health once more." Ingrid repeated that phrase as her manas were guided to the woman.

Evander stepped through the portal last, the warp closing like a curtain behind him. His eyes sweeping the carnage in a single motion. Stone dust settling, blood in the air, Roslyn clutching what wasn't entirely hers, and the others crowding in. *Demons of the woods... the drunk wasn't off.* He exhaled slowly, as though disappointed in his classmate rather than shocked. Accepting dark magic was for the weak and cowardice.

"Pity," he murmured, "we're too late."

Evander's gaze lingered on the blade, then her hand. Whole. But wrong. The others swarmed in to surround her with their concerns. But, Evander's boots held the same ground, tilting his head.

He preferred distance when monsters were still deciding if they wanted to remain inside or outside the skin. After all, what they witnessed wasn't a victory but a binding to dark magic. Roslyn at this moment could not be trusted. Whether she was coerced or she surrendered willingly scarcely mattered; the observable truth was obvious, the blade commanded more than the hand wielding it.

Xiuyang, with the benefit of her equipment, witnessed Roslyn's dismemberment ten seconds ahead of the others, and was the first to cry out. "ROSE!!" The first to see the golem's apparent destruction, to see the reconstruction of Roslyn's arm, the first to see the fear in her eyes and feel and recognize the hunger that might take her in that moment of weakness, Xiuyang decided that she was the only one who could change this outcome.

Even as the golem appeared to still be attacking, Xiuyang was running straight towards her friend with abandon. She moved to restrain the hand that held the sword, and the magics that stirred within it if it proved to be necessary. Above all, she sought to put herself between Roslyn and the heartless ideologues who would kill her with all the pious hesitation they would offer a gnat.

"You're okay, Rose. You're not hurt. You're safe." Xiuyang remembered the ravenous desperation of the souls trapped in Halge Larchelon, how teaching them that their food would not be scarce anymore allowed her to tame them. Roslyn needed to know, first and foremost, that she was not broken or bleeding, and that her friend was not going to hurt her.

Roslyn didn't account for the time. A mistake she realized far too late. As the statue's beauty crumbled away into a serpentine beast, the world slowed. The fanged mouth lunged at her neck followed by the tail at her chest and arm.

I'm dead...

The truth echoed in her head and sent an icy cold sensation deep into her soul. Her hand remained outstretched until something solid had begun to form. The tail flashed forward, cutting through flesh and bone. Warm, wet blood splattered across her face. Her eyes shifted to see her friends arrive moments too late.

A sensation of death settled in her chest as her knees slammed into the ground. Her arm fell away as it hovered in the air. Emotions whirled in her mind. Fear, anger, bitterness, and sorrow fought for dominance before the numb acceptance surfaced.

In a blink of an eye, She Who Hungers appeared in her severed hand. Roslyn watched the horror's chunks peel from it and poured into the sword. Mana surged from the blade into her flesh. Before her eyes, sinew and muscle wove back together until it was whole once more.

The guardian's voice scraped across her mind, pleased with the result. Then it was gone. Her mind struggled to catch up with what had happened. Her legs continued to buckle beneath her and she hunched over, still gripping the blade. A cold hunger and burning need surged in her tendons causing it to tighten its grip.
The sensation of someone touching her wrist jerked Roslyn back into the presence. Her hand twitched as she swallowed, finding her voice.

"I-I didn't know. It happened so fast.. I had no choice."

She leaned in and wrapped her arm about Xiuyang's shoulder, struggling to rein in her feelings. However, her hand hadn't let go of the sword.

Marci touched down on the snow and the others were running. Her first impulse was to follow, but she could not. Ingrid hurled a heavenly lance into the forest and then ran to heal... what the hell was that!? Xiuyang nearly smashed into the massively intense intense kinetic barrier that surrounded Roslyn as she bolted in, but it dissipated split seconds before she barreled through. Dory did not rush over, though, taking a handful of steps forward and stopping to sense. Evander, in fact, took a step back.

Marceline's insides had shriveled as she watched what she'd momentarily thought was her friend's death. Now, she gathered what kinetic energy that she could and pushed at her wheels. Almost immediately, she stopped. She reached out with her senses, since Xiuyang was already there enfolding Roslyn. She reached out and sensed it: three - no, five... no, six, seven, ten... a dozen blood magic mana reservoirs spaced evenly around the clearing.

Her first thought had been Margot, because she didn't trust the little thief further than she could throw her, but this was beyond the sanguinaire's abilities. What the hell was she doing here!? Those also weren't cazenax. Two of them - tiny men - hung back, not too far from Margo and the other one of their kind: a young woman whose chest had been caved in by some sort of massive impact.

The field had disappeared and both Roslyn and Xiuyang were inside of where it had lain. All of this: it was an incredibly intricate set of triggered spells set by a grandmaster blood mage. The sword itself: she could sense the sanguinaire manas inside. She could sense how they hungered. She could feel Roslyn's biochemicals. The manas in the sword were communicating with hers, trying to compel them to compel her to kill so that they might feed, but their pull was faint and tenuous. "The sword has sanguinaire manas," she told Evander. "Not dark magic that I can sense." She shook her head. "She isn't compromised, yet."

Marci was just about to put hands to wheels when she sensed the enormous surge of energy from all twelve of the reservoirs. There was a sudden deafening 'pop' and a rush of air. Then... nothing. Nothing seemed wrong or different, until she sensed again.

There was a bubble of incredibly thin, dense, and intense energy surrounding Roslyn and Xiuyang, at some distance and then, another few meters out, lay a second, with Ingrid, Dory, Margot, and the tiny woman trapped inside of it. She, Evander, and the two tiny men were left on the outside. Slowly, insidiously, rubble began to skitter and congeal inside of the innermost bubble. A few pieces stirred in the space in between.

Evander glanced at Marci, "What's the difference?" he said facetiously.

Though Marci's assessment held merit, sanguinaires were inherently dangerous, predatory beings reminiscent of demons. A sudden memory of Brother Ash's violent attack on him and his classmates surfaced, reinforcing the brutal nature of these creatures who existed solely to hunt and consume blood.

"She may not be compromised yet," Evander warned, "But if the sword has sanguinaire manas, it will hunger for blood." His gaze swept the group around Roslyn. "Our blood."

A sudden, immense surge of energy erupted as if summoned by Evander's warning. A bubble materialized around Roslyn, Ingrid, Dory, Margot, and the tiny woman, creating an otherworldly barrier. Evander remained unnervingly calm, standing motionless beside Marci and watching the unfolding scene with intense, calculated observation.

*What now?*

"Oh gods, not again." Roslyn gritted her teeth as she heard the familiar rumble.

She released Xiuyang and pushed herself upright. The girl gripped the hilt of the blade tightly with both hands, feeling a faint tug on her manas. That sensation was unpleasant as it made the hairs on her neck raise.

"I'm sorry for this. I didn't want to drag anyone into this." She watched the ground for signs of the golem rising up. "This is different. I don't like this. We need to find a way out."

Xiuyang breathed deeply, willing herself to remain calm. She reached out with her senses, discovering the sources of the barrier's energy. As Ingrid tried to break through, Xiuyang tried to point them out to her. "Oh, my schedule was free. Weather's great, too," she quipped. She then noticed the rubble moving, trying to form something, perhaps another automaton. "Skinglue! Now!" Xiuyang called out, reaching for her smoking bandit.

"Right. I will say, it wasn't effective with the last one. Not sure it's going to help here. " Roslyn said, reaching to pass over the smoking bandit to her friend. "I got one shot left in that."

"I'll only get one," Xiuyang replied, lowering her beanie and taking aim. She would time her shot for the very moment before the automaton formed, hoping to glue its pieces together so it couldn't shapeshift like the last one. If the shot was good enough, she hoped it wouldn't move at all.

Roslyn smirked when she heard Xiuyang's confidence.

Laska was the last one she expected to show up, but she was grateful for it. As the nun snapped orders, the Hendlandish girl noticed the look on the blanket. Of course. Once the shot was fired, Roslyn dropped her sword. She stretched out the blanket and threw it over all three of them.

Huddled together, she instinctively leaned closer to Xiuyang as she prayed for this to work.

Even if it didn't, she refused to lose another friend. Never again.

It worked like a charm... almost. Roslyn, Xiuyang, and Edyta all drew their deepest breaths simultaneously, Xiuyang fired, and the innermost bubble of the transparent prison filled with the sticky nightmare mist. It coated the congealing rubble before it could form into another of those invincible golems and, just as the rezaindian nun was flash-freezing it, Roslyn pulled her into the inferno blanket's embrace and she jolted at the sudden touch, disappearing into greyspace.

She missed the show.

In truth, it happened so fast that all outside of that narrow ring between barriers had next to zero chance to react. Three teenagers' passion for explosions collided in a blast powerful enough to level a city block.

The barrier conjured by advanced blood magics and employing that school of the Gift, alongside kinetic, arcane, and atomic magics was strong enough to stop virtually any single living mage from blasting through without also meeting his - or her own demise. However, it had been designed to be attacked from the inside or the outside, and not from within the narrow band between. Its mysterious creators had also not counted on Ingrid Penderson and Dorothea Hohnstein, now with the added support of one Fe Lümee Zänschöf.

The girls threw caution to the wind and blasted a hole through the invisible prison that would've made St. Gèrard himself proud. The problem was that it came... at a cost.

The barrier shattered, they failed to contain the entirety of their blockbuster spell, and all three young crazies found themselves bathed in fires of their own making. Each was gruesomely burned as the fourth - Margot - did not hesitate to use them as shields. Three of the mana reservoirs enchanted with the spells that had nearly doomed Roslyn and Xiuyang melted and burst, and a fourth began to crack.

The pair who had ended up trapped within the innermost layer, now minus Edyta Laska, were forced to fend off the roiling burst of flame, shockwave, and raw destructive power that swept over them. Roslyn managed to do it. Xiuyang was caught by a flailing follow-up from Lümee that would've bisected her had she not managed a last second dodge-meets-desperate-defense. As it was, she found herself relying, once more, on her skills as a healer.

It was actually worse for the pair of Marceline and Evander, standing outside, but they had both recognized that glint in Ingrid's and Dory's eyes and already began to brace for the worst. Their two unfamiliar associates - the other pair of cherune, were caught a bit less prepared, one ending up singed and the other quickly reaching out to twirl a hooplike magic item in front of himself at speed. Sure as snow fell upon the world around Lindenholdt, every bit of flame, shock, and shrapnel disappeared into the whirling hoop with no trace of an exit point.

The smoke, steam, and debris settled, and a panting Roslyn, possibly-cursed sword still in hand, beheld the shattered pieces of the pre-empted second golem trying and failing repeatedly to come together. The ruined mana reservoirs, disguised as innocent boulders, bubbled and steamed. The ground was strewn with fire-blackened shards of what had been impossibly invisible panels. If they had never witnessed the type of magic that these strange tiny people wielded, they had never seen any of this either.

The girls were not stupid. Edyta stayed away. The others scrambled out of the barrier's perimeter and took stock of the situation and their surroundings. A couple collapsed from wounds, exhaustion, or anxiety, some of which could be repaired by a binder and some of which couldn't.

"Holding still, sisterfriend," Margot hissed, as Lümee whimpered - seriously injured for the second time today. "Whereforth in Margot's job describetake is it saying 'healings-bitch'?"

Lümee was crispy. She lay on the ground, a potato chip of a cherune being for the second time today. She let out a weak groan. "Whereforth in Lümee's job describetake is saying 'livings-shield'?" She coughed. "Healings-bitch-sisterfriend shouldwith be shuttings the fuck up in thistime and application of the healings."

Xiuyang lived. A hand and a part of her hip were missing, but she stood. Her beanie had shown her only blackness, and so she knew that if she did not move, her defense would not hold. She'd shoved Roslyn away from her, and made no sound when the lance hit. She was simply in shock—or at least, mild surprise. "Welp." She put the stub of her wrist to her hip, using the blood that flowed from both as material to heal herself. "I *hope* that was friendly fire." She eyed the group of singed women with a dangerous smile.

There was silence from the small but dense cloud of smoke until Margot's and Lumee's banter could be heard. The cloud was dispersed quickly by Ingrid to reveal their battered and charred selves. "Okay, maybe a little too much power in that," Ingrid coughed and laid a hand on Dory to heal her. Ingrid's injuries were nothing to scoff at but she had taken worse and she had a strong constitution.

"Oh definitely. We were just trying to break the reservoirs." She smiled back to Xiuyang, completely unaware of the greater context of her smile.

Since the bog, Roslyn felt like a chunk of meat dangling in a sea of darkness. No matter where she turned, things loomed nearby.

First Belthagor.

His Wailing Leviathan and Levidan's gargoyles.

The greedstone.

And now, this.

All of it within a small window of five months. It wasn't simply misfortune. Deep down, she knew it and this realization brought to light the real selfish reason she came here. She had picked her poison before someone decided for her. This was her choice and she hoped not to regret it later.

Roslyn broke from her thoughts when someone shoved her away. She crashed into the ground, hand gripped the sword, when the lance hit her friend dead on. Instinctively, she drew from the destruction's aftermath as the light erupted. Lowering her arm from shielding her eyes, she heard her friend's words. The golem not far from them continued to try and fail reforming endlessly.

Now standing outside of the barriers, Roslyn continued to pant heavily. She wiped the sweat off her dirty face as she noticed Xiuyang standing upright.

"I'm sure no harm was meant and it did break the barrier. It was really impressive, but it looks like you two got caught in it too." Roslyn pointed out once she had her breath back.

Spotting Lumee and Margo, she walked toward them. She held out a hand to the smaller of the two to help her on her feet. They almost died because of her. All of them did and she couldn't hide the shame. "Are you two okay? I did warn you, didn't I?"

Dory's face turned melancholic. "Ingrid... There is never enough power. I could not even put my all into it." She wiggled her finger. "My finger got itchy... so I had to turn it down a bit." She pointed at her charred flesh. "This would not be so lightly burned if that were the case." A sigh as she caressed said char. "I've seen kitchen accidents with more hurt than this..."

For a second, Ingrid believed Dory but shook it off as just some wit."Rude to make fun of the person that protected and now healed you but I'll let it slide." Ingrid began healing herself of all the small but growing injuries to herself. She greeted Roslyn rather coldly but said nothing more than that.

Marci shot Evander a look that seemed to say, 'I have a plan', as she pushed forward with the help of the Gift, right past the others, ending with Ingrid. "Rose!" she called, very obviously worried. "Roslyn, oh my Eshiran! What were you thinking!?" Was she trying to make up for her earlier lackluster effort? "Xiu!?" She regarded the healing limb for the first time in mild disbelief. "Oh my Oraff. That is more than just a flesh wound!" She shook her head and tried not to think on it deeply, but that was some absurd healing. Xiuyang had always been a decent binder, but since when had she gotten better than Marci by that much!?

Who had been responsible for that follow-up blast? She distinctly remembered a wild arcane lance coming in about a second after the rest of the calamity. Marceline turned on the spot, ready to demand answers and give someone a piece of her mind, when she took in Ingrid's barely-restrained distaste for Roslyn. The tethered rolled her eyes. "Oh, like you're perfect?" she snapped, "Like I am?" she admitted. "How many times have you blasted first and asked questions later, or decided, 'it would be cool to go on a solo quest for some artifact'?"

Roslyn was busy apologizing to Margot. "And you know who that is, right?" she butted in, "She was only following you because she either wanted the sword, your blood, or one of your kidneys." Marci did not hesitate to level her glare at this new target as Lümee began to rise, more or less healed of her burns. "Now, Rose, because you're getting your share of dirty looks, show us you can put the obviously cursed sword down and it hasn't taken control of your soul. That might put some people at ease here."

Margo had just been making a joke about one of them being 'moremuch okay' than the other when Marci butted in. She straightened, snorted, and rolled her eyes. "Or, she's welcoming."

"I didn't expect a trap. It tossed the others back and the barrier went up before I could get out. That was terrifying." Roslyn stated, answering the first question. At this point, all the emotions from earlier had left her oddly numb. Or in shock, maybe.

She heard something about Xiuyang and her eyes turned to her friend. She noticed for the first time the bloody stump that was hidden from her. All the color drained from her face. "Xiuyang? What the...?"

Her eyes looked at Xiuyang and her words trailed off for an answer. There was worry and hints of fear, mostly for her friend's well being.

Roslyn's hand retracted when Lumee got up and then she cocked her head at Margo. Her eyes squinted as she suddenly recognized the girl. "No-Wait a moment... I fought you in the trials. I lost, I think. "

Before more could be said, Roslyn spotted the suspicious looks Marci mentioned. She had done something dumb and now no one trusted her. Her hand held out the sword then promptly dropped it. She even kicked it away from her to further try and convince them she was sane.

"Aside from the icy burning sensation in my arm when holding it, I'm fine. I don't know how else to prove it."

Noticing her sleeve had become disconnected from her dress, she used it to distract herself. As she slipped it into her bag, she added. "And Marci, she could've stolen from me any time. From what I can tell, I still have everything here and I am unharmed. They also kept me from having my head chopped off and saved the victim. It's pretty clear, you aren't the only one tracking me... "

It was a small hint to everyone that having this conversation here wasn't ideal.

No more attacks came from the unfamiliar faces, so Xiuyang nodded to Ingrid and released the tension in her body. She quickly hid her fully-healed hand behind her back, though it was already too late to conceal the evidence from Marci and Roslyn. "Oop. Sorry you had to see that. I thought it was healed already." She flashed a sheepish, toothy grin. "No harm done here. Everyone good?" She took a moment to check the golem again, to make sure it wasn't making any progress toward becoming a threat. When Roslyn mentioned a burning sensation in her arm, she received a hard pinch. <Say. Less.> she warned. "Well, if the crisis is resolved, we should scatter soon. We're making this place look crowded."

Ingrid was dumbfounded. She was cold to Roslyn because she was disappointed. But now she was getting some sass from Marci and it pissed Ingrid off. "You know," Ingrid started to raise her voice but it quickly died down. She shook her head, feeling like a fool for trying to even talk to her. "I'm allowed to be disappointed, Marci, so fuck you. All you told me was she was in danger and she was in the forest, not in the archives. I'm leaving to take care of business because I was asked to."

Ingrid walked a few meters away, loaded up on kinetic energy, and blasted back to the mine.



Edyta knelt at the edge of reality. She had known this would happen from the moment she saw who was involved. Once, she had prayed that the wicked one before her might be redeemed, but she had made her choice and, now, the Red Rezaindian made hers and made peace with it. Quietly, she drew Palenie and Zamrazenie and crossed them before her chest.

In nomini Ipté, Shune, Oraph, Eshiran, et Dami, she began. Mother of Beauty, Father of Love, keep always in my mind that which I fight for and yearn to return to. She bowed her head. Mother of Wisdom, Father of Learning, let me remember well my training. Let my senses and mind be sharpened for the task ahead. She breathed, and her breath came out in the cold and stillness in a small white puff. Mother of Life, Father of Refuge, I beg of thee the strength to flourish, such that I might be an instrument of your will. From her vantage point, her senses swept the scene that lay about her. Mother of Death, Father of War, I am thine instrument. Work thine Acts by my hands, smite the evil that hungers infinitely. Empower me with thy strength and resolve. Her weapons gleamed under the faint rays of sun and Edyta breathed once more. Mother of Liberty, father of Judgement, I affirm that my choices are mine own. Let them be judged as just and worthy. Grant me thy favour that I might carry out the justice that is thine and thine alone to dispense. One final breath. She filled her lungs with air, fresh and cold. "This," the nun whispered, "I humbly pray."

In nomini Ipté, Shune, Oraff, Eshiran, et Dami... Amen.



For a moment, in the wake of Ingrid's sudden departure, Marceline just sat there. Then, she pursed her lips, nodded, and turned to Roslyn and Xiuyang. She still didn't know what the deal was with the latter's extreme and sudden healing - unless she'd somehow imagined it - but she didn't disagree with the idea of moving on. The less questions that people asked about what they were doing here in the first place, the better. She shot a glance in the direction of Ingrid's dash and then looked back at her friends. The things I do to prove my loyalty, she thought, knowing she had struck a nerve, but at least Roslyn had shown, beyond a reasonable doubt, that she was no slave to the sword, especially compared to... Marceline kept her eyes from flicking Dory's way. It was an effort, but she was master of her face. "Welp," she joked quietly to them, another glance going the way of Ingrid's departure, "I just had the thought that I'd rather not sleep alone tonight." Then, a bit louder, she twisted to regard Evander and Dory. "Hardly the behaviour of one bound to a dark item, though," she admitted, spreading her hands, "we should probably keep an eye on it." Presently, her eyes flicked to the sword, about a yard and a half from Roslyn, lying atop the carpet of snow.

Whatever might've come next, Margot pre-empted it by agreeing with Roslyn's assessment of her and the situation. She stepped forward, with a little smile and flick of her hair over her left shoulder. "Yes, they are known to each-otherfolk, though -" She scratched behind one ear and chuckled, deprecatingly conciliatory. "Though thislike was more troubling than she expected to go through for themfolk. Her sisterfriend damning near gottings chopped in half-piece twice." She shook her head and glanced over her shoulder at the now fully-healed Lümee.

It happened with uncanny speed. The three cherune dropped their strange hoops at their feet and then appeared to drop into them, disappearing from view. At the same moment, Margot dived for the sword, came up in a roll with it, and dived into a hoop of her own, the enchanted device disappearing behind her. The entire sequence took less than a second and she was gone.

The first thing Xiuyang took notice of was herself, running. Momentarily, she wondered just what she was supposed to be running from, until she sensed Margot's next move. "Alright, guess I'm chasing *this bitch,* now!" She swapped her beanie for the Gaze of the First Founder and took off in the direction of Margot's temporal trail, using kinetic acceleration and arcane cloaking to hide herself from whatever ambush the three stooges were probably setting up for her pursuers.

Roslyn heard Zast's laughter echo in her head when Margo took her sword and vanished. Her hand snapped to her compass as she rushed off after them. Anger boiled within her as she gritted her teeth, hurt by the betrayal. She had nearly been killed to get that thing and now... it was gone.

Some worthy I am... Nothing but an idiot. She scolded herself, eyeing the compass.

Exhaustion weighed down her limbs, but she simply poured in adrenaline to counter it. Her eyes watched the needle twitch to a direction guiding her way toward the sword then boost her distance. The inferno blanket had been hastily tucked away as she reached for another snow pepper powder. She just needed to get within thirty yards of the thief before she could steal it back.

Woodland Chase

*****

It was one of the ten legendary blades of Kagemitsu Kenshin. Of this, Margot was certain, and she had to have it. She didn't care what it did. She had to have it because it could change her life. If she could sell it to the highest bidder (and she already had a few in mind), there would be no more scrimping from job to job for her crew, no more ranging far and lying about what they did to the coven. If she kept it for herself and used its power - whatever that was - there would be no more fear of those shining mages of Ersand'Enise and those attack dogs of the church. Curse them and their ten - no, 'five' - gods. She was done playing Quentic! She was done running and hiding from them like an animal in the night. This was the key to it all. Sorry, Roslyn, you're seeming like good folk.

Was she trying to assuage her conscience? She'd have had to be a slave to it first, and she'd long since stopped. There were only those who ate and those who were eaten. Sure, these Mehrune could dress the truth up in things called 'laws', 'traditions', and 'expectations', but they always looked back for precedent and not forward and, when push came to shove and the veneer peeled away, it was always power - raw power - that won out. She was sick of having too little of it, of she and hers having too little!

Once, through the henmune to put some distance, but they would try to follow. Her manas communed with those of the grandmotherforest and she flipped the henmune up again, preparing to drop it around her person and sink into a different space. Already, they were shouting and chasing, like the big loud dogs they were, who strutted upon the land and mauled all others.

Margot dropped through and found herself another couple hundred yards away while Lümee and the men help up for a moment to set the chünzeif. Her sister shot her a look and the thief knew that she would have to deal with it later. She was soft, that one. She was too curious and did not approve. Margot needed to be her guiding light. Perhaps because, in blood, if not spirit, she was mehrune, she had always been a paragon of following the Cloister.

On that note, not back to the coven. Not yet. They would have to make sure - always sure - that this would be just another fanciful tale and not a discovery leading to her people's ruin. She prepared to drop a third time and, surely, she would lose them completely.

On her way to the mines, Ingrid weaved through the trees with no real speed, saying all the mean things she wanted to say in the moment but didn't when she sense a big temporal disruption from where she just was. She knew, despite how she felt right now, not going and something tragic happening would haunt her. With that she started to go off at an angle, looking to sweep ahead of them. With no one to care about, she could move at some real speed. Kinestic, Atomic, and Temporal coming together for this moment.

Dory's eye twitched. All that effort to save that sword? With a slash of her sword, a small portal opened. No no no, that won't do at all. With a quick step she entered and closed immediately after. She travelled through a space only she could freely traverse among her companions, mostly to let her own thoughts loose. "To think they're not only weak but also suffered several concussions! A blind, deaf, comatose peasant could sense that someone would just take it instead."

The annoyed Feskan popped back into reality at the last signature and they seemed to be. The dirty thief was already going, the faintest track left. "Uuugh, the things I do for your friends, Marci." And with that she popped out once more before in yet again. "Fick dich ins knie!" The frustration began to boil over as she popped in and out over and over again.

"Verdammt!"

"Nutte!"

After many attempts of catching the other Dory got a glimpse of her target and did not waste it. Her hand twitched as she stopped herself from the one spell she knew would work. That could make too much of a mess... No, there was one other school she could always rely upon, for there was not enough time to think of any elaborate plans. The Feskan casted a swift paralysis spell, praying to herself that it would work

Little fucking scumbag, Marci had seen this coming and even warned against it, but she'd either let her guard down, been thrown out of sorts by Ingrid's outburst, or tried to be too clever and been hoisted by her own petard. She sensed Margot even before any had laid eyes on her. The tethered reached for the fabric of space and hurled herself ahead of where the bandit had just appeared, but she could neither cast nor move quickly enough to catch her. With a hiss of frustration, she reached out again, found Margot, and tried to anticipate the rogue's next move. A second pair of teleports from each woman followed, and she found herself nowhere even close. "Verdammt!" Then, she looked up and her heart skipped. Dory had guessed right, or... nearly right, at least.

For a moment, hoop held up over her head and about to drop, Margot froze. She froze and cocked her head slightly. Was it a twitch? An effect of Dory's magic working, was it fear etched onto her features, or was is something else entirely?

Wait, it worked? Was the very first thought that ran through her mind, yet at the same time there was a smile on her face that practically spelled 'I got you now, you lil' shit.' Her sword would soon disappear as she approached the frozen thief. Did she intend to punish the other through blunt force than by sharp steel?

Margot stiffened and her face seemed to change. Xiuyang, hurtling towards her, drew closer. Ingrid closed in. Marceline prepared to teleport again. Evander was dangerously near, and stood still and focused. Roslyn barreled in the direction of her lost preciously-claimed prize.

Then, all at once, the thief struck a pose, stuck out her tongue, and disappeared. The forest floor beneath Ingrid, Xiuyang, Roslyn, and Marci erupted into thousands of needle-sharp fragments that sprayed outward.

Then, from behind Dory, the sanguinaire materialized, a wide, greedy, wicked grin stretching grotesquely across her features. She leapt in with a wicked diagonal slash that would surely slice the Duchess regnant of Feska in two unless she pulled back... or was made to.

Xiuyang was late to arrive. The Gaze of the First Founder showed her the illusion, but it was too late to warn the others. With binding, she dissolved the spikes around her and reformed them into a lance. Setting in on fire with arcane, she hurled the remains of Margot's sophomoric trap back at her.

And there was what they were chasing, Margot thieving away a treasure. It was not even a surprise and Ingrid couldn't care less as they had her surrounded. But as they closed in, spikes launched up at Ingrid. Some she blocked most but one particularly large one got around her iced shield, plunging itself through her knee, up her thigh, and out of her hip. She let out a single yelp of pain but suppressed the rest of it.

It was hard to tell what finally tipped Roslyn over her limit. In the end, did it matter? Energy drew hard into the small girl with teary eyes and heart boiled with fury. Her mouth opened to let out a deafening scream when she let it all go.

Bottled up emotions came rushing out in a burst of chemical and temporal magics. It ripped across the forest's spiky trap as it razed the area around her to the ground. Energy tensed then popped, tossing back the splinters into their fellow trees. She breathed heavily in the center of her wrath...

And still the hollow fact remained: it didn't matter.

Margot twisted back from Xiuyang's attack at the very last moment, almost as if she had some form of... prescience. The blazing lance ripped through the air past her, causing it to waver and ripple with heat. It sheared a small tree clean in half and toppled a second before coming to rest, still burning, some hundred meters distant.

Marceline's arc lightning, dancing from one flying shard to the next, followed rapidly. This caused the thief, still reeling from her sudden dodge, to throw up a desperation binding shield. Distracted by the effort, she stumbled and her blade scraped the ground. It dug in against a root and jarred loose, glowing slightly as it - and she - clattered to the ground.

Eyes wide, Margot was slow to react. She leapt nimbly to her feet as another explosion blossomed in the near distance. Roslyn had obliterated the spikes that had come for her and was making haste.



She was beaten there as the mouth of reality irised open. From within hurtled the wrath of Eshiran incarnate. "Eshirus mihi testis est, te ad infernum mittam, peccatore!" (As Ehsiran is my witness, I shall send you to hell, sinner!)

Edyta Laska slammed into the sanguinaire like the hammer of divine punishment that she was, her boot smashing Margot's jaw on contact. The Rezaindian's victim crashed through two small trees, rebounding off the sturdy trunk of a third and landing in a heap.

Sister Laska disappeared as Margot erupted from the ground in a panic and ripped every bit of matter that she could from her surroundings to both heal herself and construct a defense.

Then, she was right on top of Margot. Frost coated the tree trunk from Palenie and Zamrazenie trailed smoke and steam as they scythed through the sophomoric shield. "Jesteś istotą nieskończonego głodu." Edyta declared coldly. "Nigdy nie będziesz zaspokojony." (You are a creature of infinite hunger. You will never be satisfied.) Margot gathered light and sound around herself and bent them, but the nun was both a better illusionist and a better fighter. The sanguinaire stopped dead in her tracks and let out a choked scream, clutching at her chest.

Sister Laska stalked forward, robes fluttering in the winter wind, and made a twisting motion with her hand. "I warned you," she snarled, "I prayed for you and believed that there was good in you." Margot collapsed, gasping and spasming. "You have let down not only me, but yourself and your Gods." Edyta raised her twin sickles overhead to deliver the finishing strike. "Burn in eternal hellfire, sinner." She brought them down in a killing arc.

Only...

They did not hit. Two large haureenium spikes rocketed up at an angle from below and deflected the twin blades. A third nearly skewered their wielder, and she staggered back, eyes wide and enraged as a tiny man - a cherune - fluttered in and out of view, his focus on his cover illusion having wavered as he cast the spell that saved Margot's life.

The thief gasped for air and spasmed and rolled onto her stomach, pushing herself up onto all fours. She was just on time to witness Edyta Laska sliding in with an eerie grace and slicing her cousin into three neat pieces. Each hit the ground with a wet bloody 'thunk', and his head landed upright, face frozen in a final look of terror. Blood crackled on Palenie and steamed off of Zamrazenie. The rezaindian stood panting in the cold snow and composed herself to pronounce judgement, but she found the sole choice taken from her hands.

A limping Ingrid, an enraged Roslyn, and a bloodthirsty Xiuyang and Marci had arrived. Meanwhile, Kyuketsuki 2, legendary cursed blade of Kagemitsu Kenshin, lay on the ground between Evander's and Dorothea's feet.

Dory eyes the Revidian as she walked over and grabbed the blade. "And they call me a monster." She rolled her eyes. "Go do your evil slaying, darlin'. You go girl." What a nuisance she was, always so trying her hardest to appear just and holy whilst being nothing but a bloodthirsty hound.

"Well, actually." The woman tapped the masterwork on her palm. "Could you not do that? Killing a little girl isn't part of my modus operandi, you see?" Dory approached the hunted bloodmouth and ever-so-holy huntress. "I hope you understand, dearest sister of mercy."

youtube.com/watch?v=5DKYWNxLD04

Edyta whirled at the approach of the vile sinner who wore the face of a good Quentic duchess while communing with demons and murdering yasoi. Now, she dared open the filthy pit on her face in what she must've have thought a sly and clever attempt to belittle the judgement of Eshiran. The Rezaindian's eyes flashed and she did not hesitate.

# **"KNEEL!"**

She glared at Dorothea. "Do not think for a moment," she hissed, crouching before the witch, "that I do not know of your true nature, demon. You yet draw breath only because my superior, whose wisdom lies beyond mine, has commanded that I stay my hand unless it is forced." She tilted her head, eyes wide like saucers, and grinned toothily. "Wanna force it?"

Meanwhile, a gasping yelp and sobbing broke into the scene as Lümee rushed over to her fallen sister, tears streaming down her face. "I'm sorry!" she sobbed. "I'm sorry. They won't be sinning. They won't doings thislike again! Don't kill her - please - she is my sister and she is bad-like sometimes but not of the evil!"

Ingrid crunched and melted away the material inside of her to fill the whole the spike had made. It was unrefined and sloppy but it knitted the flesh whole and that would have to be enough. She was ready for a fight but it seemed with the sound of 3 plops onto the ground, the fight was already over. Ingrid came over, leading with her unmarred leg.

She glared at Lumee, begging for her sister, it was pitiful[ and disgusting. Margot knows just what she was doing and now her kin had been slayed, it was the just outcome under Dami so why did it feel so bitter. "You have shown your strength well sister, we have all bore witness to it. But to lay hands on a lady of state has spoiled this."

Xiuyang did not particularly want to kill Margot—only to stop someone unworthy of being entrusted with the sword from making off with it—and that included Dorothea. Laska made her choice, leaving Xiuyang to reassess the battle lines from afar while she had the situation well in hand, for the moment. Roslyn's scream drew her attention away, but she never kept her eyes off of the others for long. This lost treasure threatened to divide their group into three parts just like the corpse on the ground. "Rose, with me," she beckoned.

Roslyn flitted through the trees using her kinetic and compass. She ducked, weaved and darted past the fallen debris into the still untouched forest. Her eyes narrowed on Dorothea's location as shadows of her friends materialized ahead. All of them seemed to be heading to converge on a single goal. Margo.

A deep bitterness filled Roslyn's core. She had defended the thief and her friends moments before their crime. Now they had tried to kill them all. If she had known the future, she'd left the curse thing where she found it. She made this mess.

The last one to rush out of the clearing, Roslyn dug in her heels and came to a stop. She flinched upon hearing the death nun turn on Dorothea and shout. It left her stunned into silence as the anger had long since withered up. Her eyes looked at the scene, hesitating, then sighed and stepped in next to Xiuyang. She had caused enough trouble for one day. Her eyes shifted, unable to watch what was about to come.

Dorothea dropped as she was forced to by the nun. I've heard of this, but... I never guessed it'd be this annoying.

"Because your superior knows that the Bringer of War deemed me worthy to wield it's divine blade." Grinned from ear to ear. "Force it?" She chuckled. "You'd absolutely make my day." Dory tried to move, showing it was to no avail. "But Eschiran does not like to be in the presence of cowards, remember."

"Perhaps that is why I am disgusted by your mere presence," Edyta rejoined, shaking her head. "Many unworthy hands have held that blade over the ages, wishing only to kill with it for the sake of power and selfish ends. Speaking of which..." She rose and flicked a hand at Dory. "That other sword you've helped yourself to: hand it over to its rightful owner now." She gestured at Roslyn and ignored the unreadable gaze of Marceline, watching her, and then the sword, like a hawk. The tethered's eyes flicked to Dory as if to assure her that she would let nothing further pass.

Sister Laska would waste no more energy on this creature and so she twisted, still communing to hold down the witch's manas, to regard Ingrid. "I care nothing for shows of strength," she replied to Ingrid in a solemn voice. "And we should not fear kings." She shook her head. "People under a ruler, if she proves cruel and corrupt, have Ahn-Dami's right to overthrow that ruler." Her eyes narrowed. "and, should she prove too powerful, that right becomes a duty - a duty of the church." Margot was healing herself and Edyta walked up and kicked her again to disrupt it. "No reprieve for you. You are a parasite who steals the livelihoods and blood of others. You have no right to take what is theirs simply because you are stronger and more ruthless," she growled. "Your existence has brought hardship, ruin, and death to your fellow man. As you draw breath, you make the world a worse place."

Lümee scrambled to her feet and tried to block a follow-up blow that didn't come. Instead, Edyta Laska turned to the others, eyes lingering, in particular, on Ingrid before shifting to Roslyn. "What is your justice? Does this avatar of unscrupulous greed walk away with some token punishment once more? Do you take up your cursed blade because you claim it? Can you handle it?"

"Hah! There it is. Dory's express radiated pure smugness. "It appears you don't know a single thing about me. Or perhaps you do, but just deny it. We kill for the exact same reason." The duchess cackled.

"I was going to give it back to it's very unworthy owner because my dearest sis' friend wanted it so very much." The woman glared daggers into Edyta. "But I really don't appreciate this attitude. Perhaps I'll wait with returning it until they prove they have the soul and strength to be worthy of wielding it."

Dory rolled her eyes as she was still stuck. "Speaking of not appreciating things. Perhaps I should visit the nunnery to file a complaint."

"Ah, your true colours," Edyta replied, with a triumphant smile, "There they are, starting to peek through the veneer." She shook her head. "I fear none of your threats, for those strong in the faith will see justice done truly." She furrowed her brow, however, and nodded, considering. "Though, perhaps I do owe you an apology," she admitted, expression lightening as she peeled her attention, once more, away from Margot while the others deliberated what would happen to her. "For I asked instead of commanding a thief who wraps herself in virtue." The Rezaindian narrowed her eyes. "So I shall offer that hesitant hand of yours some help in letting go." She stepped back and called upon her manas, focusing on Dory's thumb that held the sword in place. She scowled in distaste at the act and raised her voice.

# **"Rupture"**

Xiuyang just watched Laska wield her authority like a rod of iron. No silly quips. No attempts to lower the temperature. For all the years she sat in judgment of an institution she truly knew little about, she let the minutes pass and observed their definition of justice at work.

She had judged them for one single reason: withholding of knowledge of the Gift from those they deemed wicked or unworthy. In Laska, she found a definition of "wicked" in alignment with hers. In her life's journey, she had learned firsthand why some should not wield the forbidden schools. Perhaps the gods had sought to teach her. Eshiran had certainly used Xiuyang, unworthy as she had been judged by those who considered themselves more pious. She had used her, despite not once calling on her name until her life was in the hands of Juulet. If anything, she had not held Eshiran in regard as she did the others.

Yet none of what she'd learned would change the fact that she was an abomination in their eyes. No matter how much common ground she found with Laska, she could never be part of the church. She would never be like her. She would never wield this kind of authority.

Perhaps that was the gods' wisdom.

This was barbarity and masochism at its finest. It should be clear to anyone here and Ingrid thinks she can remove the source. "You ask what punishment can be given to a thief that is not a token effort and I can give you one Laska. One that she will remember. Then let this barbarity be done." She drew a crude knife from her hip. "An old and simple punishment, you cut the hand that stole."

When Laska turned and spoke to her, Roslyn had to face the scene. Her eyes darted from Margot to Lumee while she untangled her emotions. She wrapped her arms about herself as she took a deep breath. Before she could speak, Dorothea's words came first.

Her fingers bit into her arms and her small form tensed. The woman wasn't wrong, but of course the powerful tore at the weak. Especially at their lowest. For a moment, Roslyn considered using her gloves to snatch the sword from that noble ass's hands... but she stopped herself.

Of course she'd go for someone less powerful than her. Roslyn felt any respect she held for her better crumble away.

She ignored the dirty jab as she focused on Laska's earlier words.

"Okay, can this stop? Please? The hurting and the sass? I don't think it's helping anyone right now." Roslyn asked calmly, hoping to avoid escalating the situation.

She moved on to Laska's earlier statement. "I won't lie. I'm angry and bitter which makes me a poor person to judge her actions. Especially when she tried to kill my friends."

Roslyn then took a firmer stance as she looked at both Dorothea and Laska. "As for the sword and being worthy, who is to decide that? The sword called me. Not you or Lady Hohnstein. Me. It nearly killed me and I was stupid enough to let it go. That will never happen again and I will not let it consume me either."

"Your foolishness brings me almost as much displeasure as your cruelty and greed." She caused a second finger to rupture and the sword clattered to the ground and skidded a couple of feet away, not far from Roslyn. She would not need to do any worse, she prayed. "But you are wrong if you think that I hate the sinner. I feel anger towards her, for that is a mortal emotion and I cannot overcome it." She shook her head. "But I pity her and lament what she might've been otherwise, even as I protect others from her viciousness and deceit."

Ingrid, meanwhile, had pronounced her judgement over Margot, and Lümee immediately moved in to intercede on her sister's behalf. "They mustings not!" she declared, interposing herself between the towering sanguinaire and the smallish thief who had been subtly and secretly healing herself. "In the cultural of their peoplefolk, to chopslice one's hand is to marking her as the exilekind." She shook her head adamantly. "None will shelter her. None will speaking with her or givings her workmake. Allfolk may murderkill her if they wishlike." She shook her head again. "It is the fatefinal worse than death." She swallowed, gazing up with a mix of fear and resolve at these looming mehrune, and continued. "She is the badlike person, and this is known." Lümee sighed, "but she is stealing because no optionchoicings are there. She is stealing so otherfolk won't havings to and Lümeesmall is too scaredy to stopping her. She is sorry. She askings them please not to justicekill another personlife."

Edyta Laska's attention was split between two separate dramas: one expected and the other serendipitous. She considered Roslyn Wicke and sighed, not responding to the stupid things that the girl said, while considering the meaningful. What the mission called for left her feeling uncomfortable, but the commands of Mother Madrona were to be followed both as those of a superior and those worthy of respect. The Hendlishwoman was a couple of years younger than her and, in some ways, seemed it. She was also weak. Speaking to both Dorothea and Edyta as if they coveted the sword was an attempt to deescalate the former, the Rezaindian knew, but it was also the act of someone not willing to take a position and own it, not willing to support those who supported her. You yet have a ways to go, Edyta could see, but this could ruin you. As it stands now, you are good, but you are a sinner.

She tilted her head. "This liar -" She gestured at Dory with one sickle. "says so only for her own gain, so that she may hold the sword, but she is not entirely wrong. You must show the strength needed to wield this weapon and, if you do not, rest assured that I - or another like me - shall have no choice but to cut you down. Take it," she prodded. "Take it now, and with caution instead of fear."

Marceline found herself paralyzed, and not only in the literal sense. Her pulse pounded in her ears and she did not know what to think. For a moment, the absurd notion that she should risk everything and repeal time occurred to her. She even started searching for the threads.

What was this side of Dory!? She'd risked Ingrid's anger to gain Roslyn's trust and have her toss the sword and that had only played into Margot's hands. Then, she'd been ready to risk Edyta Laska's wrath for the sake of the sister-in-law she'd never had. She'd been just about to intervene when the words had come out.

Until then, the nun had seemed the cruel one, but the Feskan's choice of words in characterizing Roslyn had held no clear benefit to her. Laska was never going to have just let her keep the sword if that had been her goal. They'd been hurtful for the sake of being hurtful and the satisfaction of seeing another laid low. That couldn't be right. It couldn't be Dory. It was the stress of the situation or she had a plan. She wasn't... evil. She was being judged once again! Only the night before, she had spilled her heart out to the younger girl and so many truths had come with it. So many truths and... A lie. the subconscious of her mind completed the thought before she could override it.

And yet... Marceline had never seen the Rezaindian like this either, though she'd heard stories. She was far too close to someone this dangerous and it set every alarm bell in her head ringing, begging her to teleport away and... What? Abandon everyone and cover herself in shame? Let this holier-than-thou killer have her way with Dory? And so, once the sword was safely out of her sister-in-law's hand and Roslyn was taking it up, Marceline reached out with binding to repair the near-severed digits, glaring at Edyta to do something, shooting confused looks between Roslyn and Dory that, for once, were not the least bit performative.

It was all wrong and Marceline was not the cleverest person in the room. Ingrid was mad at her and, now, Dory, Roslyn, and Edyta probably would be too. She didn't know how to make it better. She didn't know what to do. Her heart thudded behind her ears and she focused on fixing a pair of broken fingers, as if they were a proxy for fixing so much else.

Strength meant different things to different people and shown in various ways. Roslyn had never felt it, but she saw it in her friends and others. That part was easier than finding it within herself. Spotting Laska's sigh, a part of her wondered if her answer wasn't the one the nun was looking for. The older woman's warning confirmed it.

"I understand." There was no going back now, her actions would have to prove her determination. She stepped up to the sword then reached for the hilt. Once her fingers gripped it, her fate was sealed and she lifted upright to return back to Xiuyang's side.

Her eyes, filled with sorrow and pity, shifted to Margo and Lumee. There was still one last thing to deal with now.

As soon as Roslyn stepped back to stand beside Xiuyang with her sword, Edyta drew to near-full capacity and released her. "Yes, now for this one," she agreed, turning to Margot, who was trying to heal her broken jaw.

Meanwhile, she was not the only one doing so. "Don't move suddenly," Marci asked Dory, "or it will ruin the healing." The damage was severe and she was a good but not elite healer.

Dami’s Judgement

******

"The first priority in judgement should go to the aggrieved." She shot Marceline, who was healing the vile witch instead of participating, a brief distasteful look. Then, Sister Laska refocused her attention on Margot and the tiny 'sister' who would inevitably try to ensure that she escaped without punishment.

"I won't, I won't." Dory waved her other hand slowly. "Besides, I'm already more than happy that I have such a reliable lil' sis." A soft chuckle left her vocal chords. "I do deserve it though, haha. I tried to stop an agent devoted to the hand of death from killing." She eyes her ruptured digits and grinned. "I think I got off quite easy."

Her gaze tried to meet the Kerreman. "But I don't think it is a good idea to further punish them. They tried to steal a little trinket and I caught her, but in the process they lost someone." Her eyes darted to the three pieces of what used to be a living being. "I think that's more than enough punishment for just a thief."

Ingrid snapped Margot's wrist and clenched it firmly, "It is convenient that your people see it like that, almost like you are trying to avoid harm," Ingrid glared through Lumee. The knife was held to Margot's joint; it wouldn't take much for Ingrid to slice through. "She did not steal bread to fill your bellies. She didn't take a quilt to keep you warm in the hundri. She didn't take money to buy things." Her eyes lowered at both of them, as if they were the same.

"She took a treasure well earned by a woman more meager than herself. She got one of your own killed and set deadly traps for the people she took from. Defending her only adds to your guilt." Ingrid pulled the knife into her to break past the skin and into the flesh.

"But you are right," Ingrid held the knife still, "If you are being truthful, then it would be better to just kill her and that would not align with Dami. In times like these, reparations for harms are appropriate. Hand over all the ill gotten goods she and your group have taken and a fifth of your yearly earnings and that will be the cost of life." Ingrid's voice was lighter, like this was the best she could do.

"This,” Ingrid paused, "is the final offer, Lumee." She solemnly said.

Marceline breathed a sigh of relief that Dory hadn't pressed the issue any further. There was a hint of an edge to her comment, but it was either benign enough to slip beneath the Rezaindian's notice or she simply couldn't be bothered with Dory any longer.

Ingrid had issued an ultimatum to Margot and Lümee and Edyta's face remained unreadable in response, while Marceline's eyes lit up. That was exactly what she would've done. The sanguiniare did not give her the satisfaction of a scream as Ingrid paired words with some gratuitous torture. Instead, her face bunched up bitterly at the notion of her and her band of forest thieves having more than some noble girl. Lümee pre-empted any foolish talk to that effect, however. They had reached too far above their station, tangled with monsters, and they were soundly beaten. "We willforth handing over what we having, but it isn't muchlike!" she promised.

Margot was about to open her mouth again, but Lümee shushed her. "Where there lies living, sister, there be always a path." She hugged her tightly and Margot breathed and nodded, defeated but unrepentant. She took an elbow to the ribs and gritted her teeth and bowed her head. "It is as she is saying," the rogue grated, "but their peoplefolk - their smallfolk, even though Margot's looking like you mehrune - be livings secretlike, lest the boot comeforth and crushing them again." She raised her head, clasping her wrist to stop the bleeding. "Keepings a hostage if it fills them with trustfeeling, and their bloodgold they shall having fulllike, but they will never leave footprint in the cloister. If they will not accepting this, then murderkill her if they must." She reached up to pull down her collar and bare her neck.

Xiuyang rubbed her temple, as if it would somehow help her think. She felt like she was getting whiplash. Laska was behaving strangely, giving the right to judge the thief first to Roslyn, then to any bystander with enough gumption to speak first. It just so happened to be Ingrid, who was a friend of Roslyn, but it could have been any one of them, with any possible motive. How was it that Dory appeared the most merciful among them? That couldn't stand. Something wasn't adding up.

"Will all of us testify before Dami that this punishment is both sufficient and just?" Xiuyang spoke up. She glanced at Laska. "You have the most to lose if we overstep the line between mercy and cruelty. What say you?"

First Hohnstein, now Ingrid. It might've been unintentional, but it still stung what modest pride Roslyn had.

Does everyone think that little of me? She wondered realizing for the first time how everyone saw her. Was she nothing more than a small thing to pick on? Then again, had she done anything worthy for them to think differently?

Despite her achivements, she had a long way to go before opinions might change. If they ever did.

Roslyn bit her tongue while Hohnstein rose onto her feet. The sound of Margo's wrist being snapped caused her stomach to tighten. Not because it sickened her, but because of a part of her was petty. She pushed that side of herself down as a tiredness washed over her. It was one that she never felt before.

"As I said, I am too emotional to be a proper judge here. I don't think any punishment will be enough. A person won't change unless they want to and hurting them only adds to that bitterness." Her voice turned sour. "The world is unfair for everyone, especially for those without the gift. I think what Ingrid suggested is a good alternative to me. I don't want any more death today unless we're given no choice."

Edyta tilted her head and narrowed her eyes slightly. "It is not the one I would've chosen," she admitted to Xiuyang, with a faint grim smile, "for a hardened criminal who will only repeat, but Dami's will lives in each of us." She shrugged.

Hesitantly, Marceline nodded, eyes flicking Dory's, Xiuyang's, and Roslyn's way. She struggled to hide the eagerness she felt over poring through the thieves' stash. She knew that it made them little better than the people they'd nearly executed. She counseled herself to have a heart and have a conscience. This wouldn't change Margot. It would only punish and embitter her. Roslyn was right. The thing was that, if she were to be completely honest, she didn't think that anything would change the thief at this point.

Plus... she really wanted to see what the thieves had, so she tried to cover her unease with the justification she had come up with and she agreed that this was what justice looked like.

"Then your sister, Lumee, will stay with us as you return with the dead as their death is tragic and deserve a propper burial." Ingrid spoke to Margot and looked for Lumee to put down her 'hoop'. "Understand that this opportunity is only available to you becasue of the group's consent and your sister's advocacy. Know that their fate is in your hand and should you not return, your punishment will be passed to her."

