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Create-A-Hero: A Superhero RPG Season 2- New Horizons (Closed)

Made a new playlist for White Witch and The Ambassador~

Born with a Void - White Witch and Ambassador Playlist - Spotify

Create-A-Hero: A Superhero RPG Season 2- New Horizons (Closed)

Charlie's anniversary post will be arriving in a few days closer to the deadline. Instead of the past we are looking into the future...!

Create-A-Hero: A Superhero RPG Season 2- New Horizons (Closed)

Life in the Vivid Dream

---

Time: 10 Years Ago - November
Location: Paris, France

The wooden vanity’s paint was chipped, a dulled mint green. The mirror scratched from being moved one too many times by careless hands, wreathed around the mirror was blooming red roses with a string of little white lights giving life to the old piece of furniture. Removing a pair of earrings in the reflection was Odette Favre, humming as she was winding down for the evening having completed her routine full body stretches. Still dressed in her leotards, sharp clear lines of a large tattoo visible on her back depicting that of a Yew Tree, a tattoo she received a fair amount of complaints from her ballet mistress, Madame Renavand. Long mousey blonde hair released from a tight bun, shook loose and free falling down past her shoulder blades.

She moved onto the little mason jar of homemade makeup remover cotton balls, removing the day’s foundation and eyeliner, rubbing away the mascara. Just behind her in the small bedroom was Bach sitting on the edge of her bed, chin in his hand.

“It is your birthday tomorrow.” He said in Common Fey, they had been practicing the language in conversations. Odette groaned as she heard what he said, taking a few extra moments to translate in her mind.

“Yes, tomorrow is a day of. . .” She stumbled, “Anniversary?”

“Almost.” He replied in French. “Birthday is not a word that necessarily exists for Faerie.” Patient, gently chiding. “What is your birthday wish, My Lady?”

She returned to her vanity, responding in a light breezy fashion, “Not to hear another faerie word for the entire day.” Sticking out her tongue at Bach in the reflection her smile infectious. “I haven’t thought of what I want. Your gifts are always what I need.”

He nodded, “Indeed, but I thought this year we could celebrate somewhere special.” Picking up the hairbrush and beginning to brush through her hair, her favourite by far and the most beautiful thing to be found on her vanity. Soft natural bristles, the paddle was a heavy silver enchanted to detangle gently. A spell she worked on for weeks to cast correctly. Her vanity was organized by rubber bands, old glassware and ziplock bags her makeup collection scrounged on savings.

“Where in Paris have we not already gone?” Odette asked patting away at her lip, removing lipstick.

“You must think beyond the city limits, My Lady.” He replied. “We are going to open a portal to Faerie, it is time you have seen them for your own eyes.”

Odette’s mouth popped open in surprise quickly turning into a brilliant smile. “Oh! Are you serious?” She hopped up and gave him a hug squeezing tightly under his arms she stopped short leaning away to speak, realisation overcoming her. “If I make a portal it’ll mean I’ll be spending my birthday in bed asleep. I’m getting better but I-I’m still drained after making one.”

He smiled brushing hair out of her face as he spoke, affectionately, “That is why we will go tonight and awake tomorrow to enjoy the day fully.”

Her smile returned in full force she let him go and went into her tiny closet to change from her leotards to her clothing, black leggings and a skirt with an old pink sports jacket, run down sneakers and a t-shirt with the iconic albeit faded picture of the sugar plum fairy with the date of the production printed beneath it. She packed a small bag with her pyjamas. Zipping around the room gathering what she would need, Bach chuckled at her enthusiasm. She quickly mussed her hair into place bending over in the mirror, standing back upright ready to go right then and there.

“We’ll have to sneak out, your parents are still awake.”

“Too easy.” She said.

Bach shrunk down landing on her shoulder, nodding. Odette opened her door slowly, having oiled the hinges for the exact purpose to sneak out quietly. Tristan and Perenelle Favre often too absorbed in their work to really notice her moving around but their ears were sharp when they heard movement in the small apartment.

Carefully following the steps she had done dozens of times before, avoiding the telltale creaks in the floorboards gracefully. Ballet dancers being the very definition of light on their feet, Odette was no exception. She passed by their makeshift study and office, they turned one of the storage spaces into a private area away from the living room and kitchen. Stacked along the walls were banker boxes filled with research materials, samples, and paper. The door was cracked open and light spilled out into the darkened hallway.

They hardly left the study all day, Odette could tell as much when the saran wrapped dinner plates in the fridge hadn’t been touched. As she snuck past she overheard them talking.

“What day is it today?” She heard her mother ask.

Her father hummed in thought checking his calendar, “The 14th-”

“Ah! It is our little swan’s birthday tomorrow, Tristan. We have all this data to go through yet. . . and our deadline is coming up by the end of the week.” Odette made a face at the nickname. “What should we do?”

“We’ll have to finish cataloguing the samples before we even think about her birthday, did you pick up a cake?” He asked.

Her mother sighed, “No, I thought you did.”

Together they sighed and together they resounded, “Tomorrow.”

Perenelle said firmly, “Tomorrow we’ll do something special.”

An all too familiar promise, Odette knew they would likely forget. Their forgetful nature and focus stopped hurting her feelings years ago when there was nothing to do to change their work ethic. She frowned moving on after they continued to chatter about what they were working on.

Bach whispered, “Worry not My Lady, I would never forget.”

Odette smiled appreciatively at his sentiment, whispering back when she reached the front door, “You never forget anything.” Slowly unlocking the door, the latch always the loudest in her ears. She waited for a beat then pulled open the door to slide through to the other side using her key to lock the door.

Safely outside the door, she walked fast down the hallway, the carpet was worn down and thin, light fixtures filled with dead bugs. She went down double time the cement stairs, nearly skipping with excitement Bach held on the best he could. Dashing past mousetraps, dusty steps and even a couple other tenants who she said a quick Bonjour! to as she passed them.

She dashed out the door and onto the street, her neighbourhood was thankfully out of the general scope and eye of tourism but for the very same reason it was a pain to commute to the Opera House every day. Charonne wasn’t a terrible place to be raised in, it was old much like most districts of Paris and they lived in the shadow of Saint-Jean-Basco’s Catholic church, literally.

Odette went at a fast paced walk, heading for the cemetery.

When they arrived they took a sharp right turn down the rows of tombstones. Having been there plenty of times before to practice her newly acquainted magical abilities. The youthful sorceress plopped her backpack to the ground, Bach resumed his original size. The pair alone except for the odd will-o-wisp guiding souls through the darkness, crossing over the graves.

Stepping behind her, his hands resting on her shoulders. Odette began to concentrate, shutting out all thoughts of her day, of her excitement and the chilling November air rustling her hair. He whispered in her ear where they were going, what to picture and encouraged her to use their connection to find it.

“Grand et beau flot d'âmes, ordonne-moi de voyager, dis-moi la sécurité, dis-moi tes plus grands cadeaux à la vie. Tu ne veux pas venir à moi volontairement? Ouvre-toi, ouvre-toi à la volonté d'Odette Fave. Proche de ma volonté comme Odette Favre.”

She spoke knowingly, proudly having written the incantation herself to call out to the Arcane Stream.

Wispy tips of magic formed around her fingertips, she repeated the incantation for nearly an hour before the stream began to split, welcoming her and rewarding her for her diligence. Sweat dripped from her chin, blood dripped from her nose as the door began to form, her arms shook with exhaustion. As the door neared completion she dropped to her knees when the shiny golden knob appeared as a finished portal.

“Come now, My Lady. You must keep your eyes open to close the door, we are almost there.” He lifted under her armpits, slinging her over his shoulder to carry. Opening the door to the faerie realms. She laboured to close the door behind them, groping at the handle. A firm grip, Bach moved them to close the door.

On the other side of the door they stepped into a beautiful meadow, flowers in bloom surrounded by foliage and trees. The portal disappeared, nighttime embraced them. Little lights emanating from sprites danced into her blurry eyes, she focused on the tiny fey having never seen so many in one place before. Pushing herself up with some difficulty she peered around, using Bach as a crutch. “Très belle.”

Behind them was a magnificent, old, Yew tree. Bach carried her to the entrance of the tree, his palm pressed against the bark he spoke in a strange language, different from Common Fey, “It has been some time, my friend.”

The door opened of it’s own volition. Bach carried his apprentice inside, the hallowed tree had meagre comforts - a bed made of leaves and base cotton. A basin made of polished wood jutted out of the wall, dry. A wicker basket meant for fruit, other food as well - it sat empty by the bed.

He pulled a cloth free from his lapel and dabbed her face dry. “Sleep, My Lady. You are in Faerie now.”

Her eyelids grew heavier and she fell asleep.

---

Awaking to the sound of a light bell ringing, sunlight creeping up over the window sill, Odette pushed up from the bed rubbing at her eye remembering where she was, digging into her pack she grabbed some food from home and ate diligently looking through the window out into the meadow. Short distance away from the door she burst through, colour was everywhere, the air was sweet as was the sight. Odette slipped out of her shoes, flexing her toes in the grass. It was everything she dreamed it to be.

Odette saw Bach in the meadow dancing as he did, music greeted her. She shrugged off her jacket big blue eyes wide with wonder. Tears gathered at her eyes, unable to hold back any longer.

“Happy Birthday, My Lady.”

He took her hand and they danced in circles, skipping from one foot to the next. Smiling endlessly, carefree. Sprites and Seelie alike came attracted by the laughter and song joining them. No form, Odette danced as she felt, little brownies danced uptop toadstools, earth sprites spun in the air their crowns of dandelions and spindly wooden arms and legs moving with grace.

When collapsing for a break, Odette stared up into the blue sky huffing as she took a break. Bach laid down beside her, began weaving in and out of a story dropping in phrases of common fey but translating shortly after. The story of a mortal woman who married a noble faery prince, finding paradise as she discovered the world behind the veil.

“I’ll never regret this, Bach.” She said finally as the moments of quiet after he finished his story. “I’ll never regret this life you’ve given me, my friend.”

Bach smiled, squinting up at the sky. “I could not ask a better human to spend a few decades with than you.” He said, “It will not be easy to bring the Fair Folk back to Earth.”

Odette nodded solemnly, “I made a deal and I don’t break it. We need allies to make a big portal and I need to be a better spell caster.”

He perked up proudly at that, “I do not say it enough but you have come along so quickly in six months.”

She grinned, “Better than any that have tried before?”

“The best perhaps.” He replied matching her grin.

They fell into a comfortable silence after a snicker.

She sat back up and earthy sprites gathered at the crown of her head, whispering in common fey, Odette didn’t feel confident enough to respond but listened to them talk. They wondered who they were, intrigued by her mortality and began to play through her hair tickling her scalp. The day stretched into the evening, passing by the sun a giant stag walked with the sunset. Nibbling at some of the food she packed Odette took a seat by the giant glowing blue toadstool that Bach erected. She wondered idly how anyone would want to return to the city when everything felt perfect as it was here.

She yawned, at the edge of the meadow she saw a small stature of a figure none of the fey that joined them that day resembled the stocky profile. “I’m just going to stretch my legs.” She said to Bach and he waved continuing his story.

Tracking over through the field to the edge the figure did not budge when she approached. Looking over her shoulder to Bach, feeling a bit of confidence to approach a faerie on her own. Remembering everything she was taught, manners mattered. The light from his pipe illuminated his face and closer now Odette recognized him as a Faun, short stocky pair of hairy goat legs and a human torso standing at least two heads shorter than Odette. His horns easily added an extra foot to his height, ears pointed but relaxed. His hair was long, thick curly hair and what little light could afford to see to Odette was a light chestnut brown. Small flowers lingered in the strands. His chin a little rough with some facial hair, thin lips and mischief clear as day in his dark eyes. Whatever he smoked lingered in the air around them and left bitter notes. She attempted to greet him in Common Fey, “Good morning.”

“You’d be right if it was in fact, morning.” The Satyr said dryly, looking up at the sky and shrugging, he spoke in French fluently to Odette’s surprise. “Clearly you need some work.”

“I am working on it,” She replied defensively. “It’s not an easy language, how do you know how to speak French?”

The Faun laughed, “Earthen elves aren’t the only masters of language, keeping secrets as they do.”

Odette looked over her shoulder at Bach, “They keep more than that.”

He stared at her, his gaze withering almost making Odette look away but she held her eye contact. “What do you want-”

He cut her off, “What did you mean when you said you would never regret this life given to you?”

Caught off guard by the question, she took a moment to think. “I meant I’ll never regret my experiences with the Fair Folk and magic.”

“A novice spellcaster but also naive, completely expected for apparently a human considered to be an adult as of today if I heard correctly.” He replied sauntering closer to the meadow, Odette stepped away giving him more space than needed. “I won’t hurt you, I simply want you to use your big dumb brain to apply some critical thought.”

Odette frowned, “Critical thought to what?”

“To your mentor, I know Bach of the Yew. You are not his first apprentice, do you know what happened to the others?” He asked dark beady eyes burrowing into Odette.

“They died.” She said, smirking taking that as a win. “I trust him, he warned me what to expect and the others that have come before.”

The Satyr bowed his head conceding, “What makes you special to stand above others that came before?”

Odette thought for a few moments, deciding to word her answer carefully - Fauns were often wordy tricksters in their own right. Conversations were games as much as they were pranks, often sources of embarrassment for whoever decided to talk to them. “My ambition, it surpassed others by leaps and bounds.”

He laughed heartily not expecting her answer. “Then you will fit right in, Little Swan.”

Odette froze at the nickname the colour draining from her face. Fear prickled at the back of her scalp and water inevitably gathered at her eyes.

The Faun rounded to her side looking up as he smoked, “With such a pretty face you will be coveted in Courts despite your filthy mortality, you will never own your portals. You may stumble over your words, where your feet are sure.”

Blowing smoke into her face, she scrunched it waving at it. Eyes watering over, dribbling down her cheek - unbidden. She had lost.

“Don’t cry instead imagine it, tangled up in the games, the webs, and the limbs.” He continued, taking immense satisfaction. “But- you will always have one thing to your name.”

Odette looked to him, silent - expectant to finish his thought.

“You will have your ambition.” He smiled chewing at the end of the pipe’s stem.

In that moment Bach was at her side, “Come, My Lady. Pay the grump of a goat no mind.”

Gently leading her back into the meadow, The Faun waved, “Happy Birthday, consider our conversation my gift.”

Turning away Odette wiped at her eye with her shoulder.

“I want to go home.” She said finally after a few steps.

Bach turned to look at the Yew, his home. “Yes, My Lady.”

With some guidance from Bach, Odette summoned a portal once more - exhaustion inevitably taking her as she stepped through the portal to her bedroom out through the closet. Checking the time and day, they had only been gone from Earth for the night and the morning sun came up again. Odette staggered to her door, seeing the light from her parent’s study still on and their voices as well. None the wiser for her time away. Exhaustion pulled but her thoughts with the words of the Faun lingered like the smoke from his pipe.