"If I mend her hand now, she may yet keep it—but it will never perform a thief's work deftly like it used to. Another lies dead. If we say this is insufficient, and take our spoils, do we not affirm a thief's worldview—that the strong will make sport of the weak as they will?" Xiuyang replied, unflinching in the face of Laska's hardened eyes. "Perhaps she will not change her ways, but what of this one, or the others?" She gestured to Lümee in particular. "Can any soul be punished without harming another? Is any one of us an island? If one of our own needed to be punished, and we believed their sentence unjust, would we let it slide?"

Xiuyang did not raise her voice nor fill it with emotion as one taking a soap box might. She kept her voice soft and even. She had no power to enforce her will over the others, nor the authority to overrule Laska, and she would not throw herself on a thief's pyre. She could only offer the others a pause to think.

"Truthfully, I don't know what to do. All I know is that ultimately, change can't happen without choice. That's something that Ahn-Dami teaches us." Roslyn stated as she listened to her friend's words. "At this point, I am still learning and don't have the wisdom for this. I harbor no ill will since none of my friends were killed and personally rather just return to the inn. "

The nun smirked at Xiuyang's words and, after a moment, nodded, stepping into the center to loom over the captives. "There are two paths that lie before she who wishes to deal in justice." She scowled thoughtfully. "The first is Eshiran's route: if one is judged, truly, to be too far lost to what is right, to deep of a danger to her fellow to be left among them. Then, it is written, that Father Eshiran must bring down his blade and Mother Eshiran draw the life from the unrepentant sinner."

She rested her hands, for a moment, on the butts of her sickles, now sheathed at her waist. "The second is the path of Shune: if one's mind may yet be changed by reason to see the harm of her ways, then it is written that those enacting justice must do all in their power to see that it is so."

Edyta's breath condensed as a cold white cloud in the somnian air. "Therein lies our question and, for the sake of brevity, I ask for only one word in answer." She narrowed her eyes and regarded the cowering thieves for an extended second before raising them to take in the others. "Can this woman be redeemed? Yes -" She tilted her head. "Or no?" She tilted it the other way.

For all Ingrid has done and all that she will do, there was only one answer for Ingrid. "Yes."

Xiuyang only pondered Laska's question for a moment. If ever there were an example of someone who did not deserve her redemption, yet had found herself receiving it as a gift from the gods all then same, it was herself. "Yes." Her voice had the slightest hint of stubbornness to it now.

There was no good answer here. If Marceline answered in the negative, she would receive nothing, a person she tangentially knew would die, and a precedent of assumed guilt would be set. If she answered in the affirmative, she and the others would receive no compensation and their hardship would have been for nothing.

Given the choice between two undesirable options, her answer was obvious. The "yes" that she uttered did the least harm and caused the least pain and she could leave feeling as if she had done the right thing, even if she did not truly know if it was.

"That is not our decision to make as strangers." Her gaze turned to the 'blowing-it-sky-high little one' "It is the judgement of the ones that know her that are of most value." Dory sighed. "I will instead cast my vote towards mercy in the name of the Lord of Love unless her companion does not see it fit to leave her among the living."

It took all of the faith and strength that Edyta Laska, nun of the Red Rezaindian Order, possessed not to visibly roll her eyes. Instead, they turned to the only person - save Evander, who appeared engrossed in some other pursuit - who had not yet offered her final verdict.

Roslyn chose to speak last and see where the others' answers laid. Deep down, she doubted the girl would stop thieving despite this incident. A selfish part of her wanted retribution for the suffering and pain. Another fought for compassion and mercy as she empathized with the victim. Her eyes shifted to the fallen cherune then sighed.

The question felt simple until she looked to the implications and the consequences. Someone would be hurt if they decided wrong and the girl still might die.

She looked to Lumee. "If I say yes, who will ensure Margo will change? Will you stand up to your sister and ensure she does better or will you crumble to her whims and let her destroy herself? Killing not just her, but eventually anyone she loves?"

Margot and Lümee exchanged a look. The former quickly looked away and the latter's eyes sought her out. "Margot," she called, her voice a loud whisper. "Margot."

The older of the two snorted through her nostrils and twisted to regard her little sister through the corners of her eyes, still clutching her bleeding wrist. "Ru?"

"Ce sei zu churmee, sa-sa?" Lümee pleaded, and Margot's face tightened into a mask of anger for a moment.

"Ce sei!?" she insisted, and a tear rolled down Margot's cheek. "Nune rajes ther eef ulf zin suhree." She shook her head. "Nim suhree cei. Nim sor fee, sa-sa."

Margot's lip quivered and, for a moment, she shot a resentful glance up at her captors, one that seemed to accuse them of being interlopers. One that seethed at their presence in this moment. "Cohn, sa-sa," she grated, working her jaw. "Cohn-si zaft eef loc."

"Cohn ce cheirah?"

Margot shook her head.

"Sei! Cür-si suhree." Lümee shifted over to begin healing her sister, daring anyone to try to stop them from a simple act of kindness. "Cür-si suhree," Margot echoed faintly, gritting her teeth against the pain. "Cür-si suhree."

It was a few more seconds before Lümee looked up from her work. "She'll do it," she announced quietly, almost casually. "She willforth be her sisterfriend's keeper, even where this is not easytimes."

In response, Edyta Laska merely scowled. "So you have chosen Shune's justice." She nodded tightly. "Who am I to deny the learner on this day, when so many pay homage to him in their decision?" She let out a breath that she hadn't been holding but had, perhaps, seemed to have been. "But know that you shall not go unmarked. Walk in the light, or I shall personally see that it consumes and eats you alive." With nothing further to say, she turned, robes fluttering to catch up with her abrupt motion, and stalked away.

Xiuyang exhaled, letting go of a tension she hadn't allowed herself to acknowledge. She put an arm around Roslyn's shoulder and pulled her close, as if to say without words that she knew she'd made the more difficult choice.

Roslyn didn't know the exact words, but the exchange gave her enough to guess. The look Margot gave her didn't fill her with confidence and part of her considered saying no instead. However, this was Shune's day and not Dami's. Lumee deserved a chance and would be the one to suffer when -not if- this failed. She hoped the cherune could endure the guilt.

It seemed that Laska had taken her words as a decision and left it at that. Likely for the better, Roslyn thought. She didn't say anymore as she leaned into her friend and took the support.

She whispered. "Thank you, and I'm sorry for all of this."

Marceline heaved a great big breath of relief and glanced up over her shoulder, halfheartedly reaching out for Roslyn to find a hand and squeeze it. She had been a partial cause of this and there remained more questions than answers. What was the true nature of the sword? Just what sort of nerve had she touched with Ingrid? What had happened with Dory? Who were the strange small people accompanying Margot? They were neither hegelans nor cazenax. It was all rather a lot for Marci, and Xiuyang and Roslyn were already... supporting each other. There was no room for her.

You are support from a distance; that's what you do. The tethered set her mind to just that and it was true: they still had so very much left to do. Yet, as she commenced the arduous task of wheeling herself over this treacherous ground, a ray of sun touched her cheek and she paused to look up. Finally, after nearly two entire days, the weather was clearing. She tried to refocus on the task at hand. Ingrid and Edyta had to infiltrate the mine and disable the disruptor. Roslyn and Johann had to slip into the archives, research, and make sure that the former was caught to bait Karl von Mollern and determine if he was, truly, an enemy or an ally. She, Marco, Xiuyang, and... Dory had finally gained their long-awaited audience with the elderly Lady Frickmayer.

Still, as she approached the blasted area, drawing and casting near-constantly to make her way, a thought occurred to her: what about the mana reservoirs and the strange magics they had senses. Marceline changed direction, reached out with her senses, and drew in close.

Ingrid leaned against a tree, taking some weight off of her bad leg. "You have no need to apologize for someone stealing from you." She wanted to speak to Marci but there Marci went, off to do another thing. And none of it is my buisness anymore, she thought to herself, still stewing the drama of the last fight.

"I *have* questions," Xiuyang whispered back, slightly stern. "But they can wait. A friend in need can't." She held her closer, tighter, just a moment longer. She remembered when she'd found Roslyn drinking like she wanted to die, after that vile bog took two of her friends away. She would never let her wallow in those emotions again.

When Roslyn felt Marci's hand touch hers, her fingers gripped tightly back and didn't let go for a bit. A clear sign she wasn't mad. All of her friends were important to her, especially now. She was lucky, she realized.

"Yes, but I did do something selfish and that put you all into danger. I stepped out of the expectations and you all had to rush to save me. I didn't..." She then took a breath, "I'm not used to my actions making this much of an impact. I guess I should've realized that had changed now."

Seeing Ingrid's state, Roslyn drew then healed her.

Catching Xiuyang's whisper, she nodded then darted a glance down at her friend's hand. A silent hint that her friend also had to share.

"I'm lucky to have all of you and I swear, I'll do better."

Ingrid nodded at Roslyn, "Thank you."

The group of biros found, indeed, something very worth their while in the broken reservoirs: the imprinting of five new spells that none had encountered before within the mana colonies there. Margot and Lümee departed, the latter leaving behind a backpack full of recent plunder; the former left to the silence of her thoughts and running a wrist that should not have been tender any longer but, for some reason, was.

They lingered for a few minutes more, extracting what they could from the reservoirs and inspecting the bag's supplies before making their way back to the inn. Some talked. Some offered theories and ideas. Others were quiet and shambling. A couple were exhausted.

The Hourglass Order

Roslyn Wicke

"You're talking to a simple, brewery girl."

The Riddle of Lindenholdt Part 3.2

_{Date: Zales 32nd
Location: The Inn}

The Holy Meal

***********

It was not long before the sun, hidden behind a veil of clouds as it was, dipped below the horizon of jagged rooftops, steeples, and trees that made up Lindenholdt. Dinner was served, brought out by none other than a bedraggled-looking Margit, who was Mr. Hoefler's niece. Margarethe tailed her around, helping where she could and learning the job.

People talked, for they had a lot to talk about. Some conversations happened aboveboard, around the dinner table, but it seemed that Lindenholdt, that burgeoning bustling town of whispers and secrets, had rubbed off on them. Roslyn pulled, first, Xiuyang and, then, Marceline aside. Evander approached the Revidian heiress next and Dorothea spoke with Marco before being spirited away by the group's tethered for a private chat. Johann, hoping to reach Marceline before she disappeared again, found himself listening to an apology from Roslyn instead, which he accepted in good cheer while admitting to an overreaction on his part. He came together again, briefly, with Evander, and they spoke in low tones. That left Edyta and Ingrid to mostly... be normal, which was an unusual proposition for both, in different respects.

The former had just come out of the kitchen, having made pierogis for all of the students by hand and with the closest thing that her stony closed-off little heart could muster to love. Margarethe had delivered some of them and Margit had delivered the rest. She assured those who she spoke to that she was managing and that the money from this job really helped. She did not want Fritz, Rudy, and Emma to take bad jobs.

"So, cam'parii, gonna try some, or are you checking for poison first?" She was seated on a barstool, beer stein in hand, one leg folded over the other and swinging idly, and a smirk on her face. "I mean, I wouldn't blame you if you did." Presently, she took a small sip, hiding the lower half of her face behind her drink.

Ingrid was drinking some ice wine on such a decent night. She poked the pierogi with a fork, the crisped outer layer giving a soft filling. She cooed at the satisfying crackle, "If you wanted to kill me so nicely, I happily accept it." Ingrid helped herself to the cheesy filled dumpling. Her expression was absolutely heavenly as she chowed down on the first one. "So the rumors were untrue about your cooking," Ingrid offered a genuine compliment to the chef.

There's that word again... Roslyn frowned a bit upon hearing Edyta say it again to Ingrid. Reflecting on her past lessons with Esmii, she recognized the word parii to be mouth. However, she had no idea what cam was. Something to look up later or ask Ashon the next time she crossed paths with him.

Taking a break from her ale, she examined the food. She rolled it on the plate before she cut into it with the knife then brought it to her mouth. A small pop of flavor filled her tongue while she chewed, adjusting to the taste. "Not nearly as good as Johann's breakfast, but I like it."

Edyta nodded. "Yes. It's true. It's not nearly as good as Johann's cooking." She rolled her eyes and smiled faintly at Roslyn's blunt assessment and its timing. Then, she lowered her voice. "Listen: tomorrow is Shune's day and we've set things up for a lot of discoveries." She scowled. "Go out there and be brave. Ruffle some feathers." She picked at her own food and hated it, to be honest, because it was good but not as good as the pierogis her mother had made her as a child. Hers would never be as good.

She picked up again after the momentary pause. "But don't be stupid. Don't act rashly before you know the whole picture." She shook her head and glanced to the side, where Marceline was fast approaching, weaving her way through the tables.

"There are people who are trying to mislead you, to get you to unwittingly help the forces of evil."

A few misplaced chairs that most would've squeezed around had stopped the tethered in her tracks and she was forced to move them. Edyta had one last, hurried message.

"There are some in the church who think evil is stupid, but they are wrong. It plans. It waits. It deceives, and it is very good at these things." She glanced behind her shoulder and the girl in the green dress was moving again. "Look for inconsistencies. They'll be small, but I think they'll be there. Good luck!" With that, she collected the couple of finished plates that were in front of her and turned to greet Marceline.

Roslyn's grin widened at seeing a spark of warmth Edtya had shown. With each time they crossed paths, she had noticed the nun's frozen demeanor had melted. Cracks started to show there was more than an ice queen beneath.

She didn't lean in when Laska's words became quieter, but she didn't ignore them.

At the mention of helping evil, her grip on her fork tightened before she set it down. She recalled Viiqii's bog monster and Belleville's Sanguinaire attack hiding something more sinister.

Instinctively, her eyes moved to her wrist. Three demonic events-counting this one- in the span of five months. Was it more than simple misfortune and coincidence?

Blanketed Affairs

************

She recalled Xiuyang's words about it. It reminded her that she needed to make a request of her friend and possibly check on her. Better now than later. "If you'll excuse me I think I have a few things to deal with before tomorrow. Try not to flirt too much, Ingrid. Someone might get jealous. Have a good evening."

With those words, the small girl ordered two more ales and then moved from her seat toward Xiuyang. Roslyn set the mug in front of her other one before taking the opposing seat. "Looks like you were getting empty."

Nursing her own for a bit, she added in a softer tone before she took a sip. "Everything... okay?"

"I'm only empty if I need to leave the table," Xiuyang whispered conspiratorially, tapping the gourd at her hip. Still, she took the mug gratefully and chugged, as one did.

"MMMMmmmm~?" She raised a brow at Roslyn's query. Lightly slamming the mug down, she wiped her lips and rested her chin on her palm.

"Well, sure. Maybe a little antsy spending Caldores 'alone.' To me, this seems more like, y'know... that thing where like, the one who really needs to be asked if they're okay is you, but because you were raised selfless an' all that, you ask somebody else, because that's what you grew up doing. There's, like... a name for that. Surely there is. If there isn't, I should name it." She pondered for a moment.

"Likely is, but beats me what it is. " Roslyn shrugged, laughing a bit with a smile. It didn't last long.

"I can understand that. This place reminds me of home so much, I regret missing Caldores last year. The reason feels petty now that I think about it." Roslyn recalled the fear she felt last year. She rotated the mug's top with her fingers twice, taking her time with her words.

Finally she continued. "Truthfully for me? I don't know anymore. I feel like I am staring at the edge of insanity and one wrong move..."

She took a breath and trailed off. "Also, you're avoiding the question. I don't know you as well as your family, but I can tell something is wrong. I can't place my finger on what. Before we go back to the school, you and I need to sit down and talk. Both of us not holding back, agreed?"

"Our burdens are growing, but so are we. Could you imagine the Roslyn or Xiuyang of one year ago handling what we are now? While still clinging to sanity?" Xiuyang replied sagely. "I can humor you later if you really want, but none of my worries or anxieties are anything more than typical for a girl who's soon to be wed. That is to say, it'll just sound like bragging."

Roslyn tsked with her finger. "With Dami's aid, I'll be the judge of that. And last year me would've frozen in place at telling of spooky stories."

The tension in her posture relaxed as she drank half of her mug, moving onto the last thing. "Now that I have gotten that off my chest, I have a favor to ask. Can I burrow that inferno blanket tomorrow? I rather not be freezing my ass off in the cold. Using magic all the time is draining, honestly."

"My divinely appointed protection? My only source of warmth in this cold, cold town?" replied a persecuted Xiuyang with shifty eyes. "You don't regret selling it to me, do you?"

---

Somewhere, elsewhere in the inn, Jana felt as if her quality wares were being sorely underappreciated. She wasn't sure what gave her the sudden feeling, but it was there nonetheless.

---

Roslyn leaned in with a smirk. "I miiight be."

She pulled back and turned serious again. "Seriously, no. I'm glad you got it and it's been useful this trip. I might've packed too lightly and didn't expect this place to be so damn cold. Of course, I don't expect you to loan it out to me for nothing."

Pausing for another sip, she continued. "Name your price and I'll even toss in one of the beer flavors you liked the most. When we get back to Ersand'Enise of course."

"Bruja. Temptress." Xiuyang pulled the blanket tighter around herself. Whether it was the alcohol, or Laska's change in mood, something had lifted her spirits a little. She was concealing a smile behind that blanket. "My price is in sweet buttery goodness from that bakery. A half dozen a day. With interest. And if you don't give it back, I'm making you my pillow on the return trip. Payback for the trip here. Your move, Miss Wicke."

"I blame you and Marci for it. And you strike a hard bargain." Roslyn leaned back in the chair, her thumb and finger stroking her chin. "Might be hard if the bakery is closed, but I will work something out. You got a deal."

She held out her hand to seal the deal. "Now, I need to work up the courage to apologize to Johann. Not a good idea to let him stay mad and I do feel awful for upsetting him like that."

Xiuyang looked at Roslyn's hand for a moment before shaking it, as if she didn't quite believe that she was taking this offer so seriously. "I don't think what you said really warrants an apology, Rose. It shouldn't have upset anyone. I'm certainly not apologizing for what I said," she replied with a snort.

"It shouldn't have, but it did. Truthfully, someone has to make the first move and I'm used to it being me. I have nothing to lose." She withdrew her hand and finished the rest of her drink.

She winked as she started to leave the table. "Will come to get the blanket tomorrow morning. Enjoy it while you have it. "

Secrets Among Friends

*************

Meanwhile, Marceline had been accosted by Johann, who had offered a half-apology for his outburst and tried, by indirect means, to extract one from her. The tethered had dodged his repeated and increasingly obvious invitations and the 'conversation' had ended, moments ago, as awkwardly as it had begun.

Marci rolled up to Roslyn as Johann hung about. "Me or him, Rosy, 'cause you look like you've got things to say and so do I." She flashed a little smile to soften her brash statement and let her friend know that it was a joke. Truth be told, she did feel a touch guilty about she'd been with Johann, but insincerity of his apology and the way he'd gone about trying to extract one from her had done little but trigger a natural instinct to push back.

"Aww, Marci, why must you make me choose? That's horrible." Roslyn playfully whined as she pretended to pout. Of course, it was short lived and her eyes glanced between them. Marceline had already tried to get her attention and denying her a second time felt wrong.

"You know it has to be you, right?' She turned to Johann with an apologetic expression. "Don't go too far, all right Johann?"

"Let's head somewhere out of the way, shall we?" She gestured for a nearby wall where foot traffic was far less.

Johann forced a smile and stabbed at his food and nodded. The social structure of the girls began to solidify in his head. Marceline was a wild child, a sensory junkie, and a gambler who had escaped a confining childhood and believed in her own genius. She controlled the others by remaining a constant force within their minds, either by her wit, the resources she offered, or the fear of displeasing her. She could not be ignored and, he hypothesized, was probably terrified of such an eventuality. Roslyn, meanwhile, was a mother hen in training, socially astute and yet, somehow, not in touch with herself. She rendered her presence so inoffensive and loyal that all ended up confiding in her and none could say a bad word without being seen as in the wrong. Perhaps the idea that anyone might think ill of her was the Hendlishwoman's personal terror. Xiuyang was shiftier than the others, constantly in evolution but not so different from her friends. The hardened skin and airs she had once put on were still there to an extent, but she cared less about control. She'd molded herself into a straight shooter - an equal mix of Marci's wit and daring and Roslyn's caring loyalty. Without her, the others were lost and, without them, perhaps she was. In any case, he waited, realizing that their little clique was something he might be able to become friendly with, but he would never break into it. That was the implacable reality.

---

Marci, at least, didn't contribute to the foot traffic. "You still feeling okay, Rosy?" She was straight to the point and her eyes held that alertness that they often did when she was searching for something specific. "For what it's worth, I think you'll be alright, but this has its risks."

Roslyn tried not to flinch when she heard Zast whisper in her ear. He was already pissed at her for the generosity of the deal with Xuiyang and she felt his claws dig into her arm. A part of her wondered if he left any marks or not. She had no time to look now.

With a deep breath, she weighed the emotional wreck she really was. "Not the first time I've faced something or someone much stronger than me. Especially something like this. I might be getting numb to it."

Edyta's warning still stayed at the front of her thoughts as she picked her words carefully. "Good idea to have the cards stacked in my favor, right? Speaking of that, you recall the experiments we had with Leon's twin hats?"

There it was again: the little start, the flinch. Marceline had always relied on her tethered sensing more so than her intuition or natural perceptiveness, but there was something going on with Roslyn. She'd have bet Zenobucks on it... or at least one location - the one by the stadium.

She wasn't great at this sort of thing... or maybe she wasn't giving herself enough credit. "Just... if something was wrong, you'd tell me, hmm?" The tethered glanced away. "I have your back, alright?" Not sure what to do with her hands, she took the easy way out and rested them on her wheels, pushing a couple inches back and forth restlessly.

Then, came the bit about the hats. Marci arched an eyebrow. "Hard to forget 'em. ...Why do you ask?"

There was so much Roslyn wanted to spill and not just to Marci. However, Zast's words preyed on her fears and despite all they had been through, they had no reason to stand by her. Not if they thought she was crazy. "I will admit... It's hard. There's times it feels safer to put it off than risk it. Especially since you and Xiuyang mean a lot to me."

She took a deep breath. "Right now, I don't think there's enough time to say everything I need to. Especially with what's happened and going on."

Moving onto the easier topic, she revealed her thoughts in a much quieter voice. "I got an interesting one from the society faire. I'm not sure what all it does, but I think I can use it to give me the ability to understand Kerreman. Maybe. I haven't tested its full capabilities yet."

She licked her lips then held out her finger to keep Marci from talking. "If anyone talks in Kerreman, I would rather be able to understand them. Karl von Mollern knows I can't speak it after all and I want to have an ace in my sleeve."

Marceline was, indeed, about to speak, and being suddenly shushed made something inside of her prickle. Her hands went still on her wheels for a moment, but this was Roslyn - fucking Roslyn. It was her turn to hold up a hand in pause. "Ah, so what you're saying is that you want me to be your kelawi pig." She nodded exaggeratedly and made a 'perfect' sign with one hand. Roslyn had not deflected but, at the same time, she had.

"Sounds great, Rosy, but I think I'm gonna anchor first. Just in case." She started to back away from the table. "Oh, then, whatever it is that you're hiding, you can also tell me before my brain turns to mush and I have to reset. That way, there's no pressure." She winked, trying to balance things between 'light' and 'knowing'.

Roslyn's hand rubbed the back of her neck. That sheepish look returned as she tried to hide the discomfort from the fact Marci had read her far too well. Deep down, she made a note to learn how to say things better. "Yeah, when you say it that way, it sounds really bad."

She bit her lip. "So far, it doesn't seem dangerous. But I'm starting to learn not to fully trust anything anymore. As for telling my secret, fine. Something tells me that you'll get it out of me one way or another."

The last part wasn't accusing, but rather stated fact. In truth, Roslyn found the notion comforting that both Xiuyang and Marci cared enough to dig. Maybe there was hope.

Marceline smiled and winked. She backed up a push and began to turn, taking up much of the space in the narrow hallway. "I'm glad we have an understanding," she chirped, her cheer a perfect mix of artificial and genuine. "Now, where's this hat you're going to mulch my brain with in the hopes of learning Kerreman?" She shook her head. "I am nothing if not a company man, bawss. I'll do anything for the success of this endeavour!" She giggled and rolled ahead, presuming that their destination would be the dark forbidden keep that was Roslyn's room.

Roslyn shook her head with a smirk, waiting for her friend to move. She started to follow Marci when she realized she still needed to apologize to Johann. With a soft sigh, she glanced his way and realized it would have to wait a bit longer. Her friends came first.

"Unfortunately, you'll have to overcome your dreaded foe: the stairs. It's in my room on the upper level."

Marceline groaned and leaned back, lolling her head behind her and regarding Roslyn upside-down. "Ugh. Bruja. You've found the limits of my loyalty."

They arrived at the foot of the stairs and she took a moment to draw before floating quickly up and settling on the upstairs landing. Roslyn's door was just a few pushes away, and now, it came time to reach out for the fabric of reality. In, Marceline breathed, and out. She steadied herself. Here she was, in this space and this moment. She sensed the infinite threads leading away from it, in every direction, even those she did not understand. She chose one, cut it, and bound it to her like a tether. She was anchored. "Lead the way!"

"Oh really now? Stop being so dramatic. It should be no issue for the great Marci to overcome." Roslyn's accent came out a bit more than she intended.

She had been light-hearted until they reached the door. All her anxiety came rushing back and she stopped in her tracks. Last year her would've turned back and darted away. Instead, she gritted her teeth and reached for the handle. Praying to whichever of the five gods might listen, she hoped Marci kept her word. She pushed the door open and held it open for Marci to come inside before she shut it.

No point risking a sound bubble since Laska seemed busy downstairs. At least, she hoped so.

"Okay, first off, this is going to sound crazy, but it starts with this." she pulled up her sleeve. On her wrist was the greed stone fastened with rope and now glowing. "I am not sure what it is, but currently it has a Cazenax named Cawuio-Zast stuck inside of it. No one can see him, but me."

Ah, so you're crazy, I see. The thought nearly came out in words, but Marceline stopped herself. Perhaps, had it been someone she didn't care about, she might not have. Instead, she went with something more conciliatory. Well, then it's a demonic artifact and you need to throw it away now. No! That wouldn't do. If it was, it would mark her as an enemy and work to influence Roslyn to destroy her. "And it speaks to you and tries to influence you, right?" This sounded... eerily familiar. Why Roslyn hadn't thrown it away immediately was beyond her. "What does it... want?" Vaguely, she seemed to recall a cazenax by the name of Zast: a nasty little thing.

Roslyn had purposely remained between Marci and the door after she closed it. It took all her will to simply blurt out the truth and pray that her friend didn't say she was crazy. She waited in silent dread. Any moment, she envisioned Marci wheeling away from and telling her to stay away.

Why did she tell her?

When a question came, Roslyn felt her legs buckle beneath her. She slowly lowered to the floor and all the exhaust she held bled out.

"In the recent month, yes. I've been trying to ignore him-" She stopped as she glared at the space beside her. "-trying to ignore him. Not easy. As for what he wants, I've been trying to understand it. He's not straight forward. He's always trying to get me to listen to him, try to make a deal."

Marceline considered. "Well, I'm no rezaindian," she admitted, "but I've done some research." She tilted her head to one side. "Has he offered you anything yet?"

"I haven't bothered to listen to any of his deals. Any time he starts, I shut him down. " Roslyn put her hands in her lap as she inhaled. "Truthfully, I'm really starting to get tired of demons. Counting this little event, this will be my third encounter with them. My second with a grand one. "

"It really is kind of fucked up when you think about it," Marci offered. "There are just these... otherworldly entities whose sole purpose seems to be trying to come into our world and wreck shit." She paused and her expression softened - became worried. "And wreck people."

Two big pushes and Marceline was there enfolding Roslyn in a hug. "You should've told me sooner, dum-dum," she murmured into the other's shoulder. "but we'll figure it out together - and Xiuyang.... and maybe Ingrid or Seviin or Zarina." She smirked a bit as she realized what a long list of friends they now had. "Or Ayla might know a thing or two!" She considered. "Or Marco! Maybe even Edyta." She made the sign of the Pentad. "As like... a last resort. Say -" she began, pulling back and taking a moment to adjust one of her feet on its footrest, "The sword that we had a vision of - from the training session with Zarina - does your greed goblin..." She trailed off, implying the rest of the question.

Roslyn sank into the touch. It helped more than Marci knew and things felt right. Felt safe. Her head buried into the shoulder, tears starting to flow while that tight weight in her chest eased up. She had been carrying this burden silently for nearly five months now. Too frightened to share fears that seemed so silly now.

"I agree." She pulled back as she wiped her tears with the back of her hand. The lost sleep seemed to show through the faint powder on her skin. Another sign of suffering she had endured. "I was just scared that you, Xiuyang, and everyone would think I'm crazy and walk away. I already lost Esmii and Niallus to Belthagor. I almost lost myself too. I-I can't lose more friends and I don't want to hurt anyone of you."

At the question about the sword, her eyes lowered in shame. "He was getting to be too much that I had to figure out a way to shut him up. I made the deal in this case. I offered to get the sword if he'd shut up. He said he would until the end of Caldores. Until then, he's been a pest."

She twisted the edge of her skirt for a moment. "I will admit, I'm a little scared that anyone involved with the church might lean into... letting the gods sort it out more than actually helping."

Once they'd let go of each other, Marci nodded with a grim but supportive determination. "One, you should've told me sooner, and Xiuyang, and possibly Seviin and Ingrid." She shook her head. "Two, this is bad, but we've dealt with worse." She pursed her lips and took a half-push back. "Three: fuck Belthagor, I'm gonna kick his ass. Yes, you heard that right. Four!" she crowed, ticking the point off on her fingers, "I'm tough as old boots to kill and I always have a plan." She grinned smugly. "And five, amiga: I wouldn't trust anyone from the church any further than I could throw them, except Marco. I'd get him involved, pronto."

Marceline considered. She was not a mutant and did not possess a sixth finger. "Six, that sword is probably a boon. I would get it with or without a little green devil whispering in your ear." She shuddered. "Gawds, he must be so creepy!"

When Marci finished, Roslyn shook her head. Belthagor had tried to change her and that hurt beyond anything she could put into words. He made her helpless and killed her friends. She wouldn't let him get away with it, even if he terrified her. She had the biggest reason out of her friends to ensure he never returned to the world.

"No, Marci. If anyone is kicking Belthagor's ass, it's me. He tried to change me against my will. Killed my friends. I will make sure he regrets not finishing what he started."

Any quivering in her voice had been replaced by a surprising venom that didn't belong in a sweeter nature. "But I won't shun the help. One problem at a time."

She took a moment to center herself as she smiled meekly. "You have no idea, Marci. Honestly, I punched a hole in the wall because he pissed me off so much."

If Marceline was taken aback by the shift in Roslyn's voice, she did well not to show it. Rose would bear watching. She would not lose someone close like the Hendlishwoman to a demon. Instead, she focused on the positive. "Well," she joked, "now I do." She nodded as she considered. "You'll use that magic compass - the same one we used for the bodies - to find the sword, won't you?"

"Yeah, of course. I was planning on doing that tomorrow. It was just hard with everything happening to find time to do it." Roslyn inhaled then picked herself up, "Now, we need to get that hat sorted before we get riled up again. And Marci... can we have another sleep over? It was the first time in a while I've slept pretty well. "

Marceline considered. The time pressure was building and she was starting to grow a headache. "Long as your chapeau doesn't turn my brain to mush, I'm game. Mi casa es su casa." She winked and held her hand out for the hat.

Roslyn did a bit of rummaging through her stuff until she found it. She turned to face her friend, recalling what she knew of it. "Okay, so the one thing I do know about it is that it can transfer memories. I caught a roommate stealing from me thanks to it. It seems to have a rest state after use, so I can't use it over and over. "

She then passed it over to Marci. "You need to keep it on for a few seconds before I can take it back."

Marceline took a moment to study the hat. She could feel the magics within it: scary strong and complex chemical magics, and a particular fear seized her. She had felt magics of this general ilk before. She had felt them when the vulture had laid his hands upon her nine-year-old head and erased a girl named Nina. Instinctively, Marci wrapped her arms around herself and her pulse quickened behind her ears. This is not that. This is not that. She cleared her throat, took a deep breath, and tried to flash Roslyn - who was relying on her and could not have known - a reassuring smile.

It settled on her head a bit like Domino and exerted a similar feeling to his hundred little suction cups. Tingles ran through her scalp and then up and down her body, from head to waist and back. She shivered as it worked and did her best to think of times she had learned a new word, childhood grammar lessons, correcting people on their Kerreman: anything that might help her friend, she tried to bring to the fore.

Then, she felt a pain between her temples and knew it was time to take the accursed thing off. Her hands wasted no time in plucking it from her head and setting it on her lap. Her world spun and her head throbbed and it took a moment for both to fade. "Well, that was fun!" she teased, with a shudder, holding the hat back out. "I can confirm that it's safe... if a bit unpleasant." She rolled her neck. "Your turn!"

Roslyn wished she hadn't asked for Marci's help now. The girl instinctively wrapped her arms around her defensively after investigating the hat. It was like a memory had been triggered and she felt remorse for asking for her friend's help. She knew that look far too well. It had been a habit that never broke, even now.

This was cruel of her. To ask Marci to do this when the thing gave her the creeps. It was too late to stop now as she watched her friend place it on her head.

"Liar. I already know how unsettling it is. I'm sorry for putting you through that." She placed the thing on her head. That familiar discomfort spread across her scalp like fingers crawling across her brain. If it hadn't been the second time she had experienced it, she might've shown a reaction.

"Wie klinge ich?" (How do I sound?) Roslyn asked, her accent surprisingly voided of her Hendlish origins.

Marceline's hands managed to detach themselves from her sides, and she waved dismissively. "It had to be done," she declared, "So, we did it."

Then, came the true test, and... well, Marci felt like a bit of a fraud, to be truthful. She'd learned Kerreman first, but had spent so much of her adolescence in Torragon and then in Ersand'Enise, that she hardly felt qualified to offer a fine critique of Rose's pronunciation. She considered, though. "Honestly?" The tethered shrugged. "You sound completely passable to me." She nodded. "Now..." Ugh. She was still a touch hazy, but she needed to switch tracks here. "You're doing research and that could be valuable, but you're trying to get busted before all else, right? Did we have a rat for that in case we needed one?"

"Yes, Already thought of that. Edith. It makes the most sense since she's a deputy and it might take the heat off her after the last attack. Make Karl von Mollern think she's still loyal. If he's apart of it." Roslyn took off the hat as she placed it back in her pack for now. "I'm going to stick to the story that I'm the only one that might suspect the demonic ties. That means I have to go alone."

"Perk about being a tethered, I know you'll be my guardian angel. And for that, I love you." Roslyn didn't hesitate taking another hug. "Just remember, you're also my anchor. I'm not sure what I would do without friends like you, Xiuyang and the rest."

After a bit, she pulled back and walked out with Marci. "Now just one last person to talk to before I retire for the night."

"Perk about being a tethered, I know you'll be my guardian angel. And for that, I love you." Roslyn didn't hesitate taking another hug. "Just remember, you're also my anchor. I'm not sure what I would do without friends like you, Xiuyang and the rest."

After a bit, she pulled back and walked out with Marci. "Now just one last person to talk to before I retire for the night."

"Perk about being a tethered, I know you'll be my guardian angel. And for that, I love you." Roslyn didn't hesitate taking another hug. "Just remember, you're also my anchor. I'm not sure what I would do without friends like you, Xiuyang and the rest."

After a bit, she pulled back and walked out with Marci. "Now just one last person to talk to before I retire for the night."

Earnest Apology and Fragile Trust

**************

Marceline smirked ruefully, knowing who that was. "Buena suerte, amiga." She shook her head. "My loyalty doesn't extend quite that far." She pinched a bit of air, sighed as she reached the top of the steps and, then, as Roslyn descended, gathered energy and floated down over the guardrail moments later.

Johann jumped on the spot, apparently not having noticed Roslyn. "Oh! Rosy!" he exclaimed, once he'd twisted on the spot. "What can I do for you? I hope my cooking didn't make you sick, or..." He grimaced. "Was it about that other thing? I'm sorry if I somewhat... lost myself there." He shook his head regretfully.

Johann shrugged easily enough. "Oh, I wouldn't worry about it," he replied, waving the issue off. "Sure, you could've said it better. Your timing definitely left something to be desired," he snorted, "but that was mostly my fault." He tapped his solar plexus and nodded slowly, rocking back and forth a bit as he did so.

"I was out of sorts. Margarethe -" His voice sunk. " -might look harmless, but she isn't, and her appearing like that and trying to work her charms on you..." He pursed his lips and shrugged again. "It just put me in a state of mind." He flashed her a reassuring smile. "I know you're good people, Rose. Don't worry, and thank you." He gestured for her to come in for a hug if she wanted.

I wonder about that sometimes... Roslyn thought, but didn't air her doubts aloud. No one needed to hear her insecurities. "That's something I can agree with you on. It's sadly a flaw I'm struggling to work on."

Her expression softened at his statement, stirring up her nurturing nature and curiosity. The truth about Margarethe and him was something to deal with after everything else. When he gestured for a hug, she wasted no time. Perhaps it was the raw emotional state she was still in or that human need. No matter the reason, she returned the same energy as he gave.

"My brother would be chiding me for this behavior. Saying how childish it is, but thankfully he's not here. Thank you and don't let her ruin your mood. Things will turn out all right in the end."

Johann released her when they were finished, taking a deep breath and nodding. "Oh, and tomorrow, you're... doing something, right?" He'd overheard bits and pieces and was, naturally, curious.

Why didn't I put up a sonic bubble? How much did he hear? Or was it from the earlier conversation? Roslyn narrowed her eyes slightly, but kept her smile. Meanwhile, her mind panicked at what to say. Why was lying so hard? Ultimately she decided on a little bit of the truth rather than a whole lie. The last thing she wanted was to entice his interest too much.

"Johann, have you been eavesdropping on me?" It wasn't a harsh accusation, but rather a small playful tease. It was a small page from Xiuyang's book that she hoped worked. She didn't give him a chance to answer. "I'm a little flattered, truthfully. I figured I would try and distract myself. I am not eager to sit in the Inn all day."

"Well, a fellow can't help but overhear things in such a small space, and we're all sharing among allies, right?" He chuckled. "So, what's so distracting that you're willing to walk out into a snowstorm for it?" He paired his question with a smile. "You've piqued my curiosity."

So much for that working. Roslyn's smile dropped a bit as Johann seemed hooked on what she had said. Inwardly, she debated on how trustworthy the man before her was. She wished she could simply vanish from the conversation and melt into the floor. Alas, she wasn't a greyborn or even a proper temporal mage so she couldn't get away with it.

Roslyn took a deep breath. "It's... hard to explain. Not sure you'll believe me if I told you. Though hearing what you just said, that does sound silly doesn't it?"

She tried her best to hide her discomfort by keeping her hands on her skirt. The conversation had gotten away from her now.

Johann furrowed his brow for a moment, considering. Then, he cracked a sheepish smile and shrugged. "Sorry to have made you uncomfortable." He shook his head and began to rise. "People are entitled to their secrets and I wouldn't fault you for keeping one."

Roslyn had braced for him to pry some more, but thankfully he didn't. Her hands released her skirt and settled down at her sides.

"I don't blame you for being curious." She considered something for a moment. "I'm hoping the cold air might help and afterwards -if you're around- maybe we can sit down and talk. I feel like I barely know you, really."

Johann shrugged good-naturedly. "Well, I try not to air my dirty laundry out." He scratched at the back of his head and let out a rueful chuckle. "Except when it gets out beyond my control. The truth is," he sighed, "I'm not all that interesting, bit of drama with an old 'friend' aside." he nodded amenably. "We should talk sometime," he agreed. "Just... promise me you'll be careful around Margarethe."

"You're talking to a simple, brewery girl. Nothing amazing there or interesting to look at really." A little hurt slipped through her words as she couldn't help, but think of Vel. His letters had ceased a month or two after he didn't return. She didn't need to know why. It was like he found better prospects. At least that's what she assumed.

Her expression took on a more serious one. "I don't think she'll try anything after being friendly, but I promise. You have a good evening, Johann."

The Hourglass Order

Roslyn Wicke

"Who do I look like?"

The Riddle of Lindenholdt Part 3

_{Date: Zales 32nd
Location: The Inn}

Holding onto Sanity

*

Roslyn pulled a strand of hair out from her eyes. Dressed in a simple skirt, a blouse, and boots, she stepped off the boat's edge and onto the dock. Her hand rested on the satchel filled with her gear at her side. The eerie silence struck her first causing a shiver to slither-

She blinked. Wait. No, this shouldn't be happening.

The girl knew this nightmare all too well. Already the hairs on her neck bristled, wondering why the herbs weren't working. Did she take enough?

Her questions flew past unanswered as panic sent her mind spinning. Her eyes snapped to the treeline. She knew it had to be here, but where? Frustrated at not seeing it, she hollered.

"Where are you, you bastard?!? I know you're here! STOP toying with me!"

Silence answered her. She sent the mist scattering when she pulled back to the dock. Her hand reached into her satchel for her smoking ban-

Roslyn gripped nothing, but air. With wide eyes, her feet came to an abrupt stop and she ripped her bag open. Empty. The dread washed over her as she realized how fucked she was.

Once again, a wail echoed across the bog.

The sound vibrated in her skull, threatening to bring her down to her knees as she slammed her hands over her ears. Movement came from her right. She turned to face it. Her skirt's edge skimmed the water, sending ripples across the calm surface. The dark creature detached from the shadows. It looked different from before, more toad-like than canine with an eager, wicked grin. Greedy eyes settled upon her. For that moment, she froze in place. When it began to crawl forward, the spell broke. Her courage scattered like a bug fleeing from a frog and she ran the opposite direction.

Jaws suddenly found Roslyn's heel. It ripped her leg out from underneath her, slamming the girl belly first into the water. With the breath knocked out of her, she laid there trying to force her lungs to work. The sounds of sloshing water drew nearer. When the shadow covered her, Roslyn forcefully flipped herself onto her back. Her foot kicked out at the leg.

Once, twice, and three. It flinched then reared back, an amused snort at her efforts. Scrambling to her feet, Roslyn once more rushed for the dock. She tapped into her gift with the hope of getting distance between them. She shot a look over her should just in time to see the mouth open and a sticky tongue-

Roslyn jerked upright from the table. Her head shot over her shoulder, half expected to see the flash of fangs biting down on her. Seeing nothing, she lowered head and exhaled. Her heart still thumped rapidly in the center of her ribs. Her arms wrapped around herself to stop the subtle trembling.

"Just a... bad dream." Though she tried to shrug it off, the words failed to comfort her.

Taking stock of her surroundings, she found herself in one of the rooms alone. She didn't recall climbing the stairs, but it wasn't unlikely. Or maybe aided by one of the student's kindness. Either way, it didn't matter.

She took notice of being in her day wear and groaned. Her hand pulled the fabric from her clammy skin as she rose to her feet. In a few small steps, she reached the basin and pitcher. After pouring in the water, she splashed her face and leaned over to let it run off. Something green flashed in the corner of her eye

Lifting up her arm, she pulled back her sleeve to reveal the familiar sight of the greed stone on her wrist. A frown formed. Didn't she take this off?

A greasy, sly voice interrupted her thoughts. "Merry Caldores, Rosie-girl."

Roslyn jumped and gripped the basin's edge tightly. She fought her impulse to look in his direction, catching the singing downstairs. The fiend smiled at her. "I don't take kindly to being ignored, remember?"

As if to make his point clear, he snapped his fingers. A blinding flash erupted and forced her to step back. Rubbing and blinking her eyes, she cursed at the little vermin. " Asyn bach, what do you want? Or you just like bullying me?"

The frustration of his antics had finally evaporated any patience she had with him.

Unbothered by her anger, he ripped open another tear in reality and reached in. He withdrew his pipe and lit it. Rings of smoke drifted upward. Of course, only Roslyn could smell it.

"First, change your tone." He took another puff.

"Second, I got an offer for you."

"Same damn one that you've been offering for a month now? No thank you. I want nothing from you."

Zast chuckled. "Oh, you're a nice girl, but you have a lot to learn about the world. Everyone wants something. Thar aren't a person in the ol' world who's really content with their lot in life. Those that say they are, are lying to themselves. Now sit down and listen to me. It’s a different one."

"No, I'll say it again. Leave me alone." Roslyn had already started to fix up her hair and adjust her dress. With any luck no one will notice she wore the same thing twice.

"You like to punish yourself, don't you? "

"Stop it."

"Or what? Gonna to blow a hole in the wall again? Someone might think you're crazy. Speaking of that, didn't someone already see you talking to yourself? What was her name? Marie? Marlyn or something like that?" He then added. "Do you think she's mentioned it to the others yet?"

"This conversation is over."

"No. I always get what I want. I promise you, it will only get worse until you agree, Rosie girl. And I won’t leave you alone for long…"

A Merry Caldores Morning

**

Zast's words chased Roslyn as she walked out onto the upstairs landing. Her back knocked the door shut behind her. She lifted her arm to glance at the glinting green stone fastened to her wrist. The center glowed to mock her causing her to drop it at her side. Thankfully, no one had thought to come and wake her for breakfast.

Sounds of conversation and cheer drifting up from downstairs drew her to the railing. She leaned on it and looked down, spotting a few individuals below. Ingrid, Jana, Xiuyang, Johann singing, and... Edith?

What is she doing here? Why isn't she with her family?

Roslyn pursed her lips and focused on lessening her dour mood. It was the holidays after all. She stepped down the stairs to join the others. She couldn't stop the yawn that bubbled up from her throat causing her to raise a hand to stifle it. With a soft, tired voice she greeted them. "Morning."

Looking at Edith's dress, she then added. "Did I miss something or this normal for Caldores here?"

Johann blinked and quickly carried on with his singing and cooking, perhaps not willing to break his stride through conversation. He remembered, after a moment, to give Ingrid a smile of thanks. "Something about my mother raising me well," he remarked, spilling some food onto her plate with a sheepish chuckle. "Give me everything!" Jana enthused, just behind Ingrid, and he was happy to indulge her on this first day of the holiday season.

Johann wasn't the star of the show any longer, however. That honour belonged to the unexpected Miss Grunewald. Edith was, in truth, a little bit vacant-looking, and one could sense that she had been through some sort of recent ordeal, but she seemed in good enough spirits. "I am starting to learn that Ersand'Enise is a very... unique place," she sighed at Xiuyang, thanking her for the blanket before speaking reassuringly for a bit of time with Ingrid.

She nodded when Roslyn addressed her, however. "Oh yes. It is customary for people to show up to each other's houses dressed in zeir nightgowns and pilfer as much breakfast as zey can." She nodded enthusiastically. "Extra points for looking as raggedy as one can." She flashed a smile and a double thumbs up for Roslyn before she had reached the front of the cue. She took her plate from her lap and held it out eagerly. "Hit me, big boy, with everythin' you got."

Marco shuffled down the stairs into the main hall looking like a risen corpse. His eyes were half shut, his hair was curled in two different directions, and the buttons of his coat were all stuck in the wrong holes. Marco was beyond tired. His morning ablutions had done little to purge the fatigue incurred from last night’s party, and it felt like stones had been tied to his upper eyelids as he fought the urge to turn 180 degrees and bury himself back under the covers.

Narrowly avoiding tripping on the final step, Marco shuffled towards the kitchen like a zombie, sneaking in and out with a fresh pot of coffee with a little help from his rotund companion Johann. He took this to the table where most of the others had already situated themselves and squeezed into an empty spot among the benches. However, before he could pour himself the first cup and give his peers a friendly morning greeting, another wave of exhaustion rolled over his body like a tidal wave, and his forehead impacted the table with an audible thud.

Roslyn caught the sassy remark, but said nothing. Her struggles to properly wake took priority over being witty in the morning. She caught Marco dragging his feet into the room like a deadhead as he tried to sneak in. Shaking her head, she pulled back then approached him.

"You look as tired as I feel. Need a bit of a chemical boost?" She offered. It didn't seem like he would be getting to his coffee without a bit of help.

It was amusing to find out that Marco had something in common with her grandfather. Both of them had snores that could harvest hops in their sleep. For a moment, Roslyn considered taking a page out of Marci's book and playing a prank. It would've been easy to leave Marco with his hair standing on end and shocking things with touch.

Deciding it was better not to poke the bear, she simply touched Marco's shoulder. She trickled in a chemical boost to his wake up system. Next she moved to grab a plate for some much needed food.

"You get used to it," Xiuyang replied to Edith with a smile. There was some encouragement there, but also some resignation. Like everyone, the previous day's events had left her somewhat exhausted. Perhaps that was why she asked no further questions, or perhaps she was being polite. The recently rattled were entitled to their moment of calm, being left alone, or some such thing. She would understand that desire better than most.

She took her seat and breathed deep, disguising a yawn. She was a bit disheveled, but not too much. Even her bed hair was acceptable, a genetic feat that demanded an apology to women everywhere.

"Ok, Marco?" she asked him, amused.

With his head still glued to the table, Marco's hand blindly groped for the pot, knocking over a thankfully empty flagon as he did. When he finally found it, he didn't even bother with a cup, but instead threw his head back and began pouring the caffeinated concoction straight down his throat in a vulgar display of sheer thirst. Between swallows he would breathe in and out through his nose, then swallow again, repeatedly, until a family sized serving of Kerreman coffee had disappeared in less than a minute.

Marco belched and wiped his mouth with someone else's tablecloth. ”I am now.”

Marci said things. They were perfunctory things of 'thanks' and 'will do' that people said when they had things to do and wanted to be polite. It struck her, as she raced for the final door, that she didn't know if it was the privy but, by process of elimination, it had to be.

Toilet thoughts:

She wanted more than 'perfunctory' with Dory. They would've been sisters-in-law had Manfred lived. They should be close. They never really talked these days.,

She missed Manfred dearly and felt like a horrid little bitch for blowing him off at first.,

She still had that ambrosia seed he'd given her. She didn't know if it worked or, if it did, how it worked. Would she not be able to get hurt at all or would it just heal her? Would it heal old injuries, too? Maybe just not able to die, or would she only stop aging?,

She wondered if she should pop in unannounced on the Hohenfelter family Caldores celebrations.,

No.

She'd glimpsed Edith in a nightgown downstairs, so something strange had happened.,

She was a fucking wizard and magic could do a lot to take the edge off of a hangover.,

That did the trick: thinking a bit + magic. It was about ten minutes later that a Marceline who was surprisingly bright-eyed and bushy-tailed appeared at the top of the stairs.

Xiuyang, she thought, spotting her friend among the people downstairs, what the everliving fuck was in that bottle? Sure enough, all of the others were there too, except for Evander and... Edyta, who had probably already eaten an extra-holy breakfast in her 'Gods'-Chosen-Special-Girl dimension' and fucked off to go kill a demon or hunt down some poor sanguinaire or whatever.

Ugh. Help the cripple, anyone? She took a moment to draw and didn't even bother to follow the course of the stairs. She just picked an open spot and floated with middling grade onto it, wheelchair and all. She stifled a yawn, stretched languidly, and managed a smile as she rolled her neck. She threw her arms up as if to catch and made eyes at Xiuyang. "Biscuit me, suunei!"

”A morsel is about all I need right now. I've eaten a disgusting amount of food since we arrived in town, and it's about time I cut back.” Marco spread a spoonful of jam across a small plate and used it to dip his biscuit in between bites. His hands were already starting to shake as a huge amount of caffeine slowly trickled into his bloodstream.

"More for us," Xiuyang replied with a shrug—and by 'us,' of course, she meant herself. Then, ignoring any disapproving looks she might get, she took a biscuit, aimed, and tossed it at Marci. "I gotchu, sis."

The biscuit sailed through the air and Marci realized that it was coming in low. She had meant to catch it with her hands. The ravenously ambitious Xiuyang had been aiming for her mouth.

With a small, quick adjustment, she leaned forward, opened up, and it crammed itself right between her gaping jaws. She toppled forward onto her own lap, but the catch had been worth it, and the biscuit was... good. Johann knew how to cook. She chirped a thanks in Xiuyang's direction and pulled up at the end of the table. That had been an act of love, kind of.... Right?

*Undershot it. At least I didn't throw too hard,* she thought. She was still getting used to her new strength. At least Marci looked pleased. She grinned jovially and began tearing into the meat.

Marci ate quickly, as was her habit anyhow. Time was money and, unless the food was especially good, it only needed to do its job and get into her stomach. It then fell to her to teleport Edith back home to be with her family, and she did so without incident. Perhaps even the Knowers were taking the day off and letting this one pass.

Shortly after one of the two tethered had returned, Johann finished his chef turn, and the feast that he had laid out was enough, not only for his fellow biros, but for many of the inn's other guests.

There was the Crisian couple and their three kids - Marta, Louis, and something else - trying to make it home by Oraff's Caldores. They were jolly and game and the presence of children who were not precocious Rita or foulmouthed Nyckee or bratty Genevieve forced others to remember their better natures.

Meanwhile, Old Man Antonio was an absolute hoot with his stories, like the incident where he'd lost his wedding ring and skivvies to a crocodile, or 'the lionbear story', or the time he'd woken up in a barrel halfway to Xolectoxo.

The Hofler brothers were drunk by noon and must've taken almost every dare that came their way. At least they made a killing doing so, and the children found them endlessly amusing.

The big family and friends group from near the capital mostly kept to themselves, but they were good for a few Caldores carols, and a handful of them helped with the dishes and cleanup.

There was that Eskandish businessman with the great mustache who lamented how stupid the coming war was, and the trio of Mycormiish acrobats who finished each other's sentences, put on a little show, and laughed at everyone's jokes. Frida, the fiddler, played music for the entire bunch tirelessly and, once old Conrad found the upright piano and pulled it out from storage with Marco's and Evander's help, they had a two-piece and a few piano players and nothing could stop them.

In short, it wasn't the start to Caldores that the group of youths from the fancy academy were used to, and it likely wasn't the one they'd been hoping for either but, as far as impromptu holidays went, it was - at least - a Caldores.

He rubbed his face with both hands, groaned dramatically, and slumped back again, one eye squinting at the mug's scattered remains. *Was it worth getting up to clean?* Before the right answer could be thought or said, the aroma of a fresh meal wafted into Evander's room. His stomach gurgled in protest to get him to move. He fought back as successfully as his battle last night.

"Fine," he rasped to no one in particular. "I surrender."

He arose. One step, he clumsily kicked his shoe across the room.

"Of course," he croaked. "Leave me too, why don't you."

He was stiff. He dragged a hand down his face and to his side. As he turned to leave, he opened his palm and the mug flew up into it. His head throbbed, he waved his other hand before arriving at the door to his room, it opened without a fight. As he emerged from his bedroom he could hear the morning chatter. Half-way down, he saw the unusual flight of a rare soaring biscuit. Marci at the end of it with her mouth wide to catch it.

*Not surprised.*

He arrived at the bottom step. Sat down at the table and before he could say a word Johann arrived with more food and coffee.

"Thank Oraff for you, Johann." Evander plundered a dish to shovel down and bury into his belly, following up with a pour of coffee in the same mug he carried from his room, only a tinge of mead crept into the nutty taste of his coffee. There he sat, realizing he only wore one shoe.

Ghost from the Past

***

He had been all jolliness - all good nature and songs and jokes - and it was all part of his ongoing plan to bind the others to him such that he might survive any 'slander' regarding the way that he spent his spare time. Ingrid, he believed, was probably even flirting with him, though he could not discern what her goal might've been.

Of course, given the weather, the cook had not made it over, and so his services were welcomed with - first - skepticism and - then - relief. Conrad even joked about hiring him on full time, and Johann made sure that he laughed at what had to be a joke. If one were not a firstborn son, he'd just as well be a cook at a small Althernean inn.

Dorothea, he sometimes worried about. She seemed to have gotten what she'd sought yesterday, though they hadn't had the chance to catch up in depth. Still, she seemed rather... withdrawn, and he wondered if there was something that he did not know about her or her plans.

That small worry aside, all was going well - perhaps even better than well - despite the foul weather and consequent forced hiatus from his true task here. That was when, like a wrecking ball to his happiness, she appeared.

Margarethe. The Miller's Daughter.



She stood in the doorway, the howling wind announcing her. For a moment, the two of them just stared at each other. Then, her face lit up with false joy and she flew into his arms. So strong was Johann's disgust and revulsion that he nearly shoved her free, but his sense of public image and self-preservation kicked in milliseconds before disaster.

"Johann!" Her momentum nearly carried him over.

"Johann Steinbauer von Ostermark-Karnholdt!" She squeezed him tightly and then pulled back with a big smile. "See, I remember the whole thing!" He had already released her, and so she released him, just the tiniest hint of uncertainty playing on those perfect porcelain features of hers.

"What brings you here, Maré?" Reflexively, he used the pet name he'd had for her, years ago.

She blushed a little bit and knelt to gather the bag she had left in the doorway. Xiuyang had already closed it behind her to keep the cold out. "I..." She snorted and blinked shyly and looked up. "I'm the new waitress here. I only got into town two days ago." Her voice lowered and her bearing became anxious. "I hope you don't think it's beneath me. A miller's daughter with precious little of the Gift doesn't exactly have the greatest-"

Johann shook his head emphatically. "No, Maré, not at all. I think it's just right for you."

She smiled in relief, not missing a beat. "Oh, and I suppose you're the chef and we'll be colleagues now, will we?" Her eyes darted about curiously at the others who he seemed to be something a bit more than a mere acquaintances with.

"Just... for one day," he answered after a moment, his well of wit and charm nearly running dry with the effort.

"Jojo, are you... okay?" she questioned in a quiet voice, eyes ripe with worry. "You look like you've seen a ghost." Her gaze darted around the others and she swallowed, voice lowering to a whisper. "If this is about... before, I hope it won't be too awkward. I can... leave." She glanced down at her shoes and then back up at him, apologetically.

But he was stuck with her and they both knew it. What an ogre he would look like if he took her up on her saintly-selfless offer! To send her back out into the cold? To rob a common woman of the new career she had traveled some hundred miles for? No. She knew well and she had planned it this way. Johann shook his head quickly. "No, Maré. Nothing like that," he assured her.

It was not just any Caldores day, but it was Ipte's Caldores, and so Xiuyang had made sure to set aside some time to excuse herself and talk with her significant other over their shared relic that was the pair of mirrors of swift exchange. It was a luxury she knew even temporal mages would covet, and she exercised it as often as she thought she could without being a bother. They shared pleasantries, laughs and heartfelt longings, and Xiuyang assured Ciro that the murder had been solved, the bad guys were cornered in their foxhole, and she would (she hoped) be home soon.

It was in the aftermath of this that she just happened to be at the base of the stairs and near enough the door that it wasn't so much trouble to shut it behind the new arrival. Snug in her blanket once more, she watched the conversation between Johann and the girl who she only knew as "Maré." She was not so quick to offer her blanket to just anyone; it seemed both Edith and Roslyn were special cases.

Perhaps the high of her recent conversation had colored her perception, but she got the distinct impression that there was a definite *something* going on between these two, and it was more complex than a straightforward mutual affection. Still, Johann didn't seem to want to antagonize her, and so, Xiuyang was also all smiles. "Salomé Solari," Xiuyang introduced herself, offering a warm hand, seeing that she was the second closest person to her.

Finishing serving herself, Roslyn turned in time to spot Xiuyang's toss to Marci. She watched it sail right into the latter's mouth. A good thing too since no one liked catching food on the face. The merriment seemed to flood the place leaving her filled with warmth and cozy. She took a seat near the end and closest to the window, its glass covered in thick frost. It felt like a cozy, warm Caldores indeed.

Roslyn considered asking Johann if he needed a break when the door opened. A woman stood there. She locked eyes with their cook then tossed herself into his arms. Roslyn didn't realize, but a hint of sourness entered her expression. At the same time, a subtle discomfort tightened in her chest. Inwardly, she dismissed it as she observed the interaction.

Something about it felt... off. Her eyes shifted from the woman to Johann before Xiuyang introduced herself. That was enough to cause Roslyn to break her usual silence.

"And I'm Roslyn Wicke." She paused for a moment then added with genuine curiosity. "Nice to meet you, Miss...?"

Margarethe seemed overwhelmed by the introductions of these two wealthy, exotic ladies. Neither could be older than her, but both were her social betters. She bowed slightly at the knees and head. "Lady Solari." She shifted slightly and did the same for Roslyn. "Lady Wicke." Her cheeks were quite pink. "I... uhm. I'm afraid my family name is simply... Muller."

She noticed the offered hands belatedly and, eyes darting Johann's way as if to ask for permission, took Xiuyang's and then Roslyn's. "Margarethe Muller." She glanced at Johann's way again. "We knew each other as children." She smiled faintly and wistfully. "So that's why you might've heard 'Maré'. He taught me to read and write and we had nicknames for each other. He was..." She pressed her lips together, mischievous for a moment. "Jojo. Like Yoyo." The little smile burst into a grin, but only for a moment.

Johann glared at her and it died. "Yes, well, that was a very long time ago," he said stiffly.

Margarethe's arms migrated to wrap themselves across her midsection. "I suppose it was." She rocked back and forth for a moment. Then, she was smiling again. "What are the chances, though, hmm?"

Before he could throw another bucket of cold water on her cheer, she turned to take in the others. "Oh, and you've tasted his cooking, too, haven't you?" Her eyes darted between the other two girls as Marci looked up from her meal and hiccupped. Presently, she hammered her chest a couple of times and gave a thumbs-up.

"But I just have to ask, because curiosity's gnawing away at me: what brings a whole bunch of you here, of all places, on Caldores?"

"To solve a murder," Johann answered, and Margarethe's eyes widened.

"Yes, I haven't finished mine yet. I am glad he did or it would've been a very boring start to Caldores." Roslyn's eyes flickered between the two. She noticed the bitterness from Johann and the girl's discomfort. It faintly reminded her of the break up between Ingrid and Niallus, but the spite felt one sided.

Her challenge was trying to figure out how to get Johann alone and talk to him. There was no way she was doing it here in front of everyone.

When he answered Margarethe's question, Roslyn nodded. "It didn't start off that way. Originally it was finding two missing individuals, but I think we got too hopeful. Not conversation fitting Caldores."

"Yes, I suppose it would be poor form to discuss the gruesome details of an ongoing investigation at the best of times. With a lady no less." Xiuyang jumped on the opportunity Roslyn created, and she said it as though she were admonishing herself, but there were those in the room who knew her better. "Loose lips sink ships" was the proverb of the hour.

The meal cooked up by Johann was truly magnificent and the perfect cover for her to quietly reflect on her morning. On some level, she wished things had gone either one way or the other. Either the hero saves people from the clutches of some command mage or a monster draining the blood from someone, leaving them barely alive. But it wasn't that. She traded coins for blood, revealing herself as a 'cam'parii' for the first time to anyone and it went fine considering the worst outcomes. She did get to play hero, but it was messy, and if it hadn't been for the beggar, Edith may not be here. Though she wouldn't chastise herself for not being perfect, they're all alive, after all.

But there was a growing part of her that felt she had done something wrong. She remembered thinking "I should of gone after you" when facing Jana. An awful thought, no other way of framing it. But Ingrid almost could. It would have been easy, and then she could have woken them up much sooner. Edith wouldn't have crawled herself to frostbitten palms. Bastian wouldn't have almost lost his life to the water. Jana wouldn't have been hit so much or so hard.

She could have kept in thought, as it was her nature, but the songs kept her in the moment. Jana was happily eating, Edith was alive, and there was some levity in her, despite the situation. She just coasted on the gaiety Johann had made for everyone, singing some songs in a language she didn't quite understand.

...

That is, until she saw the definition of an old 'friend' walk through the door for Johann. Oh, how desperately Ingrid wanted to know if this was an old flame or a love left unrequited. No attempt to hide her interest in what was happening between them. No, she watched with a growing smile on her face. Now this was Ipte's Caldores.

Jana, sitting at one of the tables, peripheral to the others but not separated either, stabbed a sausage with a knife and downed it with one or two brief chomps. "Hah!" she snorted, swallowing, "Now that was awkward." She shook her head. "'M surprise she didn't..." Unable to find the word, the big blonde woman made an 'implosion' gesture with her hands and a matching sound effect. "- you know, into a hundred little piece of cloudies and kitties and candies. Hah!" she laughed. "Ha-hah! You're the big charmer, Johann." She ate the second half of the sausage in a single bite.

A side eye from Evander to Margarethe, *friends? Nope.*

The glance lasted no longer than a blink before he returned to the true objective of his devotion: his plate. With the hunger of a thousand lions, he buried his face back into the food, chewing with such single-minded purpose that the chatter around him blurred into nothing. whatever awkward introductions or information about the investigation were unraveling at the table passed by him like wind, but certainly not wind carrying the aroma of Johann's cooking, because that would catch his attention.

Then the girl left, and with her exit... the room seemed to exhale.

Bang!

Evander set his plate down harder than intended. The sound cracked through the air, and with a grin he declared, "Done!"

If any scraps of tension had remained, his obnoxious announcement sliced them clean away. He leaned back, licked his chops, and chased it all with a long gul of what coffee might be left. Each swallow washed the hangover a little further back. Instead of the nasty little hangover devil rapping it's bony knuckles against the entire cage of his brain, it merely knocked gently against the corner with less energy and determination to ruin Evander's day.

Rising with his dish in hand, he strolled over to Johann. Evander glinting faintly, "So, Johann, whose that?"

At least four pairs of eyes flicked visibly back and forth between Johann and Evander, and a couple of them widened. "Holy shit," giggled Marci nervously under her breath.

"Oh, nobody," Johann replied, trying to sound casual about it, "just a girl from my hometown who I knew when we were kids." He forced a smile and waved Evander off. "Nice enough person though, just between us -" He lowered his voice. "I could never quite match her cheeriness and always found it a bit stressful to keep up." He breathed a playful sigh of relief.

Roslyn watched the girl's sheepish reaction, but said nothing. The awkwardness screamed in the back of her mind and chased her back to her seat. She had just started to tuck in again when she heard Jana's voice. "She was rather enthusiastic, wasn't she?"

She went to bite into a sausage when Evander asked a question. Of course, her eyes weren't the only ones that shot in Johann's direction. They squinted, not fully believing him. Her attention glanced back at Margarethe briefly. "It's hard to imagine someone more cheerful than you, Johann."

She paused and bit her lip. "It might've been my imagination, but it felt like you got a bit sour at some points..."

Evander tilted his head slightly, watching Johann's attempt at casual dismissal, it was something akin to a street performer fumbling through a ballad or dropping sticks they tried to begin juggling.

Matching Johann's voice, Evander replied, "Stressful, was it? I could see that. Poor man, beset in childhood by kindness and cheer." He gave a soft huff of laughter, more through his nose than his mouth keeping the noise down.

"You know Johann, most would call that good fortune. But not you, why not? Hmm..." Evander brought his index finger to his bottom lip and tapped. Then, making an "L" with his left hand down and an "L" with his right hand up, he formed a box around Johann as if measuring his size, zooming back and forth.

"I get it, a tough big guy like you, I imagine you'd rather wrestle something easier-like a bear." The corner of his lip twitched as if suplexing a grin before rising. He leaned a hair closer, lowering his voice so only Johann caught it, "Still, for someone who finds her exhausting, you didn't look particularly relieved to see her go." He let the moment hang for Johann to catch his heels, it was a bold statement, but it appeared true from where Evander was sitting.

Then, Roslyn spoke, Johann was a cheery fellow, it certainly didn't seem like Margarethe was looking for anything more or less, the way she looked at him told everyone, he was enough.

"Yeah, Johann, what makes you think you had to keep up?" As Evander spoke, he had to ask himself, *Why did he care about this? A childhood romance. Ahh, because it'd-* [Redacted]

For a moment - just a flicker of time - Johann imagined grabbing Evander by the skull with unstoppable force and smashing his head into a pulp against the wall. It would take one blow, he knew.

The moment passed and, with it, the impulse to immediate and extreme violence, but he marked the tone, and the words that were meant to be interpreted one way but could be said to mean something else. He knew them well, for he had heard them in his brother's mouth, and in those of Jurgen Hohenfelter, Eike Frickmayer, and Gertrude von Lanthen. They were the classic repartee of the bully who was always just a little too clever to get caught. I know what you are, and you are a very lucky man that we'll be on the same side in the coming war, but you'll get yours. Don't worry, you arrogant little piece of shit.

Then, Roslyn piling on in front of everyone was the icing on the cake, but it cut, and cut deep. You traitorous bitch. Marceline giggling like the selfish vapid little cunt she was. That Eskandish horse neighing about him. And the silence of the others: all the same. Easier to say nothing so as not to make things awkward. Easier to let someone else absorb it.

Johann was reminded of why people disgusted him.

He forced a smile and leaned back. "So, cooking a nice breakfast and lunch for you still isn't enough to escape an interrogation," he questioned, trying to force a playful note into his voice, "huh?" He rose, shaking his head. "Tsk. Demanding audience but, you know, I'm actually not feeling so well just now." He patted his stomach, trying to stop his hand from shaking. It was close - so close - to all coming crashing down around him. "They say a chef should never eat his own cooking."

He moved to leave the room, counseling his arms, legs, and back not to stiffen. "Now I believe it." He made to leave, thinking that he should perhaps part with some remark about the privy being off-limits for the next few hours, but his pulse was racing. His heartbeat was thudding behind his ears. That would be too crude. It would make him the disgusting fat guy. He couldn't think straight. He could only put one foot in front of the other, walk away, and plan how he would recover from this, because he would.

ESCHIRAN, he wanted to turn around and obliterate Evander.

Xiuyang watched in disbelief and some kind of disgust. For a moment she was lost in self-reflection, wondering if she'd ever made fun of someone's crush like that. She knew that she had, but she'd never seen it in such a light. "You know, there was a way to express your curiosity without sounding like a gossiping virgin," Xiuyang scolded Evander.

Marceline had gone from mirth to horror. Everything had been so funny for the entire day and maybe she'd just needed the release of laughter from the pressure cooker of the past two days. Johann was full of shit. Whatever Margarethe was to him, it was a deeply emotional thing. She recognized the hurt, and so she clammed up, said nothing, and recognized, only after the fact, that her nervous giggle - half laughter and half dread - had made her look like the worst kind of bitch. She looked at Xiuyang and then at Roslyn and cringed. She reached down to unlock her wheels but, after a moment, thought better of it.

Roslyn regretted her words when she caught Johann's reaction. Her brother was right. She never thought before she blurted things out and now she paid for it. As Johann made a hasty retreat, she set her fork down and rose to her feet. Any appetite she had, disappeared leaving her food unfinished. "I need to apologize. Excuse me."

She didn't even listen to the exchange between Evander and Xiuyang. She had messed up and now she needed to make it right. At least, that's what her father had taught her to do. She followed him as she called out to him. There was a chance he wasn't going to listen or even want to talk with her, but she had to try. "Johann, wait. Please."

And now came the attempt to feel better about oneself. Johann would be forced, by social convention, to accept the crocodile tear apology, and it sickened him. It sickened him just to hear her voice, even though she had not been the main culprit - just another little fish who'd smelled blood and gone in for a bite. "Sorry, but what's inside here won't wait," he said quickly, doing an admirable job of keeping his voice even. Do not speak to me. Do not say a word to me.

He had been singing this morning. He had cooked for them. They forgot so quickly, and it was all that demon Margarethe's fault. Well, it was also Evander's for being a smarmy little prick with a face that just begged to meet a fist. For a moment, he indulged in the fantasy of pulverizing the Revidian. Then, he put one foot in front of the other and kept walking.

Margarethe. Someone had sent her, or she had sent herself. He could not figure out if she was the mastermind or the puppet, but she was here to ruin him.

Ingrid had watched with mild amusement at the awkward exchange. She wanted to know more, she expected a little laugh from some people as when didn't someone laugh at your expense? No matter the time, what was taking place or how important it was to you, someone will laugh. Nothing was out of the ordinary other than some sly bullying from Evander.

Ingrid saw how small it made Johann feel and did nothing. She would have crumbled there, she knew that, but did nothing. I guess she just assumed Johann just had it together, some pestering from a Revidian dick would have been nothing to the man that could pull something against the powerful mother here.

In the end, she should have said something.

"Even on Caldores, some people can't put away their venom. You are truly a man among men Evander." She said not for Johann, she had already missed that, but to just bite at him for his unpleasantness.

If only for a split second, Johann cracked like his breakfast eggs. Evander saw it, the mask slipping with the giant rattling in his shell. If Johann thought one casual question was an interrogation, then he'd be a weak link in this war to come.

*Margarethe wasn't a nobody. She was intertwined with his shadow.* She meant more to him than a 'hometown nobody' he tried to dismiss her as. Johann pretended, he lied, he got called out, felt offended, and defended himself. A man only does that when he's hiding something... something deep. For now, Evander saw nothing but a pot where Johann stood. He reached over, poured another cup of coffee, and let the steam curl lazily into the tense air. Out of the corner of his eye he caught Roslyn rushing after Johann, certain she'd only throw herself into the blast radius of his heat. *Bad move, Roslyn.*

Turning to face the others, sipping casually. Their expressions were mixed with disgust, shame, and frustration. It was as if they were attending their best friend's funeral. *None of them truly knew Johann,* Evander thought, *and yet here they sit, pulling faces as if they've lost a dear friend, or rather Evander killed their dear friend.*

He shrugged, sipped again, and only then caught the stone Xiuyang threw his way.

"Gossiping virgin?" Evander let out a laugh, sharp and amused. "Please Xiuyang. Hardly. It was plain as day. Clearly he's holding onto a lot more than a hometown nobody," He shrugged and sipped again, "Besides, don't forget why we're here."

"*'Clearly.'* So you took it upon yourself to dig at an open sore to see what would come out? What business was it of yours? Do you not have enough self-control in that 'investigative mind' of yours to leave *one* stone unturned? Perhaps when you've lost something worth having, you'll think before you speak," Xiuyang fired back.

"As a matter of fact, I haven't forgotten why we're here—and if you have anything of worth to start contributing, the others can fill me in later." With that, she made to do much the same as Johann, and go cool off elsewhere. She couldn't fully grasp why she was so furious, but she did know that she wanted to be anywhere else but here.

Marci felt like she needed to say something, one way or another. All three of her closest friends had - with varying degrees of eloquence - already done so. The spirit of Ipté that had seemed to animate the group had fled from the room like an adulterer before a Hundrian confessor.

On the one hand, Evander had been... a prick. It was a mean thing to do, especially publicly. There were no two ways about it and, yet... there were. He had also exposed something about Johann. The others might not have sensed it on more than a social level, were they more perceptive than Marceline, but tethered were not only differently abled as mages, but also differently trained. The spike of fury - the rapid change in biochemichals, the pulses in Johann's brain: he wasn't just miffed. He was murderously angry, and it was not difficult to trace that back to the arrival of Margarethe.

Whoever she was, she mattered and, suddenly, the peripheral concerns Marci had held about Johann - easily dismissed and little different from those she harboured about many people - took a step right into the center of her field of view.

Marceline, under the guise of either trying to go apologize, if anyone thought her that sentimental, or going to check on Roslyn or Xiuyang, backed away from the table. Let people ascribe to her whatever motives they would, so long as those were mundane. She was looking for someone else.

Evander absorbed Xiuyang's fury unlike the 'jolly giant' who had stormed off to flood the next room with his clouds. He lifted his cup and took a long sip.

His reply came steady, "I didn't dig, Xiuyang. If I wanted to open a wound and drive a knife into it, you'd know."

By this time, he was at the table. He set his cup down, this time, with deliberate care. Smirking slightly, "I even gave him a compliment at the end. But I'll grant you this, if a single question is enough to split a man like rotten fruit, then maybe the stone I turned over was worth the effort... to see what's really inside." He looked around the inn as if to draw some metaphor in the air, *just like this whole city.*

"And honestly, Xiuyang, if you'd taken the time to know me, you wouldn't be so quick to assume what I've lost." He leaned back, eyes cool.

His eyes flicked back to the table for his cup again. *Almost gone. Again? What a shame. Where is a Johann when you need him.* He smirked at the thought.

He nursed whatever sips he had left. He was going to add more but he let Xiuyang take the final word instead. She clearly needed it as she rose and stormed off, just like the 'jolly giant' before her.

Evander watched as Marci backed up from the table, "You too?"

Xiuyang did not go so very far away. She was in the kitchen, close enough to make out that Evander was speaking, but not enough for clarity on what exactly he was saying. She thought she might have heard her name being spoken, but she focused on scrubbing dishes, as if it would clear her mind and her conscience. Johann did not want to talk, and she would not force him. There were other ways to express her gratitude for his cooking, and although the realization came late, Shune's counsel told her that she could improve his mood without spreading more venom on Caldores. *If I may be so selfish, please keep some unity in this group, just until this mission is over,* she prayed, either to the gods or directly at her friends. Anyone would do.

There he was again. He simply enjoyed needling people and it was a minor miracle that someone had not already killed him for it. Marceline barely twisted back. She glanced over her shoulder. "And here I thought we knew each other, Evander." She let out a small snort and turned so that he did not see her smirk or the roll of her eyes. "Stay sharp and warm." Then, she left the room.

Two Sides to Every Story

****

It was all a haze, but Johann stumbled out into the alley behind the inn with the inescapable feeling that he had made an ass of himself - that he had ruined it all. It may yet have been salvageable, but people knew. They knew him for what he truly was, or at least suspected. He was not dressed for the outdoors, but it didn't matter. He had the Gift in spades.

---

Marceline found her in the stables, hands trembling as she stroked a horse's mane. The blizzard had quieted somewhat, though she sensed worse still to come, and the sheltered nature of the place - in the inn's courtyard - helped. Still, she found herself drawing for warmth as she approached Margarethe.

---

As he walked, he began planning his vengeance. He would not do something so rash as go out and fight Evander. No, he needed to engineer a long and painful downfall, and that would begin with a believable self-extrication from the morass he had presently fallen into. They would have to cheer Johann and jeer the Revidian. Fortunately, he sensed, by Xiuyang's comments, that it would not be so very hard to achieve. He would lean into his base of friends, isolate Evander, and weaponize them against him.

His boots crunched softly in the snow and the cold wind bit at his ears, nose, and fingertips, only one of which he could tuck into his sleeves. The larger problem was Margarethe. If so much as a hair upon her perfect little blonde head was touched, all fingers would quickly point his way. They didn't know her. They had no idea how calculated she was - how deliberately cruel. Mostlike, they assumed there were 'two sides to the story' and that her actions had been perfectly reasonable.

---

"Hallo? Margarethe?" She spoke in Kerreman.

The girl - so blonde and doll-like, jumped at the sudden intrusion, but Marci did not apologize. She pulled up a bit short and tilted her head, and forced a small smile as snow continued to drift down around her. The miller's daughter blinked and bowed her head slightly as the animal made a noise. She shushed it gently and continued to stroke its mane. "Yes, it was..." Marci couldn't see the blush because of the weather and distance between them, but the slight uptick in thermal energy in the girl's cheeks said the same thing.

"Marceline," the tethered replied. "I'm... sorry if I've come here out of the blue. I don't have any pretext."

Margarethe snorted, and the horse seemed to mimic her. That was worth a smile from both and a nose rub from the blonde girl. "So it's about... him, right?"

---

Eventually, lost deep in thought, his immediate anger turned to planning, to blinking back tears, and to convincing himself that it all might be okay, that it was better, that he had been refocused. Johann found a place on a side street, beneath a lattice awning, that had a couple of barrels and some crates stacked high. His hands were cold and his nose was runny and he likely looked pathetic, but a part of him didn't care. Nobody here knew him and their opinions didn't matter.

He sat.

He sat and, the moment that he did, he couldn't help but feel as if... He took a moment and swept his surroundings and, just as he was sufficiently suspicious to start rising and do a second one, a voice bade him, "Stop."

It was small and female and it took him a moment to place it as his eyes levered up to find the nun perched atop the crates, one knee drawn to her chest, catlike, watching.

She was pretty, it struck him, and his bitterness began to rise again. She was sworn to the church and so it had never really occurred to him, but she was. Her eyes beheld him, unblinking. This one was bad news, he knew.

"What do you want, Rezaindian?"

She vanished and, a moment later, reappeared to his side, leaning against a wall, arms crossed. "To ask you that same question," she replied briefly.

He remained in such a heightened emotional state that it took him a moment to process. He could put the act back on, but he didn't feel like it. Besides, he sensed that she would see through it immediately; perhaps she always had. He decided to give the shallow, petulant answer. Maybe it would make her scurry off. "To be left alone," he growled, shooting her a look. She snorted, pushed off of the wall, and shook her head. "Lying is a sin against Shune."

"You, who are without sin, shall deal the first lash."

"I sin every day."

"Not much of a nun, are you, sister."

"What do you want, Johann?" She strode up to him and met his eyes.

He scowled. "What business is it of yours?"

Her eyes narrowed. "None," she admitted, "at least not directly." He could feel her draw, then, and his adrenaline spiked. "But it becomes my business if you endanger people because of it."

"I'm not a danger to anyone!" Johann blurted in exasperation, the words emerging unbidden. He drew as well. "I only want..." He trailed off. He could not admit it to this creepy little ginger witch who regarded him utterly without empathy.

Then, she tilted her head and let the energy she had gathered dissipate. "To be cared about." They locked eyes for a moment before he looked away, not confirming it. "You think me such a being of stone, Johann, but I understand the need well." Her breath came out in puffs of white, though the wind cut them quickly to ribbons. "There are none who draw breath who do not feel it. It is a gift from the Gods."

It is a curse, he knew, though he dared not say it. For a moment, he wondered if he could get rid of her, but there was no being he had ever met more elusive than Edyta Laska and, if he failed, Madrona would come for him. Instead, he changed the subject. "I wonder if you are keeping so close an eye on Margarethe."

"Another is."

He reached out with his senses and, indeed, there was another energy signature in the stables near Margarethe's and Sonnenblume's. "If she is here," he warned, "it is not only for me. Mark my words: she will be our collective ruin."

The Rezaindian cocked her head to one side, not rejecting his words outright. "What makes you say that?"

If he could turn Edyta Laska to his side, even if just for this one instance, he would have gained a powerful ally and he might yet triumph. "Because she only wears a human face," he began, "but, Hetraxa knows, she is not human."

Edyta sniffed, in the brisk cold air, and waited. "I suppose I should air it all out now," Johann sighed, but she did not respond. "She lured me in - coming out every day to meet me, eating the food that I brought her, reading and chatting with me, laughing at my jokes, twirling her hair around a finger just like she had me around it." He could feel the emotions well up inside of him and he knew that it was unmanly. He had never been much of a man, though. His eyes narrowed to slits and he regarded this little Rezaindian who had appointed herself judge and jury. "I loved her - innocent, neglected boy that I was - with everything my heart could offer, but she didn't love me back."

Edyta's eyes narrowed.

"She is a beast of the night." He shook his head. "I was not something to love, for her. I was a plaything. I was prey but, when she saw my power, for -" There was a moment where he considered the consequences of revealing something of his honest self, but his pride and ego led him instead. Johann's pride had long since been broken but, now, it grew anew. "- I am quite a powerful thaumaturge, indeed, she knew she couldn't best me and so she cared not one iota for me anymore. She left me shattered and never looked back."

Sister Laska's face gave away precious little, but she was thinking with that stunted, murderous brain of hers. She was considering. Johann could tell. "And now she is here, where strange things are happening and people are disappearing and her old prey is to be found."

Small and cold, this Rezaindian was. All at once, she crouched and her muscles tensed and he began to draw, but she was not some wild animal. Her leap carried her lightly and deftly onto the crates where she had crouched before. "And what of you, Herr Steinbauer?" she questioned, eyes predatory. "What of your innocence or guilt?"

"What I have hidden of myself," he replied, spreading his arms in a gesture of openness, "I have done only out of a misplaced pride and sense of shame." He bowed his head to this dirt-eating peasant in clerical robes, much as it pained him to do so. "For this, I apologize, sincerely."

She muttered something foreign or unintelligible under her breath. "Nie to miałem na myśli." Then, she stood, resting her hands on the twin sickles tucked into her belt."Then I bid you walk the path of rightness and you need not fear, for -"

"Of course, sister."

She nodded. "For I am watching, always." She was there and then she was gone and it was more than he might've hoped for, but he should have known and not underestimated himself quite so badly. When it came down to wits, he would always bend the feebleminded to serve his will.

---

It was better to appear calm, collected, and in the know, so Marci nodded slowly, sagely. "You two have history."

Margarethe took her hands away from the horse, who snorted in protest. "Her name is Sonnenblume," she said softly, thinking better and reaching back up. "She was born on the same day as me and used to work at the mill." She shook her head the horse whinnied. "She's getting a bit old for that now and we have two younger horses, so papa let me have her for my journey."

Marceline was touched, but she didn't want to hear about horses. She was also struck by how utterly... normal this girl was. There was more to this, but she was deflecting.

"Johann knows her too." That cut the interjection Marci was preparing off at the knees. "She used to carry our sacks back to customers when he came to help at the mill." She patted the old mare and, after checking her feed, closed the gate, and turned. The animal seemed to accept that her part in this conversation had come to an end. "Except when she had Kleiner Prinz. He does her job now and she is out here, away from her home and her family."

A wind began whipping up the snow and Marceline put gloved hands on her wheels and made to push herself into the stables. "It must be hard for her." Margarethe tilted her head and took in Marci's efforts as the tethered found herself struggling for traction and had to turn to the Gift. "That looks hard too," she admitted, rising to see if any help was needed, but the younger girl waved her off and made it inside a moment later, boosted by some kinetic magic. "Oh, right. The Gift." She took back her step forward and leaned against a post.

Had there been something bitter in her tone? Marceline was great at reading people's energy but, she knew, it came at the neglect of learning how to read their faces and voices. Still, it seemed as if... well, she had once carried the same tone, before grey aberrations, when she had been consigned to only 35 years of life. "So, you and Johann. He was a miller's hand?"

Margarethe shrugged. "No, my lady. He was a second son and underappreciated by his father. One day, after he joined some servants dropping off rye, we talked and he was..." She trailed off and her gaze slipped down to her boots and lingered there. She shrugged again. "He started coming by and helping out and spending time with me."

"Just to talk?" It had slipped out and Marceline regretted her tone the moment it left her lips.

Margarethe's eyes met hers, and the miller's daughter furrowed her brow. "Do you actually care or is this just for your investigation?" There was, unmistakably, a note of defiance this time, and Marci realized that she was both a social better and the younger of the two. It was her turn to shrug. "A bit of both."

Margarethe nodded. "Hm. Okay." She pushed off from the post and took a deep breath and busied her hands with rearranging some of the tangled reins on their pegs. "When you're in a position like me - a commoner with some resources and some prospects - you both fear and aspire to be like the nobles you work with from time to time." She shook her head, grunting a bit with exertion as she untangled some straps. "I didn't understand, at first, what Johann was there for. I was a little nervous and a little confused, but you don't turn down the attentions of a boy like him."

She hung the harnesses back up and paused as if to regard her handiwork. "He was strange and, well..." She twisted on the spot and indicated his heft with a gesture. "And a lot of the girls would laugh at him behind his back." She glanced down, once more, at her boots, and sighed before looking back up. "I will admit that I was one of them." She shrugged, sadly. "I am under no illusions that it was either good or right, but I did. He was so..." She smiled faintly. "Earnest."

Their gazes met and Marceline nodded.

Margarethe's flicked, once more, toward her horse. "I think he was lonely and underappreciated," she admitted. "desperately so." Her face became dark and something in her countenance changed. "When you are one of the small people, who cannot pull, from the air, all of the heat or lightning to cast a heavenly lance, who cannot lift herself from the ground at will and fly, who cannot stop another's heart from six miles distant and who must worry that, if she raises her head too high and is noticed, it might be her heart that is shattered thusly, your greatest objective is to remain unnoticed and unmolested by the monsters above you and to live out your days in peace and decent means."

"Did he hurt you?" Marci asked simply, and was met with an immediate shake of Margarethe's head. She found herself slipping into empathy when what she'd come seeking was answers. "No." The common girl shook it again. "He fed me and taught me to read and write and use the tiny bit of the Gift that I had."

"And you laughed at him behind his back?" Marceline's face hardened and she tried to harden her heart. Still, Margarethe was shaking her head, and she took a step forward. "No. I stopped, because I am a daughter of Oraff and Dami, same as you, and he was good to me."

"But not good enough."

Fearlessly, Margarethe's eyes narrowed. "Do you wish me to tell it or will you try to guess?"

Marci's narrowed in return. "You're awful brave for someone who just professed an existential fear of those with the Gift."

"Bravery is being afraid and speaking truth nonetheless."

The tethered considered for a moment. "Jean-Marie du Montrouge." Margarethe nodded. "The truth was that I didn't love him and I couldn't make myself do it, but I loved... being loved, by someone who might amount to something in the world. I loved to learn. I loved to speak with him and share my ideas. He was -" She shrugged. "- a dear friend but, to him, I was more." She threaded her fingers together and looked quickly away. She took a couple of steadying breaths and Marci found herself nearly overcome, once more, with an uncharacteristic need to comfort the girl. "I did not ask for his love." She turned back abruptly, voice strident and eyes red-rimmed. "I did nothing to encourage it, but there was that earnestness." She wrung her hands and her bearing fairly crackled with anxiety. "It became obsession. I feared for my life to turn him down."

"And yet, you did."

Margarethe nodded. "I did."

Marceline studied her for a moment, her question unspoken but clear.

For a moment, Margarethe's eyes shifted from wariness to something... darker, but then she breathed and they lightened. Marci didn't know quite what she was about to say but she could sense that it was everything to the miller's daughter, and that she had decided to trust the tethered. She swallowed. "My father had long been wary of the young Herr Steinbauer's intentions in coming to help out from time to time, but he found us together under a tree, one day."

The normal course of events might've been for her father's intervention and, perhaps, his intercession on her behalf with Johann's father, to have put an end to matters. However, Marceline could already tell that this tale was headed in a different and darker direction.

Margarethe paced a few steps each way, as if gathering herself. She glanced out at the swirling snow and turned back. "There is no negotiating with the House of Steinbauer but from a position of strength." She shook her head bitterly and it morphed into a nod. One deep breath, Marci counted, and then another.

"There was an old witch - a hedge witch, a medicine woman -" Her nostrils flared and the tethered could sense her heart hammering inside of her chest. "She knew something of how to make a person stronger - an unholy power." Margarethe stood at the edge of the stable and leaned out, eyes seeming almost to search for something up above. She whirled back to face Marceline so suddenly that the tethered felt herself tense up. "He is still in her debt, and so am I, but I gained dominion over the Gift - no, over magic, because it was no gift given to me. I took it so that I might not live in fear of a man obsessed with me." She stalked forward and threw her arms out to her sides, head tilted. "Judge me as you will - sinner or victim - but that is the full truth of it."

Marceline found her hands caught between going to her wheels and stretching out to draw energy, but then Margarethe brushed past her and the tethered turned, feeling slow and inadequate - feeling somehow... lesser next to this whirlwind of nature that was Margarethe Muller. "And why have you come here?"

"Would you believe me if I said it was a random act of Reshta?" she tossed over her shoulder.

Marci shook her head.

Margarethe was finished with the reins and she turned fully about, crouching down to the tethered's level. "I am not your enemy, Marceline Hohenfelter." She smiled reassuringly. "I swear it in Dami's name."

"Why?" Marceline repeated, momentarily hating herself for feeling - somehow - reassured.

"I have come to destroy Johann Steinbauer."

Desperate Dealings

*****

Roslyn had been on her way back when she stopped dead in her tracks. Her eyes flickered with anger as she stared at the hallway leading back to the others. Of course you picked now. The urge to apologize to Johann gnawed at her, but it would have to wait. She couldn't blame him for not wanting to talk with her.

Forcing a breath through her lips, Roslyn twisted about then climbed up the stairs. A perk about being a wall flower, most people never noticed when they went missing or cared. At least, until her problems affected them.

Upon reaching the room, she tugged it open then disappeared behind the door.

She let a moment of silence pass before she shattered it with her anger. "All right! What will it take for you to leave me alone?"

Zast grinned when he materialized once more. He blew another puff ring into the air before he hopped onto the bed. "Don't you remember what I said? Oh, and great show you and that fellow, Vanny, put on."

"Evander," Roslyn corrected and stepped into the center of the room. "And that wasn't my intention. I shouldn't have put him on the spot like that. And didn't expect Evander's response either."

"But you did and I'm proud of you for it. This group was too boring otherwise and the holidays needed a bit of... fun. "

She took another breath, not letting him derail the conversation. This needed to be fixed sooner rather than later. "You still haven't answered my question. What will it take for you to leave me alone?"

Zast tapped his pipe out on the carpet. "You weren't interested in any of my deals, so... why don't you make an offer?"

If only she could wrangle his little neck, but she couldn't. Any attempts had her grasping air and looking crazy. Her hand reached for her braided hair while she toyed with it. What could she offer such a greedy little... The idea came to her quicker than she expected as she smiled. Why didn't she think of it earlier?

"What if I do some treasure hunting? There's an item here that has gotten my interest and if I obtain it, will you stay silent and out of my sight?"

Zast tilted his pointed nose upward as his fingers tapped his chin. She watched him, breath held, for a reply. She hoped it might appeal to the greedy nature she had noticed within him.

"You got yourself a deal. Only until Caldores is over, no longer. Consider it a generous offer for the season, Rosie girl. Until then..." He took another puff then offered out his hand to seal the deal. "you’ll be stuck with my beautiful voice."

A Holy Drop In

******

Oraff gave way to Eshiran and much of the bad feeling from earlier lingered like an ill stench. Margarethe, much like Roslyn, more or less slinked back into her room and disappeared. None knew what she was thinking or what she had said to Marceline save the tethered and Margarethe herself.

Marci, then, was next to return, and she busied herself by cleaning tables. Her pulse throbbed behind her ears and her hands shook as she worked. After a few minutes, she dropped a plate. Her elbow bumped the table as she was sliding it onto the stack on her lap and it just slid off, clattered to the floor, and smashed into a dozen pieces.

For a moment, she just sat there, stalk-still, thinking nothing and very much at the same time. Then, a hiss of vexation escaped her, and a muttered "Scheiße."

Laboriously, the tethered turned around, wheels crunching over shattered ceramic, and made her way back to the large wash basin in the kitchen, where she left the dishes. Along the way, the mess seemed to disintegrate until there was none of it left.

---

It was some time later that Johann reappeared, radiating an artificial warmth from having to pull upon the Gift in the frigid weather outside. He did not search out Margarethe, nor did he seek out any other. He simply trudged over to the great room and threw himself down on an easy chair by the hearth as the natural light began to dim in the windows.

But there was another who had been involved, and this was Edyta Laska. She had waited until 1:40 HE, when Charity was doing her sweep, and she had informed her superiors of her suspicions, but using language imprecise enough that she might later escape her words should she need to.

<Mother. Has. Been. Advised.> came the reply. <Stay. Safe. Red. | Walk. The. Path. Of. Righteousness.>

<Stay. Safe. Wheels. | Roll. The. Path. Of. Righteousness.>

Charity didn't bite on the teasing remark, though. There was only a hard pinch in return, and Edyta nearly yelped. <Wait.> the tethered messaged her, sooner than she had expected. <This. Is. Alarming. And. Mother. Wants. Confirmation. As. Soon. As. Possible. | Speak. With. Your. Tethered. And. Get. The. Truth. From. Her.> There was a momentary pause. <Use. Force. Only. As. A. Last. Resort.>

Marci had just closed the door behind her when it locked of its own accord. She burst out with her senses and there was Edyta Laska leaning against a corner. The nun materialized as a sonic bubble dropped and her presence was immediately threatening.

"What the fuck, Laska?" She reached for the lock with her magics, immediately feeling trapped and not wanting to, but she felt herself unable to shift its mechanism. "I spoke with Johann, Marci. You spoke with Margarethe."

"Yeah. So?"

"We should exchange information."

"And you couldn't lead with that, like a sane person?" Marceline shot back.

Edyta grimaced. "Sorry. I couldn't risk this getting out if you were hostile."

Marci's face scrunched up into a mask of bemusement. "And appearing uninvited in someone's room, locking the door behind them, and dropping a sonic bubble is the best way to make sure of that, right?"

"This is a serious issue." The Rezaindian blinked.

"I'm damn sure it is." Marci took a push forward, shaking her head in incredulity. "But I don't know if I can trust you after an entrance like that."

"We only have a couple of minutes. What did she say, Marci? I need to weigh the two against each other and report to my superiors."

Marci narrowed her eyes and rescinded her push forward with a push back. "And I'm just supposed to dutifully spill it all out?" She began to draw. This was insane! The nun was insane! "She told me things in confidence, you know." She shook her head. "I'm a woman of my word."

"Please don't make this hard. I'm trying to save lives here."

Marceline regarded her antagonist with hooded eyes, trying to decide on a course of action. There was no negotiating with this one, no charming her, and no distracting her. Perhaps the tethered might overpower her, but that was not a sure bet and would drastically escalate things in a direction that she did not want to go in. Quickly, she sent out a pinch message to a couple of select friends. <Laska. Cornering. Me. For. Interrogation. About. Margarethe. | Need. Bailout. That. Won't. Escalate.>

With the person in front of her, she used her words, however. "Unlock my door and treat me as a rational empathetic person worthy of Ahn-Dami's respect, or we're going to fight."

Sister Laska studied her, and her eyes were reptilian, analytical things, but they also carried the smallest seed of doubt - doubt that she had likely gone about this the wrong way. The lock clicked open and they both deflated a bit. "Marci, I need to know. Did Margarethe mention anything that would lead you to suspect she's a sanguinaire, wildblood, or something else like that?"

Marceline nodded.

"And there's more, or I take her head tonight."

An electric pulse ran up and down the younger girl's spine. "Holy... shoot, Edyta."

They stood across from each other and the Rezaindian waited. "Okay," Marci relented. "Okay." She shook her head in lieu of being able to wrap it around everything. "She said plenty: that she had gone to a local hedge witch and obtained an unholy power - she didn't tell me what it was - and that she'd done so because she had feared how Johann, a powerful and desperately lonely noble boy, was obsessed with her and might take rejection poorly."

"The details of his story are different."

"They would be." Marceline replied, "But she had more to say and it was... really something else."

Backup Has Arrived

*******

Footsteps came from the stairwell, loud and quick at first, then slower once the drawing had come to an end. Within a minute Xiuyang was at the door, opening it, with her trusty gourd in hand. She beheld Edyta Laska, blinking not once, but twice.

"You're here for the goods, too?" She held the gourd close to her chest, as though she were loath to share it. "Hmm..." she studied her, eyes narrowed.

Roslyn had been sitting near the window when Marci's pinch brushed her skin. Adrenaline rushed her veins as she jerked from her seat and moved out of the room. It took every ounce of her strength and will not to jump the steps, two to three at a time, to reach the bottom faster.

"What the hells, Laska?" The girl recalled her last interaction with the nun and the sheer terror of it.

Naturally, Roslyn was only a few paces behind Xiuyang when she caught the interaction. She hadn't come unprepared, but she didn't want to be obvious. "Oh, I guess I wasn't the only one that wanted to see Marci..."

Xiuyang's eyes flicked back to Marci. "Yep! I was wracking my brain for that plum flavor I tasted back in ReTan, and I think I've got it now." She was all smiles as always.

The nun's eyes darted back and forth between her initial target and the pair of new arrivals. "Oh," she remarked, "You called your friends." Her eyes narrowed. "What was that about wanting to be treated with respect?" It was three on one and Edyta Laska did not care one iota.

Xiuyang clicked her tongue. "I had an appointment like a good and proper merchant's daughter. Why, is there some reason why my friend needed to call me urgently?" she added with what one might describe as a dangerously carefree tone.

Roslyn forced herself to calm, though it wasn't easy. Laska had already made her jump twice in her lifetime and the mere presence still set her on edge. Her eyes flicked between all involved and it seemed like Laska wasn't buying the ploy. "I just wanted Marci's advice on something."

She paused then added. "I'm a bit surprised to find you here though. Is this a habit to drop into people's rooms?"

Edyta Laska, however, did not play the same games as others did. "No," she rejoined, not bothering to match Xiuyang's tone. "She called the two of you and you came. There's nothing to gain by denying it." The nun shook her head. "She must've felt intimidated by me, or maybe she had something to hide after pretending to go speak with you two and speaking with Margarethe instead. I was just asking her to share."

"Interrogating—since you've yet to share any findings of your own with the rest of us paupers, you can call it what it is. Nothing to gain from denial, right, sister?" Xiuyang smiled as she offered her correction. "I was called here to de-escalate, not threaten you. For whatever it's worth, I have no intention of making enemies today. I was called, and so I came. You're not being plotted against. We share a mission here—or am I mistaken?"

Not fully a lie Roslyn retorted in her head. It had crossed her mind to ask for help with Zast, but her fear of her friends turning away because she was mad, stopped her. It wasn't worth the risk. "I rather avoid conflict myself. So you won't get any hostility from me. I just want to help the people here and personally, I know from experience that cooperation tends to yield better results."

"Mince words if you want," the Rezaindian replied, "but the fact is that I don't trust her, or any of you." She shook her head. "Your group is compromised. At least two of you are working for the other side so, yes. I ask the questions and you give the answers and, if I like them enough to trust you, then we share for real." She tilted her head expectantly. "Marceline, now that you have your emotional support workers here, what did Margarethe tell you?"

Marci blinked, backing up a push and skewing towards her friends.

"Who?" she asked. "Who's working for the other side and what does it have to do with Maré?"

Edyta let out a hiss of exasperation. "I am trying to make sure that we are on the same side. This resistance is making me doubt it."

"I should give my answer in front of these two as well?" Marceline gestured at Xiuyang and Roslyn.

"Same stone, more birds."

The tethered considered for a moment, eyes finding her friends and asking the obvious unspoken question: Should I answer?

Roslyn was quiet while Laska went on, her expression reserved and quiet. It didn't last long. She weighed the consequences for they were pretty big. She could take a guess over who those two were, even if she didn't want to. It didn't mean they were right. Upon seeing Marceline's look at her, she aired her answer, "Someone has to start to share or we're not going to get anywhere. It's a sad truth and one we can't avoid."

Xiuyang had, apparently, hit a point where an eye-roll was a sufficient response for Laska. To Marci, she shrugged. "I don't like the vibe I get from Maré, if that helps. I was only close to her for a moment, but she has... what would you call it... that certain magnetism. I recognize the stench." The 'stench' was metaphorical, but it did describe her sister well, she thought.