Much like the smoke, it left her a little bitter.

Create-A-Hero: A Superhero RPG Season 2- New Horizons (Closed)

Hider

Familiar Faces

Time: Noon, One Month Ago
Location: Location: Hudson Valley Wyrd – Hudson Valley, New York

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A familiar jingle to the tune of a well aged tv show came Marie’s call, it was time to move on and visit the Red Devil. While Mandate and Odette together had time and virtue to catch up properly. Leisurely they made their way back to where Odette was originally dropped off, Mandate resuming her disguise as a plain but passably tall human with two dull brown eyes that rarely blinked. Unsettling if one were to stare.

Mandate adjusted her weight considerably for the vehicle and managed to squeeze in the front passenger seat while Marie and Odette were in the back.

“Puck’s vague warnings, I am sure he will elaborate in person.” Odette remarked sarcastically. “Let us get on with it.”

Marie gave Mandate a once over, never having fully experienced her glamoured form. She held a strange presence, something Marie might expect from a being such as a golem. She batted away the thought and turned to Odette.

”Agreed. It’ll take a few minutes to drive up to the valley, I can use the time to fill you in. The Hudson Valley Wyrd are a fairly old coven, German lineage for the most part. Aside from maybe the witching families in Vegas, they’re one of the largest I’ve seen. Followers of Frau Holda, mostly. Their coven holds one of the few permanent doors to The Red Devil. Puck closed all the temporary ones with the onset of the Hound attacks.”

Marie turned away and directed the driver, who had made the mistake of taking a major highway instead of the residential street she’d requested. Once they were back on track, Marie continued.

”We should expect a fair amount of traffic both in the Hudson Valley and The Red Devil. Plenty of witches, fey, and others were displaced in the Hound attacks.”

“I have heard all about The Red Devil but never personally entered. Illustrious melting pot for locals and riff raff.” Odette commented, “The Hudson Valley Wyrd must have some strong ties to Puck as well to have a permanent portal, I wonder why. . . Puck has had his hooks in America for a long time.”

Odette glanced Marie’s way, “What did Uncle Puck have to say about your new ties?”

Marie shifted in her seat.

”Not nearly as much as I’d hoped. He says he pieced it together after your meeting and that he didn’t want to interfere with me finding out on my own. And when I asked him if he were . . . my uncle, he didn’t say anything, just that he’d explain everything when we next met.”

Marie shook her head. It was in Puck’s nature to be vague, he couldn’t help it. She expected as much from every interaction, but it didn’t stop her from becoming annoyed when his cryptic warnings and portents involved Gwyneth.

”And I suspect he has an invested interest in the Hudson Wyrd because of their gifts in divination. He told me a while ago that Frau Holda had greater vision than his own. The witches there were able to piece together quite a few details before my first arrival. Maybe they trade information.”

Odette turned her lip at that, “Perhaps. If what they have is valuable I have plenty to trade physically, information as well. You know how I feel about divination, whether it is from Puck or a coven it will be frustrating.”

“I much rather deal with the present and fresh information than of what may happen.” She waved her hand at the idea. “What did you have in mind to ask for insight on? Mab?”

Marie shook her head. ”Nothing in particular, although anything they provide would be a boon to us. The Witch Mother has as great an interest in these witches as Puck, and acting on her behalf should grant us something in return; it has with every other coven I’ve met so far. Maybe they’ll let me speak to Frau Holda again, she said something interesting when I was there last. ‘We are kindred spirits.’ I keep hearing that. I’d almost forgotten about it until the spirit of The Land in Salem said the same thing. What could that mean?”

She looked to Odette for inspiration, hoping her time among the fey and their ilk would conjure some modicum of a clue about their crypticism. Her experience with witches and their patrons was scant, true, but their relation to the fey was not so distant.

“Similar origins? Family roots? Spirit is free form to the Fair Folk. While mortals,” She pressed a hand to her chest, “Are anchored. Faerie form in spirit and return to it once they ‘die’.”

She used air quotes around die, “Which is not death as we see it. Bach has had some experience in following spirit, passing interest. Kindred Spirit could be referring to faerie bloodline, perhaps others who are in touch with their ancestry can see it in others like yourself. Having ‘sight’ can be opened beyond seeing fey. Once you have eyes to see, you can learn to see more.”

Crossing her leg, “Or it could have been a comment that you held similar fashion choices.”

Marie laughed. ”I doubt it, it’s been a while since I mounted a stag head on my body but anything’s possible.”

It was something to think on, and perhaps it was as simple as Marie’s faery lineage, but something told her that there was more to it, answers to questions that she had yet to ask.

Their conversation brought them into the Hudson Valley, passing over a bridge into a thicket of forest showing the first hint of autumnal decay. Marie saw Holt in the distance positioned next to a familiar figure, an elderly woman in robes hunched over on a cane. The car stopped just shy of the entrance to the Wyrd’s domain, obscured by an exceptionally powerful enchantment.

”Finally here,” she announced, stepping out of the car once it had fully stopped and retrieving her bags from the trunk.

The elderly woman, features hidden behind dark robes, beckoned to Marie and Odette, bidding them follow an inconspicuous dirt path woven between trees in a sporadic pattern. “Good to see you again, White Witch,” she commented as they walked, tapping on the trunks of trees and whistling discordant melodies along the way. “Same to you, miss Ambassador. There are a few among us who’ve studied your work, spoken to the Fair Folk who’ve crossed our paths. Always a treat to meet a cunning individual such as yourself.”

Odette raised her brow, “A pleasure to meet you as well. . . I was not aware that others studied my actions across the atlantic or took notice.” She felt a mix of intrigue, a shed of pride.

“I cannot be surprised however, my activity as of late in Las Vegas was bound to receive some attention.” She said.

“Indeed,” replied the old woman, stopping in a clearing surrounded in birch trees. She whistled, waiting to hear the trees respond, then uttered a word under her breath. In an instant, the veil was lifted, revealing the Hudson Valley Wyrd in all its splendor. The dirt path turned to cobbled walkways and gravel streets, trees become stout hovels and tall cottages of impressive design, inspired by colonial and medieval architecture, and the central statue of Frau Holda stood high above them, a distaff in one hand and a scythe in the other, offerings at her feet, fresh bread, cream, wheat, plates of cured meats and berries, beer, coins, and others.

Marie’s assumption was correct, the wyrd had been visited by a number of stray practitioners, witch or otherwise, looking for a safe haven in the wake of the Hound attacks. She also noted the presence of several invisible creatures, faeries, familiars, anything incorporeal. They lingered at the edge of her vision, some bowing if they noticed her staring, others hissing in contempt. Odette saw them as well, seeing the various fey some native only to the Americas, hearing various languages being muttered amongst the spirits.

“As you can see,” the elderly matron spoke up, “we have had our fair share of visitors as of late. Fortunately, we foresaw such an event when first we settled in the area and chose our enchantments carefully. Had we known, however, the magnitude of this affront, we might have shared our work with our fallen brothers and sisters. You know the fate of the Adessi coven, I presume?”

Marie nodded, presenting the pouch of tokens. ”That’s part of the reason we came. Genevieve Lachance sends her regards on behalf of the Witch Mother. They’ve performed a ritual and blessed these tokens with some form of protection meant for you and the other covens she’s visited.”

“Yes, your familiar explained it to me moments ago. We thank you for this service, White Witch, and would happily offer you and your friend whatever is within our power to offer.”

“Merci beaucoup. An intriguing offer but we hope to gain access to the portal to The Red Devil, please.” Odette said, the chance at a clearer reading into her future tempted The Ambassador fiercely while it also distressed her. Smile strained she turned to Marie, “White Witch and I have some business to attend to.”

“Of course, follow the path up to that circle of stones, there you’ll find the door. But there is one more thing, a message from Frau Holda, something she whispered to me only this morning. ‘Within the mother’s fertile womb lies the answer, seek change where chaos is born, transform, restore, or destroy. The choice is yours’. I believe that portent is meant for the both of you, although I cannot decipher its meaning. I assumed you would know when presented.”

She took the tokens from Marie and made her way through the crowded wyrd, disappearing from view.

Marie shook her head. ”I have no idea what that means. I’m guessing it has something to do with our current goal, but it’s not much to go on.”

“I do not either, Puck’s prophecy referred to a womb as well.” Gripping the strap of her purse, “There must be some link. Not for us to know as of right now.” She commented turning to head toward the portal, muttering. “’The choice is yours.’”

---

Time: Noon, One Month Ago
Location: Lost Haven, Maine

Breakfast eaten, showered and dressed for another day, together Madalena and Charlie made their way into the city back to The Shadow of the Moon Jules giving them a ride back. Once they arrived Charlie bent down by the driver window to say thanks and Jules gave her a look as cold as ice.

“Text me.” She said.

Charlie nodded, no arguing. “Yes ma’am.”

Jules nodded then her icy expression melted away waving at Maddi, cheerfully she said, “It was so nice to meet you! Take care, you’re welcome by the Corner whenever you like.”

Turning away Charlie was dressed similarly to how she was the day before, clean set of clothes opting to keep the kevlar arm pads and shin pads she improvised with some alterations. Her hair tied into their twin braids, hood down and goggles around her neck and staff in hand. While it was supposed to be a chill day to relax, Charlie felt decidedly naked without pockets full of salt and a water bottle full of rubbing alcohol on her belt.

Madalena waved to Jules a little overenthusiastically, rustling through her pockets to locate the key to Shadow of the Moon. Compared to Charlie, Madalena looked much more civilian, dressed simply, if not a little formal, in slim, black slacks, heeled sandals, a black v-neck, and a red blazer that complimented her hair. Slung around her shoulder was an oversized duffel filled with tools of the trade, along with Puck’s journal, files on the Witchfinder General, and Lady Hex’s attire.

”Honestly, I think I’ll be happy when I can open the shop up again. It’s been a week since I’ve had time to restock and organize the shelves, and I think my rent is late too . . . wait, no, I paid it, nevermind.” She rambled as she unlocked the store, walking along a few empty displays and pointing at unused floor and wall space. Madalena directed Charlie’s attention to the office and the meditation room behind the counter, a space she would soon be converting into a workroom for her future experiments. Along the same wall, barely visible from the front of the store, was the storage room, whose door held a painting of a dark forest and a tall, lightly illuminated being in the canopy’s shadow.

“If you need help to set back up again just let me know.” Charlie offered before laying eyes on the illustration. “Puck is alright, but he still looks like he stepped out of the darkest corners of humanity’s nightmares. . .”

She gulped, “Respectfully.”

“They probably serve a pretty kickass pint of beer.” She added. “So what do we gotta do? I still have his card.” She pulled out the little red business card turning it about between her fingers.

“Open Sesame?”

Madalena chuckled. ”Not quite, and actually that card is a little outdated. Before the whole Hounds and Witchfinder nonsense, anyone who knew how could open a door to The Red Devil. But Puck thought that might be dangerous considering, so now only what few permanent doors he’s put here and there will give you access. The closest one is in New York, well, was in New York. He told me how to make one.”

Madalena removed the painting from the door, revealing the ashen symbol of an imp within a circle of thorns, accompanied by a phrase interwoven in the circle, etched in another strange, arcane script.

”All you do is knock three times and read the inscription. OH! And don’t worry yourself too much with Puck. He’s a little intimidating, I admit, but from what I can tell, he’s not one of those immortal beings that demand constant respect. His reputation revolves around him being a trickster, a little fun at his expense kinda comes with the territory.”

Madalena moved the painting to the side, balancing it against the wall beneath a dusty tapestry, something she’d removed from display because of the moth holes at the bottom.

”Has your Granddad told you anything about The Red Devil before? Seems like he’s a regular.” Madalena asked as she prepared to open the door.

Charlie shook her head a hand trailing over the surface, “He said it’s invite only, a little jealous he wants to take Harry there for her 21st. We just went to a regular bar for mine. He also said he’d come ‘round for birthdays and anniversaries, whenever another alchemist needed help. He just never went into detail, you know? Always promising it was something to be seen with your own eyes.” She said removing her hand and stepping back. “For all the time I’ve spent crawling around in Lost Haven’s gutters and exploring it’s abandoned areas I never really got to see what else it was hiding.”

“There was always something else to do.” She said.

Madalena smiled. ”Then today’s your lucky day. Your Granddad was right, it really is something you need to see yourself.” Maddi turned, knocking three times on the door with a slight pause between each, speaking clearly and with intent the phrase Wild, Wicked, and Wretched be.

Puck’s symbol glowed with unearthly light, like dying embers roused to life. The door swung open, revealing a world completely separate to their own, one filled with idle chatter in alien tongues, otherworldly laughter that sent chills down their spines, smells like poison, expensive alcohol, berries, musk, and the sea, and table after wicker table of Fair men and women, shades, demons of different makes, shapes and sizes, witches and magical practitioners you couldn’t tell apart by looks alone, but to some each had a distinct smell or aura that spoke to the origin of their power.

It was as if they had traveled through time, into a storybook. On every wall, illustrations of a shadowy figure loomed. Behind the bar, stocked with almost anything one’s heart could desire, was a greenish imp mixing away. In the corners of the room were stands and displays where wayward merchants of this world and the next sold all manner of strange concoctions and trinkets, with Puck’s blessing of course. Chandeliers like twisted vines and sticks held candles that provided the perfect amount of dark ambiance to an already ethereal room. And just opposite a spiral staircase, parallel to the bar, a massive stage were a band of faeries and devils played strange music, dwarfed by a crystalline mirror that hung in the background.

”Welcome to The Red Devil.” Madalena said to Charlie, gesturing for her to walk ahead and take everything in.

Eyes widening like a pair of dinner plates her gape slowly grew into a large grin, looking left and right. The sight of the tavern marvelled Charlie to no end, never truly seeing so much of the magic folk and community in one spot. They were completely right, it was impossible to describe.

“This is amazing.”

She blinked looking to Maddi now, “This is fucking awesome.”

Rolling her staff in her hands in anticipation. “Feels kinda like going to university for the first time but 100 times cooler and less debt.”

”Well, less immediate debt. I’ve heard some horror stories on people who come through and don’t deliver on contracts they have with Puck, but those aren’t too common.”

”Indeed,” a voice echoed through the tavern, jumping off walls, emanating from shadows, collecting into a mass that sauntered down the spiral staircase over to Charlie and Madalena. ”I always collect on my debts, but fear not, dearest alchemist, I am usually a saint.”

Puck strolled past the bar, slender claws clutching a glass of whiskey from the impish bartender and downing it before finding himself in front of the pair, standing much taller than the two of them, not including the ashen antlers that added an extra two feet.

”I see you have found one another, as intended.” he grinned, taking Madalena’s hand, kneeling closing, and kissing it. ”A marvelous display of power last night, Lady Hex. I observed your progress from afar. That storm could put quite a few Welsh witches to shame. Well done.”

Madalena blushed, happy to hear, for the second time that day, how her work had been admired.