Marci was about to speak, given leave to by Roslyn, but something that Xiuyang had said stuck out to her. There had been that weird feeling she'd had - the empathy and regard for Margarethe that had seemed to come from nowhere, that had seemed far too sentimental for her. She considered for a moment, thinking of people who she knew, and the answer all-but smacked her in the forehead. Yvain. She held up a finger. "She's a rosebud. Maré is a rosebud." She nodded slowly. "That would explain why Johann couldn't resist her."

Edyta nodded, body language shifting, and she perched on the corner of Marci's bed, unbidden. "The question is whether she did it knowingly," she followed up. "He says that she did." Her gaze swept Roslyn and Xiuyang. "He's adamant that she lured him in and that he was... prey." She furrowed her brow.

"I don't know much about rosebud, to be honest. Do you, Xiuyang?" Roslyn looked at Xiuyang.

She nodded. "You see it among highly successful merchants and con artists. Hard to imagine someone raised in poverty not abusing its power, when its use is employed simply by being near someone. It's the path of least resistance. For a woman without proper means, to not use it would mean isolation."

Xiuyang considered Johann. She had never had cause to suspect him, never known the Solari family to have been touched by a scheme that bore the name of Steinbauer. She knew better than to trust someone she knew very little with information too crucial, but to grant him basic trust as a respectable person was not a bridge too far, she thought. If "two" were working for the "other side" as Laska put it (there were surely more than only two sides to this, Xiuyang thought), she knew one of them had to be Dorothea. The other, she couldn't be sure. Maybe one of the local constables—or Evander was fully supporting the Revidians instead of focusing on the investigation. She couldn't put it past him. "I have nothing for or against Johann," Xiuyang added, once she remembered to answer Laska.

"That was less than illuminating," Edyta grumbled, stroking her chin. She had made herself at home in this room and that was that. "But this unholy power - this making Johann 'prey'." She shook her head. "That is what I most want to know about."

Marceline shrugged uncomfortably. "For what it's worth, keep in mind that I don't trust her at all."

Sister Laska nodded and Marci took a deep breath. "She said that she was here to destroy him. She spoke kind of... cryptically." The tethered pursed her lips. "He is involved in 'monstrous' undertakings." She glanced about. "He lets his darkness own him. Things like that." She sniffed and shook her head. "As for her power... I don't know about making him 'prey', but she didn't divulge the nature of it, only that it was 'unholy' and that her use of magic wasn't a 'Gift' but, rather, something she had 'taken'." Marceline rolled her eyes slightly. "Sounds straight out of the Traveler's handbook, if you ask me." She shrugged again. "Prey, though..." She looked to the others.

Roslyn leaned against the wall as she recalled a moment during the time when Enth's sacred tree's burning. The way he spoke to her countryman seemed harsher than his usual self. Of course, he explained it away and she accepted it. However, it reminded her of how little she really knew of him.

"Truthfully, I don't know much about Johann. Any time I've seen him, he seemed rather pleasant and helpful. At least, until the outburst after breakfast..." Roslyn trailed off with regret.

She pulled her hands up to cup her neck while she considered her thoughts. " I do recall an interaction with one of my countrymen. It was when the Enth sacred tree was attacked. He seemed a bit harsher than normal in that moment, but there was a lot going on that night."

"It's what you get for having half a conversation without me. This is the first I'm hearing of an unholy power—and last I checked, 'rosebud' isn't that. Perhaps the church would view it as a crime worthy of a lifetime of penitent living, but it wouldn't be enough to protect her from Johann." *Then again, I grew up around the textbook example of someone who doesn't deserve it, so perhaps I find its influence less compelling,* she thought.

"Perhaps she has some way to suppress the Gift in others. If she's been here the whole time and only just now pretended to arrive, that may connect a few dots."

Marci considered. "So he said she saw him as prey?"

The Rezaindian nodded.

"If that's literal, she's a sanguinaire or a wildblood." She considered asking if they might call Ingrid in for her insight, before she remembered that she was speaking with a woman who hunted those down like animals and had nearly killed Zarina once. Sister Laska was not a friend, not even a true ally. "If it's figurative, then it could mean that he thought she preyed on him for his money, his influence, or something else." Marceline shrugged, resting her hands on her wheels and drumming on them with her fingertips. "She called the power unholy, though."

Restless, the tethered rolled towards another part of the room and positioned herself there. "Could be a Venomhand, too." She crossed her arms about herself and glanced at the others. "Even something as innocuous as like...just taking a couple of big aberrations." Marceline studied the nun. She was known to have taken at least a couple of black aberrations, forced or otherwise. How might this paragon of the church feel about that?

"I think the part about her power being unholy is literal," Edyta replied. "But him being prey?" She shook her head tightly, drawing one knee up and enfolding it behind an arm. "Most likely an embellishment because he was an emotional mess when I spoke with him."

Marceline nodded slowly. "First time I've seen him like that," she admitted, "though I've... sensed things before that seemed... off, about him." She glanced Roslyn's way. "Easy to dismiss at the time but, the more that little things add up..." She trailed off and shrugged.

Then, as she reviewed what people had spoken about, two things struck her. The first, left unaddressed, was who Edyta thought was working against them from within their group. The second was this idea of Xiuyang's that Margarethe had been there all along. "She's been here all along?" Marceline tilted her head. "She told me that she wanted to destroy him, but never mentioned being in Lindenholdt for a while. For what it's worth, she'd stabled the horse that supposedly brought her here and was caring for it when we spoke." She pursed her lips for a second. "Did she talk with you too?"

"If she was a Venomhand, wouldn't we have felt it? I think we can scratch off a few obvious types." Roslyn pointed out, recalling her education.

Edyta nodded. "Oh yeah. Shit," added Marceline.

Xiuyang shook her head. "We had two separate groups encounter a Gift-compelling force. One, you said was a Command mage. I didn't ask for a description before, but unless you made visual contact, we can't rule anyone out. As for the mine, I theorized that the other source was a machine, but I could not be certain. There was a woman in the mine who didn't seem human, and the presence of dark magic with her. Her identity is unaccounted for, and she or someone in her group—their numbers were concealed from me—could just as easily be responsible for my inability to use the Gift at the time," Xiuyang explained.

"I can't think of many singular, unholy magics that can even the score between Johann and—pardon the term, a peasant. The forbidden magics are supposed to be a rare sight—for anyone who's not a Biro of Ersand'Enise, anyway," she laughed mirthlessly. "And yet, we've seen two here. I thought it worth mentioning."

"Okay, so let's not get ahead of ourselves. Is there any hard evidence that Margarethe is involved at all?" Roslyn cautioned as she reflected over the facts. "I'm not about to assume the worst of anyone because of bad timing. So, let's establish what we know for sure and can figure out."

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. It wasn't easy to ignore Zast whispering in her ear. "If both of their stories have similar parts, those are likely facts. It doesn't serve either of them any good to change them. It's the parts that are different that we need to focus on. Those are likely colored by their views or lies. Can't be trusted."

Her thoughts moved on to what little she knew of wildbloods and sanguinares. "As for the wildblood and sanguinare stuff, I recall a few things. Wildbloods, I read somewhere, are influenced by the moons. Three moons will be happening on the thirty-fourth. I am not sure if plush tail oil will affect Wildbloods or not. It's also expensive."

In Roslyn's mind, she knew it was the only thing that nulled the Gift other than certain magics or anti-magic devices. So it made some sense. If Margarethe was one, she might have some and likely purchased by someone else.

Biting her lip, she continued. "Sanguinares need blood and some go rabid over it. If she is one, she might react to any blood spilled around her. Especially if she hasn't fed. If she fails those two tests, we can rule out what she isn't."

Xiuyang shrugged and leaned against the wall, next to the door. "All I'm saying is that we should watch her, and watch our backs, especially after we've just kicked the hornet's nest. I don't need hard evidence to suspect her when her timing is so convenient—and which one of them has claim to being in the right in their lovers' spat is less of a concern to me than which one is a threat to our mission and to my friends." She crossed her arms.

"If you are plotting the simple demise of someone you hate, are you really going to carry it out on Caldores? Even the heretics must know that getting away with murder at this time of year is harder than any ordinary time. If she's telling the truth about 'destroying him,' she means to ruin him in spectacular fashion, with as many witnesses as she can hope to have gathered together. Unless Laska counts Johann as one of her two suspects and is keeping mum about it, that means Margarethe intends to get in our way, even if only indirectly."

"Fair, I don't disagree with that. It is odd. I just don't know if she's connected to what's happening here or if she's here for her own agenda." Roslyn's arms fell down, crossing over her waist. She glanced toward the frost covered window."Everyone in this town seems to know more than they let on about each other's secrets. It's possible Johann knew more about what's going on here than we do, at least from the town's side of things."

She considered what they could do. "At best, we can control who gets what information from us. Anything goes wrong, we know who we can't trust and investigate them more."

"It sounded like something more than just killing him," Marceline admitted, glancing Xiuyang's way and considering before saying more.

"Third person Sister Laska will only say that Margarethe dealing with Johann wouldn't be a bad thing for us," Edyta remarked. "He was trying to manipulate me into going after her with his choice of words. He is not to be trusted."

The Dark Truth Hidden Beneath

********

"What? How can you be sure?" Marci asked skeptically, restless where she had parked herself.

The Rezaindian rolled her eyes. "Believe me or don't. Your success isn't important for the Rezaindian mission. Really, shouldn't you have actually gone home already?"

Marceline sighed tiredly and shot the nun a withering look. "Seriously? Are you doing this on purpose?"

Edyta, in response, pursed her lips and, with a second eyeroll, relented. "I'd ask you the same," she rejoined. "But let us just say, milady, that men like our dear Johann speak a certain way to women like me... and her -" She paused to choose her words with more care than usual. "- that's a little bit different than you might be used to." She shook her head. "In no way do I think little miss pink is innocent and, if she's a monster, I'll take her head myself."

Marceline scowled. There were perhaps too many reasons for her to name just one, but she just did not like Edyta Laska. There was something about her that... she could place it but she didn't like it.

"If you insist on staying involved, I warn you that you could die." She shook her head. "You're all important people from important families, so I advise you turn back."

Marceline shrugged. "No. If they're all stupid enough to be here, then I'm their tethered and I have a job to do." She scowled for a second. "Besides, now I'm hooked into it. I wanna see where this goes and I think we can beat it."

Edyta looked meaningfully at the others, just a bit weary of their heroism. "You too, I take it?"

She received differing affirmatives from each, but it was worth a nod and a shrug. "Fine, then what I tell you does not leave this room or you'll die, and that's not me threatening you; that's what Mother Madrona will do."

Marci made the pentact. "I love the church."

Edyta spoke no words for a moment, but her face said enough: "You don't have to love it; just accept the reality." She exhaled and knit her hands before herself. "Manus Sinistra Deorum - who are well above my level - have been brought here because command magic outside of the church's sphere has been used and we have reason to suspect that it comes from a powerful demon."

"Powerful...?"

"Tier Six," the nun replied shortly, "and Johann wants it to use that magic." She narrowed her eyes and, a moment later, the door flung itself abruptly open. "You can stop lurking and trying to breach the sonic bubble and come in." Ingrid was just outside. "Now," Edyta continued, "what I've found leads me to believe that it's not the demon using the magic, but someone else - a mortal human, from this very town - who's responsible. They're in league with the demon and almost certainly trying to summon it."

"J-Johann?" asked Marci in stammered disbelief.

Sister Laska shook her head. "No," she responded. "Why else do you think he could be here?" She tilted her head. "What else do you think he could want?"

Marci's needn't call for help from Ingrid, she was perceptive enough to notice a teleporting icevein entering the tavern. Ingrid sought little conflict with the church and decided to let it stand as is.

Predictably, Ingrid couldn't just do nothing. Edyta knew what Ingrid was and so did Marci, she wanted to make sure what was being said didn't involve her.

And then she was caught.

Shadows being cascading off of her form revealing the giantess as she stepped into the room, shutting the door behind her. She was silent for a moment to confirm the sanctity of the bubble. "I can imagine he is here for the thunder spears, thought that would be too simple for him."

Edyta merely pursed her lips and inclined her head in agreement with Ingrid's last few words. She waited, looking at the other three.

Roslyn simply nodded as her confirmation and listened. When the horrible news broke, the girl's heart began to race. Her grip tightened about her arms and she was deathly quiet on the outside. A tier six like a grand demon level threat? How, when, why? So many panicked questions ran through her head as she trembled in place. Despite her attempt to hug herself, she couldn't stop it and she hated herself for it.

"A teir six, that's a grand demon. Like Belthagor?" Her voice cracked a bit at the name. "He doesn't understand how terrifying those... things are. "

She forced herself to lower her pitch a bit, the trembling only subsiding slightly. "As for Johann's motives to be here, I don't know. I don't think we know him well enough to understand how he thinks or what he would want. That's the issue."

Xiuyang took a long breath and exhaled. Whether she was trying to stay calm in light of the revelation or taking frustration with herself for not knowing more, no one could tell. "He made sure to tell me from the very beginning there was more going on here than would appear at first glance, and nothing good. He wants us to get involved in this beyond just finding the bodies, I think. He certainly hasn't advised us to leave, as you have. My interactions with him have been short and impersonal, I'm afraid."

"I'll be a bit more direct, then, Salomé," replied the nun. "We don't need your help and, if you stay, you're going to get splattered and your rich parents will lose an heir." She arched an eyebrow as if to check for comprehension.

Xiuyang let out a snort. "Hah. You don't need to pretend to care for me to ease your conscience, sister. If my friends choose to leave, I will go, since you insist you need no assistance—but if my friends stay, I will also stay."

Ingrid glared at Laska for a moment before moving on. "If we question his actions, a few things come up to question from the start." she flipped out her notebook. "His stated reason for being here is for a Caldores visit to this small but ancient town. I found it odd but no irregular to scrutinize with the Watchmeister agreeing that it was."

"Next, Mother Madrona knocked him out and we left without him only for him to return as we were about to enter the cathedral grounds. I had originally saw his plan as simply a way of making it seem like he was trying to 'act' as if he had tried his best when it was a paltry effort. I may have been surprised and just happy to see him. With his freedom of movement, someone could have saw him in town or noticed he had not gone directly there."

"Lastly, and Marci and Laska will remember this, he had left saying we were foolish for going further. I thought it was cowardice but in reality, he could have checked on some business and came back afterward." Ingrid closed her notebook.

"The last is just some idle thought. If he had made the breakfast himself, as he took the credit for, then he would have been up for hours before us. He may have sense Jana, Edith, and Bastian being controlled out of the building and either didn't sense it despite his skill and cautiousness, or he ignored it."

"What? Jana, Edith and Bastian were controlled? When? How? " The statement seemed to jerk Roslyn from her panic, but only for a moment.

"Early morning, Command magic." Ingrid stated plainly. "A song called them out there to the river in the direction of the cathedral. It took some heavy shock to break Edith and Bastain out of it. Bastain was already in the river and almost died to some moving ice. Edith was crawling, palms peeling off, It's a miracle she is alive. Jana was then commanded to fight me and almost took my arm before I knew she was under control." She took a deep breath, "Sorry, been talking too much."

Roslyn's eyes turned downward in thought. There had to be a pattern there, but she struggled to think properly. "Jana, Edith, Bastian... Why those three specifically?"

She repeated their names a few more times before it finally clicked. "Didn't they all collect the bodies? Jana found Weber along the way. Bastian and Edith went with you to retrieve Zimmerman."

"It's the one thing they had in common—which means me and Ingrid are their next targets, if they think they can get away with it," Xiuyang added calmly, thinking for a moment. "Mm. Might be hasty to rule out anyone who knows we found them, either. I presume someone wants the cause of death covered up, but they might target anyone who knows anything."

Ingrid nodded in agreement with Xiuyang "Let's hope they try and take us then. We might have a better time recollecting what was taking them. Edith mentioned a song and Jana remembered seeing a child play the violin. If it is a demon, as the church concluded, the violin or pipe organ could be a demonic artifact."

"If we find reason to suspect the organ, smashing it would be quite satisfying," Xiuyang quipped with some levity. "The issue would be finding an opportunity to investigate it, without that psycho playing or sleeping with it."

"A violin? That could easily be hidden by an organ playing, but only people in the church were the architect and organist. At least as far as I could tell." Roslyn noticed that Zast went silent. Uncharacteristic of him, but she wouldn't address it and risk him yammering again. That was an issue for another time.

She rubbed her arms to stop the trembling then sighed. "Knowing this, I regret asking Marci to tell Edith about the bodies now."

She swallowed. "You know, we suspect a third party killed those men. What if they were trying to create more conflict? Both sides would insist they had nothing to do with it, but neither would trust the other's word. What demon would benefit from that? "

Edyta Laska had gone quiet for some time, and none had noticed that it was due to the added strain of having to account for five people all-but speaking over each other in their eagerness to connect the dots. She was listening, too, however. She was listening to their ideas and letting them do the legwork on her behalf.

If she was collecting information, so was Marci, who had been distracted by a sudden exchange with Edith. A question occurred to her. <Ingrid. Says. You. Heard. A. Song. Early, This. Morning. When. You. Were. Controlled. By. Someone.>

<Merry. Caldores. Marci.>

<Answer. Or. I. Will. Break. Your. Legs.>

<Oh. No.> There was a pause. <This. Is. Serious. Question.

<Very. I'm. Sorry. To. Interrupt. Family. Time.>

<No. Worries. | Arbeit. Ist Leben. | Leben. Ist. Arbeit.>

Marceline groaned inwardly.

<Shouldn't. You. Be. With. Your. Family. Question.>

The younger tethered grimaced visibly. <Oh. We've. Made. Other. Arrangements. Already. | Now. The. Song. Edith.>

<Oh. Sorry. | Yes. It. Was. ...>

<Mhm.>

<This. Is. Very. Embarrassing.> replied the deputy, <But. It. Was. Kling. Glöckchen. Klingelingeling.>

Marceline's blood froze. Her expression might've as well, and she didn't respond immediately. It didn't even occur to her that her sudden silence could be construed as rude or as cause for concern.

<Marci. Question. | See. Exclaim. I. Knew. It. Was. Stupid. I. Only. Remembered. Because. Fraulein. Ilse. Was. Practicing. It. The. Other. Day. And. Then. Johann. Was. Singing. It. When. We. Got. In.>

It was all that Marci could do not to visibly blink and end up looking weird. There had been another very useful tidbit of information in there that she had missed as her mind raced. <No. Sorry.> she replied. <Someone. Was. Just. Talking. To. Me. | That's. Exactly. What. I. Wanted. To. Know. | I'll. Leave. You. Alone. Now. Merry. Caldores.>

<Merry. Caldores. | Try. To. Enjoy. It.>

The youngest person and only Kerreman in the group took a subtle deep breath, held it for a couple of seconds, and released it. How to collect it all and break it to people? She cleared her throat. "Sorry. Not to interrupt," she began, finding a second where she could slip in amid all of the near-frenzied theorizing, "but I was just pinch-talking with Edith, and... get this: the tune was Kling, Glöckchen, Klingelingeling and she remembered it not because Johann was singing it this morning, but because Fraulein Ilse von Mollern was practicing it the other day." She nodded slowly. "I think that was the song she was playing when we arrived, in the other room, on viola."

"Oh, hells." Roslyn rubbed her eyes and focused on breathing.

Her eyebrows rose in surprise,"That is useful. Jana's memories hazed quickly after being released from the caster's spell. Have we any useful information on her or the Von Mollern's?" Ingrid asked the group that went to the archives.

Marceline considered for a moment and then scowled. "I don't think we looked into them much. Spent most of our time on the Frickmayers and the cathedral, from what I remember." She shook her head and glanced at Roslyn's and Xiuyang's way.

"We were mainly focused on the missing men. I did skim through the fire records and some lineage stuff with the Frickmayers. We did find a paper in the rubbish which Xiuyang preserved, but not sure it has anything to do with the Von Mollerns." Roslyn gave Ingrid an apologetic look.

Hidden Schemings

*********

Evander/Johann
*What was it about being snowed in that made people crazy?*

While the others swam circles in their feelings, Evander leaned back in his chair, boots planted on the edge of the table. Between two fingers he flicked a coin, sending it tumbling end over end toward an empty mug across the table. *Clink.* It missed. With a lazy gesture, he pulled it back across the wood with the gift, then tossed it again.

Flip. Drop. *Clink.*

The rhythm became its own little game, as the others played theirs. People came and went. No bother, no brooding. He flipped the coin, reeled it back, and repeated. A faint smile cast across his lips as the next attempt rung around the inside of the mug.

"Gotcha." He murmured to himself, though the humor in his voice leant itself to applying beyond the coin game.

*He was alone.*

Evander dropped his boots to the floor with a muted thud. Rising, he stretched his shoulders and arms long with a low growl, like a lion rousing from a noon nap. He sensed Johann by the hearth, big, brooding, and bent in the fire's glow. Before striding over, Evander detoured toward the pot, poured a fresh cup of coffee, and carried it with care. Along the way, he heated the cup to a warm temperature using his gift.

"That was close," Evander said, three quarters from Johann.

When reaching Johann, as he was setting the cup down within reach, "I thought you were going to crack my skull there for a second like your eggs."

The cup tapped softly against the stone near Johann. Evander stepped back, close enough to be heard, far enough not to provoke.

"Peace offering," The words came out as if it were the most natural thing to give in these situations.

There it is. You're trying to reconcile because you want something, Johann thought. The question is: 'what'?

Part of him wanted to find out. The other part wanted to push a little and see what made Evander tick. The man was both a bully and a clever bastard. "It's customary to apologize for one's ill actions before offering to make peace - at least to one's social peers."

He scanned the coffee for anything untoward and his hand hovered.

Evander's brow arched, though... his face remained cool.

He remained one shoulder against the stone, "A peace offering doesn't always follow an apology. Sometimes it follows perspective. And sometimes..." A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, "...it's because a man would rather share a cup than elbows."

Evander gave a small shrug, "Besides, what was ill about asking a question?"

Johann's drink turned bitter before he even brought it to his lips. His whole life, these days, seemed made up of little social games and he had dealt with the subtlest types of bullies for as long as he could remember: the sort who'd never openly mock him because of his status, but who'd slip in words, gestures, turns of phrases, and tones that they could later plausibly deny were nothing if not well-intentioned. How he hated them. It was a reminder of why he was doing what he was doing.

There was nothing unsafe in the cup and, had there been, a chemical mage of his caliber would've neutralized it. Johann brought it to his lips with a small nod of thanks, and sipped. Part of him didn't even want to bother wasting words on this snake of a man for, now, he was certain that was what Evander was. So tiring. So very much the same. A genuine human being - what he might've given to find just one! What it might've done for him! Now... he, himself? He'd have apologized, but these men were all proud, raised with their family mottos and coats-of-arms and legacies that wore them as if they were little more than suits of armour in need of filling. And they protected those fragile things by covering themselves in hardened facades and bristling with a veritable arsenal of verbal, magical, and monetary weaponry.

How he hated them, and Evander was one of them: the appearance of empathy, of humanity, camaraderie, and conversational interest, but it was all for the things that filled his empty suit of armour. Johann had felt recovered after his long walk outside and his conversation with the nun, but could he really rally himself to engage in yet another of these chess-like exchanges? Evander had been joking, earlier, but it was no joke. He could crush the Revidian with but a thought, and it would probably make the world a better place.

He nursed his drink while pondering the murder of its pourer.

No, it wouldn't make the world measurably better. It was built, near-indelibly, at this point, on a complex social fabric of rules, lies, and justifications. There were a hundred thousand other perfect little blond boys like Evander whose hands and words could wield weapons but whose mouths could not simply form the words 'I'm sorry'. The death of one would mean the end of Johann, even if he technically got away with it, and this world's chances of becoming something better - its chances of being forced into drastic change by one strong and willing enough to take on the task - would tumble a rather measurable amount.

Johann would have to play this game, because not playing meant losing, and the victory he sought was far more than some petty personal thing. He kept his sigh inward as he considered his conversational options. What have you given me to work with? He made a 'thoughtful' face, for he could nurse his drink and silence no longer without appearing brooding or petulant.

It was obvious. Perhaps the only meaningful words out of Evander's mouth, besides his carefully-chosen opening platitudes about women, were those about sharing a cup rather than elbows. "So is that it, then?" he asked, not turning all the way and seeking his truth, instead, in the fire, though even that had been interfered with by Evander. "Is that the nature of all relationships, when one strips matters to their essence: transactional? Concluded either for mutual benefit or at least the avoidance of harm?" Gone was the jovial giant who cooked and sang and was, in truth, a total hypocrite by the measure of his own philosophy.

Johann sipped again.

*There he is brooding again.* Evander watched Johann sip and nod, disdain spilling over his face and body, even if the coffee did not.

"Quite a leap, Johann, to go from a kind gesture to theorizing about the nature of *all* relationships as transactional." Evander noticed the jump in logic, and the redirection was almost too obvious. Johann wasn't speaking about Evander, he was circling around something else. *What did Margarethe do to this man?*

He leaned in slightly. "But let's sit with that for a moment. You could argue every relationship gives something and takes something."

*You'd know best, Johann. You trade false cheer for approval, a jolly mask bought at the price of your honesty.* Evander thought. It was plain to him, Johann wasn't the man he pretended to be. He was bitter, resentful, and the girl he dismissed as a hometown nobody is the same girl he cracked over when lightly questioned. *There was more between them, more than either admitted. And more they knew about Lindenholdt and the murders, too, then again, the whole town reeked of secrets. It wouldn't be a surprise if most the town knew who did what to who and worked together to steer the investigation off trail.*

Evander, keeping to task, raised her name once more, but this time as an example to drive the theory of transaction. "Take Margarethe, for instance. You must've given her a lot, possibly a piece of yourself. And in return, she gave you something too. But sometimes what's given isn't always a gift. Sometimes, a curse. Sometimes, burdens. Other times, nothing at all." He leaned back, the firelight flickering in his eyes. If Johann exposed anything, it was his pain and it all came to the surface when Margarethe showed up.

Evander's tone shifted to something close to sincere, even quite genuine, "I'm sorry, Johann, for whatever she did to you." His gaze cast at the flames, "But pain is only worth something if it buys change."

His gaze drifted back to Johann, "So I could agree with the idea that some relationships are transactional. And in those transactions, what we purchase isn't mutual benefit, avoidance of harm, comfort, or even loyalty." He paused for a moment, "No." His chin dropped slightly to his chest, "It's transformation. The question is whether you bought yours... or sold yourself cheap." His chin still down, but his eyes cast up to look at Johann, "So, did you buy yours after Margarethe?"

Johann set the coffee down and rose. Always, the subtle cut and thrust, the subtle dance. Evander was digging, and so he tilted his head. "There's no need to maintain a facade of care." He shrugged. "It might even be refreshing if you didn't. You're probing for answers, and I don't blame you." He picked the cup back up, tucked his free hand into his pocket, and watched the flames, seeing if he might 'transform' them by drawing away some of the combustion that Evander had caused. "But before I go spilling my guts out, I'd like to ask you something first." He twisted to regard his counterpart, better at controlling his face first, better at hiding the voice in the back of his head that reminded him, "I will destroy you - you and all those like you."

A fire-blackened log collapsed in a shower of sparks, noticed as an individual for the first time only as it died. "Do you care if people like you?"

"Understanding your pain isn't a facade," Evander spoke truthfully as he watched Johann tuck his cup, play with fire, and ask his question. Evander answered without hesitation, "No. I care if people are honest about who they are and what they want."

Like a hound: always on target. Always refocusing. Johann noticed something else about Evander, however. Never, in all of his time knowing the man, had he taken a step back or apologized. To the best of his knowledge, he hadn't even done so with Marceline after their infamous spat. They had merely normalized relations because he had not been a complete ass the next time they'd interacted, she'd felt as if she'd gotten one back, and it was ultimately easier for than living in constant tension. Either this Revidian was the sort to eat his own cooking because he truly believed it to be haute cuisine, or he was every bit as disingenuous as Johann, just... in a different way.

"Margarethe... is a monster," the portly Kerreman warned with a sigh. The flames began to gutter and he decided to let them live, after all. He took another sip and glanced at Evander."A creature utterly without soul who used me until she was done with me and then discarded me without so much as a care. She even went so far as to make a contract with a maledict and take up an unholy new power. She'd have sucked me dry if she could've, but she cut and ran when she realized I wouldn't be an easy mark." He shook his head tightly. "She'll be more direct, this time," he warned, "because I know her true nature, but she'll try to undermine and isolate me and she did a wonderful job of that today."

He scowled and finished the last of his drink. "She gets under my skin even more than you do." Johann snorted. "At least people know you're a self-important ass. They all fall for her schtick hook, line, and sinker." He took a step to the side to set the cup down, deciding that he was just about finished here.

"But I think she's wrapped up in something much deeper. I think that she is and she'll frame me." He took one last long look at the flames. "She'll frame me and destroy you."

*Finally, some answers.* Evander listened.

*Monster. Without a soul. Used him. No care. Contract with a maledict. Unholy power. Ran. Undermine and isolate. Self-importance. Frame him.*

"Now I care." Evander said as Johann started to open up about what he really thought and felt, "If what you say is true, and we are here to investigate, then it may be in our best interest to cooperate and keep the wrong person from the guillotine." He nodded his head as if to say, 'you.'

Evander came off the stone, stood upright to the front of Johann, "What do you say we help each other get to the bottom of whatever Margarethe might be up too?"

At Evander's "now I care," Johann couldn't help but let out a snort at a truth reached in roundabout but reached nonetheless. Then, came the meat of it, and he listened.

When Evander was finished, he furrowed his brow and let out a breath that could be interpreted as a pensive sigh, as if he needed to be convinced. There was every likelihood that the Revidian was merely playing the part of the ally and using him, but the inverse was also true, and so he held out his hand to shake and nodded. "That sounds just like a transaction I'd like to make," he declared with a smirk.

Evander smiled at that and extended his hand to shake Johann's. "Now that the pleasantries are over, what is this unholy power we're up against and who's the owner of the contract?"

Johann scowled deeply. He looked frustrated. "That's just the problem." He shook his head. "I know that she went to a maledict - there are always some living in the woods, on the fringes - and I noticed that, suddenly, she could use the Gift afterwards." He shrugged helplessly. "As for the nature of it, I would only be guessing but, given its source, it cannot be anything but unholy, likely dangerous, and possibly a double-edged sword. That's how these people work."

*Margarethe went into the woods and came out with the Gift?* It was possible it was a maledict. It was also possible it could be something else. There were many other ways to access and develop the Gift other than birth. For now, Johann believed it was a maledict, and Evander would share that belief until evidence suggested otherwise, showing a little bit of frustration to show Johann and him were on the same side, then he followed up:

"Great, we have to deal unholy powers and maledicts giving the Gift away in the woods. If the blizzard and a murder weren't enough." He shrugged like Johann, "Alright, so what we know is Margarethe is likely entangled with a maledict who resides in the woods, what we don't know is why she's back or what she is doing to set you up possibly." He paused for a moment to think, "What do you think possessed her to make that deal? And, when you said *these people*, are there others we need to watch out for who are like Margarethe in Lindenholdt?"

There appeared to be a fundamental understanding here. Margarethe was from his hometown in Ostermark, not Lindenholdt. He gently reminded Evander of as much. "Maledicts often work with or for demons, though," he allowed, "and Ostermark isn't so very distant." he shrugged. "I am nearly certain that there are others in this town who owe similar debts and are working towards the same objective. Dare I say that the two murdered men were a great way of sowing discord between Revidian and Kerreman allies and to get everyone looking for culprits other than the real ones when people inevitably went missing."

“Demons too.” Evander sighed. “Wait, you think the maledicts in the woods, Margarethe, and the murders, are all tied up with a network of people with aims to destroy the relationship between Revidia and Kerreman?”

Evander was now hooked. “Ok, Johann, you know this place well, who in this city would benefit greatly from ripping apart Revidians and Kerreman?”

Evander was barking up the wrong tree. The relationship between the two was incidental to the greater plan. It just helped to have the pair of erstwhile allies not working together. He indulged his own 'ally', however. "Well, sentiment among many of the merchants here is that the Revidians have been acting too aggressively from a diplomatic standpoint and it's isolating them from their major markets in Perrence and Kressia. The Perrench also control Mirabeau Island and the top of Dami's Eye, and that's a vital route."

He paused to consider. "I was investigating the von Mollerns and the Grunewalds when you guys arrived, to be honest."

Evander's face showed a smidge of curiosity, "And, what did you find?"

Johann shrugged. "Truth be told, not much yet, but the others who went to the archives can tell you that the von Mollerns and Grunewalds have been working behind the scenes to take down the Frickmayers for generations. Their research corroborates mine."

Evander crossed his arms, raising his index finger to his chain and tapped. "Hmm... that does seem to be the report, it's obvious these families have bad blood, but to what extent have each of them gone to secure their legacy in Lindenholdt is the question. Do you think the von Mollerns and Grunewalds are tied to Margarethe and the demons in this region?"

Johann nodded. "I'm almost certain they're involved with the demons." He pursed his lips. "As for Margarethe... it connects. I haven't caught her red-handed, but she has a history of dark dealings, a bone to pick with the person investigating them - me - and has shown up at just the right moment." He shook his head. "That's a lot of coincidences piling up."

Evander shook his head. "Well, if we believe Margarethe to be involved in something more sinister, why not follow her?" He paused to read Johann's initial reaction before beginning again, "She would likely lead us to the very plot of your downfall, what do you think?"

Johann snorted. "Me?" He stabbed at his chest with a finger and shook his head. "No. She's got tabs on me and it'll look deeply suspicious of I do it. I'd need to be the bait and someone else should keep track of her."

"You got it." Evander stepped forward, setting a hand on Johann's shoulder as though they were already old comrades.

"The trick will be to get her moving, fast. If she thinks you're onto her, she might accelerate this little game of hers." He stepped back, pivoting on his heel toward the flames, "Yes, do you see it, Johann? We'll watch where she runs." A flame in the hearth began to take shape as a small figure running, "We'll see who she trusts." The small flaming figure ran into a group of figure. Evander extended his hand, drew in the fire, and turned toward Johann.

He extended his hand, opening his palm to reveal two small flaming figures holding knives together, "We'll see who holds the knife with her."

Evander crushed his palm shut, fire and smoke curling through the seams of his grip as if escaping the top of a furnace.

"I don't even think you need to act." He stepped closer, lowering his hands behind his back and clasping them together. "No. Be as you are toward her. Bitter, angry, and this time... loud." He paused in front of Johann, took a long look into his eyes before finishing, "You said so yourself, last time she ran from you because she felt weaker. Make her feel that way again. Get her to move faster than what she's ready for, she'll show us the way."

Evander gave enough space for Johann to absorb the theatrics, the plan, the feelings around his former crush. Then, with a thin cut smirk, he finished, "And when she does, I'll be there to collect the truth."

Johann appreciated Evander's theatrics - truly, he did - but he would be the sacrifice in the Revidian's plan. He would look like an ogre and Margarethe would play the victim. He shook his head. "She'll isolate me. She'll run to the girls instead and be innocent and persecuted and their collective brain cell will fall for it. I'm fairly certain she's a rosebud." He scowled. "We need them, or at least a couple others. She can't feel as if she can fight back, because she will." He stroked his chin pensively. "Who can we grab and sway? We need to move quickly if this is to work."

"A rosebud." Evander repeated, *that made things socially difficult.*

He paused, considering. Among them, there was one exceptional girl. Exceptional in that she could talk to all of their minds, all while in a chair. For her, Evander imagined, there was a unique relationship between those pinched and those who were pinched. She alone could connect them all, across distances, and do so with a personal touch. He could imagine there was a unique intimacy about the whole thing, especially if befriended. Constant contact is what gave her sway. Always there to call or be called on. If Evander could persuade her, he was sure the others would follow. He was sure they'd think twice about siding with Margarethe if this one exceptional girl did not.

"You're right. We need them, or at least a couple. Or maybe..." He raised a finger, holding it there as a punctuation, "...just one."

His eyes narrowed, "Now, where do we stage this?"

Johann could sense it: who Evander was talking about. He didn't like it. That one was shifty and she was always scanning with those tethered manas of hers. Had he avoided Xiuyang because of her clear hostility towards him, or was there another reason? "Marceline, you mean," he replied, "and I think we let things die down a bit for today, but we let... I'd say her and... Xiuyang in on the plan and start working to keep Margarethe feeling on the outs." He nodded slowly as he spoke. "Then, we crank up the pressure even further tomorrow. Of course," he added, "at least some of it will have to depend on the weather." He started, as if a sudden idea had occurred to him. "You know, the constabulatory or the cathedral would be ideal!"

“Yes,” Evander replied as he moved past Johann. “They’ll see Margarethe for what she is.” He paused at the doorway, glancing back just long enough to add, “The cathedral. Until then… see you soon.” With that, he slipped out of the hearth room, heading to find Marceline and Xiuyang.

Piecing Together A Plan

**********

Xiuyang listened in silence, her focus on the two men. There seemed to be tension, but no outright hostility. When Roslyn brought up the preserved paper, she shrugged and produced it, handing it over to Laska.

Despite everything they knew, it didn't help their biggest issue. Who was next? Anyone could be targeted and that left a lot of room for something to go wrong. Possible plans cropped up in Roslyn's head like ripen wheat until one idea stood above all others. Her stomach knotted then sank downward. It seemed the most logical, but it required a risk and if anything went horribly wrong... someone would die. And it would be all her fault. She swallowed down her anxiety. What other choice did they have?

"I-I have an idea... but it will be risky. There's too many targets for us to watch. What if we set a trap?" Once the words were out, her back pressed harder against the wall. The girl realized there was no retreating now.

"It's clear the third party wants conflict with the two groups. We have some individuals with influence on both sides that could ease the tensions. Marci, Edith and Johann-if we want to trust the latter two- with the town. Sadly, I think there's only Evander on the Revidian side."

Roslyn didn't dare stop for fear she'd lose her nerve. "If word got back to the Von Mollerns, they might try to stop it."

She picked at her sleeve, the greed stone hidden beneath, and took a deep breath. "Of course, it's fully up to the 'bait' if they are willing to risk it. If anyone else has a better idea, please say it now."

"You forgot one Revidian," Xiuyang corrected with a grin. "I am neither so prideful nor so weak that I'm unwilling to serve the role of bait."

"I don't mind being bait," Marceline was saying, "but I'm honestly not sure how much pull I have here or if the players would reveal -"

Roslyn and Xiuyang felt the pinch message at the same time as their tethered friend carried on. <You. Should. Not. Have. Revealed. This. In. Front. Of. Others.> It had a different feel from Marci's messages, and Edith's. <Who. Else. Knows. Question.>

<Nobody.> was Xiuyang's terse response. Her eyes probed Laska.

Roslyn's eyes glanced at Xiuyang, seeing if she was the only one that felt the message.

"I don't mean to throw cold water on things. I think the theory is sound, but -"

Xiuyang received one message: <Good. Showing. That. You. Had. Something. To. Everyone. Was. Already. Too. Much. | You. Didn't. Even. Tell. Marci. Question.>

Roslyn received another: <Don't. Get. Your. Knickers. In. A. Twist. | It's. Edyta.> In truth, the diffident Hendlish girl was the last person among the trustworthy who she'd have brought in by choice, but Roslyn had brought herself in by finding the note.

"...Evander really knows anyone either, though I could be wrong. I know his father's a big fish."

"To be honest, I don't mind and am a bit glad. I am not eager to put anyone in danger. The waiting game is not ideal, really. " Roslyn's posture relaxed when someone found the flaws in her idea.

<Sorry. Hard. Not. To. Be. Cautious. > Her pinch language was sloppy and needed refining, but it could get the job done.

So, Laska *did* want her to lie, even to make Roslyn look like a fool, when it was convenient for her—not that she could have possibly known what was convenient for the secretive Rezaindian. <Nobody. Means. Nobody. | Not. My. Fault. You. Don't. Say. Anything. Until. Too. Late.>

Ingrid had listened and all she could think is that getting involved in an internal conflict within the town would never work out for her. But who cared at this moment, life was long. "I could be bait. I was there at the Crypt, I grabbed both bodies, and I stopped them from killing the 3 of them."

"That's a fair point. They probably are the most cross with you. If they choose to go after someone else, that might reveal something about their priorities," Xiuyang offered in agreement.

If the comment might've rebuked most people, Edyta Laska didn't even address it. <The. Fewer. Who. Know. The. Better. | People. Talk. And. They. Might. Tip. Lady. Frickmayer. Off. Without. Meaning. To. | I'll. Explain.>

"We just need to make them think we're threatening their plan and whoever's behind the scenes will act," Marceline replied. "The issue is that 'they' could be anyone. Any mysterious third party antagonist's gonna go after Ingrid for foiling their shit." She pursed her lips. "They need to catch someone red-handed that threatens the von Mollerns if they, indeed, have something to hide."

<The. Message. Is. Quote. 'Potential. Threat. | Take. To. Lady. Frickmayer. Or. Handle. Question. Quote. | That. Means. Lady. Frickmayer. Is. Involved. | Whether. That's. As. An. Ally. Or. Enemy. We. Don't. Know.>

"But who?" Marci concluded, "And what should they be caught doing?"

<When. You. Meet. With. Her. Hopefully. Tomorrow. Watch. How. She. Reacts. And. How. Much. She. Knows. | If. She. Plays. Totally. Dumb. She's. Lying. And. Not. To. Be. Trusted.>

Roslyn had gone quiet for a moment when her attention caught her reflection in the glass. It hit her. "Me."

"That and soon to be half of the town." Ingrid chuckled nervously. "Seems either way that we need to use the archives again for more research. Or blowing up the pipe organ." Ingrid suggested.

Marci tilted her head. "I love the chutzpah, Rosy, but... you're not exactly a big glaring target most of the time, and I'm glad for it."

"That's church property, cam'parii," growled Edyta. "What is it with you and blowing things up?" She rolled her eyes.

"How do you know I don't?" Edyta smiled.

"Sound magic. It's connected and if there was a way to spread the command magic as far as possible, then the pipe organ might be used. Remember, everyone will gather there for Caldores." Ingrid spoke with a little bit of fear. She believes it would take place on the fourth night for that is the night of Eshiran.

<Understood. Planned. To. Meet. Frickmayer. | Don't. Trust. Dorothea. | How. Can. I. Get. More. Information. Out. Of. Frickmayer. Question.>

"Sorry, *why* are we making Roslyn the bait?" Xiuyang asked with no small amount of skepticism. She blinked at Laska's blunt admission that she knew of Ingrid's nature yet hadn't killed her already, but she left that rabbit hole for a future investigation.

<I. Trust. That. Dirty. Feskan. As. Far. As. I. Can. Throw. Her. Maybe. Less.> Edyta replied. <As. For. The. Old. Lady. Let. Her Take. The. Lead. | Broach. The. Subject. But. Stay. Vague. | Watch. For. Dory. To. Run. Interference.>

Wait - as Xiuyang glanced her way, was the nun... smirking ever so slightly? It was so faint and brief as to have surely been an artifact of the Revidian's imagination.

"I guess I learned something new about you." Roslyn commented at Laska, her eyes narrowed a bit. She didn't quite know that word as she waited until everyone let her talk. Her attention returned to the earlier topic, "I'm honestly a bit surprised at you guys."

She shook her head. "Who do I look like?"

"Uh... your mom?" Marceline tried, arching an eyebrow. "Or like - " Then, she sat up straighter and her eyes widened. She pointed right at her friend. "Oh oh ooohhh!" she exclaimed. "You look just like Sibylle!"

"Ipte?" Ingrid said flirtatiously.

Roslyn had just opened her mouth to speak when Igrid's words caused her to shut it instantly and abruptly blush.

Edyta casually rested her hands on the hilts of her sickles.

It had taken entirely too long, but whether Sister Laska realized it or not, Xiuyang had finally teased the smallest expression of trust out of her. She might have made a similar face unawares, as well.

"Alright you two, do you need a room to yourselves?" Xiuyang quipped. "If we can account for Sybille's activities, it should be possible. She does seem like the sort to keep to a strict itinerary even on Caldores. Poor girl."

"She deserves more power. The way she bossed Bastian around was worthy of Dami's praise." Ingrid laughed. And then she thought, "If she got caught, who would take Roslyn in? We might be able to learn their involvement since we would be searching up the von Mollerns."

Marci nodded emphatically. "The Wachtmeister - Whatwashisname von Mollern! Oh, he'd be forced to abuse his power if his family had something to hide and we were getting too close. If he didn't," she continued, "then it's a pretty good indicator that they're actually on the level."

"And do actual research," added the Rezaindian laconically. She had managed to coax her hands away from their perennial drift towards her weapons.

"Is there anything else we need to know?"

"I was a bit concerned about what little I learned about the heir. I feel like there might be something there." Roslyn finally managed to squeak out her words.

Ingrid mouthed 'snow mouse' at the squeak.

Xiuyang opened her mouth to say something to Laska, but then she shrugged and showed her open, empty hands. "If you're looking for a spar, you'll have to find another partner." She lifted herself back off of the wall she'd returned to leaning on. "Only what the boys are up to," she offered.

Once more, Edyta ignored the opening jibe. "They're either fighting or scheming, neither of which is good," she decided, offhandedly passing the note back to Roslyn. "Oh, you were right to pick this up - it has Lady Frickmayer's name on it - but it just looks like a list for a servant going to market." She shrugged.

Roslyn received a pinch from Xiuyang. No message, just a pinch. It felt like a kind of warning.

"All right. I guess I will toss it out when I get a chance. Next we should figure out the audience with Lady Frickmayer. Don't think there's anything else to cover." Roslyn said, seemingly disappointed. Truthfully, she got the hint and slipped it into her pocket closest to Xiuyang.

When the opportunity presented itself to do it without getting caught, Xiuyang patted Roslyn on the back to distract her while she pilfered the paper. Even though the distraction wasn't necessary, she did it anyway. Old habits, it seemed.

The Hourglass Order

Roslyn Wicke

"Of course they are..."

The Riddle of Lindenholdt Part 2 (cont)

_{Date: Zales 31st
Location: The Cathedral, Archives and Inn}

Incoming Calvary

******

Meanwhile, just as Roslyn was about to speak, Marci tensed up and her eyes widened.

"Scheiße! They're after him!" It was all that she could do to draw with every bit of speed and power she could muster. The air grew noticeably colder. The wind stilled. Roslyn's stomach squirmed, and the tethered drew up past seven-five, up past eight, on past eight-five, into a territory that few other Gifted could reach. Her hands trembled and her left eyelid twitched. Then, with a few whispered words, she went slack and breathed heavily. She swallowed to collect herself and gripped her wheels tightly, pushing herself up straighter as her head swiveled to regard her friend.

"Rose, we need to get to the church." She held out a hand and began drawing once more.

Standing in silence, Roslyn’s anxiety climbed while she watched her friend draw. The power of a tether suddenly frightened her in that moment and she found her breath taken by the raw power. Then Marci spoke again while offering her hand.

A hint of hesitation crept into the younger girl. With a deep breath, she pushed it away and nodded. She gripped her friend's hand, her voice trying to sound braver than she felt. "Let's go. No one messes with our friends."

The hand paused. It... retracted for a moment, but only partway. "...Rose?" Marceline questioned, glancing about and even craning her neck. Her eyes snapped back to the Hendlishwoman. "Who were you just talking to?" It was the worst kind of look: concerned.

Roslyn's throat tightened as she froze like a deer in lantern light. The thought of telling Marci the truth scared her. What if her friend wanted nothing to do with her after learning of Zast? What if she turned her into the church or something? Or worse? Her fingers curled into her palm as she struggled with her next words.

"It's..." She stopped and then took a deep breath to steady her voice. "Complicated. I don't have time to explain, but I will later. When everyone's safe."

She prayed that the answer might be enough for now. Later, she'll figure out how to get out of this hole she had fallen into.

Marceline's arms locked around Roslyn like a vice. She leaned in, voice whispering in the Hendlishwoman's ear, sinister. "Oh, but I know it isn't you who everyone needs to worry about," she hissed. "And now you're mine, with such minimal effort." The energy around Roslyn surged.

Feeling Marci's breath enter her ears, Roslyn's heart skipped a beat. An ice cold sensation slithered down her spine. Why would Marci say that? Especially after being concerned, it didn't fit properly.

"You're not Marci, are you?" Roslyn's arms reached down to try and wrench apart the woman's vice-like grip.

Marceline burst out laughing, though it faded quickly. "Could've just stood if you wanted to ditch me." Her arms were not coming loose. "Needed to test if you were you. Sorry." She took a breath. "Maybe needed a laugh with all this grimness. Draw, Rose. Be ready to act as soon as we' port over." The swirling energies seemed to reach a crescendo.

If Marceline only knew the thoughts twisting in Roslyn's head at that moment. While her friend's actions were innocent, the tone and words brought back memories of Viiqii. She knew it was pathetic to still be scared by a memory from the past, but she couldn’t help it. Her grip on Marceline's arms slackened as she sat there.

When the adrenaline started to die down, she replied. She let out a breath of relief and forced a playfulness into her tone, hiding the fear she felt earlier. "You're horrible, you know that? I hope I passed at least."

She focused on drawing from the river's kinetic force as she leaned back into her friend's grip. "Let's try not to be too late."

Marceline leaned forward, perhaps sensing that she had pushed too far, and planted a little peck on the back of Roslyn's head. "With flying colours." She squeezed tightly and then the world twisted. For a moment, there was warped light and a feeling of being completely untethered from everything. Cosmic horrors lurked in the periphery, but then they were perhaps only a couple hundred yards outside of the church. The sky was beginning to cloud over again and Marci quickly released her friend, but for her wrist, which she grabbed. "No going in without sensing, Rose. I don't wanna be ambushed, and two are better than one."

"Good." Marci's gesture helped sooth some of the hurt as Roslyn braced for the trip. She found it ironic that despite being a time mage's daughter, she had started to hate teleporting. The sensation closed in on her as they were sent forward in space. Her eyes shut tightly, manas still drawing up until they vanished from sight.

Roslyn quickly pulled off Marci's lap only to be brought to a stop by her arm. Her head flipped back, the words causing her eyebrow to raise. "Yes-Wait, you're not considering going in there with me? If you do, the mage will target you then..."

She didn't need to finish that sentence. They would all be fucked.

"You forget, I can teleport out at the slightest hint of danger," Marceline replied, "and, more importantly, I can teleport you out." She took a half-push back and craned her neck up at the imposing twin spires of the cathedral. A last couple of workers were hurrying out with the tools and lunch pails, eager to beat the worsening weather home and enjoy their holidays.

You're also the one that sent Evander into a Revidian hating pirate ship... The intrusive thought vanished the moment it came. Roslyn was a lot of things, but never cruel to her friends. She reached up and pinched her nose in frustration. Marceline's look in her eyes mimicked Garith's whenever they fought. Great...

"We don't have time to argue here, but I know that look. I'm not winning. However, I want you to remember, I think this is a very bad idea." She wasn't worried about her own safety since she had a few close calls before. "Come on, we're wasting time."

Marceline quirked an eyebrow and smirked, hurrying after Roslyn, but there was an edge to her voice as she spoke. "Don't worry, Rose," she replied quietly, "I'm not made of porcelain."

She floated up the stairs, drawing and casting in a gravity loop the entire way, making a point of arriving a second or two before her partner. Noiselessly, she pointed to one of the side entrances and motioned that they should slip in through there.

In truth, she need not have been so cautious, for, even as the last handful of workers began to leave the massive structure, the organist, Berthold, remained, and his one-man symphony seemed to shake the very walls. Perhaps he might be of some help...


"That may be true, but I rather not chance it. Losing my friends hurts too much." Roslyn said, referring to the loss of Esmii and Niallus.

Barely anyone cared to glance in their direction as they made their way inside. Marci, as expected, beat her up the stairs even with the wheelchair. Her arm pointed out a side entrance as the organist's symphony began to bellow out.

It was hard to think. The sounds vibrated across her core and attempted to stir her very soul almost. If it had been a different time, she might've paused and sank into the awe of it. Not now.

Roslyn wanted to rush right in and help her friends, but her instincts cautioned against it. She had some experiences under her skirts to know how much trouble that might cause. Her head shook for a moment then looked to the organist. Maybe he had seen someone odd enter or knew of another way?

She turned to Marci and mouthed. He might know something, maybe? It was clear the girl was second guessing her own wisdom at this point.

Marceline shrugged, as if to say, 'it's worth a shot'. Of course, they were still outside, beneath the grey sky, while he was inside, up on his balcony, hammering away at his keyboard. She knew, from experience, that he did not like to be disturbed.

<We. Need. To. Go. In. The. Front. Then.> she said in pinch language, since speaking was of dubious efficacy here. <Both. Of. Us. Question.>

Feeling the pinches, Roslyn attempted to reply in kind with her own pinching on her arm. She wasn't nearly as practiced in the language as the tethered. <Agreed. Checked. On. Others. Yet. Or. Too. Risky?>

She had started to move toward the front door as she finished.

Split up Gang

*******

Marceline considered. The obvious play here was to split up temporarily. She was tethered, after all, and distance meant precious little to her. Something else told her, however, that it would be a mistake. Perhaps it was a gut feeling. Perhaps it was a subconscious thought based on what she was sensing. There was a great heat underground, just outside of the sensing range of a non-tethered. It made her stomach bristle with unease. That, and this damned noise. It was beautiful, on the one hand, but also excessive. She followed Roslyn in through the small gap between the enormous double doors, her rear wheels nearly scraping against them.

Nearly all of the volunteers had headed home, but there was Johann Krauss, still poring over his plans by the altar, making this adjustment and that, taking measurements with tools that she was not familiar with, for she was a mage and no architect.

Then, above, lay Berthold Lothmann, hammering the keys as if it were an act of passion. A narrow staircase led up there, so she would need to lift herself up over the balcony's edge instead. She gave Roslyn a friendly, teasing push from behind, though it was not without urgency. "Looks like a job for you, amiga."

Roslyn cringed inwardly when she saw Marceline roll through the tight gap. She made a note for later to help repair any damage on the wheels. For now, they had a task to complete and that was to find the command mage. Her head tilted upward and drank in the cathedral's interior. When Marceline gently pushed her from behind, her feet stumbled a bit and she caught herself. Her eyes darted over her shoulder at her friend's words.

"Thanks a lot. Since you can't follow, maybe you should see if you can spot anyone acting suspicious. The mage could be anywhere."

With those departing words, she walked up the narrow staircase. She kept her eyes open and stayed mindful of each step. The last thing she wanted was to fall down and break her neck by 'accident'.
Roslyn made it to the top of the stairs without incident, and there she found Berthold. He was a spare young man, only a few years into adulthood, with a dramatic shock of wavy hair and a scarf that seemed to flap about as he played almost as if it were prehensile. Such was his energy.

He paid Roslyn not the slightest hint of attention. He either had failed to notice her amid his obsession, or else failed to be sufficiently stirred to care.

Marceline, meanwhile, amid the sonic barrage, and the distracting heat coming from deep below, tried to focus in on any magics that seemed out of place: on any draws, on any surges, on any casts. Quietly, she anchored herself so that she would immediately revert if anyone else's spell affected her.

The moment did not last long, however. "You! Tethered!" came a voice filled with familiar contempt. "What are you doing here again? Haven't you already wasted enough of our time?"

The teenager took a deep breath, turned to face him, and prepared her false smile. There was something about Johann Krauss that was uniquely punchable. Restraint, Marceline. Restraint, she counseled herself.

Her foot sank into the last step and it creaked, but Berthold's music drowned it out. Upon witnessing him in action, Roslyn had no doubts about this man's passion towards his music. His fingers danced from one key to another, his soul lost in a moment of bliss. She dreaded the fact she had to interrupt it.

Being closer to the organ, her thoughts struggled to string words together. Each time she did, the pipes rattled her brain and she lost her thoughts. They still needed to find the command mage, but even normal focus was difficult here.

She steeled her nerves against the dread and insecurity.

It was obvious that shouting was wasting time. He wouldn't hear her nor would he care to answer. Her eyes shot to the keys. If they didn't move, the sound would stop and fade. It might give her a chance to get his attention and give Marci a chance to find the threat. If she was struggling here, her friend likely was too.

A simple dead stop might do the trick, she hoped. She tried to cast dead stop on the organ's keys, but made sure not to damage the instrument. Any creator would murder her for destroying their tools so brazenly. If it worked, she braced for any anger or fury to follow from him.

This act proved to be a profoundly foolhardy one, as Berthold Loth turned on his bench, ashen-faced and trembling. His face scrunched up and reddened and, with a sudden, violent movement, he bolted to his feet and let loose an inarticulate high-pitched screech right in her face. He took a step back, grabbed the bench, and swung it at Roslyn!

About fifty meters away, Johann Krauss' head twisted about and his eyes widened. "Pfui! Dummes Mädchen!" he shouted, disbelieving. "Oh Gods, Rose!" gasped Marceline, as matters escalated, but she was also not one to let a gift like this go to waste.

"Du... du Barbar!" Berthold stammered. He swung once with his bench and cleanly missed. By the grace of Eshiran-Zept, it did not splinter. "Du verdammte Schlampe!" he screamed, shrill and red-faced. "Warum tust du das? Bist du ein Tier? Kannst du vernünftig denken? Hättest du nicht einfach fragen können!?" He swung again and missed and, this time, the bench splintered. "Arschloch! Fotze!" He stood there, half-hunched over, rangy and panting. "Was könnte Ihr Grund sein, so etwas zu tun?" He paused. "What possible reason could you have for doing something like zis?" He looked genuinely hurt, now that he had gotten all of the explosive rage out of his system.

Already, the architect Krauss was scampering over, having told Marceline to follow. Dutifully, the tethered set hands to wheels and... went the opposite way, making a beeline for the basement.
Roslyn had expected there to be anger, but not to this degree. For a moment, there seemed to be a maddened look in the musician's eye. She dug in her feet when he screeched, but when his hands reached for the bench.

Kinetic surged in her feet as she stepped back, feeling its end narrowly miss her. He uttered, she assumed, not a single kind word onto her. She didn't say anything as she was focused on avoiding being clobbered to death. When his rage finally died, he looked once more at her. At that moment, she wanted to sink into the earth and disappear.

"I-I-" She stumbled over her words. She hadn't wanted to hurt anyone, but she couldn't think of anything else. There was no way to be heard above the organ. Maybe... that was why the command mage was in the church in the first place? The sounds of another set of footsteps were coming up the stairs behind her.

The girl was trapped and she'd have to explain. But, how much did she dare to tell them?

She was spared answering when the spot where Berthold had been sitting erupted into flames. Her body flinched and she slammed her hands on her ears. Her eyes widened at the pillar of flame that ripped upward then sputtered out.

Pulling her hands down, she said the first thing on her mind. "I think that's a good reason."
Berthold's eyes went wide and his hands trembled. "Die Wege der Götter sind unergründlich," he mumbled beneath his breath, and then Johann Krauss was at the top of the steps to the balcony. His eyes narrowed. "Or, zis girl knew exactly what was coming," he said coldly, and the last of the organist's rage and bravado faded. He slunk back a step.

The Feskan stepped forward, glaring down his nose, first, at the hole in the floor, before levering his gaze up with a measured slowness to regard Roslyn. "Why are your friends down zere and why are you covering for zem while zey try to destroy my cathedral?"

Roslyn noticed very quickly that Marci was nowhere in sight. It wasn't hard to conclude that her friend must have hightailed it down into the crypt during the incident. Now, she was put into a very problematic position. These men were looking for answers and truthfully, she had none to give. Of course she'd get left in this position and she hated it.

She frowned at Krauss' accusations. This man had to be the architect, she thought, based solely on his statement and attitude. "I didn't know that was going to happen. Surprised me as much as it did him."

Krauss's next words were a bit odd to her, but she did her best to not to show it. Now, Roslyn found herself torn between telling the truth or lying to protect her friends. On top of that, she still had to worry about the command mage. Please, Oraff-Zept, protect them.

She chose to be honest as she could, trying her best to avoid bigger problems later.

"I don't know what's happening because I just got here. If they are down there," Her eyes looked to the hole then to him, watching his reaction to her next words. "I say that pillar fire means they ran into trouble."

While she waited for a reaction she used her gift to monitor for any unusual energies. She wasn't familiar with command, but maybe that made it stick out more. At best, it might make the command mage think twice about pulling any tricks.

Johann Krauss did not dignify her response with his curiosity. He simply looked her squarely, up and down, eyes flicking towards the hole only briefly and drawing a deep scowl. Then, he sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I, quite frankly, have no idea why zis insanity is happening in my Kattedral." His immense annoyance was palpable in his tone of voice. "I merely want to build an edifice to honour ze gods but, between hidden crypts and secret agendas and now a possible bloody murder, it would seem zat every vicious idiot und aspiring hero has come out of ze woodwork to make my place of work his or her playground!"

The architect clenched his fists and, giving in to his essentially human desire to know, leaned over and peered down the Cathedral's new ventilation shaft. He scowled. "I know well zat your ozzer friends snuck in. How could I not have noticed three of them wiss ze size und subtlety of rampaging brandtudse?" He rolled his eyes. "I've become well aware, of course, zat people have been hiding weapons down zere. It vas why I chose Weber und Zimmerman to do ze checks. Zey are simple und uncurious men who are loyal to zeir country and whom I believed vould not rock ze boat. Yet, when I told zem to make it quick und go only so far, zey seemed to finally get ideas in zose empty heads of zeirs und mess vith people zey shouldn't have."

He shook his head in frustration. "Your friends have likely triggered traps left zere to discourage meddling. Gods know," he growled, "Zey have discouraged my meddling in mine own vork. Gods know," he continued, "zey scared poor Hartmann away before me, or simply got rid of him vhen he asked too many questions." He sighed in exasperation. "But you're all mages of ze Academy, und your little tezzered friend is vith them, no? I'm sure zey're fine."

Meanwhile, Berthold had followed their exchange only part of the way through, and seemed to be endeavouring to grab a piece of plywood from nearby to cover the hole, as well as a new stood to sit on. He had been in the middle of a rehearsal, after all.

Roslyn shouldn't have been surprised that Krauss knew about the hidden weapons. At this point, it felt like everyone in town knew more about each other's secrets than the students did.

She let Krauss rant as Berthold shuffled behind her. She couldn't keep this up forever. Quickly, Roslyn sent a message to Marci. She lacked the finesse for tethered shorthand, but did her best. <Krauss. Said. Traps. In. Crypt. | Get. Out. | Find. Mage?>

"I'm sorry to ask this, but don't start playing. Please. Not yet." Roslyn was a little pained at having to make the request and it showed. She didn't know if either of them was the command mage, but she didn't think so. She had to take a chance.

Her eyes turned back to Krauss. "I'm sorry for being a nuisance to everyone. Truly. Right now, I believe someone here is trying to hinder those in the crypt. The organ makes it hard to sense things. Is there anyone else here besides you two?"

<We. Know. Traps. Don't. Worry.> came the response. <Found. Lots. But. No. Command. Mage.> The pinch signal almost seemed to come with a shake of Marceline's head. <BRB. Need. To. Check. My. Alarm.>

Déjà vu & Odd Behaviors

********

Meanwhile, Berthold was about to start jamming on his organ again, practically salivating over the prospect. His face went stony at Roslyn's request. "But I am not finished rehearsing," he replied. "You can speak elsewhere. I am not needed for zis discussion."

Presently, Berthold's fingers struck the keys and an utterly glorious chord filled the massive chamber they were in, and he seemed quite pleased with himself. By necessity, all conversation ceased.

"Of course they are..." Roslyn couldn't help the groan that ended with a grit of her teeth. What did she expect? She hoped their curiosity wouldn't have a price. "Unfortunately, I can't change their minds."

At least Krauss was seemingly more cooperative now. Even if it was just for the moment. She felt him draw and listened, hoping he might find something she couldn't. Sadly, she let herself get distracted. She failed to account for the strength of Berthold's passion.

"I wonder if Marci was-" The organ's sounds echoed outward once more. Soon after, all hell seemed to break loose down below. It didn't take a genius to realize something had happened and the organ was covering it. She used her gift to enhance her voice as she tried to get his attention.

"No, don't! Someone's using your rehearsal to cover up their magic!" She moved toward him. If he didn't react to her shout, she reached out her hand to touch his shoulder for his attention. She didn't dare to silence the organ for fear he might actually bash in her skull this time.

Berthold pulled back immediately at Roslyn's suggestion and stopped playing. "I can see that I'm not appreciated here!" he snapped, whirling, standing, and quickly striding away. "But I shall return!" He seemed deeply offended and eager to get as far from her and Krauss as possible. What more could Roslyn really do? Yet, it gave her the opportunity she needed to look for the culprit who, perhaps, in this moment might slip and reveal him or herself!

Thankfully, Roslyn didn't have to touch him as she stepped aside and watched him leave. She would've felt bad for her rudeness, but there was no time to. Using all her focus and magics available to her, she stretched out her gift to scan every inch of that area. She was going to find that damn mage.

Johann Krauss seemed to consider for a moment. "It is us only, so far as I know." He craned his neck to glance about, and Roslyn could feel him drawing a little bit to sweep the area. "Yes. Hanneman has left." He furrowed his brow and scowled. "I can sense zose in ze crypt." He shook his head. "Zey are going deeper zan is... advisable."

"Of course they are..." Roslyn groaned which ended with her gritting her teeth. What did she expect? It seemed like she had wasted her breath with the warning. "Unfortunately, I can't change their minds."

At least Krauss was more cooperative than before, even if it was only for now. When the man finished, she replied. "I wonder if Marci was-"

The organ bellowed in the room causing her head to snap back toward Berthold. A swell of magic happened beneath causing her to react. No, no! She used her gift to enhance her voice as she tried to get his attention.

"No, don't! Someone's using your rehearsal to cover up their magic!" She moved toward him.

Berthold seemed intently focused. Then, he looked up immediately, eyes widening. He blinked and they snapped to Johann Krauss. They flicked back to Roslyn. "What... does it feel like?" he asked intently. "Their magic: w-what kind of magic is it?" His curiosity was almost overwhelming.

"What does the magic you are talking about feel like, you fool!" He shook his head and stood abruptly, scanning intently. "I sensed something too! I was looking for a pattern. What in Thune's hell did you think I was asking about?" He closed his eyes, pressed a hand to one temple, and held the other up to forestall any further speech from her while he was searching.

Roslyn bristled, but inhaled and bit her tongue. She had a feeling picking a fight with the man wouldn't end in her favor. Her arms crossed over her chest as she scanned for the magic again. It was gone. Completely.

What in the world is going on? Her eyes shifted between the two men.

Berthold's face became frustrated and he muttered something under his breath. He moved to press a key. Meanwhile, Krauss seemed to be concentrating too. She felt a surge of temporal magic within her range which caused her elbow to twitch. The girl hoped they were leaving. After what felt like forever, Roslyn broke the silence. "You asked what it felt like. It is hard to explain. I think I'd describe as oppressive?"

Her eyes lingered on the organ and recounted what she remembered. Each time it played, the command magic had started up and Berthold had been lost in his music. It had stopped at least once already. Either this mage had bloody good timing, was watching them from afar, or... Could items use command magic? She never encountered one that could before so she thought it was impossible. Maybe that was a mistake on her part.

"It's gone. I don't understand." She decided to delay a bit more before she made her exit. It would look weird if she left too soon anyways. "What piece were you rehearsing? And where's the part when I interrupted you?"

A single high, cheery note echoed through the unfinished cathedral, very much at odds with the storm outside and the darkness within. Berthold scowled. "I sense nothing." His scowl became cross, and he played a few more notes, pausing and focusing. Even his absent, perfunctory playing sounded rather nice. "And still nothing." He shook his head and whirled on the spot. "If some bastard is using my music as cover, he's a clever bastard." His eyes flicked Johann Krauss' way, and it was likely meant to be subtle.

It was not.

The architect glared at the organist. "May I help you, Lothmann?"

"No," Berthold replied. "I fear you may not."

Then, as if to break the budding tension between the two men, came Roslyn's question. "It was an original composition, for ze opening of ze Dom: a toccata and fugue. I was just entering ze fugue." He arched an eyebrow. "Why?"

Johann, however, seemed to have had enough of her snooping however. "Well, whatever it is - toccata or fugue or prelude or fantasia - you can discuss it outside of my place of work! Haven't you - all of you - caused enough trouble already!?"

"A thought hit me. If someone memorized it, they would know exactly where the best times to strike were and not really have to think... " In the moment, it felt logical, but now she wondered if she simply sounded mad.

Roslyn had noticed the tension between the two, but said nothing. If they were the only other two inside the building, they were suspects for the command mage. Still Marci didn't seem fully sure about the attacker's whereabouts. And even if her friend was right, Roslyn had no grounds or authority on which to arrest either of them.

With a deep breath, the girl did a quick scan. It seemed she was the only one still here. Now her curiosity and caution gnawed at each other, both struggling for her attention. Was it wise to stay here any longer? Maybe it was time to use her common sense this time instead of her heart.

In the past, she might've curled into herself or avoided eye contact when confronted by Krauss' words. Now she simply steeled herself against instinct. "Again, I can only apologize for the inconvenience. I know it's frustration, but please understand we only want to help."

She straightened her skirt then added. "However, I do agree. I've bothered you both long enough and last I recalled, there's a storm coming. Have a good evening and please be safe."

Her voice made it clear she meant that last part as she walked to the stairs. Hopefully the others didn't run into trouble with the portal. The last 'adventure' still stuck in her mind even now and made her shiver.

Roslyn headed down the steps and, as she did, in the background, the two men began to argue again, in Kerreman. It was enough to draw a glance as she departed and, when she did so, just as Berthold was screeching in an incensed and high-pitched voice, Johann Krauss made a small gesture.

The organist cut off abruptly, jerked and, grinding his teeth, sat back at his stool and began playing his instrument immediately, resuming just where he'd left off. Then, there were stairs to descend and people to meet outside.

Upon hearing the argument intensifying, Roslyn instinctively slowed her pace and glanced back. She feared Berthold might erupt like earlier and attack Krauss. That didn't happen. Instead, the architect seemed to silence the man and the organist returned to his playing. As the music echoed in the cathedral walls, she didn't stop.

Her thoughts considered what she just witnessed. The change was abrupt and unnatural, seemingly not willing. She didn't dare to slow her pace as she quickly reached the bottom and headed out the door. Once the double doors shut behind her, she spotted the others landing right in front of a speeding wagon.

"What went wrong now?!?" She blurted out loud in disbelief.

Meanwhile, her hand reached into her skirt. She touched the compass and added a secondary boost of kinetic gift to her step. It was unclear if she would make it in time, but she had to try.

Rendezvous

********

As Roslyn drew nearer, she dreaded the worst for... nothing it seemed. A mixture of relief and amusement crossed her face as everyone seemed all right. She came to Ingrid and extended her arm to help the Eskandish woman up. "I swear, I'm going to need a strong heart with you a lot. "

Ingrid slowly lifted herself from the snow, blood pooling and mixing into an ice slurry. She cried a little from the pain, letting out a pathetic whelp as she started to stitch her face back together. Her head was foggy and her neck hurt something fierce. She could barely hear them over the pulsing blood in her head but they sounded like they were having some fun, she thinks?

She couldn't say. Thinking hurted right now. They're talking so they have to be okay, Ingrid let herself think as she lets herself fall back on the snow. She knew she should get up but laying down was more comfortable right now. Just a minute or so for her head to clear up. In that minute or so, she felt this gnawing hunger start to creep in her faster than the cold and before she knew it she was sitting up and taking Roslyn's hand, hunger compelling her. Roslyn looked like a little mouse, something meant to be devoured but that feeling faded with a pain in her head and a not so small amount of self control. She smiled at Roslyn, agreeing with her take on all this. "Oh it did, I just healed up a little," she waved off the injury as some of the pain lingered in her actions.

Roslyn tried not to flinch at the damage remaining on Ingrid. " You still got a little something... there." Using her binding and a bit of chemical, she made a gesture toward the bruising to hasten its healing.

Marceline blinked as her glorious snowspear™ missed the mark entirely. She twisted awkwardly where she sat and regarded Ingrid. "Oh my Oraff, Ingrid!" It was worse than she'd thought. The concern also made it look like she'd missed for a good reason. She put hands to wheels out of instinct, to try to roll over there, but she was effectively attached to the wagon.

Something like a spear of snow would only hold together if the person wielding it held some actual malice. Xiuyang only offered a neck tilt for a dodge as she continued giggling. "Cargo secured, Boss Lady. Are we in the clear?"

Ingrid mouthed a thank you to Roslyn before turning away. "Is this where the body is Marci?" Ingrid asked, trying to divert attention from herself as she cleaned the blood from herself.

Roslyn's eyes turned to the skies to monitor the weather. The fact there was a storm coming didn't escape her mind and the last thing she wanted was to be caught in it. In the background, she caught Johann and Marco exchanging blows of both the verbal and snowy kind.

A little fun wouldn't hurt her, would it? After all it seemed like the danger had passed for now and there was no one bleeding out anymore. Discreetly, she used her kinetic to form a ball then snap it up to her hand. A touch of arcane kept it nice and chill.

Of course, Ingrid's words caught her attention and Roslyn's eyes shifted to the wagon.

"I am not cargo! I am a human being! I don't care to just be...picked up!" Marceline wailed at Xiuyang, but then she blinked. "Oh, you mean that." All around them was a blizzard and it was cold and windy. It had started to cut through her.

Through it all, Jana had said nothing, though her facial expressions had spoken plenty. With a bit of chemical and (mostly) binding magic, Marceline peeled herself free of the sticky shield and dropped back down onto the ground. She swallowed and nodded, glancing about. The boys were still murderous, but they would work it out... or there would be three bodies.

The thought felt, somehow, invasive and out of place, though. These men were dead. They were out in a blizzard. A command magic user had tried to kill them, and then knowers! Maybe that was why they'd laughed: because it was easier than letting it all get to you. "Thanks, Xiuyang." She glanced about, wrapping arms around herself and drawing in as much heat as she could. "We should get them to the constabulary and then get inside, huh?"

Ingrid walked over, not limping but her gait was slower, more hesitant to see the dead men. She took a look, more of a sense for body shaped people to confirm it for now. "Has the lady said anything yet?" she asked Xiuyang.

"Shouldn't we try and break those two up?" Roslyn pointed at Marco and Johann, noticing the play escalating a bit.

"Ef þið eruð að velta fyrir ykkur hreimnum mínum, þá er ég frá Blárhæð," the traveling trader continued, switching to... Blárhæðic momentarily. "Ännu viktigare är att din vän inte litar på mig. Typisk grönländare." She did not look at Xiuyang as she spoke and gave nothing away with her steady, even tone of voice. "Men att döma av din röst och din fråga verkar det som att du inte heller litar på mig." She narrowed her eyes. "Du lämnar inte en död kropp vid vägkanten, annars kommer hans själ inte till himlen och du kommer att bli anklagad för mordet. Nu -" She paused. "Vill du åka i den här vagnen eller vill du hellre gå?" She was still gripping the reins.

"Ack! My eyes! Magic is cheating you scumbag!" Marco had tried blocking the snowball with his hands and paid the price when it exploded in his face, coating his head in freezing cold powder. He hadn't expected such a low blow, even from Johann. Now all bets were off.

"You think a mage needs their eyes to find someone ten feet away from them you idiot!?" Marco's reprisal came swiftly as he packed another snowball and hurled it at Johann's forehead. However, just as the big man moved to avoid it, the ball curved past his ear before making a u-turn, aiming to hit him in the back of the head.

Xiuyang, still sitting in the wagon and cleaning up the mess that remained of her regenerating shield, nodded and beckoned the others to get on, oblivious to the conversation going on between Ingrid and Jana.

Ingrid eyed Xiuyang and shook her head, "Nej nej," Ingrid tried to dismiss it. "Vi är i den här staden för att utreda dessa mord och du råkade bära kropparna. Tack för skjutsen," Ingrid gave some thanks and patted the side of the horse's head and gave it some binding in case she hurt it.

"She said we can ride into town with her."

"Well then, maybe someone better break up the boys' fight after all," Xiuyang replied, turning and vaulting over to the front of the wagon. Putting her feet up and pulling the inferno blanket tightly around her shoulders, she was decidedly not volunteering herself for this exercise. "Thank you for the ride, by the way," Xiuyang added, apparently keeping the fact that Jana didn't stop between the two of them.

"I got it." Roslyn twisted about and cupped her mouth, boosting her voice with kinetic. "Boys, Stop fighting! We got a ride back! Get in!"

Johann was able to bind a small spongy cushion, but the projectile still struck with enough force to make him stagger forward. turned it into a dive, a roll, and massive tsunami of snow set to bury Marco.

Then, Roslyn intervened. This could not be countenanced. This was a duel between men and it was sacrosanct. Johann's eyes shot to Marco, assuming - no, knowing - that he would understand what needed to be done.

Marco sent his own wave of snow Johann's way, seemingly dead set on settling things with his big boned nemesis once and for all. The two walls of watery ice began to close the distance, but just before the coming power struggle ensued, a mischievous smirk crossed Marco's lips. At the last second he bent his fingers in Roslyn's direction, forcing the twin tsunamis to join together and aim for her instead!

Johann propelled them from behind with his binding magics and they towered above the mousy girl, ready to consume her. He grinned wickedly. "Well played, sir."

Whether they listened or not, Roslyn turned back to the others. Her hand pulled into her skirt pocket and gripped her compass. She was going to have to be fast if she wanted to get there in time. "I might risk going to the archives. We'll need something to do while being snowed in and I might catch it before it closes. I might need to ask Sybille for a-"

Snow hit her back and everything went white. Where the girl once stood, a snowbank of several feet took its place.

Ingrid shook her head as they targeted the poor mouse, "killar" she was disappointed in them. "Can you get out little Rosy?" she called out to the snowwoman.

The noise of crunching snow was the answer followed by a muffled sound.

Marco carefully wiped the residue from his eyes using his black handkerchief and deposited it back inside of his pocket. The fight appeared to have left him, apparently satisfied by his practical joke, and he started to walk back towards the wagon. He looked over his shoulder at Johann and gave him a nod and a thumbs up.

Johann nodded and returned the gesture. There was nothing like a common foe to bring two people together. He turned partway around but thought better of it, and began to unbind the snow. "It's nothing personal, Rose," he assured her, "but you interrupted something sacrosanct, and there had to be consequences. Then, he turned and hustled over, wrapping his cloak around himself as the visiting wagon came to a stop.

It was Bastian who spoke first. "So you have them in there?" He shook his head. "Poor bastards - "

"And their families," Edith interjected, shawl and arms alike wrapped tightly around herself.

"Right on the eve of Caldores."

"It's only one, by the way, Bastian." Edith nodded slowly, picking out the students hunkered against the other wagon. For a moment, her eyes lingered on Jana, and the Blarthic trader sat a bit straighter and returned the gaze. "The other is still up by the river."

A faint, reddish glow emitted from the snow bank as Roslyn melted the snow and ice in front of her. Water pooled and cooled until it crafted a door about her size. Brushing slush out of her hair, the little mouse sighed and stepped out.

"I suppose I asked for that. Just remember what you said for next time."

The whole day's events, from finding the body to facing the wrath of an organist, finally caught up to her. She was freezing as her teeth chattered. Her jaw tightened to silence it.

It would take a bit to warm up and dry off, the water having soaked into her dress a bit. They needed to get to the archives, but she wasn't sure she'd make it. She rubbed her arms to try and chase the chill away.

For a moment, Marceline, who shot Johann and Marco a glare that could melt lead, considered teleporting Roslyn to the archives out of habit. She had been working hard on her temporal magic, for it was not only a substitute for the mobility that she was sorely lacking, it was the true divider between a good thaumaturge and an elite one.

That impulse lasted, perhaps, a second or two as the memory of her recent debacle at the hands of the Knowers came crashing in. Marci nodded quickly, businesslike, as Roslyn emerged from her frosty - if temporary - burial. "You should go, Rose. Make a run for it while we figure things out." She was still binding the last of the shield's stickiness away. "I'll -" *follow you. Go with you?* There was at least one moment each day when, for one reason or another, it hurt. It really hurt: *I can't. I'm not able to do that.* As she always did, Marceline buried it. If she was to be taken seriously, if she was to be good company, they must not see the depth of her struggles. They must not think her too different, too broken. Needing to be rescued by Xiuyang had been embarrassing enough.

The tethered realized that she had left an awkwardly long pause at this point, but she was rescued by Ingrid's sudden action. With little fanfare or questioning, the big Eskandishwoman simply lifted the body gently and brought it over to the deputies' cart, where Bastian received and secured it with care. "We'll go retrieve ze other," he promised.

"Okay," Marceline self-corrected, "Maybe we all make a run for it." She was already doing what she could to warm Roslyn, but she was no arcane mage and it was enough of a task to warm herself.

Johann, just clambering into the wagon's rear, had a different concern, however. "You're going out there, in this weather!?" he demanded of the deputies.

Edith's worried eyes sought Bastian's, but the red-haired man nodded. "As protectors of zis town, it is our sworn and solemn duty," he declared, the howling wind nearly taking his words. If Edith did not echo his strident sentiment, she did not speak out against it either. She merely adjusted her gloves with a grimly resigned determination. "We are professionals," she said with a small, serious smile. "We will be back before long." Bastian flashed a winning grin and he clambered in beside her - right beside her - and held a hand out for the reins. He winked in the students' direction, particularly Ingrid's. "You've done good work - zis town owes you. Now," he promised, his good nature fading to something more serious, "let us handle ze grim stuff."

Xiuyang quietly took in every conversation. Every muscle in her body ached, and she yearned for warmth and liquor. After a moment, she stood up, and wrapped her inferno blanket around Roslyn. "Please reconsider," Xiuyang urged Edith and Bastian. "I've ensured Herr Zimmerman will still be there after the storm. If you go now, we risk losing four souls to the blizzard, and all the answers this body provides along with them."

Bastian shook his head. "There are people in this town - forces - that I cannot trust." He shook his head sadly, and Edith glanced his way, her expression somewhere between supportive, knowing, and - ultimately - enigmatic. "There is every chance that poor Herr Zimmerman will be gone if we wait."

Edith swallowed, casting a small spell on herself and her partner for warmth. "And his family, in the holiday season, knowing that he's dead but that he hasn't been brought in." Her fingers curled and opened in their gloves. "It is too cruel." She shook her head. "Our duty is clear and, besides, we -"

"We've been out in worse," Bastian cut in, waving a dismissive hand as if to reassure them that it was but a trifle. "You might be students from a big fancy school, but don't forget that we're perfectly... kompetent mages ourselves."

"If something unexpected happens," Edith assured them, "I will pinch message Lady Hohenfelter immediately."

Marceline nodded seriously. "I will be alert for it."

Edith and Bastian, their cart already starting to move as the wind reached a new peak of intensity, paused and looked at each other. "You're young, Ingrid, and exhausted," Edith protested. Bastian's eyes flicked over to his peer as she spoke, evaluatively, perhaps. "We can handle this," the tethered promised.

"She is a woman grown," Bastian assured his partner. "Let her make her own decisions, and her presence won't be... unhelpful."

Edith glanced nervously between them and bit her lower lip. Then, she nodded tersely, businesslike and all action. "Then it's decided, let's not waste another second." She twisted about as Bastian started the cart moving again, and patted her wheelchair, which was sitting in the bed behind them. "best seat in ze house!" she joked, into another howling gust, quickly pulling her coat and shawl tighter.

Ingrid hopped into the back of the cart with Edith and waved off to her friends. She quickly got to work creating a warm bubble of air and keeping the storm away from them. Ingrid's fluffy dress morphed into something similar to Edith's dress and coat but with more flair. Similar but stand out.

Roslyn appreciated Marci's effort and it showed with a small smile. "It's all right, I got my compass. Honestly, I don't want anyone else caught up in this weather. It's faster if I go by myself."

Her teeth had stopped chattering thankfully. "Just promise me you'll keep an eye on me? You're the only one who really can and I have had enough excitement for today." She squeezed Marci's hands to show how much she meant that.

She then felt the weight of something dropping over her shoulders. Her eyes blinked as she turned her head. It was the inferno blanket she had put into the auction causing her grin to widen. "Really glad you got this and thank you. I'll give it back when I meet you at the hotel. Now, wish me luck."

Not wasting any more time, she drew. Her kinetic and chemical flowed through her tired muscles before she gripped her compass. Once it activated, she became a blur as she rushed to the archives.

"Okay okay," Marci deflected at Roslyn, "stop giving me 'routine goodbye that has doomy final vibes' energy and just go!" She shook her head with as much playfulness as she could muster. "I'll have your back all the way." She smiled reassuringly, "like only I can." Then, she leaned over and wrapped a big strong arm around Xiuyang. "And I'll take care of this one too."

Dashing Through the Snow

*********

"You'll give it back to me sooner than you think," Xiuyang replied with an enigmatic smile. "I will pray for your success," she offered to Edith—sincerely. There was a gravity to her tone, as if the two of them had earned her respect. A part of her wanted to go with them, too, but she couldn't do everything.

Xiuyang hugged Marci in return to her gesture, but then shook her head. "You've been doing too much. Let me take just one task off your mind, my friend," she whispered. Then, suddenly, she took off after Roslyn. "Come on," she said with a grin. "None of us should go anywhere alone—and if we have to take shelter, being snowed in with you at the archives doesn't sound so bad."

Roslyn's eyes darted to the cathedral for a moment. Her thoughts briefly returned to the command mage and what she witnessed. She didn't want to dwell on it as she stuck out her tongue. "Just remember that next time you go to a mine or something."

Her gift kicked up her speed another notch, but Xiuyang gained quickly and soon rushed past her. "Show off!"

Johann took his seat in the back of the wagon beside Marco, offering up a friendly slap on the back for the smaller boy. "You know," he offered, having to nearly shout to be heard over the flapping of the wagon's canvas, "I think we're going to do this! I think we have it under control." He smiled and unslung his bag as they started to move. In the distance, the other cart, containing the deputies, Ingrid, and the poor late Herr Weber, turned and faded into the blizzard. Ahead, Roslyn and Xiuyang took off in the same rough direction that the wagon was headed, disappearing into the swirling whiteness. Meanwhile, Johann extracted a couple of small cinnamon donuts. "Hier, mein Freund." He held one out towards Marco. "They are a local delicacy."

That left Marci up front with Jana as the others disappeared. There were various dried meats, barrels, and crates in the back, along with her wheelchair and the boys. She flashed them a perfunctory friendly little smile and did the same for Jana. "Die Tanzsteifel?" she questioned, and the great big Eskandishwoman nodded and offered a thumbs-up. "Ja, we go," she replied in broken Avincian, and she was, all things considered, not much of a conversationalist in her second language.

The cart clattered along and Marceline kept her word, being a good tethered and sensing: a wagon with three people and a body heading one way, into moderate danger that she was sure they could handle; two girls who she considered friends running off ahead, racing each other. She could feel the adrenaline, the spikes of dopamine, their laughter, and it reminded her of the time when the three of them had escaped the auction house together and left a confused do-gooder Seviin behind.

Marceline was not with them, but she kept a broad view of things, and extrapolated that they would make it on time and succeed, same as the other group. She thought of pinch messaging them, but it might distract the pair, and she didn't want to be the cause of their failure. Her pocketwatch, just as she was tucking it back into her coat, let out a faint 'ding' and it was time for her routine. Duly, dully, the tethered pushed herself up on her hands and supported the act for the next ten seconds with some kinetic magic as the wagon clattered over bumpy ground. She came back down with a thud that likely defeated much of the routine's purpose when Jana drove them into a divot. The boys in the back bumped, and Johann rolled onto his back, prompting another teasing remark from Marco about his friend's... shape.

Marceline turned her gaze up ahead, and her magic saw all, but her vision... for some reason, it was blurry.

Xiuyang skidded around the corner with five minutes to spare. Sibylle was sitting anxiously at her desk, gloves sitting in front of her and a shawl over her head. All of the archive's books and files were packed away for the holidays, and she was just glancing anxiously between the clock and the blizzard outside when her visitor arrived.

"Oh, um... Salomé, right?" the Roslyn lookalike squeaked, "We're about to close, just -" The girl was already moving. "so you know. Did you... need anything?"

It was naught but half a minute later when Roslyn burst through the door, somewhat warmer than her counterpart.

Xiuyang blinked. "We, ah, came for the materials we left behind." She paused. "I might've guessed you would have cleaned up by now, huh?" A sheepish smile she had been unwittingly practicing a lot ended up forming on her face.

Sibylle nodded, businesslike. "Unfortunately, I have thrown them in the rubbish bin." She frowned apologetically.

Xiuyang blinked, not once, but twice. "Which one, if you don't mind?" she replied, deadpan. Apparently, she was not above fishing through a rubbish bin.

Sibylle blinked, not twice, but thrice. "I was just 'joshing' you, if you don't mind," she replied, deadpan. Apparently, she was not above fishing for a prank.

She reached into the desk and pulled out a neat-looking folder. "Your friend, Lady Dorothea, was here earlier. She took off in quite a hurry some time ago. She had some of the notes, but the rest are in here." She offered up a smug little smirk and pushed it across the counter towards Xiuyang. "Merry Caldores," she offered sweetly.

It was at around this moment that the disheveled figure of Roslyn Wicke hove into view through the near-whiteout beyond the window. Sibylle's eyes widened and she leaned in quickly. "Do not tell her about this. An unwitting victim is always a funnier one." She turned to the door, duly resetting her face to 'professional courtesy'.

Xiuyang smiled tightly, in faux irritation concealing a sense of camaraderie with a fellow jester. "Thank you for your hard work as always," she replied, mirroring the very image of professionalism. "I might recommend closing early. It's Caldores, after all, and it's not going to get any better out there."

Upon sighting the building, Roslyn pushed through the door. Her chest heaved from the adrenaline as she pushed it shut behind her. She could still hear the wind howling in her ears.

"Always feels like I'm a few steps behind you." She said to Xiuyang then her eyes turned to her cousin.

"Sorry Sibylle for coming so close to closing time... It's been a difficult day." Roslyn dusted off the snow from her face and stomped her boots clean. She stopped and stared at the bare table. "Uh, where are our notes?"

Sibylle swallowed. "I regret to inform you that we have a policy of destroying any personal notes left behind before holidays in case they might contain sensitive information." She grimaced regretfully. "Ugh. It was only..." She glanced up at the clock. "About ten minutes ago, as well, as I was closing things up." She regarded her distant cousin with an apologetic face.

Roslyn just stared in disbelief. Her heart sank and that familiar bubble of emotion shot up to the surface. Instinctively, she pushed it down. She'd deal with it later like she always did. Her hands pressed up against her mouth and nose as she inhaled deeply to calm herself.

"What do you mean, you've destroyed them? And what sensitive information could some notes have that no one can access here?!?"

Sibylle took a step back and wrapped her arms around herself defensively. "I don't know for certain, and that's the point," she protested. "It's why the rule exists." She shook her head. "People could be looking into former mistresses or bastard children or somebody's criminal record, or any number of things." She swallowed and took a few steps towards a small door off in the corner.

"But it's all in the rubbish. It's retrievable, and it's mostly paper." She nodded, engaged. "You can try to retrieve them, if you like. I'll be happy to look the other way... for family." She finished with a soft smile.

A pang of guilt stung despite Roslyn's exhaustion. It didn't help that she felt close to just shattering even if it was physically impossible. There was no other way other than to just do it. They needed those notes and she wasn't going to leave here without them.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have gotten upset." She rolled up her sleeves, moving toward the small door. "I'll try to be quick about it."
Sibylle glanced up at the clock with a hint of anxiety and then double-checked using her pocket watch. "Of course, it's no problem, really." Her bearing rather bled nervousness, however. "I can give you three and a half minutes, if you need it." Her eyes darted Xiuyang's way. "Perhaps Salomé could help?"

Xiuyang quickly folded the hand holding the documents neatly behind her back as she approached Roslyn. "Sure. Let me just—here." Xiuyang put the arm holding the documents around Roslyn's shoulder, holding them just barely out of the corner of her eye. She held her other hand forward, sparking a light for Roslyn to see beyond the door they were about to open.

"No, it's fine. You really don't need to. It's not my first time getting my hands dirty and won't be the last." Roslyn protested, not wanting to drag Xiuyang into this mess. Of course it felt like her protests fell on deaf ears as her friend wrapped her arm around the Hendlish girl and then began to guide her along. "I appreciate it though. "

Sibylle kept a straight face through it all. They opened the door and began searching through the bin but, frustratingly, Roslyn could find none of theirs, so she switched, in her growing desperation, to looking for traces of them on other papers. It was in this pursuit, as time was dwindling and Xiuyang also seemed to be searching, that they came upon a particularly interesting paper. It was yellowed, as if it had been sitting fallow atop a desk for - perhaps - years before being used. There was a sizable coffee spill, long since dried, that had to have been the reason there was no writing on it.

What caught the pair's attention, however, was the outline of a name and partial sentence which seemed to have been written hastily, in jot notes, on the paper above and seeped through. Perhaps it had been thin paper. It had even left something of an impression. They could just about make it out:

'Potential threat - take to Lady Frickmayer or handle?'

"Xiuyang..." Roslyn glanced at her friend as she pulled the paper from the rubbish bin. She squinted a bit then had her eyes widen. "I think I found something."

She handled it as gently as he could, passing it over to her friend. " Careful, it's really delicate."

She handled it as gently as she could over to her friend. " Careful, it's really delicate."

Roslyn would face a nonplussed Xiuyang, caught red-handed holding the folder of theirs and Marci's combined research. She blinked. A guilty grin formed on her lips."I was totally coerced, alright? Your cousin said she'd buy me a drink if I played alo—" Her excuses came to an abrupt stop once she saw the words written on the page. She held out the folder, a flat surface for Roslyn to gently place the sheet of paper on. "Here, let's see what it says. If it's incriminating, I'll try to preserve it," she said in a hushed voice.

When Roslyn spotted the folder in Xuiyang's hand and heard her explain... She realized she had been duped. Now she began to suspect she had a good reason for biting her cousin as a child. "I see and fair warning: If you all keep it up, you will come to regret it."

Though it was a threat, there was clearly no malice in it. Her mind returned back to the serious matter at hand. She lowered the paper on the folder and then jerked her hands back, concerned her touch might've already damaged it. "It's not easy to read, but I think it's about the Frickemayer family. Maybe related to the fire? I hope they haven't had that interview with Lady Frickmayer."

"If you're not coming with, do your cousin a favor and get somewhere safe sometime today, yeah? I'd lose my sanity if I got snowed in at work," Xiuyang quipped as she pulled the inferno blanket back around her shoulders. Given what she said earlier, it seemed unlikely that she actually meant it, not that Sybille would know that.

She nodded, finding herself thinking that the hooves outside had better be who she hoped it was. "Yep. Let's scram. All I want on my mind for the rest of the day is fire, food, fine wine, and the fuck outta here." With that, and the folders neatly tucked into her coat, she marched to the door and braced against the wind to open it.

Snowed In

**********

"I, for one, am rather refreshed," announced Johann, stretching and stifling a yawn as he strode through the inn doors. Marceline, meanwhile, groaned and rolled her neck, shooting Johann a tired look. "To face danger and escape by a hair's breadth! This is the stuff of life! I think we made some real progress, too!"

"Mmmmhm," the tethered deadpanned. "I'm buoyed by your optimism, Johann."

The innkeeper, Hoefler, looked up from his desk, where he'd been hard at work carving a small figurine from a block of wood with his knife. "Ah, Eschiren sei Dank hast du es geschafft. Das Wetter ist tödlich." He shook his head. "Der angebunden Deputy sagte mir, dass Ihr revidischer Freund es wegen des Schneesturms nicht zurück geschafft habe. Er schläft auf der Wache." He gestured towards a table near the hearth. "Gräfin Dorothea ist vor etwa einer Stunde angekommen. Sie hat dort drüben einen Tisch."

"Thank Eshiran you're alright. This weather is deadly," Johann translated. Then, he raised an eyebrow in surprise and turned to Marci to say something quickly in Kerreman. She nodded, brow furrowed, and waved him off. "Ja, Johann. Ich suche ihn gerade. Einen Moment." A few seconds later, her nod became more certain. "Es ist wahr. Er ist da."

Johann let out a sigh of relief and translated belatedly. "He said 'that tethered deputy told me that your Revidian friend couldn't make it back because of the snowstorm. He's sleeping at the station.' I asked Marci to check and she confirmed it." The tethered shot him a look of mild annoyance, but it quickly faded. "He also says that Dory is over there, by the hearth."

As for Jana, she had brought the wagon around to the stables after dropping them off and was, currently, nowhere to be seen. Johann glanced outside for any sign of her, but all he could see was snow and the faint outlines of buildings in the burgeoning night. Lightning split the sky, illuminating them for a split second, and the windows shuddered from a pummeling gust of wind. Perhaps it was a little bit more than 'refreshing' outside, he had to admit.

Roslyn was taking in the heat until she caught Johann's comment. "Not sure I feel the same. If anything, I feel like I'm ready to collapse."

After saying that, she felt a yawn tingle at the back of her throat. She clamped down on it and idly listened to the exchange. Hopefully Oraff kept them all safe as she recalled Ingrid was still out there. When Marci and Johann finished, she then spoke. "Okay, before everyone scatters for the night, we might want to share what we all found out. Before we forget it."

Her eyes turned to Xiuyang as she recalled the paper. "Oh, and Xiuyang. We need to strengthen that paper. I know we're not sure if it's useful or not, but I think it's better to waste magic than take the risk. And may I have the research folder. I want to look over my notes before bed."

As she waited for her friend to pass the folder, she then mentioned the most pressing matter on her mind. "Another thing is a certain problem."

She didn't want to add to the town gossip as she continued. "Not sure what we can do about that, but I do have a suspicion."

From the moment Xiuyang entered the safety of Die Tanzstiefel, she had been sitting at the base of the stairs. One could have made the mistake of thinking that she was curling into a ball and breathing on her hands to warm up, but as Roslyn approached, it was clear that she was whispering. Sure, she had said that she would pray for Edith and company, but surely none of the students who knew anything about her thought to take that remark seriously. If it were Xiuyang, it should have been a sarcastic quip about their chances in the storm—a joke in poor taste. Yet here she was, doing it.

She wasn't so absorbed in it that she couldn't spare a moment to silently hand over the folder to Roslyn, but she did take another minute after doing so to finish. Then, finally, she stood wearily up and, with the second folder secured in her coat, began looking around the room for a place to sit and work on it without an unwanted pair of eyes peering from behind her shoulder. Their last meeting at Die Tanzstiefel had not exactly been the most private, after all.

"Exciting day at the crypt, then?" she asked nobody in particular.

Almost immediately, Marci appeared beside the stairs, backing in and snapping her brakes shut. "You could say that," she replied. "There's a command mage at work, and he was targeting us." The tethered stifled a yawn and rolled her neck. "Marco found the fabled 'Blitzwerfer', crates of them being kept there in secret." She shrugged tiredly, head lolling a bit to the side. "I got there too late for the rest of it." She lowered her voice. "There was a timeline where we all would've died. I anchored myself before I was killed and reset things." She wrapped her arms around herself protectively. "We're into something big. I can sense it." She let out a weak snort. "Maybe I should pray to Shune... or Eshiran."

"You should try all of them, just to be safe," Xiuyang replied in her typical jest. "I found them too, crates of them," she said in a hushed whisper. "I got your warning about the dark mage, but there were at least three people. Edith was telling the truth. They can hide even from her. And one of them—a woman—her voice didn't seem human."

Roslyn's eyes jumped up from flipping through the notes. Marceline had... died? The words sent a numbness down her spine and she regretted not trying harder to stop her friend. It didn't matter now, she told herself, they are all alive. It still failed to comfort her.

Her gaze lowered in thoughtfulness. She bit her lip as she began to piece together some of the puzzle pieces of this mystery. Krauss had assigned both men for the check because he knew of the town's little stash. However, the victims knew nothing about it because Edith and Hans didn't want them involved. In the end, that lack of communication might've gotten them killed.

She thought back to the cathedral before she spoke. "If we investigate the crypt again, we're going to need to do it when no one's around. Or use people that won't be noticed. The architect knew all three of you were down there. "

Her eyes darted to the door. "This is going to sound crazy, but... we could use the storm as cover. It looks bad enough it might last a day or so. It's dangerous, but no one should be there. "

"That would be crazy, I think you little things would freeze to death," Ingrid sat down with a reddened face and took off her gloves and ordered some food.

Xiuyang looked around in disbelief, as if quietly questioning the whole room if they'd just heard the words coming out of the Hendlish girl's mouth. She'd certainly gotten a lot bolder. "At the risk of sounding like a defeatist... if we plan to use the storm as a cover to do anything, it should be to get some reinforcements," she replied.

"Why would they vacate their site when they've turned it into a nice cozy fortress? I certainly didn't see anyone packing their bags on my end."

She settled on a table in a corner next to the stairs. "I did get some answers today. I found both bodies and examined them. Same cause of death, by my estimation: electrocution. They definitely found something they weren't meant to see. Poor boys walked right into a death trap. Even if intruders have access to the Gift, both sites have the means to cut it off. Anyone who approaches is a sitting duck. Infiltrating a hole like that takes days to plan, and possibly more resources than we have at the moment..." The vigor of her objections trailed off as she began to focus on the work of preserving the mystery paper Roslyn had mentioned before.

"To be fair, I think Marco and Johann already tried that. It didn't work." Roslyn teased the boys.

When her eyes caught Xiuyang's expression, she regretted airing her earlier suggestion. It was stupid and too reckless, especially for her. If someone else more fitting had done it, no one would've batted an eye. She glanced back to the papers and began to shuffle them into sections based on their subject.

"Our side of the crypt was less exciting," Ingrid admitted. She wrote down on some paper about her findings of special locks, candle patterns and meanings, the knock pattern, and finally the words she heard from the olm's ears. A man speaking in Kerreman on Vengence and a 'plan' of sorts. She made note that they were talking to someone but Ingrid heard no reply from them. Also in the middle was her describing a beautiful portrait of Ahn-Eshiran from around 200 years ago. It seemed to just be added because Ingrid liked it. She had pulled the piece of paper and handed it around the table.

Johann butted in about then, glancing at the three girls. He seemed a little bit... smaller around them, somehow, but all of the others were there in short order. "Oh, you earned it," he joked with Roslyn, but his voice quickly settled and he cleared some space in front of himself at the table and fished a quill, some paper, and a traveling inkpot from his satchel.

"As I see it," he declared, "we have a number of elements we need to keep track of, but the crux of the issue is whether they are related and, if so, how?"