Charlie elbowed her with a grin, appreciating Puck’s entrance not coming from behind them. It took no small amount of imagination to think of a few various ways debt was collected. “Thanks for sending her my way, we made a pretty awesome team. It’s nice having someone at my back.” She said sincerely, her voice softening. “Seriously, thank you.”

The nearest patrons looked on with interest now, unabashedly listening curiosity winning out over their manners. One such patron was the hunched profile of clearly elderly man, he kept his back turned sipping on his mulled wine, ponytail of greyed hair tied high and pockets full of carbondust, listening.

“We did more than just that though.” Charlie said.

”She’s right,” Madalena added, removing the folder from a side compartment on her duffel bag. ”We took advantage of the chaos outside the Hound base and managed to pull a file on,” she lowered her voice, ”you know who. It has a list of known associates, contact information on suppliers, cities where the Court is stationed, and the General’s operations over the past five months. We’ve got him, and with the Hounds out of commission, he’ll be scrambling to regain numbers.”

Puck’s grin grew wider, but his eyes looked grim. ”A wonderful development in our plans, truly, but I must advise caution. Until the General and his subordinates lie cold in the ground or have their foul heads severed and left to rot on spikes, we cannot underestimate them. It was our hubris that saw their eventual return. But do not mistake my words as cause for immediate concern. You have earned an evening’s rest, from this task at least. Leave me these documents and I will draft our next course of action.”

Madalena nodded, handing Puck the folder without hesitation.

”Has the General contacted you in light of earlier proceedings? I have been informed by a . . . let’s call her an associate, that Phoebus is dead, and fortunately, there were a few casualties on the opposite side.”

”He sent a text early this morning, told us he’d be in touch. Not much else.”

Unconsciously, Charlie rubbed at her neck imagining the thought of severed heads eyes flicking up at Puck then back down at the ground, “You got it. A day off then back to work.”

A momentary pause before she grinned, “What’s on tap?”

Puck grinned, waltzing behind the bar and pulling down a few choice selections.

”My dear, anything your heart desires. Every shelf is top shelf, you need but pick your poison, as they say. I pride myself on selection. Perhaps a fine red from an Italian monastery that burned down in 1325, or cider from a brewery said to be run by the goddess Idunn, keeper of the apples. I also have absinthe imported from Faerie, if you have more eclectic tastes.”

Charlie rubbed her chin thinking of something far out, she just wanted a beer but when was the next time she’d get to taste something a divine orchard? “I’d like to try that Indunn cider please.”

Taking an empty seat at the bar, Charlie smiled at Maddi for her to take the vacant seat beside her. The wood was polished to a beautiful sheen, the chairs leather padded seats. The patrons nearby who had been listening on shuffled behind Charlie, to both sides down the bar the questions began.

“Hey, you kids were at Sherman last night?” One asked.

Another patron commented, “We saw you on tv.”

“That storm knocked the news helicopter around.”

“What about that bat? It was huge!”

Charlie grinned, blushing. “Yeah, that was us.”

Maddi and Charlie both received pats on their backs, various thank you’s, offers to buy them their next round of drinks.

Down the line the elderly man, sour faced huffed as he pushed away from the bar moving away from the revelry.

The sickly-skinned imp poured Charlie a glass, sliding across the bar before turning to Madalena, who shook her head, uninterested in a drink.

”About taking on contracts,” Madalena said, looking up at Puck, adjacent to Charlie and Maddi.

”Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Puck interrupted. ”You have yet to complete the task given to you last night. The offer yet stands, but I cannot, in good faith, entrust a contract to you until your trial ends in success, nor can I offer any further insight on the matter. It wouldn’t be much of a test if I gave you all the answers, would it?”

Madalena sighed and shook her head. ”No, I didn’t think so. Well we’re close, should be done in another day with how effectively we work, right Charlie?’

Charlie laughed, “Soundin’ real familiar right now.” Taking a sip of the cider, “Easily another day and we’ll be done.” She agreed, confidently.

The cider was dry and on the secondary sip it felt like her taste buds exploded with the flavour, causing her to cough into her fist. Skeptically looking at the glass, “Okay, I gotta know what’s in this.”

Unbeknownst to the newly annointed pair, at the door appeared a trio of with similar purpose to The Alchemyst and Lady Hex, paying the The Red Devil’s Proprietor a visit. The Ambassador stood at the entrance removing her sunglasses, smoothing down the length of her white dress eyes taking in the opulent sight.

Odette’s eye passed over the patrons, over the stage - Bach whispered the song and seemed to know it as his foot began to tap to the beat jumping from her shoulder down to the ground shooting up to his full size. He immediately recognized someone and went to say hello a strangely small group of sprites sitting at an appropriately sized table. The decor, ambience, the cozy yet elegant design was simply beautiful. Eyes found Puck next, nodding a smile that did not reach her eyes. Behind Odette came the impressively large form of Mandate, sans her enchantment. Floorboards creaked, red cyclopean eye taking in the new sights with her visible ‘v’ shaped smile. She shuffled the best she could beside the door frame instructed to stay at the entrance.

“This is certainly far more than what I imagined.” She said.

”Right, it’s your first time here,” Marie replied, leading Odette down a row of tables to the bar, ”well here it is, The Red Devil, my home away from home for almost two years. I’d actually started to miss it. How does it suit you?”

Odette’s hand trailed along a polished table, “I can see why it is a popular spot for various creatures and practitioners. I like it.” She pointed, “It does not seem we have very far to go to find Monsieur Goodfellow.”

“It would be rude not to say hello.”

Puck looked up from the bar, sighting two more familiar faces. He excused himself from his current guests, sauntering over to Marie and Odette.

”How fortuitous,” his hollow voice bounced off tables, echoing even among the crowded speech of the tavern’s patrons. ”Marie, Lady Ambassador, welcome.” he bowed.

”You’ve arrived much sooner than expected. Did the Hudson Wyrd not offer any additional insight into your unique predicaments?”

Marie glared at him, arms folded. ”A vague warning, if it was a warning. You said you’d have answers for us, so please stop giving us the runaround and tell us what we need to know.”

”Marie,” Holt spoke up, jumping onto her shoulder in the form of an ethereal raven. ”calm yourself.”

Answering his question in turn, while she had little patience for Puck himself she could hardly ignore the proper greeting, “Bonjour, Monsieur Goodfellow. The Hudson Wyrd gave us a warm welcome and a little insight. Neither of us have had time to fully consider quite yet. We should continue in private preferably.” touching Marie’s other shoulder.

Charlie’s eyes tracked curiously to who Puck spoke to, the newest patrons fashionable and looking at the very least uptight. What did catch her attention was the massive tower of mercury at the door, elbowing Maddi she pointed, “Check out the huge golem.

Charlie caught the red cyclopean eye, the weight of Mandate’s attention on her now. It immediately unsettled the alchemist, chilling down her spine and sending off warning signals instincts drawing conclusions before she was aware. She shifted in her seat breaking eye contact, Mandate’s eye continued to burrow into her back.

Madalena turned to the doorway, eying the impressive golem. She’d read a little about their creation from some Kabbalistic texts Puck kept in his office, but she didn’t understand the theory enough to attempt magic of that caliber. Her eyes trailed over to Puck, curious to see who was occupying his attention. Madalena almost overlooked her, but a second glance confirmed her suspicions.

”Marie?” she called out, jumping off the barstool and speeding over to Puck, dodging pushed out chairs and patrons. ”Marie, it’s you right?” her voice picked up, peeking from behind Puck to find Marie Heartford standing, arms crossed, eyes wide.

”M-Madalena?” Marie stuttered, mouth agape. Before she could let out another sound, Madalena rushed forward, wrapping Marie in a tight embrace that nearly knocked the wind out of her. Marie searched for an explanation, in shock of her rather mundane friend’s presence in The Red Devil of all places.

”What are you doing here?”

”Ah yes,” Puck interjected, placing a hand proudly on Madalena’s right shoulder. ”I mentioned a new witch in service to The Red Devil. This is she, Madalena Hawthorne.”

”Or Lady Hex,” Madalena excitedly trailed his comment, ”I’d been looking for an excuse to use that name and I finally got my chance. Isn’t it exciting, Marie?”

Marie remained stunned, mouth agape, silent.

Charlie came up beside Maddi holding her drink and pointing to Marie, “Who’s this? Name’s Charlie, er I mean Alchemyst.” Charlie introduced herself, hand out to Marie.

Some of the patrons laughed behind her, “Seriously kid?”

Charlie ignored them. “Whichever is fine.”

The Ambassador ran a skeptical eye up and down both Madelana and Charlie. Keeping her hands folded as Charlie offered hers, making no move to shake it. The casual introduction, shabbily dressed pair drew some quick conclusions for the sorceress, “I presume you know one another. Do you need a moment, Marie?”

Marie took Charlie’s hand, looking between she, Madalena, and Puck.

”So you work here now?” Marie questioned Madalena, who nodded in response with a wide grin. Marie turned to Puck.

”You’re unbelievable, you know that.” Marie said in frustration, ”I can’t believe you would go behind my back and recruit one of my friends, wait, actually I can believe it and it’s just as ridiculous. What were you thinking?”

Odette grinned behind her hand, ready to watch the argument about to unfold.

”You, my dear, were unavailable. I needed someone to head my efforts against The Winter Court, and our good Lady Hex was a perfect fit. You recommended her to me, lest you had forgotten.”

”No,” she quickly rebutted, ”no I did not. I mentioned her, in passing, after her store was robbed a couple months ago. That doesn’t give you the right to pull her into your mess and-”

”Her is right here,” Madalena interrupted, moving closer to Marie. ”and I thought you would be happy for me, why are you so upset? I wasn’t forced into anything.”

Charlie frowned about to jump to Maddi’s defence, Marie responded.

Marie sighed, taking Madalena’s hand. ”I’m . . . I’m not mad or unhappy for you, Madalena, I’m just surprised. I mean, I never knew this was something you wanted to be a part of.”

”Are you kidding? Marie, ever since I found out about The White Witch, I became even more interested in all of this. Real, genuine magic, traditional witchcraft. You inspired me to keep studying, made me want to practice. If this wasn’t what I wanted, I wouldn’t have signed Puck’s contract.”

Marie took another moment. She looked into Madalena’s eyes and saw the fire, the freedom that she’d felt the first time she met the Bucca as a child, the ecstasy she’d felt among the witches of Lost Haven, of El Paso, of Salem. Finally, she smiled.

”Then . . . welcome to the club, I guess.” she conceded, pulling Madalena in for a another hug.

“You’re the White Witch? Shit, I remember reading about you in the news and hearing your name among the big metas. They still don’t take us seriously but whatever right? Bigger fish to fry like the Winter Court.” Charlie said her frown disappearing.

Odette couldn’t hide her upturned lip of disgust at the alchemist’s language. “Witch Hunters masquerading under the name of the Winter Court is despicable as were the Hounds.”

“As… lovely as this little reunion is we have business to attend to.”

Charlie made a face at the sorceress, “Chill out, what’s the hurry?”

Odette levelled an icy gaze onto the alchemist and Charlie met it without flinching.

”As much as I want to catch up,” Marie spoke up, diffusing a tense situation, ”the Ambassador of the Fair Folk and I do need to speak with Puck. It’s a long story and I’d love to fill you in, especially now that you’re involved. Raincheck?”

Madalena nodded. ”I’m holding you to that,” she replied, patting Marie’s shoulder before returning to her place at the bar. Charlie followed after squinting at their backs but let it go as she returned to her drink.

The Elder Scrolls: Vengeance of the Deep

Cause I've made a few playlists so far for our deer characters, gonna post 'em here. You guys should post up your links as well! Ship playlists too~ <3

Ruby Red Memory - Judena Callisar Spotify

The Truth is Easy to See - Maj Noor Spotify

Loose Ends - Latro de Couteau Spotify

No Filter - Daro'Vasora Spotify

The Elder Scrolls: Fruits of Contention - Chapter 2 (Completed)

<Snipped quote by DearTrickster>

Sure. What's Maj's fake identity?

And Wylendriel's, @Spoopy Scary?

@Gcold

Ohhh good question. Will it be #extra elaborate or s i m p l e. WIll Maj be able to resist the temptation-

find out next week

The Elder Scrolls: Fruits of Contention - Chapter 2 (Completed)

Maj will be attending as guest using a fake identity as Ariane's plus 1. Is it okay for Maj to assume Ariane helped her out a bit for dressing correctly? c:

Create-A-Hero: A Superhero RPG Season 2- New Horizons (Closed)

Cast

Transmutation and Conjuration

Part 1

Location: Croll Corner – Lost Haven
Time: One Hour after Hound Attack

---

Several feet away, the light from the upper floor joined the streetlights. The shop below was dark and locked up for the night. The building itself was well maintained, the windows clean - the streetside free of trash, a small trough flower bed below the large windows. In the windows, bold and golden words proudly displaying Croll Corner. The open sign was dark, hours of operation printed on the door.

The alleyway beside the shop was lit up as it usually was when someone in the family wasn’t home. Typically, usually for Charlie herself.

Charlie pulled her mask down a long drawn out sigh, “Fair warning, Maddi.”

Turning to Hex, “My family means well, they care a lot and it’s because they care a lot they will want to kill me when I walk through that door. My mom especially, Gramps and Harry will probably watch. Anything you say or I say will be flipped on my head faster than I have a chance to think. She is like a train.”

“Gotta let them get it all out first then they’re way more reasonable after they vent and I may just survive to get to the alchemical formula but it’s really unlikely.” She said honestly. “Just bear with it and I’ll make it up to you, promise.”

She put on a big grin.

She led the way down the alley rounding out to the back alley and backyard of her home. A small fence line separated their property. In the driveway was a small car shelter, open walls - beneath it was a lemon of a vehicle. The backyard opened to open green grass, a shed tucked against the building and a training dummy with stuffing spilling out from it’s midsection and arms. Home to training several Croll’s, not just Harry and Charlie.

The balcony off the second floor was spilling with Nathaniel’s herbal garden, the main garden itself lined the entire fenceline. Blooming in full colour with flowers, next to it was the vegetable garden stems of tomato vines and green beans grew. Gramp’s pride and joy was his garden and it sprung from everywhere. He loved to take care of it and everyone in the family helped maintain it.

On the steps up to the backdoor stood in the imposing figure of Julianne Croll, her staff in her right hand and a left fist clenched. An angry scowl on her face, ashen blonde hair tied in a bun. Charlie froze on the spot seeing her mother. She removed her hood and goggles. Swallowing hard.

“H-Hey mom.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah I’m okay.” Holding her staff.

“What happened to your injuries from this morning?”

Answering quickly, “Puck healed them.” She winced at her mom’s reaction.

Julianne threw her head back in a long groan, through clenched teeth she gestured to Lady Hex. “Who is that?”

Hex removed the glamour charm around her neck and stepped closer, allowing electric light to illuminate more familiar features, waving her scarlet-gloved fingers at Julianne.