He tore off a strip of paper and scribbled the word 'blitzwerfer' on it in a fancy, swirly hand. On another, he wrote 'Revidians'. On another, he wrote 'Kerremans'. He tore two more off quickly and wrote 'Hans' and 'Edith'. "Grunewald," he mumbled, tapping emphatically on the table between them and adding it as a label.

More followed: Ernst Zimmerman and Florian Weber, Cathedral, Johann Krauss, Rudolf Hanneman, Berthold Lothmann, Von Mollerns, Frickmayers, Liesl, Karl, Fritz, and Bastian. He added the Crypt and the Mines. Finally, he added 'Vengeance' and 'Curse?'

His eyes searched the others'. "So, we have a visual guide now. How do these connect and... would you add any others?"

"Demons," Marceline added immediately, eyes scanning the papers, "and 'Command Mage'." They turned to regard the others.

"Florian's wife, Margit was a Grunewald and has a history behind why. Also Connected to Bastian so maybe him or his family are connected to the Grunewalds as well."

"Demons," Xiuyang agreed with Marci, nodding. "The smell of sulfur, if nothing else, following a dark mage." There was a pause while she tried to multitask reading what she'd preserved from the archives and listening to Johann's theorizing. "...Fritz?" she suddenly asked, perking up, as if it sparked something in her memory.

Duly, nodding along, Johann added the name and connections. He made a label for 'Schuttmann' as well. Hopefully, one of the others would have more information on them.

Marceline's eyes widened at Xiiyang's remark, however. "Fritz von Mollern!" She looked right at her friend. "What about him!?"

"Shh," cautioned Johann, eyes darting around. He managed a laugh that didn't sound completely nervous. "Besides, that is very much a common name around here, you know."

The tethered, youngest among the group of youths, nodded slowly, eyes fixed upon Johann. "It isn't uncommon," she admitted.

"Mm. How many Fritzes in this town would address a 'Freiherr?'" Xiuyang added skeptically, recalling bits and pieces of what she heard in the mines. "But you know..." she sighed. "I had no access to the Gift and no way of knowing how many there were. I had to flee before I could get a good look at them, and the fact that they didn't try to stop me at all... bothers me. Realistically, I die there every time unless they had bigger fish to fry." She squinted at the note in her hand unpleasantly.

"Maybe Marco and the battle nuns?" Ingrid suggested for forces to tackle the mine issue.

Marco was standing dutifully next to Johann with his arms crossed and his eyes halfway shut. If one looked very closely, they could spot the slight bulge protruding from his forest green cape, under which hid the reservoir for the lightning gun. For some strange reason he was stone silent, and he wouldn't even move his head to acknowledge that he was being spoken to. Sadly, that was because he was asleep, and he hadn't heard a thing the ladies said. As an early sleeper and early riser, the mission had dragged on well past his bed time. The physical and mental exertion of today's events had pushed him to the limit, and sitting in the carriage all the way here made Marco a little bit too comfortable.

Marceline leaned over, inquisitive, and poked him. She giggled softly and poked again. "Aww, isn't he pwecious?" She twisted to regard Johann, stifling another yawn. "Hey, chief, can I take a look at that pen for a second?" Was her smile sweet or devilish?

Roslyn had been pretty quiet while the others talked. With her sorting done, she set the research notes down into their respectful piles. She reached for a scrap piece of paper as she jotted down her thoughts, including the spots they needed to check.

She caught Marci's request for the pen and her eyes looked up. Her friend's expression looked familiar as she took a guess of what was about to happen. "Marci, whatever is brewing in your head, are you sure that's a good idea?"

Marci pressed her lips together. "Almost certainly not." She considered. "But, this is why we should do it. We're making memories in our youth so we can treasure them when we're old and our boobs sag down to our waistbands and we're pooping in nappies." She nodded earnestly. She was late and the day had been an emotional rollercoaster and she was just... goofy at this point. She held out her hand for the pen imperiously, and Johann hesitated, though he snorted at her line. She twisted, instead, to regard someone else. "Xiuxiu, what do you think?"

"Speak for yourself." Roslyn stuck her tongue out at her friend. She straightened up and took in the moment. Deep down, it was likely going to become rare since the danger was growing now. Her mind tried to push the dread and worry to the side as she added. "I'm going to laugh when I get a 'I told you so' moment. "

"The price of a generous bosom paid in full in old age," Xiuyang sighed forlornly. "Couldn't imagine such a terrible fate, Marci." She pursed her lips, peeking up from behind the note she was absorbed in. She said nothing about Marci's intentions toward Marco, but her eyes said it all: "Really? You wanna fuck with that guy? It's your funeral, girl."

She paused, choosing her words carefully. "I saw a woman who seemed inhuman asking after a 'Fritz.' I heard another voice, who I presume to be Fritz, asking for orders from a 'Freiherr.' I never did find out which one was the dark mage—but I smelled sulfur when I felt their presence. I also heard an 'Iola' and 'Isac' talking amongst each other in another tunnel, both speaking Revidian. Their job was to look after the blitzwerfers."

Xiuyang voiced not a lick of support for the endeavour and, from Roslyn, only warnings. Back at the refuge, they'd done stuff like this to each other all the time - Well, usually the boys. - and Marco was sleeping standing up! It was so unique! It was such an opportunity! How do you even - Well, it wasn't something she'd ever have to worry about, but she still tried to imagine how it could even work. Marci scowled thoughtfully during this pause, however, and relented, blowing a raspberry that quickly morphed into another yawn. She drew the most perfunctory little mustache on him and guiltily offered the pen back to Johann, who earned some goodwill by grinning at her handiwork and letting out a snicker. "He's going to break your fingers for this, you know."

Marceline rolled her neck and shrugged. I've got Binding." She blinked and turned to Xiuyang. "Anyway, we have more important stuff to talk about. You heard someone talking to or about Baron Fritz von Mollern down in the mines, and it involved demons?" Her eyes flicked between the others, looking for input.

Xiuyang nodded. "They let me get away, which suggests to me that I hadn't gone deep enough to get any information they didn't want me to have," she replied to Johann. "If there was some other battle that demanded their attention, it was too far away for me to sense it or hear any commotion. Maybe they too were escaping the same direction?"

She rolled her neck impatiently, feeling that she was going nowhere. "They were fried to death instantly. No signs of struggle that I could find, bearing in mind I didn't exactly have an hour or two to look over them."

"Blitzwerfer?" questioned Johann.

"Or something else," added Marci, narrowing her eyes.

Ingrid sat for a moment, looking over her notes and the notes being collected by Johann when she noticed something that she should address. "In the Crypt, we reached a T intersection, Marco went left, we went right." She gestured to her and Johann. "I had looked 'back' and saw that people often went through the middle, that some people just rushed into the left, and a few days ago 2 men went to the right. I originally assumed it was where the 2 missing men went since it roughly fit the timeline. But how could they have gotten past all the locks? Now knowing that their was some sort of duo Xiuyang heard, what I heard, and then finally the control mage, they would of had to die in the first room or not on the left at all."

Then she realized that what she said had nothing to do with what Marci was asking. "Oh sorry, I was just thinking on some of the 'known' things. If I had to take a guess, some sort of conspiracy had transpired against the Frickmayer's, one that benefitted more people. Do we have a list of everyone who died in the fire. They are all nobility, the chance they all died in a house fire is relatively small. The last part is just conjecture."

Ingrid did a mighty yawn as she ate her food. It did nothing to settle her hunger. It was getting to her and the smell of people were starting to feel appetizing. She could practically pick out what their RAS was right now.

"Their MO against intruders seems to be to disable the Gift and then hit them with the blitzwerfer. Sure, it could just be any attack from some magnetic mage, but why take the risk when you have such a solid strategy? It's the most likely cause of death," Xiuyang reasoned.

Something didn't entirely settle within the Revidian's mind, and it was showing in her table manners, or lack thereof. Her mind was somewhere far off. A spark of magnetic energy danced from her fork to the fish on her plate, causing it to move a little.

"No," Marci assured her. "No, it helps." She rearranged a few things. "For what it's worth, I agree that the fire and their deaths were no accident." She shook her head. "If I remember correctly, there were a couple of survivors, right?"

"Here. I recall that research. " Roslyn passed her notes over to Ingrid. "The lower class deaths aren't as well documented, but there are a few names. About eleven Frickmayers were alive at the time, and as we know, all but one died. It was believed that since it happened at night, they all died from inhaling the smoke and in their sleep."

She bit her lip then reached for the paper with Krauss' and Berthold's names. She held them before her as she considered what she saw before leaving the cathedral.

"Umm, I might have a suspicion over who could be the mage. I spotted an odd exchange between Berthold and Krauss. I already upset the former and he nearly took my head off with a bench. " There was no tone of blame in her voice as she continued unbothered. There were far scarier things that had happened to her than an artist's rage. "He was becoming agitated at Krauss and I thought he was going to hit the man. Then Krauss did something and suddenly Berthold jerked, walked back to his organ and resumed practice."

"He attacked you?" Ingrid asked, her tone very much not even.

"With a bench?" Xiuyang added absurdly.

"Yeah... well, I did interrupt him... I just suggest not interrupting his practice or messing with the organ. The good thing is I'm a better healer than I was back in Viiqii. So I would've been fine." Roslyn tried to give a reassuring smile. She should've left the attack part off, but it was too late now. " Anyways, that's not important. The exchange is."

"Or he helpfully pointed out that there are no organs in prison," Xiuyang japed. "But it does make me wonder if Commands still work, even if the victim doesn't hear them."

Marceline had been deeply engrossed in shifting papers around and realigning them. Then, she looked up and blinked incredulously. "Wait wait wait," she stammered. "Roll that back. He what, with a.... what!?"

"Attacked her," said Johann, "with a bench."

Quietly, Marceline slid his name higher up on her list of suspects. "I think he isn't right in the head," Marceline decided. "Not dangerous, necessarily, but just... odd. Wasn't he a child of one of the tenant farmers who died in the blaze? Taken in by the church?"

Johann shrugged. "I wouldn't know," he admitted, though it was Roslyn and Xiuyang that the tethered had addressed.

Then, there came a voice, unexpected, right over Xiuyang's shoulder. "Only the manas need to sense it. The sound acts as a guide, but it can be subsonic." A lock of Red hair invaded her peripheral vision: Edyta Laska.

At the same time, a surprisingly muscular arm softly wrapped its bicep around Marceline's neck. "Oi." Marco's head popped over Marceline's shoulder, and he was giving her the look of a father who had caught their child trying to raid the cookie jar. He wiped his upper lip with his sleeve and inspected the smudge of ink that stuck to his cuff. "Just be honest. Was it you or him?" Marco turned his head towards Johann before looking back at her.

Johann's eyes met Marci's and it was an acknowledged thing between them. "Sail on, Silver Girl," the tethered whispered. Then, she craned her neck towards Marco as much as she could and her voice became an evil hiss. "I did it! That's right! It was me - all me! She squirmed and attempted to pry his fingers loose. "and I'd have gotten away with it too, if it weren't for you meddling kids!" She glared daggers at Roslyn and Xiuyang and leveled a pointer at them.

Startled, Xiuyang's fork stabbed into the fish, causing it to flop and splatter sauce in her face despite her quick reflex to hold it down. "...Fascinating," she replied flatly, wiping her face off. "I didn't know you were here, Sister Laska. You're here with the church, I assume? Can you tell us anything?"

Marceline's punishment was short and swift. Rather than pry her head off, Marco rubbed the ink off of his face with the tips of his fingers and smooshed them around Marceline's eyes, giving her the appearance of a panda.

"Strictly classified, 'm afraid," replied the Rezaindian, plopping down unceremoniously on the padded bench and helping herself to a bite of the fish. "So, infer what you want from that." She chewed. "It's demonic, though. Don't let 'em mislead you, and this whole town's just full of sinners." She shook her head, eyes narrowing, before reaching for a second forkful of food. "Oh, this is good fish," she admitted, voice lightening a bit.

"Hey. That fish was 'classified' too," replied the Revidian in mock protest. "If information's a no go, how about a direction? Preferably a demon-slaying one."

"Marco, no!" she hollered, persona falling away. "No! That's - oww! That's my fuckin' eyeball, you oaf!" She socked him twice in the ribs, and that just made the punishment messier. "Oww! My nostril! For... Eshi's... sake." Her arms flexed as they tried to pry his off. In truth, they were probably just as strong, despite the gender disadvantage, but he'd gotten the jump on her and she was doomed. She squirmed like a hooked fish. "Ow! I can't breathe!" she gasped most dramatically. ""I - I can't!" Then, the punishment was over and Marceline was released and, though she was now a panda, it would be temporary. After all, she had binding.

With a smug look on his face, Marco released his grip on his helpless victim and took a seat at the table, dragging several plates towards him along with an entire water pitcher. He was about ready to collapse from exhaustion, but his brief nap had energized him somewhat, and now his stomach was making the rumblies that only bratwurst could satisfy. He tore a loaf of bread in half and stuffed one half with sausage and the other with fish, and began chomping into them like a starving animal, pausing only to catch his breath and wash every other mouthful down with water and ale.

"Ugh. Sorry," the nun apologized. "greyspace food doesn't carry over. I'll buy you another." She smiled in appreciation for Xiuyang's generous 'donation'. "We church types tend to have large appetites." She glanced Marco's way, once he'd finished assaulting a disabled woman and started eating instead.

"As for direction? Well..." She paused and considered. "This is not new. It goes back centuries and, while most of the people in this place are decent gods-fearing folk, few of their hands are completely clean. The 'curse' is real and it involves some very powerful, very high-level demons with some local help." She swallowed some more food and reached for a flagon of mead, chugging it down as only a monk or nun could. "I am probably saying too much, but rest assured that Mother Superior and Manus Sinistra Deorum are working on things as well." She patted her mouth daintily with a kerchief.

Roslyn's regret continued to grow. She set down the papers and tried not to break eye contact. "There's a problem if I did. The moment I demand an 'arrest' of one of their own, the whole town is immediately on alert. They might stop talking with us out of fear and also cause more problems."

She took a breath and was about to speak when two things happened. Marco grappled Marceline while Laska suddenly appeared. The later made her jump and her body relaxed upon seeing the familiar woman. Once her heart stopped bounding against her chest, she was thankful for the interruptions that drew attention away from her.

Xiuyang glanced between Laska and Marco almost admiringly at how much food they could put away. She had made do with adrenaline until now, but it was wearing off, and now exhaustion was rearing its ugly head no less in her than those who took the carriage instead of running in a blizzard. "I'll take you up on that. Somehow, I've just remembered that I'm starving," she teased.

The investigation was tabled - quite literally - for the next half-hour as more food was ordered, arrived, and was eagerly consumed by seven hungry youths. The innkeeper, Conrad, explained that their usual waitress had not made it over because of the weather, and that they'd have to come to the counter to order their food and pick it up. They were, in fact, lucky to have a chef - old Uli, who lived just two doors down - given the conditions.

The solemn duty of making the journey to the counter and both remembering everyone's orders and bringing them back with no spillage was much contested - in that practically nobody wanted it, and - no - they would not let Roslyn just do it. When she inevitably volunteered once, Marceline shot Xiuyang a concerned look, and was not against bringing the others in as well, since they were there.

She kept her voice low and the loud raunchy singing of a group of traveling men nearby did the rest. "Okay, I know I'm not the only one who was taken aback by that chair thing, right?" Her eyes searched the faces around her and noted, in particular, that Ingrid looked less than well. "I mean, let me know if I'm the odd one, but I'd have smashed him into the ground with kinetic until he begged for my forgiveness if he'd dared lay a hand on my person for such a minor impropriety." She frowned in concern. "I just... feel like it's more than mere selflessness with her."

"The bench thing," Xiuyang corrected with a half-grin, as if it amused her to imagine the crazed organist wielding a church pew as a clubbing stick. "If I didn't know her better, I'd say she fancies him. You have a point. She's a bit too tolerant," she agreed, relenting.

Marci rolled her eyes, not about to make a whole big discussion out of it as Roslyn skillfully managed to collect all four flagons and three of the plates. "Just a teensy bit." She pinched a bit of air and smirked. Then, flicking some hair over a shoulder, she backed out from the table and wound her way over to the Hendlishwoman. There were two plates remaining on the counter and, without much ceremony, the tethered reached up to take both and settled them carefully upon her lap. "No second trip for you, Fraulein Wicke," she chided, nearly getting stuck between two chairs that were a bit too close together.

Meanwhile, at the table, Johann leaned forward conspiratorially and tried to look concerned. "Okay, I know I'm not the only one who was taken aback by that drawing on Marco thing, right?"

"Uh, a second trip wouldn't kill me, but thanks. " Roslyn said when she spotted Marci helping her. The sounds of wood scrapping wood caused her to glance over her shoulder and spot Marci push past a few chairs.

As she reached the table, she came to stand at the end and set down the plates.

"Here's Xiuyang's second fish. The bigger one is Johann's. And I think this one is Marci's. And the drinks." She had set the flagons in the center before sliding into her own seat.

Marco shrugged in reply. "I guess she's just braver than you are chum!" He picked up his mug and finished the last drop of booze before scooting out of his chair. Marco saluted the other diners and began walking towards the bar. "Looks like my glass is empty, I'm going to pick up some more grub at the counter."

"You sure that's not my share?" Xiuyang japed, pointing at Johann's plate. She was putting away a lot, herself.

Marceline followed suit, setting hers down as well, though she could not be bothered to remember any except her own. She glanced at Ingrid. The tall Eskandishwoman did not look well. "Uhhh... Ingie, you good?" She leaned in and looked up.

Ingrid quietly ate her food, trying to calm down the urges while everyone was in front of everyone, and now a Edyta. The maelstrom of a day had caught up to her and the cherry of it all was her time trapped in that odd dimension struck something intimate with her and it wasn't slipping off. Her actions, no, there outcome made it worse. They had uncovered some things but for the danger they possessed, Marci literally dying, she could only fell the follies of the day.

They would pass, this Ingrid knew. But for now, it was there.

Ingrid missed Marci's cue for enacting conversation, taking too long to speak. She took off her glasses and rubbed the bridge of her nose. "Sorry, I was just thinking of the day and what is to come."

Roslyn took note of Marco's departure before reaching for her own mug. She addressed Xiuyang, looking apologetic. "Did I make a mistake? I'm sorry. You're eating a lot more than I remember. "

Her eyes darted over to Ingrid. While she hadn't said anything, Roslyn did notice what Marci had voiced. She thought back to her things. "If you aren't feeling well, Ingrid, I might have something in my bags to settle the stomach. I can get up and get it."

However, Ingrid quickly revealed the cause of her stress. The Hendlish girl took another deep drink that drained half of the mug. Setting it down, she knew things were going to get harder. "Yeah. It's going to be hard and I'm trying to think about how to protect ourselves."

She rotated her mug and thought for a moment. Her discomfort grew a bit when she considered at least one item in her gear that might help. "I... I might have a few tricks in my things that could help actually."

Ingrid was going to wave off Roslyn's concern but decided not to. Something about not being a hypocrite when it came to listening."Thank you, If you have something, I will happily take it." Ingrid gave an appreciative smile to Roslyn.

For a moment, the younger girl braced for a dismissal of her aid. Ingrid had done it before and so there was little reason to expect anything different. A spark of surprise crossed her eyes and Roslyn nodded. "All right, we'll get it after I'm done with this ale. Gives me a chance to check my things too."

Roslyn enjoyed the atmosphere for a time. While everyone else ate and chatted, she took in the distraction and simply drank her beer. Noticing the absence of a buzzing sensation, she spotted the sediment at the bottom. This was her third one on an empty stomach. She sighed before she finished it off. Setting the mug down, she stood upright and her chair promptly slid back. A subtle cringe came and went before she turned to Ingrid.

"'Ingrid, I should've asked this earlier, but you want to come with? Or do you prefer I bring the herbs to you?"

"I'll go with," she pushed from the table and set her chair back, making eye contact with Laska before leaving the group with Roslyn.

---

The girl led the way to the room they shared the night before. Once she found her bags, she bent down and rummaged through them. She made notes of the things she brought and their location in her things.

"According to an apothecary I know in Mudville, this should help. It is just mint, chamomile and a hint of basil. I suggest drinking it in some ale or eat in something... once I find it."

She moved the brain eater to the floor as she dug deeper.

"So crush and muddle," she looked at Roslyn's neck, how small it was and how easy it would be, before moving her attention to the brain hat. "You still carry the hat from the start of the year?"

"Yeah, I suggest putting it in some ale so you can't taste it. It's rather unpleasant by itself." Roslyn commented then paused, her eyes glancing at the hat.

"Truthfully, I hope it might help here. I'm still not fully sure if all it does is transfer a memory to the owner or if there's more. At first, it freaked me out a bit. Now I'm just uneasy by it."

"It transfers memories?" Ingrid asked in surprise.

Roslyn nodded. "One memory and yes. It was by pure accident I learned my dorm mate was both a thief and a liar. The hat vanished for a day or two and I asked her about it. She said she hasn't seen it."

Finally, the girl found what she sought. Her hands pulled out a small, wooden box. The outside looked scratched and worn. Opening it up revealed four small jars of herbs and two empty copper tins. She eyeballed the dosage of the herbs into one of the containers.

"I found it the next day. Once I put it on, I saw a memory not mine. Someone was putting the hat back into the drawer. I know it was her because she glanced into the looking glass."

"Good way to figure out the hat, bad to find out your roommate is a thief. Is this thief someone I know?" Ingrid felt like she was interrogating Roslyn but how could she not when the girl is avoiding her name.

"Yeah, I agree." Roslyn finished up and offered it to Ingrid. Once her hand was freed, she filled the second one for herself. The herbs were slightly different from the first one.

"That never crossed my mind. Her name is Charlotte Bohun and she's from Enth. Come to think of it, it might've explained why she kept nicking my things." She jested a bit.

Ingrid took the herbs, "Thank you, Roslyn. Should we head back down?"

"Any time and yes." After putting the bracelet into her bag, Roslyn pushed onto her feet and smiled. She smiled and followed Ingrid's lead back to the others. "It's best to enjoy the peace while we can."

---

"Pfft! I fear no Hohenfelter." Johann shook his head.

"We Steinbauers have been putting up with their neighbourly nonsense for a thousand years." He rolled his eyes as Marceline continued to weave her way between tables less than nimbly, suddenly a waitress of sorts: a tethered and a Hohenfelter on top of it, and she was filling in for the evening waitress who hadn't made it after her daytime counterpart had hurried home at shift's end. There must've been some benefit to it, however. Certainly, she was chatty. Marci struck up conversation with one set of patrons and then another. She laughed with some older women and sung with some young men. She adjusted both her approach and the hem of her blouse according to who she was dealing with.

Meanwhile, as the others spoke, making plans, sharing, and making merry all in turns, for it was both a murder to be solved and the eve of the first day of Caldores, Dorothea and Evander had been deep in conversation for nearly two hours. It was no secret that the former had not been the same since Manfred's untimely passing, and she had trodden a darker path (though few realized just how dark it had been). Now, as the night and her cups grew deeper, she appeared to wax, first remorseful, then philosophical, and now - it seemed - investigative, or, at least, Evander did. Ultimately, they remained a unit unto themselves for the time being.

Marci, meanwhile, made her fourth return to the table where the rest were, dropping off more drinks for the others. In truth, her dress reeked of spilt beer by now, and she had taken a good amount along the way for herself. Old Conrad, with his bad knee from the war and no evening waitress, had decided not look a gift horse in the mouth, however.

"Just learned that the old von Mollern family crypt, with its gargoyles and protective angels and stuff is a favourite hangout of the local teens." She swung by with a jaunty push of a wheel and dished a glass of icewine off to Edyta. "Oh, and Fritz von Mollern almost married what was here name Frickmayer back in the day." She shook her head and hurried off to the kitchen to pick up food for the next table while the others continued to debate and discuss and jest.

There was one thing that could not be made light of for much longer, however, and that was Ingrid's growing hunger. It would not be long - in spite of her admirable efforts to the contrary - before the sanguinaire was overcome by hunger, and the consequences of that could be dire, indeed.

The Hourglass Order

Roslyn Wicke

"At least the weather is cooperating. For once. Maybe we'll even find something."

The Riddle of Lindenholdt Part 2 (cont)

_{Date and Time: Zales 31st
Location: Zimmerman's and the River}

Bringing Caldores Cheer

****

In the event, the pair nearly did. They split up, scurrying about and buying what they needed to. It was another twenty minutes to the outskirts of town, where the Zimmerman family had their ramshackle home. By the time that they arrived, the clouds had cleared and the snow was melting under the bright somnian sun. Both of the eldest two children were out front, having purposely taken chores out in the yard. Hanno, in particular, seemed surprised to see Roslyn, and a tethered person who he did not recognize. Constanze instinctively shrunk back at the sight of this stranger who seemed like nothing so much as a hired investigator.

Roslyn had tugged her scarf loose a bit when the temperature climbed a bit. Next time, less layers she thought. Upon spotting the oldest children, she flashed them a friendly smile as she pulled her bag to the front. Her eyes shot to the door with hopes that the mother didn't appear.

She spoke with a softer tone as Marci translated. "Don't look so surprised. I did say I would bring some oranges and stockings, didn't I? We can't stay for very long, sadly."

Hanno's eyes lit up, but his sister was more guarded. "Wer ist sie?" The girl gestured at Marci.

"Ich bin dein Übersetzer, Bengel!" the tethered retorted, and the child's eyes widened. "Okay, vielleicht sind Sie kein Spion," she allowed, skipping forward. There was, as yet, no sign of Sarah Zimmerman, and Hanno came up to quickly poach the bag, just in case. He swallowed and opened it up, glancing down at the contents and allowing his sister to look inside as well.

"Bist du Roslyns Freund?" He asked Marci, eyes trying to avoid glancing curiously at her wheelchair. She nodded and translated to give Roslyn context.

"Sie hat mir von euch beiden erzählt." the tethered explained, gesturing Roslyn's way. "Wir möchten sicherstellen, dass Sie frohe Weihnachten haben."

There was a pause and expressions of thanks given, and then Marceline continued. "Ich weiß, wie es ist, Eltern zu haben, die sich nicht so um einen kümmern, wie sie es sollten. Lass dich davon nicht davon abhalten, das Leben zu leben, das du verdienst." Strangely, she did not translate that last bit, as the kids looked at her with sad, evaluative, and ultimately supportive eyes. Constanze nodded.

Though Roslyn couldn't understand the language, the scene gave her some clues. Her grip loosened as she let the boy take the bag. "Yep, she is. Ingrid would've come, but she's a bit busy. Some of those are from her as well."

She didn't give any more details over where Ingrid went. It was better to err on the side of caution, especially with a possible third party involved. "I would've burrowed the fish, but I forgot. Besides, Marci's great company."

Seeing the condition of these children's family reminded her of how lucky she was with hers. "There is something else I need to ask. Do either of you remember if your father carried anything like a special or unique item on him? "

It was an odd question, but she hoped to use it to help find the men. The compass found items after all and it was worth a shot.

Marci winked at the compliment. "Sie versucht, einen kostenlosen Kaffee zu bekommen. Ich weiß, wie sie arbeitet." She shot her friend a little smirk and translated.... creatively. The next part, however, she translated with dutiful precision, and the children, glancing nervously back towards the house, took a moment to think. While Constanze couldn't come up with anything, Hanno let out a snort. "Er hatte einen Ehering – es war ein Ersatz für das Original – und er war aus Haurenien aus der Mine."

"Haureenium..." Marceline murmured.

Constanze glanced at her brother. "Er hat dort gearbeitet, bevor einer von uns geboren wurde."

"Er ließ es von einem Yasenmagier verzaubern, sodass es immer nach Rosen duftete," Hanno elaborated. "A yasoi mage," Marci replied, quickly translating the rest, about the enchantment and the smell of roses. "Warum fragst du?" the boy added. "Why do you ask?"

Marceline considered, but decided to let Roslyn take the lead in answering. It was just about then that two of the younger kids came bounding out, their voices urgent, and the Hendlishwoman didn't have to understand what they were saying to know what their entreaties meant.

"Looks like I don't have much time to explain. Let's just say, I have a trick or two to find items. Just hope my idea works." Roslyn couldn't stop her smirk from growing at what she learned. This might just work and if it did. Her heart stuttered for a moment, filled with a mix of hope and dread at what she might find.

Pushing it aside, she noted the other two siblings and began to step back."I think it's time we get going. Merry Caldores and enjoy yourselves."

She made a gesture for Marci to follow quickly.

For a moment, Marceline merely sat there, the breeze stirring her hair. Rippled and dark, her eyes seemed to take on its qualities for a moment. She stared at the house for a moment, unflinching, but then there was a sudden draw - a big one - and she shimmered and disappeared. She was on the road, ahead of Roslyn, who quicky caught up.

Grisly Discovery

*****

The sun shone brightly, the snow turned to water, and the potential blizzard that had threatened in the morning seemed a distant concern. Whatever had bothered Marceline seemed to go with it. The compass, while not exactly locked onto something, did seem to be tentatively indicating a direction, and it matched the girls' risen spirits. Marci rolled out ahead down the wide gravel path, a slight downhill and a small dose of kinetic magic seeing her along at a good clip. She twisted about and smiled back at her friend. "You know, I think we're actually going to find something," she remarked, as the minutes and kilometers fell away and the farmland gave way - mostly - to forest.

"It'd sure be nice for those kids to have their dad back," she said quietly, letting out a relaxed sigh as she coasted along and glanced up at the sky. "Ugh, wouldn't it also be nice if every Somnes day was like this?" She shook her head and let out a snort of laughter.

"Did you bribe Dami or something, or was it Xiuyang? Ya know, there's something about that girl..." She trailed off with a smirk and winked over her shoulder.

Roslyn tensed when she felt her arm itch in that familiar way. After the last time, she couldn't fathom why Marci would ever risk encountering one of those things again. There was no time to dwell on it as she drew then darted out of sight, her image blurred into a streak with kinetic magic. Once they reconnected, she held out the compass. The needle twitched, spun and then finally hovered in a direction.

" That's my hope. I didn't expect him to have anything special on him, let alone a magic item. Also the compass can be fickle at times." She commented as she kept one eye on the compass and another on Marci. "Yeah, I feel like Xiuyang is the most likely to charm the gods into a good mood by smiling at them. She's good to have around when it comes to handling things."

Marci chuckled. "Has she picked it up from Ciro or he from her?" She wondered aloud, and they moved along for some time in that manner: keeping their senses peeled, making conversation, and enjoying what had turned into a surprisingly nice day, after all. Now, if only they might find the missing men, ragged but ultimately fine, it would truly be a gift from the Pentad. Marceline would have to learn Xiuyang's secrets after all.

After some time spent in chit chat and easy silence, the tethered came to a stop to roll her neck and adjust her sitting position. "Oh yeah," she inquired, peering over in the compass' direction, "Is it still saying due northeast along this road?"

"Not sure, but I'm happy she found someone. They look cute together." Roslyn commented as she continued to monitor the compass. It continued to point in the same direction which made the trip easy, but seemed... odd. She took a deep breath to purge the concern in the back of her mind.

She found the chit chat refreshing as she took in the sights. At mention of the compass, her eyes glanced down and she frowned. "Yeah, it is. I wish this thing had a way to show distance."

"A project for Marz or Isabella, I guess," Marceline chirped, pushing herself up with her arms and counting to ten under her breath. She had yet to experience a pressure sore and was not keen to ever get one. Roslyn, meanwhile, sat on a rock and extracted a pebble from one of her shoes. "Kay, that about does it," Marci decided, sitting back down and unlocking her brakes. "Ready to go?"

Roslyn nodded, stood, and stretched briefly. "Yup," the Hendlishwoman replied, taking a couple of steps. "We've got ourselves a job to do."

Marceline nodded and offered up a jaunty little salute. "Aye aye, captain!" she replied, setting hands to the wheels and turning. "Away we go."

...

Roslyn playfully stuck her tongue out at Marci's comment, "At least the weather is cooperating. For once. Maybe we'll even find something."

She trailed behind her friend with her eyes still fixed on the compass.

"The power of positive thinking, Rose. I just know-" Marceline's sentence cut off after she glanced to the side. Her arms pulled her wheelchair to a stop and twisted to the left. Her dark eyes widened in horror. "Oh my gods."

Roslyn's step quickened to catch up. That dread curled in her core and crawled along her spine making it shiver. "What? Marci, what is it?"

Instead of answering, Marci's arm pulled out and pointed to the side of the road. Roslyn's eyes followed the direction of a vulture hunched over something. A corpse. Instantly, any hope left in her heart withered. Her feet moved as her hand shoved her compass into her pocket. She shooed the scavenger off the remains. The vulture's beady eyes shined in her direction before it fluttered off into the sky.

Against her better judgement, she tried to sense for any signs of life. She braced for the worst.
It took Marceline a good few more seconds to catch up. She more or less floated herself to the shore using telekinesis. Her hands trembled as she bent down over the body, chest resting on her knees. Straightening after a moment, she shook her head glumly. "It's no good, Rose. He's long gone."

Marci swallowed and looked upstream, to where the current flowed. "This random late Somnes thaw must've caused the ice it was trapped in to melt and break up," she concluded. "And then I guess it was washed downriver." She swallowed again and tried to avoid looking at the grisly body. On one of its hands was, indeed, a haureenium ring, though Marceline could not smell any roses.

She glanced upstream again and furrowed her brow. "Or..." She shook her head and scrunched her dress up between her fingers. "I really thought we might get a happy ending," she mewed, reaching up to press the back of her hand to her eyes.

"No..." Roslyn's foot stomped in anger at the facts. She had hoped too hard and against her better judgement, fate spat back at her. A sense of defeat seeped into her voice. "I was just hoping against the odds. Should've known better, it's been five days."

Ignoring the fact she seemed to have a disturbing talent of finding the dead, she pressed her hands in front of her and took a deep breath. Her mind hung onto a familiar numbness that rose in her chest. She let it wash over until her voice finally calmed down. "We need to tell Xiuyang and the others that we might've found one of the bodies. Next, we need to contact the Rezaindian for the burial and Edith for the authorities."

She held her breath, though there wasn't much of an odor, while her stomach still curled. "I should've asked Mrs. Weber about her husband."

Her eyes scanned along the bank as she hoped to spot evidence of something odd.

Much as some animal part of Marceline - the part that says 'you've seen a dead body; this place is dangerous' - urged her not to, the young tethered closed her eyes, steadied her breathing, and stretched out her senses. Many people thought of Hundri and late Somnes as dead times, but she knew this for a falsehood. The forest hummed with energy of every sort.

Hundreds of... kellerasseln (she did not know the name woodlouse) skittered through the carpet of dead leaves, their movements leaving little kinetically active trails as they went. Bacteria broke down leaves into soil, the pleasantly pungent aroma omnipresent. Somewhere off a few kilometers away, a small pack of wolves rested in the hollows they had dug where a pair of great trees had fallen. A woodpecker hammered away at a trunk. A badger pounced on a mouse. Frost melted. The wind shifted leaves and branches. The rusted iron rim of an abandoned wagon wheel gathered heat from the sun. Underlying it all was the slow, constant passage of time. Yet, closer to her, the chemical, thermal, and kinetic processes of decay were rapidly setting in on the body. Marceline fixed on those and swept up and down that great kinetically-active highway that was the river. Suddenly, she stiffened.

"About half a kilometer downstream," she announced quietly, opening her eyes and setting hands to wheels before realizing that there was no way she could get back up the steep and uneven embankment without calling upon the Gift. "There's a second body." She shook her head, starting to draw to float herself back up to the road, before pausing.

"Wait. I guess I should tell them, first." Indicating that she might appreciate a push while she focused, the young tethered picked out - first - Xiuyang, by the mines. She stretched a bit further for Johann, Ingrid, and Marco, in rapid succession. Finally, there came Dory and Evander.

"Scheißdreck," she cursed, tensing up, "A few of them are really in the thick of it." She glanced over her shoulder before quickly turning back to focus. "I'm warning them."

<Skuggvar. Is. Alert.> she sent Xiuyang as a pinch message. <You. Have. Probably. Two. Minutes.>

<Sulfur. Ahead. Is. Thick.> she sent to Ingrid and then Johann. It took a bit longer that way, but it was best to maintain trust with both. <You. Will. Suffocate. | Heat. Is. Underground. And. Volcanic.| You. Are. Not. Alone. | Be. Careful.>

Marco had encountered two men who Marceline's senses told her were not particularly strong users of the Gift, but then there was something strange: it was... not sonic, was it? It grabbed hold of the two men, however, and they changed. They had just enough of the Gift that their manas started to exert control over their bodies. Marceline inhaled sharply and, out of a fight or flight instinct, her hands went to her wheels for a moment. <Marco. Command. Magic. | At. Least. I. Think. So. | Get. Out. Of. There!> Desperately, she tried to trace its origin, but she was at a stretch as it was.

She whirled about the moment that she was on flat ground. "Rose," the younger girl gasped, "thank you." She swallowed. "It's command magic - I think. I'm not that familiar with it, but I think." She took an anxious push forward and then back, not completely sure what to do with herself. "There, in the church -" She pointed off in a direction. "It has to be command."

At Marci's mention of another body, Roslyn bit her lip. "If I had to guess, that's likely Weber. I should've tried this sooner."

Seeing the wheel girl pause, she heard the mention of the others in trouble. Of course they would find some. Not wanting to risk sounding snappy, Roslyn simply nodded in agreement. There was little she could do right now and that made her nervous. Her eyes squinted and scanned along the bank's edge as she picked at her wrist. Unbeknownst to her, the corrupted greed stone started to glow faintly.

"I wonder how much gold that pretty lil' ring might fetch?"

She stiffened upon hearing the familiar voice.

A short green fellow stepped into her sights. He beamed a wide toothy smile at her. Zast. With a wave of his hand, the air before him tore into a dark hole. He reached an arm in and pulled out a fat cigar. Twisting it in his grip, his eyes glistened with delight before he pressed it to his lips. He snapped his fingers causing his thumb to ignite the tip. He inhaled deeply to savor it.

Unbothered by her glare, he puffed a few smoke rings while he leaned against a nearby tree. Mirth entered his voice as he noticed her scorn. "Don't act like it didn't cross your mind, Rosie girl. We both know it did and you shouldn't feel shame in that. No shame at all. It's not like the dead have much use for trinkets, right?"

His point made her eyes drift toward the corpse's ring finger. That's when she realized Marceline was there. Roslyn's guilt brushed her mind causing her to avert her gaze. No, this was wrong. She wouldn't turn into a grave robber now.

Underneath her breath, she mumbled at him. She knew from experience ignoring him only made it worse but on the other hand, she risked looking crazy. "Not now."

Zast chuckled. "I disagree. There's no shame in making a bit of coin on the side," His red eyes lingered on the corpse then shrugged. "We both know his wife will sell it off and be face deep in the ale mug before dark. Don't you think it would be smarter to keep that money out of her hands instead of giving it to her?"

A long finger gently brushed a straight line through faint smoke rings.

Another moment of silence passed before she ended the conversation. "Get lost, now."

A deep, dry chuckle escaped Zast's throat and he shook his head in disappointment. "No can do, and you know it. You are stuck wit me."

He let the truth sit there for a moment, then carried on. "You're very lucky I'm a generous sort. I'll leave you with one piece of advice: when life gives you dice, you roll 'em. Don't let this opportunity slip by."

Finishing his cigar, he flicked it across the water. "Since you were so rude, I'll wait until you come crawling back and pleading for my help to solve this. See you later, Rosie girl."

With that, the green stone's subtle glow faded... for now.

---

The Wicke Estate

Mittria 25th, Orrendes

*

Time: 2nd hour of Shune
After the morning meal, Garith donned his travel clothes and strolled out to the stables. He rubbed his throbbing temple with his right hand while balancing himself with a cane. The chronic headache now impeded his work and forced him to seek aid from the local healer. It was bad enough that he struggled to walk properly.

A soft sigh spilled out as he crossed the barn's threshold. The bay-colored mare in the first stall perked up her ears. She strode to the gate, her neck stretched out, and whinnied at him. Despite the pain, a smile broke out across the young man's face. He wasted no time in stepping up and delivering a soft pat on her muzzle.

He spoke gently to her. "Morning, Efa. You ready for a treat?"

The mare gave a nicker before she reached out to nip at his bangs. Garith leaned back with a laugh. "Impatient, greedy lil' aren't you? Give me a moment to get it."

He retrieved an apple from his belt pouch and offered it to her. She buried her snout into his hand, promptly freeing it of the fruit's weight. Giving her nose one last pat, the man let her chew while he prepared her for the short trip.

In her youth, the mare was spirited. She flinched and bit at any attempt to saddle her. Now she stood perfectly still as he finished tightening the belt. He gave her one last scratch. "That's a good girl. Maybe Roslyn should take some lessons from you about listening."

The mare snorted at him. He rounded to her side and hoisted himself into the saddle. With a gentle prod of his heel, he used the reins to guide her out the door to the main road. Shortly after, he let Efa fall into a natural gait since he wasn't in a hurry.

When the ache in his skull eased up, Garith drank in the rolling hills and trellis moving past. Each one filled with hops ripe for tomorrow's harvest. While beautiful, he doubted this tense peace would last long. For a dark moment, his mind conjured the image of soldiers hidden among them.

His lips pursed at the thought of the hardships ahead. With a sharp breath, he ushered her along with a heel push into her belly. She snorted in protest before she picked up the pace.

Further along, the wilds surrounded the cottages of the townsfolk tending the fields. From his peripheral vision, he spotted a few farmers sitting beneath a lone tree's shade. They smiled, casually drunk their last season's beer, and chattered away. Occasionally, one or two cast him a wary glance that followed him. The young baron brushed off the silent judgment, keeping his eyes fixed ahead.

Roslyn was lucky. Being at the academy, she escaped some of the townfolk's hubris.

A thatched-roof cottage came into view. The shutters stood wide open, letting in fresh air and sunlight. In the back, a small pig oinked and milled through the mud within a wooden fence. A few feet away stood a half-chopped wood pile and a modest start of a would-be garden.

Mindful of the work, Garith gently pulled Efa to a nearby tree. Her flank twitched as she pawed up the earth.

To soothe her nerves, he leaned in and rubbed her neck. He whispered a piece of reassurance into her ear. "Sorry, girl. I need to go in alone. Be a good, this won't take long."

He leaned to the right to dismount. Pausing long enough to adjust his cloak, the man grabbed his cane and walked up to the entrance. A blanket covered the doorway as he reached out and gave the frame a firm tap. "Carver Leigh, are you home?"

Sounds of feet ceased their movement from within. After a breath of silence, a feminine voice snapped back at him. "Who's askin'?"

Garith, not used to the gruff address, cocked his head. His lips became a thin line. Before he opened his mouth, another older voice scolded the first. "Hollis, manners!"

The young noble crossed his arms over his chest and answered the first. "Garith Wicke, the son of the baron you've pledged loyalty to."

One of the voices cursed. Footsteps rushed for the cloth and pulled it aside, the man stepping outside. A young man was a few years older than Garith himself, with unkempt brown hair and green eyes. The healer's gaze dropped to his chin.

A nervous smile broke out on his face. "Sorry, your Lordship. What is the reason for your..." He nervously gestured to his dwellings, "visit, if I may ask?"

Too tired to address the earlier rudeness, Garith got to the point. "I'm in need of your healing skills. May we talk inside?"

Carver stepped to one side while he raised the cloth with one hand. "Of course, my lord."

Upon entering, a strong, earthy scent assaulted Garith's face. His nose wrinkled and eyes watered, but he kept his mask of indifference. Once he blinked his vision clear, he noticed the girl. No older than thirteen, she pouted in a corner and scowled at him.

Upon spotting her, the older man addressed her quickly. "Hollis, will you go outside for me? I need you to chop some wood and fetch water from the well."

The girl's lips pursed tighter, and her left leg crossed over her right. She turned her irritation upon her companion. "Why should I? I thought we were going out after cleaning?"

Carver sighed, his tone fell into a pleading one. "This isn't the time to fight me. Please, Hollis."

A spell of silence settled between them before the girl huffed.

"Fine," she rose onto her feet and then stomped outside.

Garith waited until she disappeared before he commented to the healer. "I suppose that's your sister? I didn't expect her to be so young. She's..." He failed to find the right word and instead went with something polite. "pleasant."

Carver chuckled. "Yes, my lord. She's decent company when she's in a good mood. Sadly, your lordship's arrival interrupted a few of the midday plans we had. If the Gods are kind, she'll be in a better mood later."

The man bent down to move a bundle of dried stalks out of his way. He twisted to the side while he pointed to another stool. "Now, if you will take a seat, we'll get started."

Garith nodded and did as he was told. He folded his cloak into his lap, careful not to crease it too much. The healer moved around his work table. A chaotic display of bottles, jars, herb bundles, and more cluttered the surface. Carver's attention jumped from one jar to another before finally settling on one. Lifting it to his face, he narrowed his gaze to the bottom. After a frown, he uncovered it and fished out several withered-up blobs. He tossed them into the fire pit.

"What are those?" Garith asked, not recognizing them.

The healer shrugged and set the jar back on the table. "A few of the leeches died. Best to get rid of them before Ahn-Eshiran decides to take the rest."

He drew closer to the seated baron. "So, what pains are you feelin' and where at?"

"My head." Garith gingerly touched the front of his head. Already, the pain had sparked again and began to blur his vision. "The pains have become unbearable lately."

Carver pulled in close and parted the hair roots. Nothing. His eyes trailed from one side to another, trying to narrow down any outside cause. Along the back of the Lord's head, a dark spot stood out on the white scalp. Carver frowned at the oddity. Slowly, his eyes followed the odd 'tail' trailing down into the ruffled collar. He suspected it went even further.

The man pulled back. "Pardon my request, but can you take off your shirt. There's a mark running down your neck and I fear it goes further."

Garith condoned the absent title in the address. He calmly divested his shirt, laying it to rest alongside his cloak on his thigh. As suspected, the line did go further. The thickest part sprouted smaller ones that veined outward in various sizes. Carver stared for several moments before he searched his table for something. "I've never seen anything like this. How long have you had it?"

"It started off as a mark on my elbow at birth. The 'tail' started to appear after my fifteenth birthday. The other symptoms followed shortly after. Right now, I just want the head pains gone."

"My lord, I think you have some sort of rot inside of you. If I didn't know better, I might've mistaken it for festerblood or something worse." Carver shot back, his concern clear in each word, "It's an Oraff-Zept's blessing that you aren't bedridden now."

He moved on quickly. "Tell me about the other symptoms."

Garith closed his eyes to limit the light. "My eyesight becomes blurry some times. I struggle to stand for long periods. Head pains are often constant and small until now. They are at their worst whenever I use magic. That is followed by the tail growing and spreading."

The healer nodded while he listened. His hand reached for henbane, hemlock, and mint to toss into the mortar. Once he finished grinding, he scraped them into a mug and poured in ale. He held it out to the baron. "Drink this and see if it helps."

Garith's nose wrinkled in disdain at the concoction. "It won't."

"It is worth trying, isn't it?" Carver countered with some patience. "How did your last healer treat it?"

Garith downed the drink and then offered the mug back. "He used binding to make me numb. I had to be extra careful to avoid accidents, but I could do my duties at least."

Casually, he curled forward and pressed his temple into his hands. The pain felt worse now. He inhaled deeply in a pitiful attempt to ride it out. Suddenly, he felt a pair of hands pressed against the back of his skull.

Garith tensed and then glanced over his shoulder. "What are you doing?"

Carver pushed the noble back down. "Stay still. I am trying to figure out what's going on."

He forced himself to relax when a tingling sparked across his skin and deep into his muscles. His body twitched against the invading magic as the healer dug for the source. Carver's brow furrowed. "That is... strange. There's a cluster of something here. I'm not sure what it is."

The baron scoffed. "Forrest found it too in my mother. He tried to remove it, but it didn't work. Each time he did, it came back and spread."

He pictured the healer rolling his eyes at his statement. "Don't believe me, purify it. The cluster will return before the hour is up."

Carver opened his mouth to argue when the sounds of stomping boots interrupted him. Hollis had returned. The girl hauled the pail in, her wide motions sent water sploshing across the dirt floor until she set it down. She returned to the entrance and collected the logs next. Tossing them into the pit, she looked to her brother. "All right, that's done. Where's the flint and stone?"

"On the table, by the corner," Carver answered, a bit lost in his thoughts.

Hollis frowned when she got to the table. After a few sweeps and moving things, she clicked her tongue against her teeth. "No, it's not."

"Yes, it is."

"I don't see it. Was it on the edge or something?" Her irritation entered her tone again.

With a sigh, he moved in next to her and realized she was right. It was gone. His form hunched down to scan the floor beneath. "It was here. I swear I left it here."

The girl crossed her arms and tilted her head. "It's not now. Where do you remember having it last?"

"I don't know."

She reflected on where she had seen them last, but she couldn't recall. Her cheek reddened in anger as she scolded him. "That's wonderful. Now I have to pay the river another visit! I don't want to spend another week looking for more."

Meanwhile, Garith sat there rubbing his temple. Their bickering had added to his pain and finally forced him to interrupt. "Enough!"

Immediately, their words faded into silence. They both stared at him with a mix of surprise and anger. Ignoring it, he took a moment to restrain his irritation and then addressed Carver. "Is the fire really that important?"

"It is something easy to draw from."

The missing title didn't go unnoticed, but Garith didn't comment. A heavy sigh escaped his lips. "Fine, I'll light it. Move aside."

He braced his cane and, with a strained effort, pushed onto his feet. Slowly, he stopped at the pit's edge before he extended his palm. His gift tugged at the faint sounds outside before he uttered the spell. "Ipte-Zept's Blessing."

A moment of silence washed over the scene. The ash grew hot and sizzled, sparking into flames. Their essence crawled up onto the surface of the logs to settle and spread.

Sweat poured down Garith's brow, followed by a dizziness that blurred his vision. A poor decision, and now he suffered for it. Weakness raced up his leg as it crumbled. He leaned into his cane by shifting his weight. The prickling sensation grew in his arm until it raced upward. Helpless to move, the noble fought to keep his pride and stay up against the odds. An arm suddenly wrapped about his and guided him slowly back to the stool. Garith shot a grateful look toward Carver.

"Is this normal when you use the gift?" The healer took a moment to study him.

"Yes, unfortunately. It is getting to the point that I can't use magic at all without collapsing."

Carver moved on. "Did your last healer make any records over this?"

"No, he was illiterate. And I wasn't exactly in a good condition to take them myself." Meanwhile, Hollis' gaze hadn't stopped lingering on Garith since he sat down. It was enough to force him to comment. "If you keep staring at me like that, you'll go blind."

She pursed her lips briefly. "No I won't."

Her eyes turned to her brother.

Her eyes then turned to her brother. "What's wrong with him?"

"Impurities of a new variety, I believe. I'm still trying to figure it out."

"Shouldn't your gift get rid of it? Binding fixes everything after all."

Carver's eyes glanced at the baron, "Amost everything, but the lordship thinks it won't help here. I was about to test it out before..." He trailed off.

"You lost the flint and stone." She finished.

Despite the agonizing pain pounding into his skull, Garith suppressed a chuckle. He saw traces of his younger sister in Hollis when she was that age. However, the girl's sass was far sharper. That's when he heard Carver once more move in behind him. "Hold still, please. I'll try to keep this as painless as possible, but I can't promise anything."

"Don’t worry. I am not petty enough to hold a grudge over something small."

Once more, the healer's hands touched the back of his skull, and the man's gift stirred Garith's manas. The fire dimmed. The young baron’s hands rested on his cane until his knuckles turned white. More sweat beaded down his brow and stung his eyes. Still, he stared straight ahead and latched onto the stubbornness he had been born with. Flares of pain ebbed and flowed, spinning his vision. He closed his eyes, but instead it became worse. His breath echoed in his ears for what seemed like hours until the healer finally spoke again.

"I think I got it all. The mark looks fainter now and I think that's a good sign." Carver pulled back to his herbs. "I'm making you some tea. It should help restore your energy and ease any pain left."

"I wouldn't bother." Garith shot back quickly, "It will be back soon and I still need you to numb me."

There was a moment of silence between them. Finally, Carver spoke with a slight disbelief at his words.

"I mean no offense, my Lord, but I doubt that. If it does return, it won't be instant." He grabbed the dangling hook and hung the pot over the fire.

Garith’s eyebrow arched at the healer’s dismissal. Pleasants were rarely rude to their lordships unless a firm familiarity had been fashioned. Garith rested his chin on his cane topper. "We'll see."

As if on cue, he felt something warm and wet trickle down his lip. His fingers wiped it away and instantly he spotted the blood coating them. He didn’t seem surprised.

Meanwhile, Hollis turned his direction and her eyes widened. "Ah Carver, he's bleeding."

"What?” The healer turned to see his upper lip covered in red. “Hollis git the rags! Quick!"

Garith continued to tilt his head forward as the cane was taken from his hand and set aside. Still being shirtless, his attention drifted to his arm. The dark mark’s thick tail surfaced once again on the white skin, marring it, before snaking out into the smaller veins. As if to punish him, Garith felt his hands tremble with a subtle warning. He braced himself. The pain exploded in the back of his head causing him to collapse to one side.

His hearing started to give out.

"Hollis, where ... those ..."

"I'm looking!" The girl finally snatched a rag from the table before she rushed back. "... going on?"

"He's ... a reaction ... the ... out of the ... and anything else."

Garith felt Carver cradle his head and roll him onto his side. "Help me ... him in place... have ... ride this out."

The baron watched the healers scramble to help until his sight gave out to darkness.

The Hourglass Order

Roslyn Wicke

"I'm thinking it's better to split up and cover more ground."

The Riddle of Lindenholdt Part 2

_{Date and Time: Zale 31st, Morning to Afternoon...ish
Location: Lindenholdt, Kerremand}

The Archives

*

The sun was little more than a vague blueness upon the horizon and Ipte had not yet given way to Shune. The girl's eyes flickered open. Large and hazel, they blinked a couple of times, and a hand reached up to rub the sleep from them: an impossible task at such an hour.

She sat up and struggled for her balance for a moment, those same hands catching her. Three chests rose and fell around her. A rhythm of three people's breaths was all the noise that could be heard, save for the creaking of the girl's bed.

Wary of waking the others, the girl did not call upon the Gift, as she usually might've. It took her a minute to extract herself from the blankets tangled around her legs and, with a final flex of powerful arms and a heave-to, she swung herself into the wheelchair that had waited patiently by her bedside for the day's activity.

Quietly, she settled her feet onto its footrest and adjusted her nightgown. Her brakes snapped open with an unavoidable 'click', and she rolled carefully out of the room, quiet as a ghost.

Lindenholdt spread itself before her: still, cold, and dark. A handful of lights twinkled in the night. A snowy wind whistled across bare fields and tree branches. The girl closed her eyes and stretched her senses out, stifling a yawn as she began.

The organ, at this hour, was silent, but they had been busy in the crypt, she could sense: moving things to a ship waiting on the river. Next, the tethered turned her senses to the town, and its slumbering denizens. The first couple of carts were already at the square, to be certain, and the town's night watch was still about.

The important bit was the archives. She checked the careful chemical triggers she had left on the door and some of the records. All lay undisturbed. Looks like we can trust you after all, she remarked at Sybille Lorenz in her head.

Marceline took another hour to get ready; Victenday was the one day where she went through her entire routine without the assistance of magic, for the sake of her tenuous health and simply knowing how to do it, in case. The first rays of sun were reaching somnambulant arms across the townscape when she patted Roslyn on the shoulder. It was time to get up. She had made a promise to a pair of children, after all.

Roslyn had slept against a corner and curled into a ball. At Marceline's touch, she twitched and stirred. Her arm pushed her upright as she hovered in place. Then she stretched her arms mightily over her head with a heavy, unbridled yawn.

"Bore i gyd yn barod (Morning all ready)?" She spoke in Hendlish wiping the grit from her eyes. She pulled the remains of her braid across her shoulder to the front and picked out the broken tie. " O'r fath drafferth eu rhoi yn ôl at ei gilydd pan fydd hyn yn digwydd. (Such a hassle putting them back together when this happens.)"

Realizing she needed more help, she stretched out to the right and dug into her bag. She pulled a horse hair brush then forcefully ran it through a few times. Her eyes noted Marceline nearby. "Apologies, I'm not my best self when I wake up."

Satisfied with her hair, she braided it tightly then retied it back up. She got to her feet and tiptoed around the other sleeping girls to get ready for the day. It took her about half an hour as she emerged, casually checking her coin purse. Her voice avoided the tiresome tone. "I'm ready now."

Xiuyang awoke, surprised to have slept at all. She'd prayed that at some point the noise would stop, and with how quiet it was now, it must have, but she could not remember when. The warmth of the inferno blanket felt like a heavy weight holding her body in place. "Five minutes," she groaned, not wanting to move. It was hard to tell if she was awake or not, but sure enough, in five minutes, when Marci returned, she stirred—stretching just about every part of her body, and taking up a whole bed's worth of space.

One had to wonder just how long it would take the girl to get ready, when nearly all of her was wrapped in bandages as if she were allergic to the sun, but she was remarkably quick. She tied up most of her hair in a bun, leaving a pair of side locks. "What'd I miss..?" she yawned, taking a sip of something hot.

The inn's common hall was less than half-full, many still sleeping as the sun cleared the horizon and began its daily ascent behind a veil of clouds. "Well, for one, as I was telling Rose," Marci remarked, voice barely north of a whisper, "Sibylle didn't disturb any of the chem trackers I put in the archives." She shrugged. "Take it as you will, but I think she can be trusted - at least with this. Second..." She glanced over at the Hendlishwoman. "...One of us made a promise to a group of kinder. We should probably keep it."

Marceline turned on the spot, plate on her lap, licking bacon grease off of her fingers in a most unladylike fashion. "Do that first and be there after opening for the archives, or do it when we want a break from research?" Presently, she pushed over to the table, set her plate on it, and traded it for a cup of coffee, which she eagerly drained. She had a second at the ready.

Ingrid had been rising as Xiuyang had left the room, and she, Johann, and Marco were making their way over now. There was the risk of getting pulled into a long conversation if they were not careful.

Roslyn followed the two out of the room into the hall as she listened to Marceline. She chose not to reponse to the first statement, and simply hoped for the best. If Sybille was untrustworthy, she doubted they would get far in this mystery. Not without causing trouble.

She grabbed a bit of bread and a pint of beer along the way. Both disappeared in moments, the back of her hand wiping her mouth. "I want to say the children first, but I think it might be better done as a break. I want to visit a bit and make sure they get to enjoy their gifts."

Her hand set the mug and plate on a counter before she adjusted the corded bracelet on her wrist.

Xiuyang inhaled the steam from her hot cup. "It wasn't her I was worried about, but I'm glad that you thought ahead and they weren't disturbed in any case." She took a seat and had a slice of bread with almost too much butter, if such an accusation could be leveled. "I agree we should get our business done first. Then we can enjoy the rest of the daylight if there are no urgent leads." Still, she acted as if there were none already, perhaps still wary that the tavern's regulars were watchmen.

Marceline made vaguely committal acknowledgements before Johann proceeded to start wolfing down his breakfast and hurling ideas at her in tandem. She found him tiresome. She could not pinpoint quite why, but she did and that was all that there was to it. Then, the group headed to the crypt had made their choice and she spared a brief hello for the other group headed - hopefully - for a meeting with Liesl Frickmayer.

Marceline rolled her eyes and neck simultaneously in a grand gesture of teenage impatience. Her fingers drummed on her rims. "So, can we like, go now?" she whined loudly. "We're in this town to shop, right?" Petulant eyes found the others. "So let's maybe... shop?"

"I was only waiting for you to rush out the door without me like usual," Xiuyang fired back as she finished off her drink. "Or are you waiting for me to get up and push?" She stuck her tongue out, stacking three more slices of bread in her hand.

"I said everything I needed to say. Enough talking and start walking. In Marci's case, rolling." Roslyn was already starting out the door.

With a little, "Eep! No!" Marceline was gone faster than you could say her name. She twisted on the spot as she eased out the door to give Roslyn a little hiss.

It was moments before all three had bustled out of the door and were out on the street. Trees rose in front of townhouses, branches bare or, in the case of evergreens, festooned with simple decorations made by children.

Coasting along at a good clip, Marci reached down to scoop up some snow, only to find that it was not the right sort for a snowball. The air was cold and sharp and the street busy, even at this early hour. Ahead loomed the Weberplatz, with is plethora of vendors, shoppes, scents, and sounds.

It was at about that moment that the street transitioned from hard-packed dirt, blessedly frozen, to cobble, and Marceline's smooth and easy progress came to an abrupt and definitive halt. She lurched forward, nearly spilling out of her wheelchair. "So, you know how I hissed at you about pushing?" She addressed Roslyn in a sweet voice. "I take that back, ol' buddy ol' pal."

She got a ride the rest of the way into the square, so as not to tire her manas, of course. The Weberplatz was a hive of activity, with many of the same sights as the day before. As they made their way across its northern edge, the three girls noticed:

A butcher selling fresh venison as well as pineapple pork: a rare treat for a place like this at this time of year. There was a sign that Xiuyang knew meant 'Halal'. Apparently, there were Darhannics who either lived or passed through here.

There appeared to be people tap dancing inside the very busy cobbler's again. However, one young woman stood off to the side with an uncomfortable expression.

A preacher stood on one of the street corners, atop a soapbox and speaking in a fiery tone about the sins of this town and the devils in the woods and the fires of Marhazannet to come.

One of the bakeries was having a final sale before the holidays. There were Brandaeble fritters among their offerings.

The apothecary shop had some very rare and expensive items, especially for a mere large provincial town.

An old woman was selling vegetables hand-grown in her garden. She was drinking beer and smoking like a chimney as she counted her money.

A cheesery was also selling large flasks of eggnog. There appeared to be a very jolly eeaiko man behind the counter.

A young man with no legs was painting simple portraits of people for pocket change beneath the large Caldores Tree.

There was a furniture shop that appeared to be closed, but some burly men where going in and out with large pallets and there was a wagon out back.

Beyond the shops, there were also many people of interest:

A couple of old women were watching the group of interlopers quite intently, particularly the tethered and the Retanese.

Two men seemed to have gotten into an argument over something and a crowd had gathered where they shouted at each other.

There was a small pig loose on the other side of the market and a boy and girl with bright red hair were chasing it.

Hans Grunewald was huffing and puffing as he hustled to his office in the dyer's guild.

There was a big sucky-looking boy sitting close to a burly woman selling firewood with a scowl and crossed arms.

Three preteen and young teen boys were running away from Bastian, who seemed to be chasing them.

At the far end of the square, about a dozen miners were heading for their morning shift outside of town. Some were grabbing warm drinks and snacks.

Two well-dressed men and a woman were sitting close to the cider stand conversing in very... technical Revidian.

A very tall woman - perhaps even taller than Ingrid - dressed in bright clothing, was juggling for a group of children.

"Oh, you just don't like it when *I* push. I see how deep our friendship goes," Xiuyang lamented, acting wounded, her tone playful.

Her merchant's eyes scanned the shops, taking note of some of the unusual signage and out-of-season products on offer. She'd noticed it before, but someone clearly had ambitions of turning this place into some kind of metropolis in future, with the Quentic stronghold of the Dom ostensibly as its centrepiece. "Devils in the woods? How frightening," she remarked, in a very un-Xiuyang-like tone. "I'd love some Brandaeble fritters and eggnog right about now, wouldn't you?" she said, abruptly leaving the two girls to stand in line, more or less—an ear subtly inclined to the preacher, whose attempts to convince anyone of any anything of any complexity likely fell on deaf or uncomprehending Kerremand ears. Perhaps, if his frustrations resulted in him leaving the stage soon, he'd settle for one pair of attentive ears.

"To be fair, I've had a bit of practice pushing a wheelchair before." Roslyn countered, still wheeling Marceline along. She was mindful of the dips in the path and made efforts to avoid them.

Catching Xiuyang's mention of devils, her eyes darted to her friend's direction. She studied her friend's expression before she left them to go standing in line. "Seems like something else got her attention. Speaking of devils... that reminds me of something."

Her gaze tilted down to Marci. "Umm, do you remember that sword you pulled from that stone?"

There were a good few others in line for the fritters and it would take some time to reach the front. That gave Xiuyang the opportunity to listen. The issue was that the man's words were almost entirely in Kerreman, save for the odd phrase in Avincian - mostly menanic quotes. It seemed, for now, a fool's errand.

Meanwhile, Roslyn had brought up a topic of personal interest to Marceline as they decided where they should go. The tethered considered for a moment. "Hard to forget it," she replied, with a fond shake of her head. "Zaz and I must've practiced for days on end." She sighed as the line moved, and took a push forward. "I've never felt so... just perfectly in sync with someone, you know?" She tilted her head to the side. "Why do you ask?"

"Yeah, it was amazing and creepy at the same time. I helped out a bit. " She noticed Xiuyang trying to listen to the priest, who spoke mainly in the native tongue. He seemed to repeat the same thing over and over again.

"There was a moment after you two began to meditate that you both spoke to me. The words were directed at me and I was thinking it was either my imagination or something... else."

Marceline's voice lowered, and she twisted to glance over her shoulder. Then, she shrugged. "To be honest," she admitted, "I haven't said anything because I thought I was imagining it." The Kerreman blushed slightly. "It was as if the words didn't come from me, though I remember speaking them. I assumed it was some sort of spell."

Xiuyang listened with keen interest, both to her friends and the angry preacher, but she wasn't getting anywhere with the latter. He was, however, dutifully repeating himself, so she leaned in to interrupt the two. "Marci. What is this *predicatore infernale* rambling on about? Does he get more specific about what's in the woods or what sins the town is being hounded for?"

"I didn't think you were the religious type, Xiuyang. " Roslyn commented upon hearing Xiuyang's request of Marci.

"I am now," she replied back with a mischievous grin. Did it have more meaning than she let on?

That was when Marceline rolled up beside her. "Takin' in the beauty of the Kerreman language?" she chirped teasingly. The younger girl shrugged. "To be honest, I just wanted to give you a chance to have the honour of pushing me." She couldn't quite smother her smirk. "And maybe pick up a few fritters." She furrowed her brow. "I think we used to cook them back at home in Meckelin-Thandau." She shook her head. "I don't remember ever eating one, but I feel like I know the taste of them."

As she spoke, however, she translated in pinch language. It was nearly 5:00 Shune, when the archives would be opening for the last time before the holidays, but they would have enough time for some more snooping first. <And. Now. In. The. Woods. To. The. East. The. Devils. Of. Yore. Rise. Again. | Who. Here. Lives. In. Denial. That. Strange. And. Unholy. Things. Have. Been. Happening. In. This. Town. | Who. Here. Does. Not. Wonder. About. The. Disappearing. People. | But. Who. Here. Lamented. As. They. Should. Have. The. Burning. Of. The. Frickmayer. Family. Our. Guardians. | This. Town. Has. Become. Sinful. Since. Their. Deaths. Like. It. Was. Before. The. Light. Of. The. Five. Came. | It. Has. Become. Greedy. And. Worldly. And Unhappy. Beneath. Its. Surface. Of. Cheerful. Materialistic. Hedonism.> He raised his voice and pointed to the ground emphatically as the three girls moved up nearly to the front of the queue. <Now. The. Devils. We. Had. Banished.> Marci translated, <Have. Returned. And. They. Will. Consume. Us. All. Repent.> he shouted, <Repent!>

It occurred to her that she'd might as well translate for Roslyn as well, but then they were at the front of the line and the three of them could always share later.

Roslyn seemed distracted as she rolled Marceline along. It wasn't until she caught her friend's mention of knowing the taste did her mind focus on the present. "Thankfully, we get to change that today."

She moved next to the tethered, who translated, and requested three fritters. Once received, she passed one to Xiuyang and two to Marci. "Since I'm doing the honor of rolling you, you can hold my share of the fitters."

With that she led them off to the side. "Next stop, the eggnog?"

"Only that he, like most preachers, believes he speaks a truth no one in this town wants to hear," Xiuyang said as she took a bite of her Brandaeble fritter, trying to make her comment sound more inane than meaningful. "And that's twice now that the notion of the treeline and the river being dangerous has been brought up. We'd better stay in town, where big, strong men can see us," she quipped sardonically.

At the notion of checking out the furniture shop—which appeared to be closed, she noted—she looked at Marci, a bit surprised. "I didn't take you for an appreciator of fine woodwork, Marci," she teased. "But the butcher's sounds fun!" <What. Do. You. See. There?> she pinched back.

"Delicate little flowers like us might get stepped on out there," Marceline agreed, "but not Rose. Every Rose has a thorn, after all."

With that, she offered Roslyn's fritter to the girl and began snacking on her own between pushes, only giving up and letting the Hendlishwoman push her once she'd finished her snack. <The. Butcher. Has. Out. Of. Season. Things. And. Expensive. Things.> Marci told the others silently. <But. That. Shop. Closed. And. Moving. Things. Seems. Suspicious. There. Is. A. Lot. Of. Heavy. Metal. In. Those. Crates.> "Whoa, ladies," Marci teased. "Fritters, eggnog, prime cuts? We fattening up for the holidays or something?" She pinched her midsection and puffed out her cheeks to appear 'fat'.

"Yeah, but that doesn't mean I go looking for trouble. It just happens to find me. " Roslyn said as she reached for her snack. The treat was sweet and warm, perfect for the cold season.

At Marci's teasing about weight, she stuck out her tongue. "Even a mouse needs to fatten up for the winter season."

Her eyes turned to the furniture shop. She recalled it was open yesterday, but didn't know how well it had done. " I recall that shop was open yesterday. I didn't stop by myself, but I'm starting to notice something. This town has a few consistencies. Like those two voices shouting at each other. Second time they have been at it."

"In all seriousness, it would be just our luck if the preacher turned out to be right and we ended up fighting a demon by the end of this. I hope he's wrong." She made the sign of the Pentad superstitiously, and it was hard to tell if she was joking or not.

She huffed at the accusation of fattening up, but it wasn't as if she could joke about eating for two. "Alright, alright. Prime cuts or egg nog, pick one for now. We should be on time and make a good impression, to balance out whatever those angry-looking ladies might be saying about us," Xiuyang replied, stealing a glance at the pair, not particularly caring if they overheard her.

"I've had enough demonic encounters to last me a lifetime. Two is enough for me." Roslyn shuddered at the memory of both Belthagor and the wailing leviathan. " I vote the eggnod. We can down it along the way and won't smell up the archives."

"Gracious, Rose. Do you intend to buy in bulk?" she teased hypocritically. "...Wait, two?" she realized suddenly.

Marceline arched an eyebrow. "Oh, I have no interest in the meat," she admitted, "Though it's probably to die for." She shrugged, taking control of her wheels back again for the umpteenth time so she could turn a bit. "I just think it's a mystery and could mean something, but..." she pondered aloud, "I'm probably reaching."

Marceline glanced over at the old ladies and stuck out her tongue, utterly brazen with the gesture.

"Ah, you want to know how they got their hands on it? I'm curious too, but I doubt they'd reveal their secret on the cheap," Xiuyang replied, before Marci stuck her tongue out at the old hags. "*Marci!*" she scolded in a hushed whisper, only somewhat convincingly from a distance as she covered her mouth in that ladylike way, concealing her impish grin.

"Yeah. I don't know if I happen to be unlucky or something... " Roslyn shrugged. "I'll give you the details later."

She released her grip of the handles when Marci took back her wheelchair. Finishing the last of her treat, she fought not to choke as she chuckled at the catness of her friends. " I will say, we can come back here during our break before heading to the Zimmerman house. We did decide to take a break between research."

"Alte, schrumpelige Rosinen ..." the tethered muttered under her breath. "Was guckst du dir an!?" she hissed, a bit louder, but still quietly enough that they wouldn't hear it. She rolled her eyes. "They were talking about the 'Cripple' and the 'Squinty-eye'." Marci shook her head and glanced up at her two friends. "If I ever get that old, kill me, okay?"

With that, she turned on the spot. "Y'all want eggnog that badly, huh?" She shook her head and threw her hands up in surrender. "Then, eggnog ye shall have." She turned on the spot and made for the cheesery. In the background, the miners finished up, the woodcutter tried to reason with the boy during a gap between customers, and the wagon that had been behind the furniture shop clattered away in the direction of the river and the docks.

The lineup was not especially long at this time of day - some veneer of respectability had to be kept regarding alcoholic drinks - and they were quickly inside of the dairy emporium. There were a dozen different cheeses, both local and imported from Perrence, Eskand, Crisia, Feska, and Revidia. A couple of swarthy-looking men were poking around the last of those. There were yogurts, creams, and a handful of large cans with different local milks. Chicken, puffchicken, quail, turkey, and grouse eggs waited in crates, along with Brandtudse eggs.

Then there was, of course, the eggnog, in five varieties. "This place is just about a real city," Marci murmured, in Avincian for the others' benefit.

Xiuyang amused herself by squinting in an exaggerated way at the old ladies, as if she were really having just as much trouble seeing them as they probably did seeing her. Truthfully, there was no spiteful intent behind it. She would prefer that they laughed, and smile if they did—and shrug if they didn't.

She had a look at the selection of nog. A Rettanese who liked dairy products was a rare sight indeed, and would have given her away as a girl of mixed descent if her clothes didn't already. "Yes. Someone in charge of its planning is certainly ambitious," she noted out loud innocently, but by now the girls knew she was thinking more deeply about it than her tone suggested. Likely, the bigger money interests were hoping for a swift completion of the Dom rather than opposing it. She wondered if there might be Darhannic interests here against the construction, but there was no evidence of anything other than the suggestion of a presence of a Virangish customer base large enough to warrant a sign—either now or, ambitiously, in the future.

"I'll have something not too strong, for appearance's sake," she remarked with a shrug. When her turn in line came, she would point to something of that nature and hold up three fingers. *And say "Danke" in a thick Rettanese accent, why the hell not?*

"I agree," replied Marci, as she tried to catch a bit of what the Revidians were saying and only got an innocuous 'store', 'late', and 'Kerremans' out of it. "Has to be related to the cathedral, right?"

In any case, both had soon ordered - Marceline took something a bit stronger so as not to shame her Kerreman heritage - and were about ready to leave. The man behind the counter turned out to be from Akrihar which, to be fair, bordered Kerremand to the direct north, in Dami's Eye.

Outside, the arguing men had stopped arguing, the children had caught the pig, and Bastian was hauling one little scamp, by the collar, towards the Constable's office. The hour was just about to strike and they were still not quite at the town archives.

Definitely flourishing, that's for sure. She agreed with Marci's earlier statement. Her eyes took in the scene. There was an obvious money flow coming from somewhere. It got her thinking harder. She suspected the source might be due to the Revidians smuggling weapons out. A flourishing town made it easier, but then there were the disappearances. They drew too much attention and risked trouble. So what happened there?

She hoped the archives might help shed some light on that.

Roslyn was last to make her order and followed the other two out. Noticing the time, she realized they weren't anywhere close to the archives. "We should get moving if we want a chance to arrive at the archives on time. "

Xiuyang took a long gulp of the nog, savoring it but lowering the liquid's level enough for what she was about to do. "So then, it's time to review your wheeling skills," Xiuyang replied, keeping up her Rettanese accent. "You race me now, grasshoppa!" She took off running.

They arrived a moment later on a side street just outside of the archives. Sibylle was walking to the front door to unlock it from the inside. "Don't look hurried," Marceline advised the others, pulling on a bit of the Gift to see her over those damned cobblestones. "Bureaucrats can smell weakness."

They reached the door just as the archivist did. She pushed it open with a smile. "Oh, why hallo!" They could see, set out on one of the large tables inside, a series of folders, documents, and a wooden case full of scrolls - some very old. "Your punctuality warms my frosty little heart," Sibylle joked. "Now, do come in." She gestured them toward the table, where four chairs waited. "I've taken the liberty of setting your materials out and pulling some others that might interest you as well." She bowed her head slightly. "I hope this is okay."

Roslyn hastily wiped away her eggnog mustache as she kept close to the others. She smiled at her cousin's tease as they stepped into the archives. It looked much better in the day than at night, she noted. "Thank you, Sibylle. I greatly appreciate it. We can use all the help we can get."

Xiuyang giggled. Whether she took Marci's comment about bureaucrats seriously was anyone's guess. "Salomé Solari, Tan-Zeno of Ersand'Enise," she introduced herself professionally with a smile, a bow, and the sign of Oraff. "Thank you for your hard work. If I may trouble you for one more thing we learned at the last minute last night, I'm curious to learn anything I can about any other incidents that refer to a so-called 'Frickmayer curse.' Other unsolved cases, reports of tall tales and the like. Statements made by clergy to local authorities, perhaps?" she added hopefully.

They had, before them, four separate sets of files:

Firstly, in a series of three stacks, came birth and death records along with a complete genealogy of the House of Frickmayer. Some were very old and had been rebound multiple times.

Marriage records, accounts, and dowries of the House of Frickmayer came next, in a similarly ancient and extensive fashion.

There were compendiums of the folklore of the Althern Valley, Lindenholdt, and the Black Forest region. It seemed that Xiuyang's query had already been pre-emptively answered.

A neat stack of modern carefully-bound records of the cathedral's construction and payment was present as well, with ribbons to mark separate sections within.

Finally, there came the personal family records of the Frickmayer crypt, as well as those from the church, and a handful of rolled-up maps. Sitting beside these, separate but included, were investigative reports on the burning of the Frickmayer estate, insurance papers, and - oddly enough - records from an orphanage.

There were four cups of water along with a loaf of bread on the table. All that there was to do now, was begin!

Roslyn took a seat as she debated on where to start. She turned to Sibylle, daring to ask a question. "Sibylle, how much do you know of the Frickmayer curse? "

"The Frickmayer Curse?" Sibylle considered, tapping her finger against her lower lip. "Well, it is a silly thing, I think." She shrugged. "In fact, there are two things with that name." She could see from her distant cousin's face that Roslyn really wanted to know, so she relented and took the matter seriously, as was only professional, after all.

"The first is a silly old notion: that the Grand Demon Iptacht, before he was defeated by St. Adelheid of Frickmayer, placed a curse on all trueborn descendants of her line, that they would not be harmed so long as they drew breath, but that all would turn to stone upon death, unable to ascend to heaven or fall to hell." She shook her head and continued. "When the Grand Demon returned, he would reanimate them by shining upon them the light of hell's Black Sun and use them as his servants. Over time, this legend morphed and changed and, now, many people believe that the light of the sun falling upon the stone bodies will reawaken them and spell doom for the town." Hence, it is believed that there is not a single body in the crypt as we would understand it and to go down there risks spilling light upon the stone men and reanimating them." She rolled her eyes. "In short, a fanciful tale that continues to evolve, typical of provincial towns such as this one."

As Marceline rolled up to the table and shifted a chair out of the way Sibylle took a seat on one of the remaining three. "The other is much simpler: it holds that Iptacht placed a curse upon Lindenholdt when he was defeated, and that the secret to holding it at bay is passed down between generations of Frickmayers, parent to child. Thus, there must always be a Frickmayer to act as guardian of the town, lest the curse be allowed to take effect." She sighed. "But, with their line all but extinct, some say that there is nobody to hold back the curse, and that doom and destruction shall visit Lindenholdt when the last of them passes away." Sibylle tapped on the table pensively. "Some say that Lady Liesl has already died - none would really know the difference - and this is the root of our current troubles. Others hold that, as her powers wane in what must surely be her very final days, evil has already seeped back into the town and will run unchecked once she passes."

She took a sip from one of the cups, claiming it, and shrugged noncommittally. "That's what some say, anyhow: old superstitious types. I do not particularly believe it, but who knows for certain." Her eyes roved about the archives and she prepared to rise. "Now, you ask me if you need anything. I need to set some things in order before the holidays, and we'll likely see at least a few visitors before closing."

Xiuyang remained silent as Sybille spoke, but she turned meaningfully to Marci at the notion that there were no bodies in the crypt, as if to ask her if she *literally* meant it when she said that she didn't find any. She didn't ask the question out loud, but she didn't need to.

"The architect did say something along those lines. The curse does anything and nothing depending on who you ask." She shrugged dispassionately. "There should be more than enough here to be equal parts useful and entertaining, I think." She began to pore through the folklore of Lindenholdt and the Black Forest region, with a particular eye for anything that an old preacher might refer to as "devils." It was possible that the Revidians were using the curse and the crypt as cover for their operations, but the possibility that they were tampering, intentionally or not, with powers beyond their understanding—*hopefully* beyond their understanding—was also on the table.

"Thank you again." Roslyn stated as her cousin departed. She didn't know where to start as she had made the request on Marci's behalf so she assumed the tethered had a reason for it. "Marceline, I'm going to sound like an idiot saying this but... Did you have something specific you want me to look for? You and Xiuyang were at the cathedral."

Marceline lifted her cup to her lips and took a sip to steady herself. She nodded with her eyes. She had assumed that the bodies had simply been moved as part of the construction or something more nefarious, but hearing this story... Was she provincial and superstitious for considering it, even for a few moments? With that, she managed to say a few words of easy noncommittal agreement with Xiuyang's assertion.

Roslyn spoke and she tilted her head in response. "It'd be nice to know about which Frickmayers were alive at the time of the fire, I think..." She trailed off and craned her neck up to Sibylle, who had just made her way to a nearby shelf. "Wie viele Jahre ist das her, Sibylle?"

The archivist turned and blinked, thinking for a moment. "Oh, fifteen now, I think." She pointed at the stacks she had placed there pertaining tot he event. "All of the exact details are in there, I believe." Presently, she went back to sorting items on the shelf and Marci went back to her response. "Yes, so how many Frickmayers were alive at the time, how much they sold the land for, and what their accounts looked like before and after. Then -" She furrowed her brow. "Costs of the cathedral's construction."

Xiuyang pored through page after page of poorly translated folklore. Very little of it was of interest to her. She was looking for consistencies in an ocean of odd phenomena that had nothing to do with each other. A part of her told her she was wasting her time. Another fought back with saintly patience, insisting she soldier on. There would be *something* here that was relevant. If there was not, there was truly no need for students of Ersand'Enise to become involved. She flipped page after page, then, all of a sudden, began flipping back pages, as if something stuck out to her after the fact.

"Marci, get a load of this one," she said, as if she'd found something funny. She brought it up close to her, almost too close. It was an excerpt from an article about some mines out in the Eastern Woods that were allegedly haunted. "More underground magnetic activity," she said with a whisper. "And the owner. Look." She pointed out the name: Grunewald. "No relation to the Grunewald who probably warned us to stay out of whatever's going on at the crypt, I presume."

"Okay. Easy enough. I'll start with the births and deaths, then move onto the account logs." Roslyn dug around in her pack for her supplies. After setting her ink bottle on the empty chair's seat, she started on the first tome and scanned the dates. She wrote down each name neatly alongside the birth, date, and notes of additional information. There was no reason to risk damaging a fragile book by opening it more than once.

Marceline flinched back reflexively as the pages nearly bonked her in the nose. She blinked and twisted. "Sibylle, gibt es mehr..." She trailed off and repeated herself in Avincian. "Is there more than one Grünewald family in this town?"

The archivist leaned back, head popping out from between a pair of shelves and a strand of hair coming loose as she did so. She furrowed her brow and considered. "Hmm... no," came the reply, and she nodded slowly as if confirming it in her memory. "Every Grünewald in this town is at least distantly related." She shook her head. "They have been dyers, weavers, and merchants forever, and wealthy for just as long. They were richer than the von Mollerns at one point many years ago." Her head disappeared between the shelves for a moment before poking back out. "Why do you ask?"

Marceline glanced at Xiuyang for approval before deciding to continue. "Did any of them own or were involved with a mine at some point?"

Sybille emerged more fully, now, tapping her chin pensively with a finger. "Haureenium," she replied simply, "Out East of here, there was a quarry." She took a moment to orient herself before pointing. "It was a big deal, until the collapse." She shook her head sadly. "Naturally, the uneducated attribute it to the supernatural, but it was most likely unstable magnetism, given the nature of haureenium, after all."

Roslyn's meticulousness paid dividends. Backtracking a little bit made for some interesting finds. Marceline was, apparently, not-so-distantly related to the Frickmayer line, which made sense for her as a Hohenfelter, Johann shared some history with them as well as a Steinbauer. Roslyn, having reconnected with her distant cousin Sibylle, couldn't resist taking a peek back a few more generations, to see if she had any relation to the storied noble line on her Kerreman side. Sure enough, about one-hundred-fifty years ago, she did.

The main reason for it, however, was to provide context, and Roslyn could pretty definitively declare that the Frickmayers were already well into their decline by the time that the fire had ravaged their estate on Jores the 10th, O55. Their marriages were notably less prestigious, with the exception of a lesser Hohenfelter. They had reported enough income to make the Queen's Register for only four of the fifty years prior, compared to twenty from the previous fifty-year period, and forty-four from the one before that. Out of curiosity, she contrasted that with the von Mollerns' fifty, thirty-two, and fourteen over the same three periods. It also appeared that a handful of Frickmayer branches had died out over the decades leading up to the disaster, or else faded into obscurity. However, they were still massively wealthy, mostly based upon their art collections, land holdings, and income derived from peasant rents. If they were old-fashioned and declining, they had still possessed deep coffers to almost the very end.

There had been eleven Frickmayers alive at the time, including the then-current head, Adolf, along with his wife Ava, and the families of their two sons, the younger of which included a girl of fourteen named Sarah, and the older, a young seven-ear-old heir named Eike, though the child had been little-seen in public. All had been lost except for a then 77 year old Liesl, who had been visiting with friends in Ostermark.

The Hendlishwoman would find, upon looking into the family's accounts and sale of the land, however, that they had made almost nothing from it: merely guarantees of a generous monthly stipend for Liesl from the church and the burgmeister's office, as well as a guarantee that she would be listed as the church's official sponsor, under the words, 'This magnificent house of worship is everything that this town deserves for what it has given the House of Frickmayer. I, as the last of the line, stand determined to repay it with all my heart and soul.'

Digging into the costs would reveal a ballooning budget and plenty of hidden expenses, mostly related to the discovery of a much more extensive crypt than had been initially expected. These had been disguised in various ways, but mostly via write-offs from the burg council and, at once, the von Mollern, Frickmayer, and even Grünewald families. Uncharacteristically, for recordkeeping in Kerremand was, generally, an art form, Roslyn found that many of the notes on expenses were shoddy and vague, simply written 'crypt' and 'foundations'. They did manage to confirm Johann Krauss' assertion, at least, that the prior architect, Hartmann, had been fired for 'gross incompetence and negligence leading to bodily harm.'

Haureenium. Xiuyang had heard of it a couple times. Was the mine so rich with it that it would cause such a thing even if there was nothing else special about it? If it were common knowledge, why the superstitions? She decided not to ask out loud. Sybille had made her opinion known. She unceremoniously tossed the article back into her pile, frustrated. She still felt that it wasn't quite *nothing,* but it wasn't enough to be called something, either. She'd only succeeded in giving herself a half-baked reason not to trust the one deputy she'd had some faith in.

*Any family with a name worthy to be remembered is wealthy. Riches alone don't mean anything.* Xiuyang found herself pacing around the table. She was tired of sitting, and anxiety was creeping in. The students headed to the crypt were reckless, but was she doing any good, here, or just killing time waiting for her countrymen to finish their op and get the fuck out of town so she can work in peace—in the vain hope that they were not involved in the disappearances?

Her half-heartedness chose to show itself by making her pace around the room while she continued to read.

"These notes on the expenses are a massive vague mess.". Roslyn grumbled out loud. Her eyes squinted to find something among the vague crypt and foundation footnotes. Finding herself frustrated, she switched her attention back to the fire. This time she focused on the handful of branches that died out over the decades leading up to the disaster. Then anything that stuck out at her. Maybe there was a pattern here in the chaos.

The branches that had died out had either married into obscurity and their records were no longer maintained (though it was quite possible a number of them still thrived), or had been anemic for some time before disappearing. Two had been wiped out in wars against Huulendam, another in an outbreak of the Grey Death, and another in a tragic and sensational crime of passion. There seemed to be no pattern but that they had died out over the centuries, until the once-great noble house, that had stood shoulder to shoulder with the likes of Albesatz and Meckelin, had faded into near-irrelevance.

She did pick up on a second pattern, however, though she'd been forced to check it and recheck it again: older Frickmayers' deaths always seemed to coincide with the early childhoods - almost exclusively the fifth year - of their heirs. It wasn't too unusual, to fair: the elderly often passed and there were young to replace them, but it was repeated and distinct, stretching back for centuries. Incidentally, she also found blood ties between the Frickmayers, von Mollerns, Grünewalds, and neighbouring Steinbauers.

The fire itself, though. That remained all-but uninvestigated by her hand, and the records of the peasants and their orphans unresolved as well.

Roslyn frowned as she finished her third check, "Okay, found an pattern with the deaths. Older Frickmayers' deaths always seem to happen around the fifth year of their heirs. It wasn't too odd until I noticed it happening distinctly for several centuries back. I think the last generation broke that pattern, but checking again."

The number five was holy in Quentic faith, she recalled and bit her lip. Did that mean something? If not, it at least fed into one of the stories around the family. "I also found blood ties to the Frickmayers, von Mollerns, Grünewalds, and Steinbauers."

She shifted to the records of the peasants and their orphans before getting to the fire. It felt like the better place to start. Her hand jotted down notes over the number of dead, orphans left alive, and what might've happened to some of them after. She figured talking to a survivor might help if the fire report was too vague. And it was a pure fact that children noticed more than adults sometimes.

"I saw something to this effect as well," Xiuyang cut in, though she continued to read the book in her hands as if what she had to say weren't so interesting. "Twenty-five days after the birth of a new Frickmayer heir, someone with connections to the family dies. I only got the superstitious, conspiratory angle of it—that it's done with intent as some kind of ritual. Grisly business."

For a moment, Roslyn looked uncomfortable. The discomfort faded when she pause and took a deep breath. "Another connection to the holy number of five..."

Almost like there's something unnatural going on here or someone is trying to make it so... She took a sip from one of the unclaimed glasses. I hope I'm just being paranoid.

Xiuyang, unable to make much of the folklore, though perhaps some might jog her memory later, delved into stories of other people who had called Lindenholdt and the Althern Valley home in the past. She was not too surprised to find that it had always been a cultural crossroads. At various points in history, it had played host to Eskandish, Huulisch, Crisian, and Hendlish populations. The area had been part of the Avincian Empire for a couple of centuries.

Eeaiko have ventured upriver to trade. Yasoi had called it home more than once and, before them, the narrative skewed closer to mythology than truth. Tiny people, slight and elusive, no bigger than a child when fully grown, had built homes that faded into the hills and forest. The book referred to them as 'sprites' or 'tricksters' or 'cherune'. They had a long history within the local mythology, apparently: appearing often during times of strife and trouble: storms, floods, blizzards, and fires. In some stories, they were the cause of the catastrophes - harbingers of doom, at the very least - while, in others, they were clever helpers, rescuers and mischievous but wise allies who represented relief.

Then, Roslyn spoke and they had discovered a second pattern that loosely matched one of the legends that Xiuyang had read about. Whether it was twenty-five days or five years, there appeared to be an element of sacrifice involved. but what was it for? What could it have meant, and.... could it have been somehow connected to their fall?

Xiuyang had read of the cherune once before, but she could not recall where or when. It must have been a long time ago, because at the time she'd dismissed them as a fairy story. These days, she'd be hard pressed to deny the existence of just about anything if it had been recorded by two independent sources, but how did this help their cause? Whether the men were alive or dead, with each day that passed, their odds of being found dropped exponentially. This was only all the more true if the centers of power and wealth in Lindenholdt were complicit and eager to see them leave.

"Excuse me for a moment," Xiuyang said suddenly, taking her leave of the table and making her way behind a bookshelf to pray to Shune for guidance. *If the Revidians were solely behind it all, they would have done a better job covering their tracks—and if they had failed to cover their tracks, the school would not have sent Revidians to clean up the mess. What am I missing? **Who** am I missing? No, even beyond that, how do I prove it?*

She changed tactics. Assuming the men hadn't fled the town for want of a better life, and assuming they had not been killed in a run-of-the-mill murder for pocket pittance, the most likely outcome was that they had been killed by a Revidian cleaner or sword-for-hire. They'd stumbled upon a weapon-smuggling operation. *When they went to the crypt,* she thought. *A crypt that houses no dead, and was much bigger than originally thought, which also features underground magnetic activity. The mines...*

Her furrowed brow relaxed slightly. She tried to think—if she were in charge of this weapon-smuggling operation, what would she do? *Bribe the owners of already-dug mines and disused catacombs to cut costs. Silence is cheaper when there's less labor. For a front of the operation,* Her eyes turned towards the door. *Using the crypt of an anemic bloodline with few visitors is in poor taste, but effective. If you're discovered, collapse the tunnel and move everything... to a place that would be of no interest to touring biros of Ersand'Enise. A place only likely to be visited by people who intend to stay in Lindenholdt for a long time, such as... a furniture store?*

She rubbed her temple, frustrated. *But whatever is going on here, if there are legends and folklore attached to it, must be older than one Revidian smuggling ring. An unholy rite, masquerading as a holy one, with holy numbers, and an esteemed bloodline that slayed the Grand Demon Iptacht... The weapons... what if they're not just being smuggled out, but in, as well?*

She needed to slow down. All she had now were a handful of pieces, and there were many ways they could be arranged such that they made some manner of sense to someone. She returned to the table, feeling like she hadn't made much progress. Yet, her anxiety settled somewhat.

*Ah. Because if my countrymen are involved in something bigger than the war—something truly unholy—then I have a duty to stop them, regardless of my political alignment,* she realized.

She took some papers from Roslyn's notes, poring over them with her merchant's eyes. The Frickmayers, Grunewalds, von Mollerns and Steinbauers all had blood relations? That was almost every significant family she was aware of—and all of them involved in this investigation.

*Johann. He'd said something was strange before, but I never got the chance to ask what it was. Was he the one who gave Marci the warning?*

She would talk to him the next chance she got, but for now, she looked for either correlations or discrepancies in all of the families' finances. Had they grown suspiciously wealthy together? Did it coincide with significant events in Lindenholdt's history?

Marceline had been conducting research of her own, but mostly peeking in on the others and keeping track of them. She had compiled, in fact, about three pages' worth of notes in the process, and a few things had struck her:

First,

There was something odd going on with the history of the town and the Frickmayers', von Mollerns', and Grunewalds' roles in it, particularly the first and their pattern of deaths. They were not all in collusion, she was nearly certain, but had either of the latter two families been responsible for the fall of the town's ruling dynasty?

Second,

Marci had come to much the same conclusions as Xiuyang about the 'abandoned' mine in the forest to the east, the crypt, and the Blitzwerfer: they were connected. A 'lightning thrower' would naturally make use of a rich but virtually-untapped haureenium vein. The semi-abandoned crypt of a near-extinct noble house would be... She furrowed her brow in thought. No, there were better places to hide it, especially with the crypt being close to an active construction site. The furniture store made sense - things would naturally be moved in and out, it wasn't a high volume site, and it would require a large warehouse.

Marceline reached down and snapped her brakes open. "I'm just going for a walk," she announced. "I need some fresh air." She rolled past them, pushed open the door, and poked her head outside. Squinting across the square and enhancing what she saw with a bit of arcane magic, she took a look at the sign: 'A. Stancati and Son: Fine Revidian Furniture'. "Gotcha," she whispered under her breath, turning jauntily on the spot and pushing back inside.

The first shelf that she went to was the 'accounts of active business concerns'.

Was it really that simple? Roslyn hesitated to believe it, but... the more she found, the more support Marco's theory gained. Of course all the bigger powers involved in the war would be preparing for the bloodshed. If any one untrustworthy discovered it, like two workers, then they would have to be dealt with.

So... why risk the attention? That was the part that bugged her most.

She then reached for the investigation over the estate's fire. Before she could say a word to Marceline, the tethered pulled back and took a break. Roslyn kept her lips closed as her eyes shifted back to the reports. She started with suspected causes and where it might've originated. This didn't feel like an accident.

While Marceline searched for records and Roslyn rifled through what surprisingly little was available on the fire, Xiuyang dug into the past finances of the families. What she found were three different stories.

The Frickmayers could trace their origins, though somewhat dubiously, all of the way back to pre-Avincian times, and they had always been powerful, and then wealthy landowners, though they had clearly failed to diversify and adapt to Lindenholdt's burgeoning reputation as a a trade hub. They had, in all of their recorded history, less than a half-dozen business ventures of any sort to their name, though there had been plenty of military accolades, sponsorship of fine art, and donations to the church. They had, however, suffered a series of losses in the wars against the Hyparish, Huulisch, and Mycormish, given up some of their lands as a dowry for a younger daughter to marry into the royal family (in a marriage that had been unhappy and produced no heirs), and sold off some more of their holdings following a series of famines about a century ago. From that point, their decline had been precipitous.

The von Mollerns' origins, meanwhile, were a good deal more obscure, with the first note of them appearing as wool merchants purportedly 'with ancestry from Ostermark' in a census five-hundred-eleven years prior to the present day. By three-hundred-sixty-one, they were considered a 'family of note'. By three-hundred-eleven, then-head of their family, Emil, was elected head of the clothiers' guild. By two-sixty-one, they had established a growing bank and, a century later, it was the largest one in town. Just over a century before the present day, they had been ennobled ostensibly for 'courageous service during the campaign against the Hyparish.' However, accounts from the time noted a sizable donation to the royal treasuries. Since then, they had continued as bankers and merchants, though they had come into sizable estates as well, just outside of town to the north.

Much in contrast to the social mobility of the other two, the Grunewalds had remained fixtures for nearly as long as the Frickmayers. They had been lesser thegns, knights of note, and skilled craftsman, depending on the generation and branch of their sprawling family. Often, they had married their elder children to the lesser sons and daughters of the Frickmayers, Steinbauers, and even the Hohenfelters, Hohnsteins, Mikkelsterns, and Vaanses. Thier own third and fourth heirs had often faded into obscurity, married to Webers and Lorenzes and Schuttmanns. Early on, they had made a handful of advantageous matches with the von Mollerns. If they had remained, consistently, among the town's leading families, they had also lacked the driving ambition and social climbing of the von Mollerns, who they had made a handful of advantageous matches with over the years. If one thing stood out, it was that they had always been loyal soldiers of the ruling house of Falkenhayn, having donated to numerous war efforts and sent numerous lesser sons there.

If there was any conclusion to draw, it was that there was, in short, no real pattern aside from the fall of the Frickmayers counterbalanced by the rise of the von Mollerns.

Roslyn found what she expected to find: very little. It felt like they had already decided the accident was just that or not bothered with it. Half-dozen servants died along with about two dozen peasants living on the land. There were a few children from the last group who lost their parents, but survived. She jotted their names and ages down just in case.

"I should be surprised by the 'useful' fire report, but I'm not." Her eyes darted over the lead investigator's name. Following that up, she glanced through the insurance claims for each family member. At this point, she didn't expect to find much, save the obvious and just aimed to finish what she started.

"After I'm done with this, I think it might be best to take a break. What do you two think?" She was a little relieved that this mystery wasn't something demonic, at least from what she could tell.

"Mm. Yeah... One more thing from me, too," Xiuyang replied idly. The families' histories yet again offered only suspicions and no real evidence of anything. Her research seemed to be exhausted of leads, or perhaps she'd just spent the last of her patience for reading—and sitting. How *did* Marci do it?

"I don't suppose there would be something so very convenient as a map of all known tunnels and dig sites in Lindenholdt," she remarked out loud, eyes casting about for Sybille. If any of her theories proved to have merit, a rough map, or even a list of areas where their enemies could be hiding out could be of great benefit.

Indeed, Roslyn's digging had not amounted to very much. Ten of the eleven Frickmayers had been present, with six immediately identified as dead, another one joining them later on, and the remains of the last three - Sarah, Eike, and the latter's mother - never positively identified but never reappearing in the record. The number of bodies, at the very least, had matched the number killed.

The fire, according to a heavily-redacted copy of the report, had been started by a lantern knocked over in the kitchens during a dry spell in late Rezain and it had raced through the estate and across the fields filled with dry hay like nothing. The majority of the Frickmayers had died from smoke inhalation in their sleep, without the chance to ever use the Gift to stop it.

The only survivors who had actually been caught in the fire had been Liesl Frickmayer's personal assistant, who had been at the estate to grab some personal documents for her ladyship, one of the Schuttmanns - Dietmar - who had been visiting and wandered out to dunk his head in a well, apparently, in a drunken stupor, and an amnesiac young boy who'd been identified as one of the tenant farmers' children by friendly acquaintances. He'd been sent to an orphanage, renamed Berthold, taken in by the church for his voice, and raised as a choirboy before becoming an organist's apprentice.

As for insurance? There had not been any and, in any case, Roslyn had imagined that a stretch, as it was only really ever craftsmen, who insured the tools of their trade through their guilds.

It was around that time that all three of the girls had become restless and Roslyn had voiced as much. Sibylle was just in the process of finding Xiuyang the closest thing that she could to the map she'd asked for: one was a piece for surveyors and builders, and the other a prospectors' map. To obtain them, Xiuyang only need to blow her friend off for a minute or two, and it was, perhaps, somewhat worth it. Together, the two maps pieced together a somewhat complete picture of the town's underground environs.

Meanwhile, Marceline had nodded and clapped a registry shut. "A. Stancati & Son," she chirped. "Foreign National Business license - applied for last Assani." She smirked. "It's a fuckin' front all the way, and wait 'til you get a load of their local partners - Kerreman law requires a local partner for foreign nationals to set up a business." She tilted her head, rolling back a half-push from the table. "Maybe we can discuss over lunch?" She raised her eyebrows hopefully.

"Ohh? This is better than I expected," Xiuyang said under her breath as she pored over the maps. She remembered to thank Sybille quietly as she did. With this, even if the Revidians hadn't been thrifty and decided to dig their own secret tunnels, then if she just made a copy of the combined maps, the negative space would reveal where those secret tunnels could be built to avoid public awareness—except that of the local tethered, the skeptical part of her helpfully noted, as always.

"Why have I got a feeling I know who that might be?" She sighed as she stood up and stretched. "Ja, let's eat," she agreed eagerly. "As it happens, I'm in the mood for some fresh meat."

"You won't get any protest from me. I think we've gotten as far as we can here." Roslyn agreed then pushed her chair out. She rose to her feet and then collected her things. Finally, she neatly stacked the books back where she found them.

"As for those business partners, I know who my money is on." The smaller girl began to walk back toward the door as she flashed her friends a cheeky smile. "Now, lets go before my stomach decides to swallow me whole."