”Madalena Hawthorne,” Maddi introduced herself with far more enthusiasm than either Charlie or Julianne seemed ready to receive.

”Proprietress of The Shadow of the Moon in Chinatown - I’ve seen your car pull in a few times - and employed under Robin Goodfellow of The Red Devil as Lady Hex. The secret moniker isn’t some sort of formality, more a necessity given the work I’ve been doing on Puck’s behalf . . .”

Madalena stopped herself, warmly offering her hand to Julianne.

”Anyway, you can just call me Madalena, or Maddi; no preference.”

Jules switched her staff over to her opposite hand, shaking Maddi’s. “My name is Jules, it would be very nice to meet you outside this scene I’m about to cause.” Charlie audibly groaned.

“Head on inside and introduce yourself to my dad, Nathaniel - he’ll get you a nice cup of tea.” She stepped aside letting Maddi inside turning her attention right back to Charlie.

“Staff up young lady! You and I aren’t done here.” Jules ordered.

Charlie brought up her staff obediently, “I’m okay if we just yell at eachother-”

“Not tonight, beating some sense into you seems to be the only way!”

Charlie blocked her mother’s first blow, staff bending under the unyielding weight of her mother’s tungsten staff. Knowing clacks and meeting of staffs continued, Jules snapping questions with each hit.

Nathaniel was just down the hallway ushering at Maddi to come inside, he lead her up the stairs into the kitchen. “Now don’t worry for those two, they only really fight like this over the serious stuff. Come please have a seat while we wait for them to duke it out.”

The kitchen was small but stocked, herbs hung at the window above the sink drying. The oven bubbled with the kettle on the element, mugs set aside with wire cages stuffed with loose tea leaves. It was warm, cozy and another of Nathaniel’s well kept work spaces.

With his back turned he hummed through jars of leaves, labeled accordingly. “If I heard that right you’re employed by our good deal maker Puck? He’s a slick one but honorable. A fair few of alchemists I know like to visit the Red Devil for a drink. Thought about taking Harry over there for her twenty first birthday.” He continued, his voice warm and hospitable in spite of his own itch to take out his ire on Charlie as well, making everyone worry for the second time this week.

He shuffled over to the kettle as it began to whistle. “You’ll have to excuse my rambling ways, will talk and lecture to anyone who listens.” He chuckled. “What sort of tea would you like my dear? We have the whole assortment.”

”Earl Grey,” Madalena didn’t hesitate. ”Sorry, was that too eager? I’m just really partial to earl grey; love bergamot.”

Maddi turned back to peer down the hall for a moment before taking a seat in the kitchen, placing her cane gently on the table.

”And I know how moms and daughters can be. My mom had an art studio and a kiln in our garage which, now that I think about it, that was probably a fire hazard . . . anyway, she would always make an excess of ceramics that we’d end up throwing on the floor and smashing when we got upset with each other.”

She chuckled, pulling back her hood and letting out a deep sigh, sinking into her chair.

“Earl Grey! Excellent taste.” He said knowingly reaching for the jar.

“I remember one of my sons having a passing interest in pottery when he was a teenager. He thought it’d be the easiest way to get dates but took genuine interest when he got the hang of it.” He said with a smile, remembering fondly.

He poured the water and set an egg timer for steeping, setting the saucer in front of Maddi and taking the seat across from her. “Firstly I would like to thank you for helping my granddaughter stay alive tonight. We take such actions quite seriously here, if there’s anyway we can repay you please don’t hesitate to call in a favour from me or any Croll you may meet in the future. Everyone one of my children and grandchildren are moderately skilled alchemists.”

“That being said, I truly hope this is the last of the dangerous encounters with the Hounds of Humanity. If Puck is involved I fear he has knowingly roped Charlie into whatever he has planned.” He scratched at his beard thoughtfully. “Did she sign any contracts or agree to anything officially?”

Nathaniel regarded Maddi with concern, “I know in my heart of hearts we can’t stop Charlie from helping where she feels she is needed but this family has already lost one to Lost Haven’s larger than life affairs.”

Madalena shook her head.

”Don’t worry, Charlie hasn’t signed anything or formally agreed to any of Puck’s schemes . . . but she is involved.”

Maddi leaned closer, instinctually speaking in a softer voice.

”Has she told you about the Witchfinder General and The Winter Court?”

“Briefly, after she helped clean up your shop. The name rings a bell, The Winter Court. Were they connected to the Hounds?” Nathaniel asked leaning forward as well cradling his chin in his hands.

”In a sense,” Maddi replied, pulling out the folder on the General and showing Nathan the Court’s crest on the inside cover.

”The short of it is that the Court is an old order of witch hunters with all kinds of magical weapons they used centuries ago. The General somehow found surviving records of how to make these weapons, used the Hounds resources to rebuild a small sect of the Court, and has been expanding ever since. Puck had me act as an informant to the Court to gain their trust while he worked on a plan to take him and the Court down.”

Shuffling in her seat, Madalena removed the leather-bound journal from her waist and placed it in front of Nathaniel, opening it to the section she and Charlie had reviewed earlier.

”And there might actually be a way you can pay back that favor.” Madalena smiled.

”Charlie said she recognized some of these formulas as yours. I’m not entirely sure what this journal is leading us to, but I’m assuming it’s part of Puck’s plan.”

He looked down at the journal reading it quickly, “Yes they are mine and written in my hand. Secrets only known to me to keep something important under lock and key, paid to do so actually by Puck.”

He hummed wrapping his lightly callused hands around the mug, frowning, “I would certainly like to repay you Ms Hawthorne but I crafted this formula specifically not to be cracked. I was paid to do as such by Puck himself. You understand my hesitation-”

Chuckles interrupted Nathaniel, a smile returned at the sight of Julianne and Charlene. They had their arms wrapped around each other’s shoulders. Harriet behind them, standing on the tips of her toes trying to see through the kitchen of their visitor.

They looked no worse for wear, clothes haphazard, grass stains, dirt on chins. Nathaniel felt instantly nostalgic picturing easily the pair of them as children once again. Charlie went straight for the kettle pouring a cup of tea for herself, Jules and Harry. Knowingly reaching for their favourite tea leaves. Her knuckles scraped and a little battered. Handing off the cups, Charlie took a seat beside Maddi with a large sigh.

She reached across the table and Nathaniel opened his hand for her to hold. “I’m sorry Gramps for making you worry. We’re in for some hard times, everything I’m doing is to protect our family.” She said, he squeezed her hands - listening. “The Hounds were wiped out tonight but it’s the Winter Court we’re looking out for now. A powerful necromancer skulking around in Lost Haven, it’s a shit show and it’s going to be on our doorstep. It’s taken me six years of university to try and figure out what the hell I want to do. I still don’t know but I know that I can protect us.”

Nathaniel gazed at Charlie, his eyes shifted up to Jules who leaned against the wall with her cup of tea. She nodded, affirming what he already knew. There was no turning Charlie away nor protecting her from the consequences. She’d surely learn all that on her own.

“Okay, Charlie.” He said after a few moments. “Okay, apology accepted.” He stood from his seat leaning across the table to kiss her on the forehead. Nothing more to be said, easily forgiven.

Charlie smiled sitting back and looking down at the journal in front of Maddi.

“I was saying to Ms Hawthorne about the journal she has, if I were to be given consent from Puck himself to give you the keys then, well then I can do just that.” He said tapping the page with his index finger, the formula glowing briefly reacting to his presence. “What gave it away, Char?”

She laughed, “Your tin and zinc! It’s like, your calling card.”

Momentarily embarrassed he leaned back with a laugh, “Ahhh, such a terrible habit.”

Madalena observed the quaint little moment, the closeness of family. She hadn’t spoken to her mother in months, much too busy. Maybe she should give her a call?

”No offense, Mr. Croll,” Maddi finally spoke up, ”but I don’t think we need Puck’s express permission, mainly because we both know he won’t give it. You know how he is. I’d argue that us even having the journal is his weird stamp of approval. Why else would he hand it over if not for us to solve?”

He pursed his lips, she had a point. He stared down at the journal and hummed thoughtfully. “Perhaps I can. I’ll give you the key to solve the formula.”

Charlie pumped her fist and a resounding ‘yess’ under her breath. “So what’s the solution Gramps-”

“Ah - ah. Not so fast, kiddo.” He tutted. “I said the key, not the solution. You have to figure it out on your own.”

Her smile disappeared, “Gramps come on, this is important.”

He nodded sipping his tea. “Yes I am aware, it’s also important to challenge you Charlie. Jules and I would be poor mentors if we gave the answers to all the questions.”

She groaned leaning back in her chair, huffing stray hair off her face.

“I thought we were getting on more to ‘peers’ than student at this point.”

Gramps shrugged, “Not yet, Charlie. You’ve got a ways to go.”

“So what’s the key to the formula?” She asked, relenting quicker than usual, guilt reigning in her impulse to argue.

He stroked his beard, then grinned laying his hand flat against the journal, “You’re going to hate this Charlie.” He said in singsong, he laid his hand across the pages of formulae. The pages began to lift and change, unbeknownst to Charlie within the fibres of the pages were lined with a variety of elements - not just tin and zinc. Nathaniel took great pleasure in simpler things for his alchemy, hiding answers in plain sight. With the tip of his finger he drew it out across the top of each symbol, the overall image drew to be an actual shape of a key across the various pages. He removed his hand, the pages folded in on itself right before their eyes.

Taking shape of an antique key, sporting a bright gold sheen.

Charlie groaned, “Gramps you’re killing me here with this.”

He grinned again, big and toothy.

“So what’s there to figure out?” She asked next.

“Balance it, kiddo. That’s it.” He said, holding the key out for her to take. “When it sits perfectly on the tip of your finger, not leaning one way or another it’ll be ready to open up.”

Charlie felt confident momentarily but when she took the key, it weighed heavier than a brick. “‘That’s it’, hmph.” She said turning it over in her hands, already playing with the weight a bit accidently making it heavier before changing it back and the key increased in weight once more. “What the fuck-”

“It’s a very sensitive set up, can’t go messing with certain elements without affecting a great deal of others.” Nathaniel tutted and giving a wink. “Good luck.”

The Elder Scrolls: Vengeance of the Deep

Two Birds of a Feather

Evening, 7th of Midyear, 4E208
Gilane, Hammerfell
_{A @Father Hank & @DearTrickster Production}

---

While Mazrah had initially been annoyed and even offended by Nanine’s suggestion to hide her body beneath a robe during the attack on the prisoner transport where they freed Shakti, she had to admit that she appreciated the freedom she still had to walk freely throughout Gilane without having to be afraid that one of the guards would recognize her based on her description. She was, after all, extremely distinct. Her remarkable and fearsome appearance was even further exacerbated by the fierce scowl she wore on her face as she stomped through the bazaar, fists clenched and shoulders hunched. Mazrah was angry and frustrated and her total and utter inability to conceal her emotions meant that merely looking upon her was reason enough for the citizens to give her a wide berth.

She was looking for a bar with the express purpose of drowning her anger in alcohol. Daro’Vasora had been captured and much to her chagrin, there was nothing she could do about it right then and there. The Khajiit had been taken somewhere after being paraded through the streets like some kind of traitor and now she was gone. Quick to make friends and loyal to a fault, Mazrah took it personally, despite the fact that the Orsimer and the cat-lady had only been friends for, what, a week?

“That’s not the point,” Mazrah muttered to herself and shook her head. The audacity of the Dwemer and their minions had now personally affected her and if there was one thing Orcs all hate, it’s having their shit fucked with. She could only hope that someone else in the party had a good idea or a clever plan in the coming days. Coming up with that stuff had never been her forté.

At last her feet brought her to the door to a bar and she looked up in surprise to find it was the back-alley bar where she’d found the Redguard bastard that brought her to Gilane in the first place and beaten him up… with Daro’Vasora. It was where they’d met. Mazrah remembered it being a seedy, smoky den of card-players and smooka addicts. In other words, it was perfect. She needed someplace crass and dumb where she could just be herself and beat up anybody who challenged her for it.

Someone else opened the door now to look at her when she knocked. Mazrah remembered it being a Dunmer last time; now it was definitely a local Redguard. “Yes?” the man asked tersely.

“I want to get drunk.” Mazrah put her hands on her hips and tilted her head. “And I’m looking for a fat cock to fuck,” she lied and conjured the most sickly-sweet smile she could muster. The Redguard was too taken aback by that to have verbal answer and settled for opening the door and letting her through instead.

Mazrah dropped herself on one of the stools at the bar and planted her elbows on the countertop with enough force to send ripples through the drinks of the other patrons on either side of her, and it seemed like everyone in the establishment turned to look at her. She pointedly ignored them and focused on the bartender, who was a surprisingly lovely, fair-skinned woman from somewhere that was definitely not here, with big green eyes and reddish hair. She had a dagger strapped to her waist and a sharpness to her face that suggested she wasn’t just a doll, however, and Mazrah gave her a lopsided grin. “Hi. I want your biggest mug of the foulest poison you have in here,” the Orsimer purred.

The bartender raised an eyebrow but made no comment as she drafted a pint-sized shot of Stros M’Kai rum for Mazrah. “This might actually kill you,” she said as she slid the giant mug across the countertop. “But I have a feeling you know what you’re doing, Orc, so knock yourself out.”

Mazrah grunted appreciatively and immediately downed a big gulp, smacking her lips loudly.

“Charming,” the bartender said but the amusement on her face was unmistakable.

Mazrah growled and winked. “Bite me.”

Among the rattled pints belonged to a sour-faced, dark-skinned Redguard mage only a few seats away from the new boisterous Orc joining the pity party that was the tavern. Steadying the brim of her dark stout tankard, dulled green eyes glanced to Maz. Maj Noor sat with a slight hunch over the counter, gloves and cloak removed. Long black hair fell over her shoulder, gently tied in on itself in a loose knot. Choppily cut bangs framed her face, a crooked nose pointed up at a slight angle. Twin silver hooped earrings somehow survived her tribulations. Trying and failing to ignore the permeating smell of piss coming from somewhere nearby.

Did it really matter? She looked down to her hands, fresh blisters in the palms from spending the past two days picking barnacles off the belly of a ship grounded in Gilane’s port. Needing a few septims to get a stiff drink. In so far her solutions weren’t being found at the bottom of a tankard. Everywhere she looked Dwemer roamed the streets like a bad night terror. What little sleep she had managed from passing out in exhaustion was filled with the fresh memory of the gold-plated Dwemer airship hovering above her and blocking out the sunlight. It sent a shiver down her spine.

Gripping the tankard she drank deeply from it, the brew bitter and strong. The aftertaste was disgusting. Slamming down her tankard she looked at Maz once again, making a face at the two patrons between herself and her future drinking buddy. Maj assumed misery loves company.

“Alright, move your asses!” She suddenly announced shoving an elbow at a dreary dunmer beside her, he rolled his eyes conceding to moving just to another seat cupping his own drink as he moved. Next was a bearded breton man whom she tried shoving next.