Just a Little Break

**

There were two bakeries, the butcher, their inn just up the street, and a small tavern at the edge of the square, in addition to a couple of stalls with people selling savoury holiday snacks and hot drinks. Then, Marceline saw it: "Motherf..." she trailed off, immediately turning and making for a little pop-up coffee stall with a green logo called 'Zeno Buck'. An uneven cobble stopped the tethered dead in her tracks until a bit of telekinesis boosted her. She twisted to look over her shoulder at the others and jerked a thumb in the knock-off's direction. "Will you get a load of this?"

Of course, while Marci's attention was drawn in one direction, life went on in the bustling square. A display was being moved around in the furniture shoppe: A. Stancati & Son, and plenty of workers were present. A couple of swarthier-looking men were haranguing Edith Grunewald, or perhaps it was the other way around. The same fire-and-brimstone preacher was still going atop his soapbox, though few paid him any heed, and an older, though not elderly, woman who had been busy at a grocer's, was now yelling at two children for reasons that the trio could not quite make out.

Finally, as the clock chimed 2:00 Oraff, a series of figures bustled out from the Dyer's Guild, Hans Grunewald among them. With what might've been a father's instinct, he started to make his way towards Edith. However, upon seeing who she was with, he doubled back and did his best to disappear into the crowd - an unlikely feat for a man of his prodigious size.

Last of all, if they were perceptive enough, they might've noticed an unusually tall woman and a young Revidian teen - Ingrid and Marco - making their way rapidly north along the plaza's edge.

Marceline had nearly reached pay dirt, and these haughty bipeds would never understand just how difficult it was to roll one's crippled ass through a world that was, at best, benignly neglectful and, at worst, actively malicious towards the... differently-abled.

She visibly flinched when the pinches came in hard and fast - that would be Ingrid, she knew - but managed not to break her pushing rhythm. Gruel Wall... It took a moment to click. Grunewald! Non-tethered had fewer occasions to use pinch language and, all things considered, Ingrid was not terrible.

<In. A. Hurry. Question.> she asked, but the tethered was already taking action. <Xiuyang. Roslyn.> She could manage two at once, though it was not easy. <Hans. And. Edith. Grunewald. Ingrid. Saw. We. Investigate. Question.>

Then, she noticed something, for few things ever escaped Marceline. <Wait. Where. Is. Johann. Question.>

It was at about that moment that their pursuer disappeared into the crowd.

Xiuyang had a quick final word with Sybille, thanking her for her help so far and asking that she keep their materials handy, as they wouldn't be long in returning for them. Marci's foul outburst caught her attention briefly, and she snickered at the knock-off branding that would make any Rettanese proud. Most of her attention, however, was reserved for the Grunewalds. She, too, felt a protective urge of a kind—one that, much like Marci, she supposed Edith would probably not appreciate if she knew of it—as she watched the girl's father suppress his own instincts.

*Gift or no Gift, I find it hard to believe that you'd leave your wheelchair-bound daughter alone against two grown men, unless you knew who they were.* She stroked her chin thoughtfully. This was an opportunity—for what, precisely, she did not yet know, but she knew it to be an opportunity of a kind. *Danke, Herr Grunewald, for the chance to take the temperature of these troubled waters.* "Excuse me for just a minute," she said to Marci and Roslyn, approaching the furniture store.

She neared the storefront at a moderate pace, with an easy and confident stride Ciro had taught her to emulate, knowingly or otherwise. "There you are," she said smoothly, as if she'd been looking for Edith all along. "You aren't *bothering* these gentlemen, are you?" she quipped, turning the expected line on its head with a cheeky grin.

*Please be on our side,* she thought as she sensed with the Gift for any trace of pinch language use in the immediate area. *Please don't be here to warn them that we just found out what's really going on here,* she thought, her face as friendly as ever as she gauged Edith's reaction. She didn't intend to create a big confrontation here, but if she found herself in one, Ingrid and Marco weren't too far—and in fact, Ingrid was already communicating with Marci, she noticed.
Roslyn inhaled the crisp air when they exited the archives. She pulled up her scarf over her mouth as her eyes roamed around the bustling crowds in the square. No surprise since it was the hour of Oraff. She caught sight of the furniture shoppe for the second time that day. Then there was Edith being lectured or lecturing a couple of men. It was challenging for her to tell from this distance. She attempted to focus in on it and catch bit of the conversation.

That's when Marceline's comment distracted her. Her eyes turned to the small coffee stand labeled 'Zeno Buck'. She recalled Fritz von Mollern's mention about Marceline's business and then sighed. "I recall hearing that mimicry is a form of flattery. I'm not sure I agree in this case."

If Roslyn had felt the pinch language message, she gave no outward indication. Her eyes simply glanced into the crowd when Hans attempted to vanish into it. That was odd and she had a feeling she knew why. "Try not to wander off too far, Xiuyang. We still need to get lunch."

She made a note where her friend was heading before she continued to track Hans in the crowd. Not hard since he was a large man.
"Oh, Salomé!" Edith exclaimed, eyes flashing at the two men. Xiuyang's sensing for a pinch message received its fulfillment sooner and more emphatically than she might've imagined as none other than Marci messaged her directly. <She. Just. Sent. A. Message. To. Them. Quick. And. Urgent. | I. Didn't. Catch. It.>

"Zese gentlemen were just from ze furniture store over zere." She pointed in the direction of A. Stancati & Son. "Zey were just trying to sell me something that I insisted I wasn't interested in." She shook her head good-naturedly, but there was a tightness around her mouth and eyes, and Xiuyang had known Marceline long enough to recognize the signs of unease in a wheelchair user. Edith's brakes were unlocked and her hands hovered just above her wheels. "Merchants will be merchants, though," she snorted. Then, came a second pinch message. <Revidian. Interests. Or. The. Lives. Of. The. People. In. This. Town. | I. Need. To. Know.>
It took a skilled mage like Roslyn less than a minute to track down the blob-meets-mountain that was Hans Grunewald. The corpulent man was, in fact, being tugged at by a young boy. "Opa, ich will nicht zu dieser blöden Metzgerei! Ich will zu Mama!" the child insisted.

Hans, face red and eyes exasperated, urged the boy onward. Beeil dich, Kuno," he huffed, "ich hole dir deine Lieblingsfleischpasteten. Deine Mutter ist gerade mit diesen beiden Männern beschäftigt. Du weißt doch, sie sind ihre Freunde."

The boy scrunched up his face. "Sie sehen nicht wie Freunde aus," he sulked, craning his neck to look back in Edith's direction.

Hans shook his head, leading the boy against his will but also looking over his shoulder and - was that a small draw from him that Roslyn sensed? "Natürlich sind sie ihre Freunde! Du erinnerst dich doch an die netten Revidianer, oder? Ihnen gehört das Möbelhaus."

"Gut! Ich gehe," snorted Kuno, unconvinced but recognizing resistance as futile. It was in this time that Roslyn found her way to them, still concealed amid the movement of the crowds, but she could step forward, at any moment, to reveal her presence.

Marceline had stopped, annoyed, as Ingrid and Marco began to rush off. Xiuyang had gone for Edith and Roslyn for Hans. That left... She gritted her teeth and clenched and unclenched her fists. She wanted to find out how a place known as 'Zeno Buck' had ended up here. If imitation was the sincerest form of flattery, it was also infringing upon her and Zarina's brand.

But there were pressing issues. Why had she come here again? Why did she care? Oh yes: father! Father had threatened to disown her if she had not agreed to see to his interests here. The young witch reached up and rubbed at the bridge of her nose in tired frustration. "You owe me one, Thön," she muttered under her breath and, with a loud huff, wrenched her wheels about and began making her way towards the furniture shop. They were already hassling one tethered, so why not have another hassle them?

Marci set her jaw and pushed forward determinedly, senses alert, and it was moments before she caught Edith being a sneaky bitch. Schiesse, she thought, I really wanted to like you, too. Duly, she messaged Xiuyang and kept moving, but these blasted cobbles forced her to actually pay attention to the ground.

She made it four more pushes - and Dami knew she couldn't coast on this hellscape - before a second revelation. And now I'm supposed to like you again because you have a cute little son. Double Schiesse. She all-but rolled her eyes before providing the roughest of translations for Roslyn. <The. Kid. Is. Named. Kuno. He. Is. Edith's. Apparently.> she began. <He. Wants. To. Go. To. Her. | Grandpa. Hans. Is. Spooked. By. Those. Furniture. Store. Guys. | They're. Revidian. | He. Won't. Let. Kuno. Near. | He. Is. Bringing. Him. To. The. Butcher's.>

And then Marceline herself was sitting before A. Stancati & Sons. There was, thoughtfully, a ramp over the small step outside, and she couldn't help but wonder why? For heavy shipments using a cart, or for Edith Grunewald? What even was the deputy constable's play here? What was her father's!? Were they allies with these guys? Enemies? Or was it an alliance gone wrong and, if so, why? Hook me up with a telepathic connection to Rosy and Xiuyang, Thön? Pretty please?"

She pushed the door open and rolled inside.

Roslyn smiled as an idea sprung to mind and she moved away from Marci, who had started rolling for the shoppe. Her words came out casually. "Ugh, I'm getting really hungry. I'll meet you and Xiuyang at the butcher's."

A small series of light kinetic pinches ran across Marceline's arm. <Thanks. Marci. | Ask. Xiuyang. To. Bring. Edith. There.| Earn. Good. Will. Might. Be. Useful.>

Her pace started off strong and quick, giving her the appearance of anger. It was far from the truth, but it gave an excuse for the rapid steps. From the corner of her eye, she tracked Hans. She tried to time her walk to meet them just at the door. It wasn't easy since he had a head start on her.

"Oh, I, uh... my stomach was just rumbling," Edith declared, patting it. The organ let out a convenient gurgle to pair with her display. "lunch sounds wonderful, and they have some really nice cuts just before the holidays." She twisted to regard the two men. "You know, Giacomo, you and Sylvio should try -"

One of the men - Xiuyang wasn't sure which - narrowed his eyes. He, apparently, had zero compunctions about cutting Edith off. "Non dovresti essere dalla nostra parte?" he asked. "Sapete che questi mangiatori di crauti ci stanno rubando, vero?" added the other. "Ruote, qui, è a letto con loro."

"Pranza con lei e impara tutto quello che puoi," concluded the first. "Ci sentiamo più tardi."

"Ricorda: se l'accademia brucia, hai ancora una casa. Se il tuo paese brucia, tu no."

With that final ominous warning, they departed, meandering back towards the store. Marceline, who had just popped her head in, made a show of craning her neck, looking around, and making a disinterested face before backing out of the door and nonchalantly - but for more of those motherfucking cobbles - rolling along, browsing the shops and stalls. Once she was certain that she had dropped suspicion, she raced off in the direction her friends were going, drawing and casting quite freely to make her journey smooth and simple. Edith, meanwhile, was struggling to do the same and, had they not been busy moving her, the trembling of her hands might've been far more plainly obvious.

Roslyn, for her part, managed to nail the intercept, more or less, though Marceline was just a bit behind her and Edith Xiuyang were somewhat more distant, their figures - if not their energies - obscured amid the milling crowds. She was on her own for the time being.
Xiuyang listened to the two men speak rapidly in Revidian. She was listening intently, until they were finished—and then she barked with laughter, as if the man who'd gotten the last word in said something truly hilarious. "*Certo, certo. Capisco. Ci sentiamo dopo,*" she replied, waving them off in a friendly manner.

She walked beside Edith in silence for a while, until the furniture store was at the further reaches of her range, and she became more confident that unless they had *another* tethered hidden away somewhere, or a mage with higher capacity than her, her message to Edith would not be intercepted. <I Serve. First. The gods. Before. Any. Country. | I Need. To Know. Stakes. | What. Are. They. Really. Doing. Why. Are. You. Afraid. Question.>

As Roslyn reached the butcher shop, her hand reached out for the door. She paused when she spotted another, beefier hand reached at the same time. With a practiced expression of surprise, the girl pulled back her own hand and tilted her eyes upward. Hans.

Flashing an apologetic smile, her voice soft in its presentation. "Pardon, sir. I didn't mean be rude. You go first, you look like you have your hands full."

She glanced at the kid at his side.
There it came again, as Marceline was mid-push, and her right hand jerked, instinctively, toward her ear. She swerved on a cobble and one of her feet tumbled off of its footrest. Nun. Mom. Super.!? she thought. Punch. Light. Out.!?When they returned to Ersand'Enise - if, indeed, they did - she would give the Eskandishwoman a crash course in pinch code. She would drill Ingrid as if she were Luria Colloy and it was MF101A: Intro to Magnetic Magic.

The most confounding part of the message, however, was 'Yo. hun. Knew. Crypt.' The tethered took a moment to dump her rebellious foot back where it belonged and let her arms go slack. 'Nun mom super' was... Mother Superior! She nibbled her lower lip, eyes flicking about for the others, by the butcher, but she had lost them. 'Punch light out' was 'knocked out'. That one wasn't too hard. 'Yo hun, knew crypt' just didn't make any grammatical...

"Mother Superior knocked out Johann. He knew about the crypt," she murmured. Marceline paused, fingers drumming pensively on her rims for a second. Or is it 'she knew about the crypt'? The exact meaning was unclear. <Thanks. Ingrid. | He. Knew. Or. She. Knew. Question.> Marceline sent back. While she assumed the former, she was wary of making an ass out of 'u' and 'me'.

She didn't necessarily wait. She would be ready and braced for Ingrid's next message. They tended to be the pinch code equivalent of shouting in someone's ear. In the meantime, she threaded some telekinesis into her movements and glided, albeit imperfectly, over the cobble. Up ahead, Roslyn was speaking with Hans Grunewald and a boy while Edith and Xiuyang approached. The other tethered might've been alright at masking her emotions outwardly but, behind the facade, biochemically, she was a rolling ball of anxiety and fear.

Edith's pushing was stiff and mechanical. Suddenly, there was a draw and a quick chemical spell cast on herself. She switched to broken Retanese instead of responding in pinch language. "We are make new weapon: Revidia and Kerremand together. Revidia wants many. Kerremand is far from other... friends. We need more. Revidia will not give them. We steal and hide them under church. Then, two men die. It is not we who did this. We do not know who but this make all we are do in danger." Her eyes flicked tot he side and she cursed under her breath as the cobble gave her just as much trouble as it did Marci.

Then, up ahead, she could see her father and son speaking with a young woman who she had barely met. Adrenaline spiked within her for a moment and her eyes flashed at Xiuyang as she instinctively drew.

"Hah!" He waved her off, still puffing. "It is no worry." For a second, Roslyn could sense him draw in that way that one did while doing a full sensory sweep. Then, he sighed and smiled. "You are with ze school, ja?" He shook his head. "I was in a rather groß hurry before and very much out of my breath. One of your classmates helped me."

Meanwhile, young Kuno was looking Roslyn up and down with intense eyes. "Wer ist diese Dame?" he asked sourly, only for his grandfather to pat him on the head. "Kuno, be nice and use our Avintz. Maybe, zen, she will introduce herself."
Xiuyang's eyes flicked over to Hans and the kid, and she realized exactly the situation Edith thought she was in. It was difficult to resist the urge to draw, herself, slow as it was for a Devourer.

"Easy now," she warned, also speaking in broken Rettanese. "I'm not threatening you or family. Revidian threatened me." She jerked a thumb back at the furniture store and smirked derisively. "Lucky you. I'm not work with idiots. I only solve two men murder mystery. They fuckin' up, not my problem." Then, with an easy smile and a shrug, she switched back to Avincian. "Which cuts were you recommending, again? I'm simply famished."
Roslyn nodded her head. "Sounds like Ingrid."

She listened as concern surfaced on her expression. "Yeah, I saw. Hopefully you weren't late for anything."

The fear was palpable and she had a feeling she knew why. Confronting it wouldn't be a good idea as she remained calm and kept her expression softened.

Of course the kid spoke up, flaring with dislike and judgement at her. A part of her wanted to know what she did to deserve that, but some kids were just grumpy. Of course his grandfather scolded him lightly causing her to recall her own manners. "To be fair, I'd be grumpy too in this situation. My name is Roslyn, nice to officially meet you."

Her eyes drifted toward the sound of Marci's wheels approaching and hope to spot Xuiyang not far behind. That's when her stomach growled, making her tense. "This is what I get for not eating a decent breakfast..."
"Kuno," said the boy somewhat tersely, holding out a hand. "Which ist short fur Konrad..." There was a moment of hesitation. "Konrad Grunewald."

"See, now? Zat wasn't so hard," chided Hans, "now was it?" He shook his head good-naturedly.

"You didn't meet us on accident," the boy stated, with that smug definitiveness that only children could truly own.

"Kuno, stop it."

"Yes, grandfather." The boy shot him an apologetic smile. "I'm sorrry." Then, when the older man looked up to offer a nod of apology, Roslyn was treated to a superior smirk by the seven-year-old.
Edith's expression was hooded, but it eased slightly, and more so as she sighted her son. "Oh, we simply must try ze venison at zis time of year: strip fried on bread with au jus and an onion broth. If you will excuse me -"

"Kuno!" she called out, "what a big smile you have nowadays."

The boy, caught red-handed, quickly let his face go slack. "Whaaat?" he protested, "I wasn't smiling. Honest."

"I believe you, Knöpfchen." She reached out and pinched his cheek and Kuno flinched back. "Mama, das ist eine ernste Angelegenheit!" he protested. "Diese Frau ist absichtlich mit Opa und mir zusammengestoßen und hat versucht, es wie einen Unfall aussehen zu lassen. Ich traue ihr nicht!"

Edith tilted her head as Marceline caught up to the others, but Kuno, not noticing her, continued. "Ich meine es ernst! Was, wenn sie eine Attentäterin oder eine Spionin ist? Sie sieht zu normal aus. Es sind immer die Normalen, wirklich!"

It was right then that Marci rolled up silently behind him. "Komm schon, Junge. Ich habe nur ein paar Dutzend Menschen getötet." She smiled too-sweetly as he jumped on the spot and whirled about.

"Ich meine es eerrrrrnnnst!" he whined, and his mother pulled him close up against her knees and kissed him right near the ear where children always dreaded. "And thank you for looking out for us, Bärchen, but I promise there is no danger. Mama is working with zese people."

His eyes evaluated, in turn, Xiuyang, Marceline (lingering on the wheelchair for a moment with some understanding) and, finally, Roslyn. He pointed two fingers at his eyes and then one right at her as if to say 'I'm watching you.' Then, he sighed.

At a slight questioning look from Xiuyang, Marceline explained quickly. "The kid thinks we're spies or assassins. He says Roslyn contrived to run into him and his grandfather."

"Who are you calling 'kid'?" Kuno shot back. "You're hardly older than me!"

"I'm double your age, you little... booger." Marceline reached in for a head-pat and was rebuffed with a firm smack to the back of the hand and a leap backwards.

Behind the cluster, however, a couple of other potential patrons had lined up. "Ah, perhaps we might pick up some meats and then go enjoy lunch in our garden?" Hans suggested.

When the rest of the truth tumbled out of the boy's mouth, Roslyn stood there in silence. She was never good at lying. In fact, her father discouraged it and now it proved to be her undoing here. Konrad's smugness reminded her of her brother's snark. What a little brat...she thought.

As Edith arrived, it was heartwarming to see them interact. She had been about to say something when she caught Kuno's fingers pointing at her. Immaturity flickered down her spine as she let her built up eye roll loose. "He's sharper than I expected and reminds me of my snarky older brother. However, while I'm flattered, I lack skills for both of those."

Her attention turned to Hans. "I agree. This is not a good spot to stand and talk."

She followed them inside, ordering what she thought looked good and helped to carry any extra.
Xiuyang offered the boy a sly smile as they entered the butcher's shop. "Take it from me, Konrad. Even an assassin wouldn't dare mess with your mother when she's angry." She winked, as if to encourage his assumption that he was totally right and very cool for having figured her out so quickly. Edith had already told the boy that she was working with them, so what was the harm in letting him have his fun? He wasn't exactly wrong, either.

Xiuyang ordered both the venison as Edith suggested, and the pineapple pork. "You have an impressive selection, I must say. Get many Darhannics passing through?" She made light conversation as she waited, just as curious as Marci was about the oddities of this place.

The butcher was a swarthier man, broad in the shoulders and distinctly foreign. He worked in the background while a younger man - more local in appearance - worked the counter. When Xiuyang spoke, surprisingly, he piped up even before Marceline, Hans, or Edith could offer a translation.

"No many, my friend!" he called, busy carving away at a roast boar. He looked Xiuyang up and down. "No you, though, huh?" He shook his head, still smiling. "But it is hard for my friend who know Faşdal to get the meat here, so I do this business." He smiled, and pointed to the pineapple on the ham. "One man I know, he take those for me: Beşer." He considered for a moment. "He is in town now, I think."

Xiuyang shrugged, as if to say that she was young and still a learner. If she didn't admit it every once in a while, it felt like something that could slip away from her, and she would all of a sudden one day start acting like a wise old hag who had it all figured out at the ripe age of 21.

"Must be good friend, then!" she replied with a grin. Something about his jolliness was infectious, even a bit familiar, but she chalked it up to the Caldores cheer. "This man Beşer, he a sea trader too?" she asked curiously. If he was, it was possible that she'd made his acquaintance once before.

The butcher nodded. "Yes. He is sea trader. Good man. He know people many country." Some of the twinkle faded from the man's eyes at that, and he thoughtfully finished portioning his last cut. "He is go back to Virang in two day." He shrugged. "Maybe for long time. Who knows?" With that, he stepped forward as the others completed their purchase. "There is Revidia ship on the river, ready to go before all ice, but I think he take a different ship." With that, he carefully wrapped up some striploin and handed it to her. "Extra for you, free. Happy travels."

The others were finished and all that there was to do was to head to the Grunewalds' though, perhaps, there was now a little more.
Considering the magnitude of what she and her friends had uncovered, Xiuyang doubted that a sheet of ice would be enough to stop their ship from leaving. At least now she knew where to find them. She never did like letting others dictate the time or place of meeting—especially when they were willing to treat her as an enemy at the drop of a hat.

"*Grazie mille!* Bless you, sir." She left with a smile. Though she wouldn't be in Lindenholdt long enough to be a repeat customer, perhaps she'd send a few of her friends his way as a gesture of thanks.

She followed Hans to their proposed meeting place, seeming perhaps a bit too calm for someone who'd just claimed to have been threatened by the Revidians earlier. Whether she was a liar or had a fool's confidence would be for Edith to judge.
After being shamed by a Revidian nonna, Roslyn couldn't bring herself to try the pineapple and ham. She went with a small share of venison and the boar meat. Her ears listened to the conversation shared between the butcher and Xiuyang, but said nothing.

Once they arrived at the Grünewald garden, she broke the silence. "This whole thing seems like a right o' mess, don't you think?"

Secrets in the Grünewald Gardens

***

The garden was a carefully manicured space behind and surrounding the large but not quite opulent house. Most all of the trees and shrubbery had been carefully pruned and left to Hundrian stillness. A tiny pond had iced over, and all of the tables and chairs had been packed away for the cold months in a shed.

There was a covered gazebo with wood and canvas walls, and it was their destination. A large river stone hearth occupied its center and, when they took their seats close by, a little bit of arcane magic from Edith rendered it warm and cozy as their food cooked.

Marceline, reaching out her senses, immediately noticed the sonic negation bubble that they had entered, and also that it took some focus to distinguish between the energy signatures of the fire, the cooking meat, the people inside, and a hot spring bubbling below. For a non-tethered, it would be very difficult.

Roslyn's observation passed with only bare acknowledgement as their food cooked, most of the attention on Kuno's antics before the boy was sent inside against vociferous protests. He hovered at the edge of the gazebo, likely to lurk instead of going inside, until Edith took a couple of warning pushed toward him and he scurried away.

"A bright boy, my grandson," Hans observed, taking a bite of his schnitzel. "One day, perhaps, he will be head of the household, if he learns our craft." His eyes flicked, momentarily, to Edith and hers to her father's. She was cutting her pineapple ham with great precision.

"So it will not pass to Ilse?" she inquired.

Hans waited until he was finished chewing. "She married a Schuttmann and moved to Hetzelburg."

Edith's eyes flashed for a moment. "And not Jochen? Is he not your eldest son?"

"He has neizer talent nor interest, and..." Hans shrugged tightly, pounding down some more of his food.

Edith nodded slowly, continuing at a pace far more regular than her father's. "Frida?"

"Too young and too frivolous." He batted the idea away. "You know it would be a disaster."

"And Leo, father?"

"He is more crippled than you." He reached up, still chewing, tapped his temple, and shook his head before swallowing. "No. You are ze third and ze smartest, and your boy takes after you and not his father, thankfully." He gestured with his fork. "I will pass our skills down to him and, once you marry zat man, he will be legitimized and inherit."

"I think we are okay to speak now, father."

Hans' demeanour changed. "It is a mess," he admitted, his body language remaining the same. "You will continue on as if we have not changed subject." Marceline nodded along, trying to stifle her reaction. "The simple matter of it is that the Revidians are paying us for weapons that we are developing, and they expect ze lions' share, even zough our need is very much greater."

Edith knitted her fingers together matter-of-factly. "No fool worth his salt as a strategist truly believes zat Revidia will fight Perrence head-on. It is suicide."

"So we are taking our fair share and hiding zem where we must," Hans concluded. Then, he furrowed his brow. "Only... someone else has now decided to interfere."

Edith nodded in concern. "And zere lies the big issue," she finished. "We don't know who." She shook her head, very much like her father. "Even with all of our resources, we don't know."

Roslyn settled in close to the hearth and unwrapped the scarf from her neck. The heat chased off most of the chill as she set it in her lap. She drank in the scent and sound, taking comfort in the normalcy of the moment. There was no way to tell how long this might last. As if reading her mind, the conversation returned to the reason they had arrived here in the first place.

With bare fingers, she quickly flipped the boar chunk before it burned her. It continued to pop and crackle while she took in the new information. She had only dealt with one Revidian, Ciro, who had been good to her so far. However she would've been foolish to believe all of them were like that.

" Honestly, it didn't feel right that the Revidians were behind it. Too much risk I would imagine." Roslyn began to think out loud over what she knew for sure. "Based on what information we got, we have a rough *when * and possibly *where * they vanished. However, as you pointed out, the *who* and I say the real *why * are still unknown."

There was other things that bothered her as well, but she didn't directly tie them to the missing men. Not without more evidence. "I think checking the graveyard and river should come next. Somewhere between the cathedral and going home, something happened... Is there anyone that tends to or visits the graves often?"
*Last I checked, refusing to sell is not considered stealing. They've oversimplifying their arrangement, but I won't gain anything from pressing the issue here. I'll just ask the Revidians later.*

Try as she might, Xiuyang could only conjure up two groups of people she knew could reliably avoid detection by a tethered, and might have some reason to be here: the Volti, and... maybe the church, if they had any others like Sister Laska available. It certainly seemed like they could have an interest in maintaining a big, permanent presence here, what with the unreasonably large Dom and ample funding. In either case, Xiuyang wasn't sure she would have just cause to interfere in their work.

"Considering that we were able to figure out what the Revidians were up to in a little over one day with no prior information or inside snitch, I wouldn't rule out that they may just be sloppy enough to have their work discovered and then botch the cleanup on top of that." She leaned back with her cup of tea and sighed heavily. "The missing men, did they have work on either side of this project, or were they innocents who stumbled upon it?"

Hans shrugged. "You may look for zem wherever you wish." He was eating, now and, despite his great corpulence, it was a rather refined affair, with fork, knife, and some restraint. "People will suspect you only of doing your job, which is a good thing, I imagine."

"If you're looking for someone who tends ze graves, zough," Edith cut in, "I am no expert and my father is not." She furrowed her brow thoughtfully. "Likely ze nuns at ze abbey." She glanced Hans' way and he nodded. "Zey are Rezaindian."

Both nodded in the same way. Both ate in the same way. Both had the same blond hair, though the father's was greying. Kuno's had more than a hint of red in it.

Marceline, who was forcing herself to eat in as refined a manner as her hosts, arched an eyebrow. "You know, it occurs to me that there is a current - Flussströmung -" she quickly translated into her native tongue, "Would it not have carried them further down."

Both Grunewalds blinked, tilted their heads, and shrugged. "It is hard to say, zis time of year," replied the younger. "Ze... current comes and goes, but when it goes, it goes fast." She chewed a bite of her food thoughtfully. "We have already searched up to three miles away, for what it is worth. If Zey washed itno ze river, zey could be further, zough it is not likely."

"As far as I know," Hans addressed Xiuyang, "Zey were not involved. We didn't want a family man to get his hands dirty, and ze other one..." He scowled, stabbing at his food. "Not reliable."

There *were* Rezaindians here, she noted. Perhaps if the preacher's shouting had any merit, they would be worth visiting. Xiuyang wasn't officially a member of any order, but her faith had gained some sincerity. Maybe she could work with them.

*This 'unreliable' man was entrusted with a pretty important assignment, though...* Xiuyang thought, but didn't say. "They were sent to the crypt shortly before they disappeared. I was thinking they had stumbled upon something they were not meant to see—that this business with the weapons had intersected with the crypt's tunnel system, even if only accidentally. If such a thing were possible, it made more sense to me than any other of your typical unsolved mystery theories." Her tone didn't seem to accuse Hans of withholding information.

Gingerly, she set her teacup down. "Herr Grunewald, I came here to solve a case, not to get involved in brewing international conflict—but having no knowledge of where one might end and another may begin, I feel as if I am walking on thin ice, purely for the sport of it. I can't help but wonder if my work here is of any help, or if Lindenholdt, and the families of the missing men, would truly be better served if I were to pack up and go home." Her eyes idly inspected the tea leaves, as if they were as likely to hold the answers as anything else.

She chuckled mirthlessly. "Wachtmeister von Mollern's message had been clear from the start, rest assured. It's only the true gravity of the situation that hit me just now."

Roslyn reflected on Xiuyang's words. Instinctively, her hand stretched out and gently touched her friend's arm. Her expression mirrored a sober tone and understanding of the conflict. "Not a surprise, really. I've been having some worries of my own over this."

With a deep breath, she took another bite of her meat and thoughtfully chewed. It gave her the moment she needed to collect her thoughts. "It's times like this I wish I knew what was best to say. Sadly, I don't know. I do know one thing. I've met the families and despite the mess, I want to help them. On top of it, I want to make sure nothing worse is happening here."

Her eyes shifted to the distant unfinished shadow of the cathedral for a moment then turned back to her friend. "I will say, you're in a worse position than me. No matter the decision you make, I will understand and respect it. But, I'm going to keep looking for those men."

Hans and Edith exchanged a brief glance at Xiuyang's statement, as Marceline made a show of clattering her cutlery onto her emptied plate and sitting up a little bit straighter. The former furrowed his brow. The latter sighed. "The Wachtmeister has... a certain way of speaking," Hans admitted, "So as to protect himself." Both Grunewalds shook their heads, daughter almost a mirror to her father. "He is, like dear Edith, here -" He gestured her way for a moment and her eyes flicked between him and her visitors. "sometimes caught between his duty to family and his duty to the people of Lindenholdt."

"People's lives and wellbeing must always come first," Edith said solemnly. "Do not doubt that for a moment here." She shook her head, trying to find Marceline's eyes and not quite succeeding. "We have been trying to keep more of ze blitzwerfen for ourselves for just zis purpose." She looke dup gravely and swallowed. "Kerremand will be overrun without some kind of special advantage, and none of us get ze impression zat our allies much care."

"But we are in over our heads, now." Hans took over from his daughter and she nodded anxiously. "Zere is a third party involved. I cannot say who zey are or what aims zey might have." He shrugged helplessly.

"I tried to sense zem," Edith added. "I stay up into ze hours of Ipten." She shook her head in frustration and scowled. "Nichts."

"Nothing," Marceline murmured, by way of translation, and Edith nodded glumly.

"Whoever zey are," the deputy admitted, "zey are very good and we think zey killed zose men."

Hans was silent for a moment, hands resting atop his belly, but he tilted his head to address Roslyn. "I would look in ze mines, ze crypt, or well down ze river." He shrugged. "I wish I could be of more help but, sadly, zat is ze extent of my knowledge."

Like father, like daughter, Roslyn thought when she saw the two mimic each other. The display stirred up the longing for her own family. She wondered if the Viscount had started his yearly harassment earlier.

Upon hearing him, Roslyn pulled out of her thoughts and flashed an appreciative smile at Hans. "Thank you, I think it's more helpful than some resources."

She glanced at Xiuyang.

"I don't think we need to go down to the crypts." The why wasn't needed since the girls knew it. "That leaves further down the river or the mines. "

Her eyes made a quick note of the sun's position in the grey sky. "We won't have enough time if we do it together. I'm thinking it's better to split up and cover more ground. Who wants where?"

It didn't matter which one she got since she had her compass. Now thinking about it, she idly pulled it out of her skirt pocket and pressed it in her palm. The weight of it brought a small sense of comfort.

Marceline glanced between the others and shrugged. "I'll help with either, but a nice stroll by the river sounds a bit, well..." She snorted ruefully and glanced over at Edith, who replied with a knowing sympathetic nod. "Unless you go right up to ze bank," explained the older tethered, "zere's a dirt track zat runs beside it." She reached over to take her father's empty plate and set it atop her own. "It's pretty..." She furrowed her brow, struggling with a word.

"Rollstuhlgerecht -" She blushed at having to switch to her native tongue. "- even without calling on ze Gift."

"And the mines?" Marci inquired.

Edith shook her head. "Unless zey have changed - which is possible - you would be using ze Gift ständig - constantly - in there."

The younger tethered nodded slowly, coming to a conclusion. "And, speaking of gifts..." she added, making eyes at the canvas bag Roslyn had been carrying for the past hour. "There's still that to do." She looked at Xiuyang even before she was finished speaking, however, and cleared her throat. "But first, are you... comfortable going to the mines alone? - and no lil' Miss Hero bullshit?" She leaned forward, drumming on the tabletop with her fingers. "I'd have your back from a distance, but... well, I know it's not the same."

"Family, huh," Xiuyang murmured ruefully. That she had a lot on her mind with regards to what 'family' might mean for her in the near future was plain to see, but her thoughts were her own. She leaned almost imperceptibly closer to Roslyn, as though hoping that by so doing her touch might linger a moment longer. Lately, she cherished such human contact. It reminded her—or merely convinced her, perhaps, that she still was one. "I see. As I'm not being eagerly ushered out of Lindenholdt by our kind hosts, I suppose I'll keep looking too," she replied with a gentle smile.

It wasn't hard for Xiuyang to guess what plans Revidia might have for these weapons. Her mind wandered to the mirror in her possession. She could make contact with home and ask for orders. Orders would give her direction and at least offer the illusion of easing her anxiety, but it would also nullify any excuses she might make later. So long as she had no orders, she could do as her heart pleased, and if Revidia didn't like it, she could plead that she had acted "in ignorance and with all due haste."

Still, there was the matter of who at the school had sent them, and with what intentions. If those intentions were to start an incident and hasten the coming war, the identity of those parties involved was *the* must-know detail. No matter how many angles she thought from, she always returned to this question.

Her train of thought was interrupted when Marci suddenly asked if she was comfortable going to the mines alone. It left her a bit stunned, as she wasn't used to being treated as the kind of student that could be sent to a dangerous place alone. She was no Johann or Ingrid—well, she hadn't been, until recently. She was used to being a designated binder. "Ehh..? Since when have I ever played at being a hero? It's not my aesthetic," she replied with mock offense, lips pursed as she mulled it over.

She would not be of much use if a significant magnetic threat was involved. She knew that. She also found it hard to believe that a family with the Grunewalds' resources would leave such a significant asset as the mine unattended, even if it was not in use, such that they would have no idea who might be coming and going there. She supposed that it wasn't impossible that they were telling the truth, but it seemed to her that it would be logical to have at least one guard posted outside, unless there was some specific reason not to. As she mulled these things over, she found herself curious at her own thoughts. Why was she having these concerns, as if she were so sure that there had to be something there, or that it might be a trap? Realistically, she would find nothing at the mines—or nothing she didn't already suspect, at any rate. "Sure, I'll go," she found herself answering, in spite of herself. She had floated the idea of going to the crypt by herself at night. Surely an abandoned mine was not a stretch.

Roslyn's eyes followed Marci's to her bag . In hindsight, she realized now that the promise wasn't the wisest thing she had done, but it felt right at the time. Hopefully, they wouldn't be side tracked again. If there was one thing she hated, it was promises she failed to keep. Her thumb traced the outside of the compass while Xiuyang gave her answer.

"Promise me you'll be careful. If something happens, I'm rushing to your location," She told her friend. Hoisting herself up, she pulled the straps onto her shoulder as she added. "We should get going before we lose too much daylight."

It was a brief affair. Did they trust the Grunewalds completely? Likely not, but one did not return hospitality with coldness. Marceline unlocked her brakes and backed away. Thank yous were given and received in both directions and then they were on their way. "You are ferociously unconvinced about them," she prodded Xiuyang, as they left the estate, "hmm?" She pursed her lips as she rolled along beside the others. The clouds had thinned a bit, though there was a good lick of wind and it remained cold.

"As for us, I think we need to drop off the stuff, make some kids happy, and then we've got a long walk ahead. If there's anything to find, it'll be well upstream."

"Did it seem that way?" Xiuyang replied innocently. "For what it's worth, what they said lines up with what the Revidians said—colored to favor themselves, but so it is. I don't think they're lying, but I suspect *everyone* of withholding information and adding spin. It's nothing personal. That's the way of things."

Marceline tilted her head in consideration and nodded. "Always knew you were schlau as all fuck." She smiled and continued on her way to the point where they'd separate. "I'll be watching you like Father Caldores," she promised. "I see you when you're sleeping, I'll know when you're awake..."

Roslyn was good-natured about it, but there was an impatience to her: a desire to discharge her duty to those kids and find something of worth. After a bit more banter, they split like two streams.

"The drop off won't take long, especially if the mother isn't there. As for the river, I honestly don't have much faith we'll find much." Roslyn before they split. She would have to be careful about the gifts, best to be just treats and nothing particularly expensive. There was little doubt in her mind that the mother would sell anything at this point for booze.

"Good luck, Xiuyang." She hoped her friend might not run into trouble.

No sooner had Marceline finished praising Xiuyang's sharp mind than she remembered that she should have asked the Grunewalds if they had kept a map of their tunnels that she might borrow more easily than the one from the archives. For a second her pace halted as she considered going back to ask, but she decided against it. Time was limited. *Marci will be backing me up from a safe position outside the mines. I'm being paranoid,* she decided, waving her friends off as they went separate ways. "Don't get lost in the market~" she quipped teasingly.

The Hourglass Order

Jaxan'ensiil'melaan

Jaxan'ensiil'melaan

"Keep that up and I might confuse you for a hyco'yashtiil, yanii."

15 | Male | Yarsese | Protector | 8.6

P E R S O N A L I T Y

❖ [Bold/Insensitive]
❖ [Perceptive/Impulsive]
❖ [Sociable/Direct]
❖ [Playful/Defiant]
❖ [Resilient/Curious]

Despite being born a twin, Jaxan shared very little in common with his sister. Amyel was quiet, sensitive, and cautious while he was loud, blunt, and reckless. To those around him, he gave off the classic displays of a wild teenager in his youth. His overactive, cocky and brash attitude made him a handful. These aspects became worse whenever he masked his insecurities and fear.

Meanwhile, boredom drew out a different part of him. Lacking the stimulation, he'd become restless, apathetic and even impatient. He couldn't keep still during conversations that lasted longer than a few minutes. No matter how hard he tried, it always felt like it was out of his control. It got him in trouble with anyone unaware of his condition.

Like many yasoi, there's more beneath the surface. A kind heart, but one desperate to feel valued by others and longing for a sense of belonging. There are times that he is reminded of his diminishing mindset. It would stir the bitterness and anger as he tried to ignore it. Normally he'd mix native words in with his Avincian, but in a clear rage, he'll revert back to full Yarsese without realizing it.

C H A R A C T E R A P P E A R A N C E

❖[Eyes] Bright Blue
❖[Hair] Straw Blonde
❖[Skin] Fitzpatrick type I
❖[Height]6’0”
❖[Weight] 162 lbs.
❖[Physique] Lean
❖[Distinct Physical Notes] Natural redness across his cheeks.
❖[Style of Clothing/Accessories] Most of Jaxan's outfits are designed with comfort and stimulation in mind. The loose fitting tunic is light and doesn't irritate his skin. There's small embroideries of his own design on the cuffs. Mostly floral with some hidden animals in the pattern. Often he'd rub it between his fingers for comfort. He will tolerate any color, favoring red and black, save for white. Any time a speck of dirt appears, his attention is distracted instantly by it.

Across his waist is a belt with several leather pouches, all water proofed with a coat of beeswax. Each one is tied with several strings and on the top all looked to be a knotted mess. If tugged wrong, they will tighten and seal up immediately. Pulled the right way, any one of them could be opened and tightened back up with a simple jerk. An effective method to prevent theft.

In most situations, he would rather go barefoot than wear boots or shoes. He finds they hinder his ability to climb and constrict about his toes. It might also be that he had never found the right sort. To prevent wounds on his soles, he uses binding and blood to toughen the skin.

L A N G U A G E S

Talonese
Yarsese
Paggonian
Avincian

T H E G I F T

Manatypes: Unleashed, Lightbringer

Magnetic- 0 (Neophyte)
Arcane- 2 (Tyro)
Binding- 5 (Journeyman, Corporeal Healing)
Chemical- 3 (Apprentice)
Kinetic- 5 (Journeyman, Enhancement)
Blood- 5 (Journeyman, Fleshcrafting)

Thanks to his Unleashed, Jaxan's cognitive abilities are heightened. When he is fixated on a subject, his curiosity knows no bounds and he'll absorb all he can at extreme speeds. His favorite way of learning is hands on and direct experience over studying from a book. These experiments influenced the schools he later favored.

Kinetic, enhancement. It was natural due to his high activity levels and later the need to restrain manic addicts in the clinic. Having faster reflexes worked to limit the damage and often gave him an edge in defusing the situation.

Next was binding, medical. Alios, his father, was a good healer and passed some of those skills onto his children. Out of the twins, Jaxan showed the most interest in the applications of binding on the body. The fact both his sister and him had bizarre manas helped to cultivate that desire. A small part of him hoped by learning all he could, he might find a treatment for his condition. This path gradually led him into his final interest.

Blood, fleshcrafting. More specifically, the flesh regeneration spell called Gift of the Cat. It was far more effective- in his mind- to repair his wounds than binding. If he could do that with his flesh, maybe he could eventually learn to do it with parts of his brain.

B A C K G R O U N D

Mother: Hera'thuun'melaan
Father: Alios'zesh'melaan
Twin Sister: Amyel'cheliish'melaan (Tethered, Astral Walker)

Born on Velles first, Jaxan and Amyel lived most of their lives in the city of Iobrad. A city of sandstone buildings, lush palms, and giant cactus bordered a long, winding river. Their mother, Hera'thuun'melaan, came to Yarsoc to settle down. She married a healer, Alois'zesh'melaan, and became a well respected judge. As parents, their methods in raising their children differed greatly. Mother focused on her children meeting high expectations, benefiting the community and following authority. She ruled the household with an iron fist wrapped up in a silk glove. Father valued forgiveness, patience, and gentle encouragement. He was a contrasting salve to her strict rules and often softened the punishments whenever he could.

Amyel's tethering came to light a few months after their tenth birthday. It started with complaints of unseen needles that ran up and down her feet. Weeks later, their father confirmed the diagnosis. Unlike in human society, she wasn't shunned or sent away. Instead it opened new opportunities for her to serve the people of Yarsoc.

Jaxan's magic sparked a year after his twin. During a game of jamball, his Unleashed kicked in and sent him crashing into the sands below. He woke up a day or two later in his father's clinic. It took his parents a few days to break the news about his condition. Excitement filled him as he explored the new limitations, but the truth dimmed that joy. He couldn't escape it and he would one day become a burden to them.

Fear often drives the young into reckless decisions and Jaxan was no different. One night, he overheard his mother and father having a tense conversation. Father refused to turn over an addict that was being treated in his clinic. The man was suspected to be involved in an aberration ring within the city. Desperate to prove his worth, Jaxan used his role at the clinic to meet the man and become close to him. It wasn't hard since his father didn't suspect Jaxan to break his trust. At the time, the boy wasn't thinking of the consequences that would follow.

Weeks later Jaxan attempted to sneak out and meet up with his 'friend'. Amyel caught him then threatened to snitch when he refused to listen to her. He still left. She tracked him down as he entered a run down building. Things went horribly wrong when someone created a black aberration. Several criminals managed to escape, but Jaxan and another boy became ensnared in its aura. Fearing her brother might die, Amyel drew from the aberration to save him.

His memories of the event are hazy, but the aftermath still haunts him. Amyel had overdrawn and nearly died. Father had his arm torn off when he attempted to subdue Jaxan's raging madness. Less than a day later, a white aberration had been brought in thanks to his mother's connections. As if Vyshta was rewarding or mocking them for surviving, they both gained an aberration mana type. Amyel got the most interesting one called Astral walker while he gained Lightbringer. This mana type sealed his fate as a healer and mother insisted he remain in the clinic. In her eyes, it was there where he made the most impact in Iobrad.

When the Tarlonese finally took over Yarsoc, they assigned a new governor. Over the following weeks, governor Esmii'alyan'taxoiya enforced numerous changes and soon sought out understudies. Amyel and he applied together. His sister rose quickly above the other candidates and refused to leave him behind. Their success allowed both of them to attend Ersand'Enise during the Sports Day event.

He knew only one of them was getting into the Yasoi outreach program. It should've been Amyel, but she sabotaged herself and let him outshine her. One of the teachers came to him with a form to fill out. The governor wasn't going to be pleased, but his sister reassured him she would be fine. Her last words pleaded with him not to ruin the chance she had given him.

M O T I V A T I O N

Jaxan won't deny he wanted to be here. Every morning, he woke to a steady stream of sights, sounds, and more to feed his mind. Every day was different. Amyel's tethering would've gotten her into places he couldn't go, but she insisted he was the better option. She also saw he needed this badly. Without it, he might wither up from working the endless routine in the clinic. He hoped her faith and trust wasn't misplaced when she gave up her spot in the school. Failing her felt like a fate worse than death.

Even before the Tarlonese took over Yarsoc, Jaxan knew his future. He saw himself slouched over a wheelchair, brain dead and dying slowly. Even worse, he feared never making an impact that made up for it. To be seen, admired, and even valued among his peers before his mana type killed him off was something he yearned for. That fear and desire drove him onward to the next task.

Being part of the Yasoi outreach program, he was not allowed to slack off. There's an expectation of him. Any failure to meet it put him at risk of expulsion. It also gave him an excuse to explore the academy's vast knowledge over different magical subjects. With any luck, he hoped to find a treatment or cure like they did with Amyel.

I N V E N T O R Y

Upon entering Jaxan's room, one's greeted with chaos. Clothes tossed into various piles from one end to the other. A small table filled with arts and crafts, some finished and others... far from it. One project he had been consistent in was the animals made from folded leaves. Their surfaces coated with sap and a few suspended from handcrafted strings throughout his room. The room’s appearance is a subconscious reflection of his mind, yet when you ask him where something is, it doesn't take long for him to find it. Everything has a place in his odd space.

On his person:

A long twig that he often flips, twirls, and taps upon various nearby surfaces.
A pouch of throwing stones.
A small book for his memory, thoughts, and more alongside a tin of charcoal.
A pouch for what little money he has.

S T R E N G T H S & S K I L L S

‌ ❖ Enhanced Mental and Physical Condition: Due to Jaxan's mana type and love of physical activity, both his mind and body are at their peak condition. His mind is able to process things he's focused, and more, on rather quickly.

❖ DIY: Out of need for mental stimulation and desire to understand things, Jaxan has a specific set of skills. He enjoys crafting small goods. While he keeps the ones he likes, the rest he will sell or gift to friends. Those skills include, but not limited to:

-Sewing: embroidery, mending, stitching (both cloth and skin), patching, etc.
-Eyeballing measurements (surprisingly accurate)
-Art: painting, drawing (tends to use gloves with it), origami (folding leaves), and paper making (a cheap, crappy version).
-Jerryrigging: Knowledge of fixing wheelchairs with less than ideal materials. His sister’s often broke and required him to figure out ways to fix it with whatever they had on hand.
-Knot tying: the system he crafted was due to experimentation, observing sailors and such. He wanted something to easily keep his things safe from theft, but not be expensive to repair or apply.

❖ Sound Mimicry: When bored and stuck inside, Jaxan often entertained himself by mimicking sounds he heard. These range from animal cries to sounds like a fallen bookcase or door slamming shut. Even his father or mother sometimes. His favorite use was for story telling as it in his opinion enhanced the experience.

❖ Healer knowledge: When it came to addicts, they sometimes came in with issues aside from the aberration sickness. His father's clinic was equipped to deal with such cases and as a result, Jaxan learned the basics of healing. He could reset broken bones and wrap up minor wounds and even stop bleeding when called to. In addition, he applied this knowledge when patching up his own wounds. Since his family specialized in treating aberration addicts, he can easily identify those afflicted on sight and even their stage based on the symptoms.

W E A K N E S S E S & F L A W S

❖ Overdraw: When Jaxan overdraws, the flaws of his mana type come to the surface. All his senses jack up to extreme levels and all the surrounding information pours into his head at once. Unable to filter it, he'll crumble into a ball and force himself to ride it out. Reflexes are slower, attention more sporadic, and any higher thinking is impossible.

The severity depends on how badly he overdrew, but always includes:
-Struggle to focus or speak properly.
-Chronic headache and sensitivity to light.
-Tremors in his hands and body
-Extreme high and low mood swings.
-Exhaustion, and possible confusion.
-Lapses in memory or disorientation.

❖ Stimuli: Jaxan has had a love-hate relationship with stimuli in his environment. Too little, he'll struggle to focus and grow bored. This often gets him into trouble when he attempts to seek out more. Too much and he'll continually flip his attention from one thing to another. It leaves him unable to take things in and miss out on the important details. As a result, he's had to learn ways to filter it and it is an eternal balancing act. Even when he's supposed to be relaxing.

❖ Memory- Being a Yasoi and Unleashed, Jaxan’s memory is fickled at times. Sometimes things stick in his mind like clothing, behaviors, or certain conversations. On the other hand, sometimes important things get glossed over. Daily things tend to be easier for him to recall but otherwise, there's a chance he'll forget it in a day or so.

Though his sister understood, he could see the frustration he brought. Especially to his superiors and parents. To combat this, Amyel suggested he used a book for longer term stuff. Now Jaxan has become dependent on it.

❖ Hyper activity: Jaxan has far too much energy, even for a Yasoi. Tasks that require patience and stillness are the ultimate challenge for him. They often result in failure if he's forced to do them alone or without proper focus. On top of that, he might give off the impression of not listening as he's roaming the space during a conversation.

❖ No filter: Jaxan will often blurt out what is on his mind and not consider others' sensibilities. This has led into more than one fight with individuals that didn’t agree with him or took his words badly. Often it spiraled further until his sister stepped in. She was always better when it came to defusing a situation than he was. He rarely cared about what strangers thought of him and the consequence of that had caught up with him more than once.

M I S C E L L A N E O U S

Hexcode: None, too lazy.