“Move,” She poked her elbow at him, “Mooooove.” Using both hands.

He grunted, “The fuck woman?” He raised his arms out of her reach as she continued to push him.

“Move, I want to sit beside someone who looks just about as miserable as I feel. Fuck off, mate.” She said with some success managed to push him out of his chair, he stumbled back spilling a little of his drink over his fingers. He looked irritated and eyed Maj deciding how much of a fight she’d be worth to put up with. She squinted back at him.

“Fuck, fine you can have the big ugly oaf.” He said with a huff turning his back. “Nobody wants to sit near a drunk orc.”

Maj settled in his seat beside Maz, she leaned holding the counter as a balance with her left hand barely able to reach her tankard with her right, her fingertips just brushing the handle. The bartender watched her struggle to reach it and moved it the inch within her reach. A good grip she dragged it in front of her with a huff, laboriously pulling herself back to sit up right.

Getting a closer look over of Maz, Maj’s eyes settled on the tattoos intricately lining her face, counting the earrings lining her long pointed ears. The scars as well, they were pitted and marked along her arms, the former Corsair not making any attempts to be subtle in her observation. She leaned into the bar, settling her cheek against the heel of her palm she said, smiling, “There ain’t a single ugly thing about you. Hi, I’m Maj.”

Mazrah decided to ignore the commotion to her right in favor of focusing on her drink until it turned out that the source of the ruckus had been a woman trying to sit next to her. Mazrah turned her head to look and once she’d fully taken in the sight of the languidly smiling Maj, the Orsimer turned her whole torso to face the Redguard. She returned the pirate’s smile with one of her own and was just about ready to fake innocent astonishment that someone would compliment her -- for Maj’s amusement, of course -- when it dawned on her what the woman had just said. Her smile turned into a confused frown.

“What in Oblivion are you saying, girl? That is my name,” she said, already slightly slurring her words. Her alcohol tolerance was prodigious but there was only so much her body could do to defend itself against half a pint of rum consumed in just a few minutes. “I am Maz. You can’t also be Maz.” She held up a wagging finger while she talked and then she pointed at her chest. “Me Maz. You... someone else. How’d you know my name, anyway?”

“What?” Maj said sitting up straight, looking to her tankard - surely she hadn’t drunk that much. “Maj, not Maz.” Enunciating her name and drawing out the j, “My name is Maj.”

She leaned up and peered into Maz’s mug and got a strong whiff of rum, she frowned herself turning to the barmaid, “She was holding out on me, I asked for something strong too and she gave me this muddy brine.” Gesturing at her tankard, half-heartedly irritated but she took another swig anyway for good measure.

“What got you drinking your sorrows away? These gods be damned Dwemer are ruining everything.” Maj complained, loudly gesturing with her tankard. The barmaid siddled back up and shushed her.

Mazrah waved the barmaid away, irritated, and nodded along enthusiastically with what Maj had to say. “They are! I’m so glad to hear you say so,” Mazrah said and gave Maj an admiring smile. Everything about the Redguard woman endeared Mazrah to her immediately. She leaned forwards conspiratorially until their faces were only a few inches apart and placed a hand on Maj’s upper arm. She could feel her heartbeat quicken. “The Dwemer captured my friend,” the Orsimer whispered, her golden eyes boring into Maj’s green gaze. “And I can’t do anything about it. I’m fucking angry. That’s why I’m here. You?”

“You don’t fucking say.” Maj said, frowning at Maz. She found her hand and gave it a tight squeeze in solidarity, “One of their flying golden piles of shit sunk my ship and crew, unprovoked.” Maj felt a wave of mischief cross her mind, Maz was a stacked wall of muscle and shared her contempt for the Dwemer. She had hoped for some company this evening but now found herself being pulled toward something else. She could smell the the strong rum on her breath overlayed with her musky body, it was unique to the orc, distinctly her.

“Now what are a pair of angry women like us to do with all this unresolved energy.” Maj said her frown inverting to a sly wicked smile. “We could do something unproductive like drinking ourselves into a sickening stupor. Or...” She continued matching Maz’s conspiratorial voice.

“There’s a few dozen ways an angry orc and angry mage could stir up some trouble for those sons of knave’s Dwemer. How about it Maz, want to get out of here?” She grinned wiggling her eyebrows suggestively. “Ruin their night.”

Now that was music to her ears. Maj’s grin was infectious and Mazrah found herself smirking along. She looked at her hand that Maj and taken in her own and she reached up and stroked the Redguard’s cheek with her other hand, her strong fingers gentle against Maj’s soft skin. “Aren’t you a naughty girl,” Mazrah purred. “I love it.”

In just a few seconds, Mazrah tipped the mug of rum back and gulped the rest of it down, slammed a few septims on the bar, jumped to her feet and winked at the redhead behind the counter. “If the Dwemer ask, we weren’t here,” the Orsimer said and winked. She grabbed her spear, bow and arrows and slung them around her torso before she made for the exit, making sure her hips swayed while she walked and turned her head to look at Maj. “Let’s go.”

Maj bit her lower lip watching Maz go, the bartender rolled her eyes when Maj looked back to her. She slid her own septims toward her, including a couple more, “You heard nothing nor saw us, Lassie.” Doing the same as Maz and draining her tankard. In a flash grabbed her cloak and gloves. With an impressive flourish she, unaware of who received a face full of cloak behind her, clasped it securely at her collar.

She whisked out the door after Maz hesitating on the stairs down to the street. Easily imagining Nephelle where Maz was, while the more disciplined of the two Nepelle was always the first to jump into trouble with Maj. Never asking the whys or hows just when they would get started. She shook her head pushing away the thought, convinced if their positions were switched Nephelle would be right where she was then. Who was to say she’d feel the same in the morning, tonight was for a break in the stormy waters. Carrying on to Maz’s side.

Rolling up her sleeves, she hiked her hood up over her head. Cracking her knuckles.

The two budding partners in crime made no attempt to hide their swagger or their presence as they made their way through the streets of Gilane while they looked for victims, which were steadily emptying as the curfew approached. It was still some time away but many citizens had learned that it was better to be safe than sorry these days.

“Come on, I really have to go,” the Dwemer guard said with a pleading tone to his voice. “We’ll catch up to the others later. Just watch the streets for me, alright?”

His colleague watched the rest of their patrol march onwards with a sigh and waved dismissively. “Alright, alright, just go -- that alley over there.”

Grateful, the first guard took up position just beyond the entrance to one of the city’s many alleys and the sound of liquid splattering on the sand, accompanied by a deeply satisfied groan, swiftly echoed in its walls. Meanwhile, from the shadows behind one of the closed market stalls, Maz and Maj observed them at a distance. They had decided that discretion was the better part of valor after all and did not make their presence known just yet.

“Look at him, just pissing all over as if he owns the place,” Mazrah said sidelong to Maj, her lip curled in disgust. “They look just like the pair of boys that need to be taught a lesson. Agreed?”

“Aye. I’ve got an idea.” She beckoned to squat in the sand at their hiding spot. “Maz, you’re an unstoppable woman - fearsome in your own right. But, these bastids are cocky. I’ve only been in town for a few days and that,” She pointed at the pissing Dwemer, “has been the general fucking attitude.” She shuffled her finger beneath her nose. “What I’m going to do is build up from the beautiful base.”

She took in some consideration, what could the Dwemer be afraid to see? Remembering little to nothing about them, they were engineers rooted in logic before the god’s revering races of Tamriel. That was about it. Usually she resorted to ghosts and spirits to spook superstitious sailors but would Dwemer really give two shits about seeing a ghost they clearly don’t believe in?

“Oh I know!” She snapped her fingers, it was simple. “Okay stand up, Maz.”

Clearly in her mind she imagined, what an imagination it would take to picture what exactly could scare the Dwemer. They liked their creations so much then what would possibly scare them more than to see one advancing outside their control? In spite of knowing little about the Dwemer the rendering of their Centurions face’s were just about everywhere in Gilane. Easy to find inspiration. Misty red light shimmered around her hands, the beginnings of her Fear spell, she built from the bottom up. The image overlaying Maz’s already impressive form of muscle slotted into place. Pieces of a puzzle connecting in metallic armour pieces over her body, growing taller than she naturally was. The bulky arms and large gloves, finally the huge curved armour head of a Centurion.

The shadow the illusion casted was a special detail Maj rarely forgot to add, she felt it really sold it. She tapped her chin, making adjustments with a swipe of her finger as she rounded Maz in a circle. Spurts of oil leaking down the arms, haphazardly breaking the shoulder plating, ruining the symmetry of it. Stacks of heat vents on her back flared with flames, filtering out large clouds of steam. Finally rounding off the image with a crack down the centurion’s face by showing the faintest glow of a soul gem encased behind it’s eyes. Casting the eerie glow of a purple soul gem. She clapped her hands, her work complete.

She whistled lowly, “A goddamn masterpiece if I do say so myself.”

For someone as unfamiliar with magic as Mazrah, the idea of being enveloped with an illusion was so decidedly foreign that it almost made her uncomfortable -- but she steeled herself with the idea that its purpose was to scare the Dwemer, not herself. She had never been afraid of something real, why be afraid of something fake? Hell, the idea of becoming even more fearsome to others than she already was appealed to her.

“I’ll take your word for it,” Mazrah said with a grin, unable to observe the illusion properly since she was inside of it. “So now I just run at them, yeah? Scare their balls off?”

“More or less!” Maj agreed, “But- give them just a second to see you and fully recognize what is about to fuck them up.”

“I’ll be blocking their exit.” Maj said purposefully being non specific, having not decided on how she would block them in. Her mind was already going through a few ideas. “I want to see their faces and balls drop.”

The Orsimer nodded with vigor. “Sounds good. See you on the other side.”

And with that, Mazrah was off. She put on her most menacing scowl, wondering if that would translate to the illusion that Maj had created around her body, and advanced upon the Dwemer guards. The one that had been taking a leak had just finished and was busy fastening his belt when the second guard, the one that had been keeping an eye out for trouble, hollered unintelligibly in alarm.

“What is it? What is it?” the first guard asked urgently as he reached for his rifle and tried to slip his belt through the buckle at the same time.

“Centurion! Centurion! It’s gone rogue! Run, you idiot!” the second guard yelled as he backpedaled past his companion and almost tripped over his own feet.

Mazrah had to smother a laugh with her hand as she bore down upon them. Maj had done fine work. At the other end of the alleyway Maj peeked around the corner laughing at their reactions, it was working like a charm!

Rubbing her hands she decided a classic block would work just fine, preferably before they could really escape - her buzz strong from hitting the tankard fast. It took her a few tries to get the next spell to cast. In her hands she pulled apart a small purple swirl, the beginnings of a summoning portal to Oblivion. Stepping into the mouth of the alleyway she squinted one eye shut and her tongue stuck out. Aiming between the flailing limbs of the Dwemer and Mazrah she swung her hand beneath her leg, the portal soared under Maz’s armpit, skimming over the helmet of the shouting Dwemer before landing against the wall several feet behind the fumbling Dwemer guard.

The portal spun clockwise growing larger, after a moment came a long (unnecessary) whistle from Maj. “Come on out Snowflake!”

Emerging from the dark depths of the portal was a cylindrical block of ice settling with a ominous crack against the sandy ground. Next came the unnaturally peaked head of Snowflake’s head, typical to Frost Atronachs, the hulking form emerged pulling free from its plane of Oblivion. Snowflake came to it’s full towering height, shorter than Maz’s Centurion illusion. It thrummed an alien sound in acknowledgment.

“Took your sweet time huh?” Maj cupped her hand to her mouth shouting, “Well! Go on, you’ve got one for yourself!” She pointed to the fumbling Dwemer, the closest to Snowflake cackling at the slow frost atronach raising its club of an arm. Crossing her arms satisfied the connection to Snowflake strong and unwavering, the creature’s will bending easily to hers.

Terrified the guards pressed their backs together facing different directions shakily raising their rifles to both giants. “Wh-what do we do!” one asked.

“Fire!”

Pulling the triggers, the first bullet buried deeply into Snowflake’s face - it advanced without being phased. However the second bullet breezed through the Centurion’s illusion, disappearing - leaving the image undisturbed.

It took a moment of realization, “Magic! It’s fucking magic!” He turned to his fellow guard, enraged, “An illusion!”

“And reality isn’t any better, numbnuts,” Mazrah growled as she broke into a sprint. The Dwemer were sandwiched between her and the rather impressive-looking Frost Atronach that Maj had conjured into the world. She considered taking out her spear and turning the two guards into shishkebab, but… they were just two men doing their jobs, patrolling and keeping the peace. Spilling their guts here and now would be senseless.

That didn’t mean she couldn’t give them a solid beating.

The Orsimer leapt forward and sailed through the air like a pouncing tiger before landing on top of the guard that faced her. Her rapid movement had dispelled the illusion and Mazrah burst forth from the inside of the Dwemer Centurion’s image with a look of fury on her face. The guard barely had time to yell before she was upon him, riding him into the ground and quickly jumping to her feet after a fluid, practiced somersault. Her landing had kicked up enough dust to fill the alley and she looked over her shoulder at the guard; he had the wind knocked out of him and lay crumpled in a helpless heap of pity at the end of the impact trail.

“Piss on that,” she said and spat a nice, gooey blob of phlegm right on his cuirass.

Maj pumped her fist at the sight, Snowflake doing the same mimicking her movement. Bending at the knees, Snowflake followed her movement once more the tip of its spear and the flat end of the club underneath the closest guard to it. In one swift lift and all the weight to springboard the Dwemer up into the air. His shrieks followed him up as he arked to the other side of the alleyway over Maz’s head. Crumpling to a painful landing at Maj’s feet, he grunted rolling to his side, coughing trying to catch the air that was knocked out of him. His breath caught as Maj pressed the heel of her boot down on his throat his eyes bulged looking up at her.

“You fuckers made the mistake of leaving a single member of the Scarlet Harpy alive. If it isn’t clear right now, then let me make it crystal.” Maj said, her lip curling up in a snarl. “We’re angry and your Dwemer bullshit isn’t going to last.”

His eyes began to flutter and she released her boot. Satisfied at the fear and relief flooding over his features, her smile returned, “I think we’re done here.”

She beckoned to Maz, holding up her arm, “Thirsty work, methinks.”

Seeing Maj lord over the Dwemer and find a healthy, aggressive outlet for her emotions was truly a sight for sore eyes and Mazrah eyed the Redguard up and down with a grin. “Oh, I’m thirsty alright,” she purred and sauntered over to Maj before taking the offered arm. The height difference between them made her laugh and she playfully disheveled Maj’s hair. “You’re cute when you’re angry, did you know that?”

With a laugh Maj dodged out of Maz’s mussing hand, “You should see how adorable I am when at the bow of a ship.” She said mock-indignant, hooking her arm on Maz’s, shooting a flirtatious smirk - not missing a beat, “I pegged you to be thirsty for more than just rum.”

Together they laughed, high off the cathartic release of anger - arm in arm stumbling in through the door of the Silver Skull. The innkeep frowning at the pair, they slapped down some septims enough to have a room and a bottle of whatever was behind the counter to share. The innkeep blinked at the septims, pausing as he looked at the pair - not needing to think twice saying no to them wasn’t an option. He pointed and shuffled out of the way while Maz took the liberty to pluck the bottle free from underneath the counter. Huffing a sigh he watched them go stomping up the stairs, giggles following as they did.

Maj opened the way through the door leading them in, she tugged her cloak free carefully laying it across the chest at the foot of the single double bed. Collapsing back with a thud, her giggles petering out with a sigh. “I haven’t laughed like this in ages it feels like.” Propping herself up on her elbows, the image of the Dwemer guard’s reactions made her laugh once again. “Did you see their faces?”

She made a face herself imitating their shock, “‘It’s gone rogue! AH!’ Haha, I’ll never get tired of that.” She looked up to Maz smiling unabashed, eyes ignited with light and a distinct sparkle of mischief, this lightness being sorely missed the past several days since washing ashore. She had the lucky coincidence of meeting Mazrah to thank for that.

“You’re really somethin’ Mazrah.” She said sincerely, she pulled off her boots shuffling them away, getting comfortable. “Something I really needed.” The languid smile returned.

Mazrah enjoyed towering over Maj for a bit after the Redguard had made herself comfortable on the bed, but laid herself down next to her after cocking her head and giving Maj a toothy smile and a wink. Even like this, lying next to each other, Mazrah was so much bigger than Maj. She rolled on her side and rested her head on her hand, using her other hand to draw circles on the skin of Maj's arm with her index finger.

“Please, call me Maz,” she said and leaned over to give Maj a peck on the cheek. “And I'm glad to be of service. Gilane has been hard on everybody that's come to this damned place, it seems. It's a good thing I found you.” She reached for the bottle of whatever-the-fuck-it-was and took a deep swig before offering it to the erstwhile pirate.

Maj grasped the bottle taking her own generous sip, “I found you,” She insisted. “Tell me about your friend, the one that is missing. Are you close with them?”

Maj was curious, maybe they had more in common than she thought at first glance. Her mind was in a light haze, a particular coil was pulled tight in her gut. Goosebumps trailed down from her cheek to her neck.

Mazrah thought about that for a moment. “I've only known her for a short time but it feels like we're close, yeah. She is the leader of a bunch of rag-tag misfits that are fighting the Dwemer as part of the resistance. They're all foreigners, like me. I was welcomed with open arms, which… well,” she said and laughed, “doesn't happen often. I'm a freak in these lands and I didn't have a lot of friends.”

Maj smiled at that, the appeal to such a group of people instantly recognized. Not unlike the crew of the Scarlet Harpy. “She sounds great, inspiring. Reminds me of my Captain, she lead a similar effort and group of diverse skins and culture.” Removing her gloves next, Maj in turn reached out to Maz. Callused hands and fingertips brushing down the length of her neck, following the trail of a tattoo. “I hope she returns, if not by your effort then by everyone who chooses to follow her. There’s something to be said about strong leadership, it’s rare and whether she knows it or not has a gravity of its own.”

Maj passed the bottle back, heavy lidded, inched closer.

“She's learning as she goes, I think, but she does a good job. I'm confident a plan will be made to get her back.” Mazrah bit her lip at the touch of Maj's fingers and looked down to see what she was doing. “You like my tattoos? They're part of my culture. My mother and her mother before her and so on, for as long as we can remember, were among the finest hunters and warriors of Orsinium. The tattoos and the scars represent creatures that I've slain, challenges that I've overcome, skills that I've learned, stuff like that. As you can see, it covers all of me,” Mazrah said, her voice low and sultry, while she positioned herself in such a way that Maj could get a good eyefull of her body, “which means I am very dangerous.”

Suddenly and without warning, Mazrah rolled over and on top of Maj, straddling her, and interlocked her fingers with Maj's, pressing her hands gently but firmly against the bed on either side of her head. Their faces were only an inch apart. “So be warned,” she whispered, her eyes alive with mischief, “I'm a wild one.”

A grin spread across Maj’s face, a knee pressing up against Maz, her weight against her hips and the immediate attention had sent an all too familiar thrill through her.

“Aye, I like your tattoos and I want to see more.” Against Maz’s restraint Maj closed the short distance pressing her lips against the huntress, eyes closed, brow furrowed. Her hands squeezed at Maz’s. Pulling back for only a second to taunt her, “So what the fuck are you waiting for, wild one?”

Mazrah returned the kiss with passion and the hue in her eyes had changed from mischief to unadulterated desire. “Temper, temper, little one,” she chided playfully and kissed Maj again. “I was already mostly undressed when we walked in here. You're still wearing an awful lot of clothes.”

Grinning like a maniac, the Orsimer rolled aside and propped herself up on her elbow again. “Take them off.” Her tone was firm and commanding and she bit her lip in anticipation.

“Only because you asked so nicely.” Maj whispered into her ear, leaving a kiss just under her earlobe, proceeding to do just as she asked slowly, testing Maz’s patience. It wasn’t long after the last piece of clothing fell to the ground where another moment apart couldn’t be tolerated. Affectionate, wild, without pause their night blazed forward into the dawn.

---

The next morning

Exhaustive night coupled with drink did the insomniac of a former corsair well, managing the best sleep she had in days. Fairly, it was Maz’s extreme snoring that woke her from deep sleep. Pushing up she dug the heel of her hand into her eye freeing the grit, the heat of the day already bearing down on Gilane. Maj hugged her knees, eyes on Maz. The quiet only interrupted by her snore. Lifting herself slowly up from the bed, she circled around finding her white tunic and slipping it back over her head making her way to the desk. Pulling free her hair from the collar and shaking it loose. There was a bit of parchment and a small bit of charcoal left, just enough to sketch something quick out. Wanting to thank the orc huntress for successfully taking her mind off her troubles - if only for the night. She sat then jolted back to standing, the sting fresh. Resolving the need for light to properly examine herself later.

Starting with a quiet scritch scritch, her tongue sticking out as lines curved as she sketched. Her foot wiggling about in thought.

“Mauloch take me,” Mazrah groaned as she woke up, the sound of the charcoal on paper enough to rouse her from her slumber. “What the fuck happened? I feel like I was in a fight with a sabercat.” She sat up straight, looking around the room with a healthy dose of skepticism, before her eyes found Maj and it all came back to her. “Oh, that's right, I did,” she said and smirked, approving of the sight of the Redguard woman in nothing but a tunic. “Hey you.”

Concentrating on her sketch Maj replied, “A fight with a sabrecat? Tell that to my ass.” Smiling, she continued drawing. “Hi Maz.”

Even behind her own hangover, Maj felt sentiment bubble up. One night companion was still one more companion she had before last night, not looking forward to forging on alone. Considering what she had to do to return back to Wayrest or searching for information on the fate of the Scarlet Harpy, the tasks seemed monumentous. In spite of all that sneaking a look at Maz dissipated the clutch of worry around her stomach. “Just hold still while I finish this little something to remember me by, lassie.” Maj knew how things went and assumed this was the first and last time with the beautiful orc.

“Last night was great.” She said instead of what she really wanted to say, can we do this again?

Remember me by? Mazrah rubbed her eyes and frowned. Did Maj intend to let this simply be a one night stand? That disappointed the Orsimer -- she had figured that the ex-pirate, who had plenty of reasons to hate the Dwemer and nobody by her side, would have wanted to join up with her and the others. Maj’s magical skills were impressive and powerful and Mazrah knew that they would very much come in handy when the party staged their inevitable rescue attempt.

But most importantly, she wasn’t about to let that beautiful, firm booty walk out of her life. There was much more to be plundered.

“Oh no you don’t,” Mazrah growled, slipped out of bed -- still naked -- and swept up Maj in a big bearhug from behind. “You weren’t thinking of leaving me so soon, were you? Last night was great, sugar, and mama wants more,” she cooed in Maj’s ear and nibbled her earlobe playfully. “Not just of your skills in the sheets, but your grit in the streets, too. We’re not done taking the fight to the Dwemer. You should come with us, be a hero, kick some ass. What do you say?”

Lifted off her feet, she supposed would be something she’d have to get used to, her frown of concentration slowly turned to a grin especially at the nibble below her earlobe. Swinging her arm around her neck Maj hummed in thought at the offer, “Got to admit, it’s a lonely life without a crew.”

Maz’s sincerity was unmistakable, Maj was confident she could sell herself to impress others in this group. Maybe they could be the perfect springboard, really, what other choice did she have right now?

“How could I refuse an offer like that?” Maj said, agreeing. Turning about in her arms to face Maz properly, arms looped around her neck and her weight easily supported. “Dwemer won’t know what hit ‘em.”

The Elder Scrolls: Vengeance of the Deep

Tipping Point

12th of Midyear - 4E208
Three Crowns Hotel - Gilane

---

The news of Daro’Vasora and Latro’s capture was in no small sense of the word a blow to Judena. A long scratch of a line ran down the length of her page as she began to record, squeezing the writing utensil in her hand visibly trembling. Flipping to a new page she wrote down taking up an entire page their names and underlining CAPTURED and the date.

Meg had brought the news to them, the Dwemer were actively targeting their group for the past few days and captured Sora and Latro after public humiliation. She felt truly blind for not being aware of how much danger they were in, how perilously close Sora and Latro were to death.

She was sick of it.

“I am tired of this.” She said quietly, with everyone gathered the new faces and familiar, they had all worked hard to survive and adapt to the new reality that was in front of them - threatening them. They had done so together first with Rhea and then Sora.

“I am tired!” She said, louder, slamming the butt of her staff on the ground. “I am tired of being at the mercy of the Dwemer!”

She beat the ground again, having the attention of her friends and allies. “Being at the mercy of their armed forces in Imperial City, the mercy of their technology that slaughtered innocent civilians creating rivers of blood across the already blood-soaked cobblestone streets of my home.” Her beard expanded as she grew angrier. “Now we have been at the mercy of their damned hospitality here in Gilane. I am sick of my friends being threatened when all we have been trying to do was survive!”

Both hands gripped her staff, tilting her head down, “When they should have thanked us instead. It is our fault.” Words she never imagined saying out loud, words that were scrawled across her pages in the logbook Something she had realized after Imperial City was sacked, something everyone who had survived Jerall Mountains had known since. When she looked up the mixed expressions of confusion, guilt, anger and realization. A truth that those here feared would drive others away.

Gingerly releasing her staff she opened her logbook, there was no turning back now. Pain revisiting her scaley features once more. “It is our fault the Dwemer were able to return.”

“15 of Rain’s Hand. The day Rhea Valerius lead a small team of various experts down into the heart of Jerall Mountain’s dwemer ruins. A team that consisted of Daro’Vasora, Latro, Brynja, Megana, Anifaire, Alim, and myself. There were others, but have since passed on or left.” Her eyes met with each of them seeing the guilt she held reflected in their individual eyes, impossible to mistake their names as they are written. “The expedition into unknown parts of the ruin was met with disaster, our escape route crumpled in on itself forcing us to find a new way out. We encountered Falmer and Dwemer technology that threatened our lives. We reached an inner sanctum where we had found an ancient piece of technology among the bones of a well preserved Dwemer. In their gnarled hands… was a lexicon.” She said, patting her chest. “A discovery of such bones would have made the expedition a monumental success.” She took a deep breath in pressing on. “We were given a choice, suffer the same fate of being trapped or activate the Dwemer construct. Some of us had reservations, Daro’Vasora voiced hers. Given a choice of survival Rhea activated the device and it tore apart the mountain with force unseen. We escaped through an underground river while the expedition site was completely destroyed behind us.” Water welled in her eyes, reading the same line of thought she had read Gregor at the party. “‘The green menacing shaft of light seemed to reach far and high into the night sky. The disaster wrought on the expedition hung over our heads like that of a hundred souls lost to the mountain side’s collapse.’” It painted a ghastly picture for Judena’s imagination.

Silence hung on the edge of her words before anyone could comment she turned a page, “We arrived at Imperial City, Rhea leading the way to safety on 26 of Rain’s Hand. Nobody knew the true implications of what we had just done... not until we escaped Imperial City’s sacking did it become clear.”

Pausing a moment to swipe her sleeve across her eyes. “The device in Jerall Mountain opened the door for the Dwemer to return. It is our fault.”

Judena inhaled holding the breath but tears spilled and openly she began to weep, it was a relief to share the truth but every day she came to terms with what they had done. It was all such a mess. Grappling with the tragedy of loss and pain, did they deserve it? To be forgiven for suffering under the consequences of their own actions? Questions she had asked herself, no doubt others that were present held inside their hearts as well.

“Please,” She said, “Please forgive us. Understand what we have done for survival.” She bowed her head pressing her logbook to her chest. “We have been brought together by a horrible chain of events that began in Jerall Mountains,” Her eyes gazed following who came into their lives as each city they had visited, “Imperial City, Skingrad, Anvil and now Gilane.”

In a few deep breaths she composed herself, “Now you all know. Each and every one of us has gained something from this… this thing we have together as a group. Whether that is safety,” She looked to Calen, Nanine, Rhona, Shakti. “Friendship,” Her gaze passed over Alim, Anifaire, Bryjna, and Mazrah, “... Love.” She turned to Meg, Raelynn and Gregor not present, “We have gained it together. We are not whole as we stand without Latro and Daro’Vasora.”

“Whatever you may or may not owe them individually does not matter, what we owe them and ourselves is their safe return.” Her voice became intense with emotion, fire slowly began to blaze in her golden eyes. “There is nothing else to be gained, no games nor political stakes.We rescue them for them. We cannot and will not fail them.”

Anifaire looked down at her hands, toying with her clothes, nerves in her stomach. She knew she wouldn’t be much help in a rescue mission, yet she also knew she had to try. The news of their capture was jarring; it was like she’d been hearing, about people who dissent being taken off the street and away from those they care about. And it was right in front of her, in the group or people who had cared for her and who she wanted to care for in return. She had mixed feelings about Daro’Vasora, yet after everything she had done, she felt a resolve build to do anything she could to help.

Meg wiped at her eyes in vain, unable to quell her tears. Hearing about the start of their adventures, about Rhea, thinking about the bonds that had unknowingly been formed in that fateful adventure... it was too much to take dry-eyed.

"Yer righ'," she murmured, a shaky breath escaping the Nord as she reached out and placed a hand on the elderly argonian's arm. "There ain' no other way 'round it. Sora an' Latro would do the same if any of us were stuck an' needed savin', I just know it."

She looked around at the others gathered. "Won't be easy though," she continued. "Gettin' in tha' place? One wrong step…”

The creaking of doors interrupted the scene. There stood Hassan and a couple guards, masked in keffiyehs and armed with spears. Hassan stood, grim-faced and armoured. He looked over those gathered, his face not betraying any feelings strong or otherwise, “We have a messenger.”

Latro stepped up from behind them, neck still bruised from his run-in with the rogue insurgents. He made his way to the center of the room and stood before all of them, a look of pure fury only restrained by sheer will. His axe and knife were upon his belt. The knife was not the one that could be explained away for cutting meat or herbs, no. It was the other one.

For killing.

Another stepped up beside him, a hulking man of indeterminate race that moved equally as quietly despite his bulk, equally frowning. Latro sniffed, looking over his friends. His family, “Well? Here we are. Let’s plan.”

Mazrah’s mouth fell open at the sight of Latro and the large stranger entering the room. She had listened attentively to Judena’s story and felt that her tears and her guilt were unfair -- how could they have known what activating the device would do? But those thoughts were brushed aside like autumn leaves in a storm now that the Reachman had somehow, miraculously, returned.

Calen, who had been sitting his own, now free of his bandages and back in his normal clothes, but still rubbing at his sore and tense muscles in midst of Judena’s sobering news, became immediately animated as Latro appeared in the doorway. His eyes were bright and vibrant with joy and relief, even if Latro’s were cold and steeled and his body battered. Calen was just overwhelmed to see him alive. He barely had time to call out to him before the orc woman made a scene.

Practically leaping out of her seat, Mazrah enveloped the diminutive Latro in a ferocious hug, squeezing him so hard she shamelessly (but accidentally) pressed his face against her breasts. They had barely spoken a word to each other before but she was well aware of his relationship with Sora, and that alone was reason enough to be overjoyed that he was back. “Call me Urdanok gro-Ashagravan and fuck me sideways,” Mazrah grinned and stepped back to look at him, her hands on Latro’s shoulders. “You’re back! You escaped! How? And who’s this?” She turned her head to look at the stranger and raised an eyebrow at his odd appearance. She found it hard to place his race. Still, it wasn’t enough to wipe the grin off her face and she bounced on her feet with excitement.

“That is Sevari,” Jaraleet replied to Mazrah’s question, entering after both Latro and Sevari had done so. “He is a friend to our cause. It’s thanks to him that Latro stands here right now.” The Argonian said, moving further into the room and taking a seat. The ride to and back from Al-Aqqiya had been exhausting, but there were more pressing matters than his own exhaustion at present and so the Haj-Eix pushed those thoughts to the back of his mind. “We have a rescue mission to plan right now. Any further questions can wait until later.” He said calmly, looking around the people who had gathered in the room.

Well, the questions wouldn't be leaving Meg’s mind even if she didn't ask them, that was for sure. She couldn't keep her eyes off Latro and Sevari, wondering how in Talos' name they were here. Latro looked so... different that what she last remembered. As for the man next to him, Sevari… he still looked as intimidating and as grumpy as the other night.

All of that was put to the side though; she felt a pit in her stomach as she realized this meant Sora was all alone in the enemy's grasp. Who knew the thoughts going through her mind? Jaraleet was right, they needed to focus.

Sevari did not exactly look inviting, but anyone that was responsible for freeing Latro was a friend too. Mazrah embraced him in a hug as well and pinched his cheek. “Thank you. And lighten up, big guy.”

“Jaraleet’s right. Whoever Sevari is, his help is welcome, and the confession, while appreciated, is irrelevant right now.” Nanine spoke up from her own seat. Her own mind was a whirl of questions, curiosity, and subtle anger. She pushed it all aside for now. Answers would have to wait. “We need to free Sora from the Governor’s Palace, which has become much more well guarded since the dwemer official’s death, our assault on the prisoner caravan, and the attempted infiltration into the prison. Even if we had the manpower to just charge in and free her by force, it wouldn’t be pretty. The only things we have to our advantage is that they still don’t know who we are, likely don’t expect someone to be foolish enough to attempt to free her, and those guard uniforms that were stolen.”

She looked around at the group at large. “Do we have anything else that could be of use? Maps of the Palace, weak points that could be used to get in, knowledge of guards who like to sleep on watch, anything?”

Sevari produced a badge from inside his coat, holding it out for all to see. Secret Police, Ministry of Order, Counterintelligence and Counterinsurgency Division, though it was just a symbol of oppression to most. Although, it was a valuable asset to him so far, “This is a key to anywhere in Dwemer lands. I could scout the city archives, look for blueprints of the Palace. It will take me some time and I have the simple fact of me being here to worry about.” He said, “I’ve no doubts that none of you trust me because I have this. Just know that I have been in service far longer to the Empire than the Dwemer.”

He tucked the badge away, folding his arms about his chest and casting an annoyed glance at Mazrah. His cheek was still sore. Latro spoke after him, “This Khajiit saved my life. He’s the biggest hope we have of getting Sora out.”

Judena approached Latro, setting her spear aside. A gentle hand found his shoulder and she said, “You are alive.” A lump of emotion built in the back of her throat, “You are alive.”

She turned next to Sevari, her eyes scanned from the badge and up to his face, a moment of contemplation seemed to pass as she decided how she felt. Her ‘beard’ flattened against her neck, “Thank you Sevari, for your help.” Deciding then and there she was simply grateful to see Latro once again, it relieved a fraction of her worry.

Removing her hand from his shoulder she held her hands stepping away, hunching her shoulders - apologetically nodding to Latro, “I told them about what happened in Jerall Mountains. They know the truth now.”

“How was Daro’Vasora the last you saw her? Is she okay… present circumstances withstanding of course.” She asked.

Shakti considered what Jude had said gravely. It meant a few things for her. It meant Daro’Vasora had lied to her. Or at least played dumb when they had talked about the origin of the Deep Elf invasion. She couldn’t lie to herself, she saw the party in a much different light, knowing what the nucleus had done. Normally, Shakti would have something upbeat or positive to say at a time like this. But she was having trouble ‘seeing the side of the dunes that the Sun touched’ as the old Alik’r saying went. Instead, she sat, in the centre of the room, feeling very isolated for someone who was in a crowded room. Her mood was darkened further by the entrance of a man she recognized. She had fought a duel with him some nights ago. Her ribs were still sore and cut up from where the point of his sword had sliced. She felt her side for the sore spot. No one else knew about her midnight mission and no one else knew why she had tried to take the knight captive.

Shakti looked away from the man, whom she now knew was named Sevari. She traced her finger along patterns in the wall to try and distract herself from the moment and her thoughts.

“She’s okay.” Latro said, “It felt more like a vacation almost, our imprisonment. Our cell, so to speak, was one of the royal guest rooms. They made it clear at the start of our stay there that they would be courteous to us and they were.”

His head hung low for a moment and his brows unfurrowed. He sighed, rubbing his hands through his hair, “But, I won’t let them keep her comfortably imprisoned. I refuse to leave without her, I refuse to let her stay in their clutches a single minute more than I absolutely must.”

From across the way, Calen pushed himself to his feet and made his way across the room to properly greet Latro and express relief for his safe return. With his own recovery and Latro’s return, things were beginning to feel like they were starting to resemble some form of normalcy -- whatever that was for this group, being the magnet for trouble that they are -- and gave him a warm hug. Not overwhelming like Mazrah’s, but softer, yet firm, as if Calen was cradling him upright in his arms. The Nord pecked the top of his head and took a step back. His smile was still warm, his cheeks rosy.

“You had us scared, asshole. Welcome back.” He said cheekily. Then he turned to Sevari. He saw the Ohmes pull out his Dwemer badge earlier, but now, he thought nothing of it. He never really hated the Dwemer. He didn't understand their methods, why they decided such measures were necessary. It made him feel angry and frustrated sometimes. But he didn't hate them. And seeing Sevari with them now, by Latro’s side, he couldn't hate him either. He extended an open hand to him.

“Thank you,” he said, “for bringing him back home.”

Latro smiled sheepishly, not being able to match that greeting from Calen to the first interaction they’d ever had, where he’d spurned the man for not wanting to condone the violence against Nblec. That only made his heart hang heavier, Calen was the things he wanted to be. The things he might never be. “It’s good to be back, I’m home again. With you lot.”

Sevari looked at Calen’s hand, letting it hang there on it’s lonesome for a bit before he took it in his own. “He brought me here, not the other way.” He said, throwing a glance Latro’s way, “Kept talking about having to go to his family.”

Anifaire watched the reunion fondly, glad to see their return, and yet an empty feeling built inside her. She watched quietly, feeling like a strange visitor watching a close family enjoy dinner together.

Meg looked to Latro, managing a smile, though it was a little shaky. She was happy to see him there, there was no doubting that, but it made her want Sora back now, more than ever. She cast a glance at the others before eyeing Jaraleet and raising an eyebrow. He had mentioned they had a rescue mission to plan; perhaps it was time to get back to that?

Jaraleet nodded in Meg’s direction, easily understanding what the Nord woman was trying to convey with her gaze. He cleared his throat loud enough to get everyone’s attention to focus on himself. “As much as we are glad for Latro’s return, this isn’t the time to be distracted.” The Argonian began calmly. “We can exchange pleasantries and have a happy little reunion later on, but I think it’s too early to do that just yet. Sora is still a captive to the Dwemer and no matter how pleasant or accommodating her captors might be, that doesn’t change the fact that she is their prisoner.” He continued on, turning to look at Sevari and then to the rest of the group. “I know some of you might have reservations towards Sevari given his past allegiances, but his help would be invaluable in out attempt to rescue Sora.” The assassin said, turning to look at the Ohmes-Raht again.

“If you could scout the city archives for a blueprint of the palace that’d be a great help. We could infiltrate a team if there were any hidden accesses that we could take advantage on. Maybe slip in when there are fewer guards and break Sora out.” He mused out loud, shaking his head slightly. “Maybe we could use those suits of armor we liberated?”

“Well, theoretically…” Calen began, the soothing calmness of his voice giving way to uncertainty, “I wouldn’t need blueprints, I think. What little bit of magic tricks I know helps me navigate the countryside without maps. I owe a lot of what little success my carriage business’ had to that minor skill in clairvoyance, but…”

The bard’s confidence was beginning to wane. He subconsciously began clutching at the site of his recovered injury. He finally said, “But I… I don’t know if I can go back into that mess. I’m, uh… I’m afraid that I’m not cut out for it. The violence, the blood—I’d only slow everyone down.”

“Be glad you’re not cut out for it, my friend. Good men detest violence, but doing nothing is worse.” Latro said and cracked a grin at Calen, “Anything you do to help us would be appreciated.”

“Hmmmm, your clairvoyance skills would be useful in guiding us through the sewers, I won’t lie.” The Argonian said, pausing for a moment as he thought. “But, perhaps, we won’t have need of them if Sevari can get us the blueprints to the palace.” He continued on, an idea coming to his mind. “In fact, you might be able to help us without having to fight at all Calen.” The assassin said. “Maybe we could disguise a team using the suits of armour we stole and you could guide them using your clairvoyance skills towards where they are holding Daro’Vasora?”

Judena rubbed at her chin, looking to Calen, “Drawing a path on the blueprints to create a covert map for those us who feel comfortable entering the fray would be very useful. We can utilize the blueprints as a base of a map, guided by Calen’s clairvoyance - I can certainly provide insight for where guards and other enemies may be. I am quite proficient using Detect Life for long bouts of time. We can move safely, quickly through, without being molested. The same applies to removing Daro’Vasora away from danger as quickly as possible. I simply need a spotter to keep me focused, I do not want to make any mistakes.” Judena said offering what little insight she could provide - not tactically inclined but committed to helping in some form.

“Can that badge grant you access to Daro’Vasora, and convince people that someone above you wanted her moved?” Nanine asked Sevari, a thoughtful hand on her chin. “We won’t need you two to risk yourselves,” She nodded at Calen and Judena respectively, “if Sevari can just take a small group straight to her under the pretenses of some high ranking official wanted her. Then we could just meet in the alleys of Gilane and Sevari could claim we ambushed him and killed the guards he brought.”

“Listen, whatever you guys are gonna be doing, I want to make sure we spill some blood,” Mazrah said and leaned forwards, resting her elbows on her knees. “These gray-skinned shits have been getting away with too much without some proper… what’s the word? Casualties, on their side. And I don’t like the idea of sending anybody in there with an excuse or a disguise or something but not the steel to back them up if things go tits-up. I propose that myself and whoever is willing and able,” the Orsimer continued, her eyes going around the room, “sneak into the palace at the same time, through a different entry point if we can find one, and cause a distraction. Wreak havoc, kill Dwemer, lead them on a wild goose chase through their own halls. I’m a huntress and a killer and nothing but, so that’s my contribution.”

“I have to concur with Mazrah.” Jaraleet spoke after the Orsimer huntress. “As ideal as it would be for us to be able to waltz into the Governor’s Palace and get her out with Sevari’s help, I don’t feel comfortable with relying solely on one idea. There’s a number of things that could go wrong with the idea you propose Nanine, so I think it’d be best if we caused a distraction.” The Argonian continued on, turning to look at Mazrah. “I will go with you. Hopefully we can cause enough of a distraction for the others to get Sora out.”

Mazrah grinned. “Now that’s what I like to hear. Glad to have you with me, dark-scales.”

Meg had been quiet for quite a while, simply listening as she didn't feel knowledgeable enough to contribute, especially after her night 'mission', but she cleared her throat and looked at both Mazrah and Jaraleet. "If that's a plan, coun' me in. I can sneak, an' I'm good with a sword." If her causing a little nuisance on purpose could help save Sora from the dwemer, she was very happy to deliver.

“The guards are going to be very strict with prisoners from now on after the attacks that saw my team dead and Latro and I forced to take refuge in some inn.” He shook his head and sighed, “Any transfer of prisoners, even from individual rooms in the Palace, are going to be under very strict supervision and must be approved by higher-ups. Kerztar isn’t going to take any chances.”

“We will have to go at this cloak-and-dagger if we want to do it at all.” Latro said, folding his arms and finally taking a seat, “Blood may very well be spilled. But everything will be for naught if it’s ours.”

“I would not be rearing for a fight in a situation where we are not the ones picking the field of battle. It’s never been my way.” Latro said, frowning. “The blueprints in the archives are our best chance. Waltzing up to the gates in stolen armour is a gambit, at best. We’d be better off disguising ourselves as servants, rather than soldiers, I doubt they’d brush it off if somebody didn’t know the name of some officer if asked. Nobody bats an eye at somebody dressed the part and walking with surety in their task, though, and servants are everywhere. Too many to commit every face to memory.”

“A well-placed frenzy spell on a few guards might cause a distraction. Another commotion at the opposite end of the Palace will have the garrison split and confused enough for us to slip in.” Sevari sucked his teeth, “Even so, we will have to be resolute and quick in our task. It won’t be long until they’re rallied proper and ready to fend off the real threat.”

“The violent distraction would have to be timed perfectly. There’s only two reasons an attack like that would happen, either it's an attempt to assassinate the Governor or an attempt to free the prisoner. It won’t take long for the garrison to figure out which it is, and even less to muster some defense for both goals with the number of troops they have there now. Ideally, whoever goes inside would be close to Sora so that when the commotion starts they can take advantage of the few moments of surprise to subdue any guards and start getting her out.” Nanine drummed her fingers on the tabletop. “I can go with Jaraleet and Mazrah. My magic will be able to delay and cause even more confusion if we need some distance between us and the guards and I’ve no skill in stealth.” She looked over to Sevari and Latro. “How many of the servants aren’t Redguards? The idea of sneaking in with them is a good one, but nearly all of us would stick out and almost surely be noted if we suddenly appeared among a purely native servant crew.”

“We can have Shakti go with some others.” Latro suggested.

Shakti’s ears pricked up at the mention of her name and she looked at Latro. “Disguised as a servant girl?!” The idea of dressing as a lowly servant prickled the Redguard’s sense of honour. She might be a tatterdemalion teenage girl, but she was still a proud Alik’r Warrior.

Meg looked over at Shakti curiously. "Tha' shouldn' be a problem, should it? If it's the best way t'get Sora outta there, then shouln' matter what we're disguisin' ourselves as."

That was enough to make Mazrah chuckle. “I know how you feel, Shakti, I really do, but Nanine made me wear robes when you bust you out of your carriage,” she said and her eyes flitted between the Breton battlemage and the Redguard warrior. “Now it’s your turn to wear a disguise to save Sora. Okay?”

“I have to agree with Mazrah. I know you might not like the idea Shakti, but it is for the good of Daro’Vasora.” Jaraleet said, looking at the Redguard girl. “Surely it’d be worse to do nothing, right?” He asked, hoping that with that light prodding Shakti would be more on board with the whole idea.

Diligently as ever Judena wrote the points in the conversation, following along pausing to note expression and other details, she stepped up over to Anifaire. Replying to the youthful conjuration mage - Nanine, the tiniest bit of indignation at the suggestion of keeping her away from helping. “I am not going to stand idly by, Nadine.”

“I am going to help with splitting the forces, if there is anyone I want to be my spotter I would very much like it to be Anifaire,” Judena said gesturing to her fellow Alteration mage. “In a magickal assault, you would be sore to miss both of us.”

Holding her hands Judena whispered to Anifaire, “If only you are up for it.”

Anifaire’s mouth widened, her eyebrows raised, completely shocked to be relied on. She quickly nodded, pink tinging her cheeks. “I’m coming,” she said. She wouldn’t let Judena down.

Nanine held up her hands placatingly. She ignored the name mistake. It wasn’t going to go away and trying to correct her was a futile effort. “No one was suggesting that you stay behind Judena. Your magic will doubtlessly be extremely useful when we attempt to split their forces.” She looked back over at Mazrah smiling lightly. “You’re going to be wearing robes again when we’re running through the Palace. Jaraleet, Meg, and I as well. I’d rather not have our descriptions be readily distributed throughout the city after we save Sora.”

“Who all else is going with Judena to make one distraction? As potent of a mage, as she is, she’s going to need help.”

Mazrah snorted derisively. “I don't think so. If we're sneaking in through the sewers and killing everyone we see once we're inside, why should I disguise myself? And even if we leave a witness, fine. It's high time the Dwemer learn who to fear.”

Nanine resisted the urge to facepalm in exasperation. Of course, Mazrah would advise Shakti to swallow her pride then immediately ignore her own advice. “Several reasons. One, our goal isn’t to kill everyone we see. Our goal is to cause a commotion and convince as many of the guards as possible to come for us rather than guarding Sora, so whoever is inside can grab her and get out in the chaos. That’s going to leave a lot of living witnesses to describe who exactly attacked the Palace. Two, when we get Sora out we’re going to be wanted by the Dwemer. Badly. They’ll be searching for us, and I’m sure that you don’t want to spend nearly all of your time hiding. Three, the only advantages we have against them is that they don’t know who we are or how to find us. If you go into that Palace without a disguise, you’ll be practically handing at least yourself over to them. You’re so distinct and easily describable that even the greenest and most absent-minded guard could spot you as the female orc with golden eyes and white tattoos on almost every inch of her body.” Nanine continued her voice matter of fact. She was frustrated with the orc woman, but not surprised. Mazrah was who she was, and losing her temper would do nothing to help convince her.

“Best case scenario would be that you don’t leave wherever we’re hiding out until missions. Best case scenario that is likely? They spot you and only take you. Worst case, they spot you and they follow you to the rest of us to recapture Sora and crush another cell of the resistance. Our goal is to free Sora and survive to continue this fight. The only way to do that is to keep them from knowing who and where we are as much as possible.”

Shakti furrowed her brow and bit her lip. She knew the others were right, but damn if every fiber in her body told her to disagree. “I… I know it’s for Daro’Vasora. I will do this thing you ask.” Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe she’d get a new change of clothes out of it. One that was not ripped and covered in blood. “Will I at least get to keep my sword with me?”

Meg couldn't help it- she was beginning to get frustrated, and she could barely keep her attention on one person when the other started to speak. It was very clear to her now that they were missing their leader, and it was also very true that despite the khajiit's doubts, Daro'Vasora was good at what she had been forced to take over.

"Uhm," she started, looking between the orc and the mage, pausing when she heard Shakti speak. Well, that was a bit of a relief; at least she agreed to a disguise. She then glanced in Sevari's direction. "Yer the one who knows the palace best. Is there any poin' in concealin' ourselves if we’re gonna be causin’ a commotion?"

“We are a small force infiltrating a very secure bastion of Dwemer power. The louder our distractions are, the more time we’ll have to move. If they’re being attacked by you, they could care less about what you’re wearing.” He said, “Shakti, it’s a pleasure to finally know your name. Just as well, how many servants with Alik’r blades do you know?”

“In my humble opinion as a man who has been carrying out clandestine operations in the name of the Empire for the past 20 years, we need disguises. We need quiet feet. We need as little bloodshed within the Palace proper as possible.” He frowned, “I have connections that can help. We carry the plan out at sundown, the changing of the guards and the next shift of servants relieving the last will be a lot of motion.”

“One small team slips in- Latro, Shakti, a few others perhaps- during that time with the blueprints and hopefully someone who could guide them magically. One contingent of us to the west, another to the east, we split the garrison in two. We aren’t assaulting them, you draw them out, stay just long enough for them to pursue and you disappear, scatter to the winds.” He said, his fingers wiggling as he cast his hand about, “At approximately half an hour beforehand, all things gone to plan and hopefully not all for naught, my contact and I will… make a show of things.”

A little relieved now that Sevari had taken some control over the matter, Meg couldn't help but think over her previous decision. With her quiet feet and sneaky ways, it made much more sense that she headed forward with Latro and Shakti. She chewed on her lip for a moment before clearing her throat. "I'mma go with Latro then." And hopefully not end up getting someone shot in the gut.

Shakti hmph’d and scrunched her nose up in annoyance. This plan was getting worse all the time. Sneaking in with no sword? What would she do when they inevitably got caught? And the nerve of this ‘Sevari’! She could practically hear the sarcasm in his voice! How disrespectful!

The sounds of footsteps against wooden floorboards came echoing from the stairwell, slowly yet deliberately paced. Smaller of size and frame as Hassan blocked sight of them as they stood in the doorway, until stepping out of the way revealed a Breton with red hair and sharp, Nibenese features, layered in robes of Hammerfell silks and cottons, indicative of someone who was perhaps of a middle class, yet brought their finest wares with them to a formal event. A droning whistle of indeterminate origin could be heard through the room, but those next to Calen would’ve known exactly where it came from. She scanned the room carefully with her hands behind her back for a brief second before addressing Sevari, “I have spoken with the Poncy Man and the arrangements for Irranhu cell have been made. I am leaving him to deal with the logistics. How goes the affairs on your end?”

Meg blinked, eyes moving away from Sevari to looked at the woman who had just entered the room. A fancy pancy sort, in her opinion. But... "Who're you?" she asked, unable to stop herself. At least the Ohmes-Raht had been a familiar if somewhat intimidating face. The woman stared back at Meg, maintaining her professional demeanour, before looking past her and at the rest of the company. A few she looked at a bit longer, as though she were assessing them, though her gaze lingered longest on Jaraleet. Finally, although her eyes flicked back to Meg for a moment, she began speaking to the group as a whole.

“My name is Janelle.” She said, introducing herself as she bowed her head. When her head lifted back up, her stoic expression was replaced by a sly, little smile. “I am a benefactor for Samara cell, but I hope you all will come to see me as your new best friend. From what I could hear from the stairwell, I understand that you need a distraction? I’ve already made an arrangement with our mutual friend. Irranhu cell will be conducting a strike on a weapons depot, which should draw their forces away from the palace. I have… personally funded the operation.”

At the tail-end of her explanation, she stared at Sevari from the corner of her eyes. They were grave and intense as if to show him how far she was willing to go. With a slight turn of her head, she faced everyone again and asked, “Any other questions?”

It clicked for Nanine where she had seen the new comer before when ‘Janelle’ gave her name. Years and years ago, back in Daggerfall. A rich, intense, noble girl. Aries, back then. They had never interacted, class being almost everything in Breton society, but it was interesting that she was either lying or chose to change her name. Now wasn’t the time to mention such things, though, and Nanine kept quiet, watching the following back and forth.

“We’ve settled on a plan. I’ll strike out with you to oversee Irranhu cell,” Sevari turned to Aries, “It’d be best to keep you out of the thick of it.”

“You suggest that seeing over the diversion would keep me out of ‘the thick of it?’” Aries asked rhetorically.

Sevari frowned and sighed, “We’re advisors. We advise. Hassan will go among Irranhu cell. You and I both know their penchant for taking liberties with our help. You pushed an arrow of theirs through my lung last time we offered a hand to them.” He said, still remembering the gods-awful pain of it, “Unless you’re going to strap a breastplate on yourself, Poncy Man’s spies have designated an area we may overlook the raid from a distance.”

Aries listened intently to what Sevari had to say and ruminated on the its wisdom, but she found her eyes wandering over remaining members of the Samara cell. They were all standing there, watching the two of them discuss this in front of them. Her eyes fell back on the Khajiit, critical and uncompromising. Though he stood a full head and shoulders over her, she stared back up at him, thinking back on the time he had made his intentions and allegiances clear in the escape tunnel a few days ago.

“I appreciate your concern.” She said. “Perhaps on a more auspicious day I would have accepted, but we’re short on victories, Sevari, and clean hands do not beget dirty work. Do you want to know what the burden of duty is? Watch from the shadows while I set the example.”

Mazrah watched the exchange between the two newcomers passively, not really understanding the intricacies of what they were talking about. She liked the redheaded woman’s attitude, however, and looked at her with approval. “That’s right, no more hiding,” Mazrah said and flashed Aries a smile.

“Zealotry and recklessness it is, then.” He shrugged, “You act like a foreign dignitary wasn’t attacked and then a prisoner transfer convoy ambushed with all hands dead never occurred days ago. But, so be it, be Hassan’s burden.”

“You act as though you’re still on my side, but you’ve already made your feelings about that abundantly clear.” She remarked dryly, her gaze transferring over to Hassan. “Hassan, take point on Irranhu; I will accompany Samara.”

He unfolded his arms, “If we are all in agreement of the plan, then I will take my leave. I have things that need doing.” He placed a hand on Latro’s shoulder, “Good luck.”

Jaraleet watched Aries’ entrance into the room in silence. It didn’t escape the Argonian assassin the way that the woman’s gaze carefully scanned the room, nor the way that her eyes had seemed to linger on him the longest out of everyone she had set her sight on. “Sevari, if you would wait a moment longer.” He said to the Khajiit before he left the room. “I think I’ll join the others who are infiltrating the palace. I’m not the best in a stand up fight, so I’m not sure how useful I’d be in helping with either of the distractions. That is all.” The Argonian said, deciding to hold back on asking the Ohmes-Raht about who was their newest benefactor. There were far too many questions in his mind for him not to be, somewhat, wary about ‘Janelle’ and her intentions.

Having resigned herself to sulking after Nanine had laid out exactly why she was going to have to dress up like a fucking child’s doll, after all, Mazrah suddenly realized she’d almost forgot something -- or rather, someone. While the conversation continued, she got up from her seat and squeezed her way behind the chairs of the others towards the door. She stepped outside for a few seconds and returned holding the hand of a rather surprised looking Redguard woman.

“You wanted mages, right? Here you go. She can help. Her name is Maj and we’re friends,” Mazrah said bluntly and gave Maj’s hand a little squeeze.

Maj was indeed surprised. Brought in while she was trying to eavesdrop through the heavy doors, ear pressed up against it. Several staff trying to shoo her away from what she was obviously doing. Unprepared for the attention of a large group of people that Maz rightfully had grown to respect and care about. A huge mix of faces as her eyes swept over.

Clearing her throat, squeezing Mazrah’s hand back before stepping forward. “Maj, Maj Noor at your service.” Sweeping bow, a flourish of her deep green cloak, the small stature of Maj bent back up at the waist wearing a full toothy grin. Dark black hair loosely tied to the side, uneven bangs falling over her eyes. “Aye, I’m a mage. A master of crafting the perfect distraction with a penchant for wanting to fuck with the Dwemer, properly. Frenzy, fury, you name it and I can cast it. When my imagination isn’t enough I back it up with conjuring real nightmares.” Selling herself, her voice loud and entirely confident.

“I’ll help get your friend back,” Maj promised, “If you’ll have me.”

“Glad to have another mage. We’ll need all the help we can get, so welcome aboard Maj. Before we disperse to prepare for all our roles, is there anyone else hiding in or around the building, waiting for dramatic entrances?” Nanine asked, dryly. “I’d prefer if we knew all that we had at our disposal before we got underway with preparations.”

“You can be honest, I’m the best surprise so far tonight,” Maj replied.

Meg couldn't help but crack a smile at the newcomer's words; if anything, she seemed like the cheerful sort, what with her words and smile. She was, however, ready to leave, seeing their plans for rescuing Sora were finally determined.

"I'mma head off then. See y'all in the mornin'." Lifting a hand in small wave, she waited only a moment before taking her leave, needing some fresh air... and perhaps a bottle to accompany her.

Judena looked between the two new women, writing as she did. “Thank you all, every bit of effort will go toward the safe return of Daro’Vasora. Latro, I am very pleased to see you alive and by our side once more.” She spoke with a firm resolve more so than how she felt prior to her confession. “There will be time. We will make time and a sanctuary for ourselves once we are whole. I-”

A rise in emotion in the back of her throat shuttered the elder Argonian to stutter, she swallowed patting at her chest feeling the wedding band in its usual place, the lump dissipated. “I will be found continuing lessons with Anifaire, use this time to collect resources, faculties and prepare. Please remember even if I may struggle to remember this conversation, I believe in each of you and I believe in us.”