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Hello!

I'm Pollen, hope you're not allergic. I like writing a myriad of characters in all kinds of genres, so I'm pretty much down for anything roleplay-wise.

Come talk with me if you want! I'm friendly.

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Anne Mayer
Nieve — Magic Shop

Yep, it's a trap.

Anne already regretted ever taking this job. At the very least, when they found the storefront completely empty, they should have just turned around and reported it back to the Princess. How the heck did they end up stuck underground, surrounded by enemies, and cut off from all possible backup?

She'd blame her ragtag coworkers, but honestly it was just has much her fault for following along this whole time. No amount of grumbling would solve their current situation anyway, and she held her tongue as she ducked backward from the rapidly advancing enemies.

"We need to stay close. Don't let them isolate you!" Her retreat brought her closer to Lewa and Remilia, covering their flank. They could protect each other's backs this way, and maybe give the vampire some space to fire off her ranged attacks. Fran could probably handle herself in a brawl, which just left the fae child... With a sigh, Anne hoisted the kid over her shoulder, holding her in place with one arm. "Sorry about this. It's going to get a bit rough, so close your eyes, okay?"

<Suppressor off. Limiter release, level one.>

The first armored figure to come thumping forth met with a front kick straight to the midsection, caving in its chestplate and shattering the ribcage underneath. The creature flew backward, and the Knight's sword came out, brandished one-handed against the advancing cohort.

"No organs, not even any muscles from what I can tell... Who made these things?"

The question of how to kill them was perhaps more relevant to the situation, but Anne had some ideas there. When the next skeleton swung a heavy axe at her, she cleanly deflected the blow and switched without hesitation to the attack. Her sword became a silver blur, the sound of metal on metal ringing out several times in succession as her blade seemed to abruptly change directions without regard for physics or momentum.

Pray Style: Forest-Penetrating Viper. Without vital organs to stab and with armor covering the opponent's body, she targeted the joints. Both knees, right shoulder, neck, left shoulder: each strike slid through openings between metal plates or simply bypassed them with blunt force, destroying the key points of articulation in an instant. Then, before the undead contruct could pull itself back together or even collapse to the ground, she stabbed her sword-point up through its visor and popped the skull clean off the severed vertebrae.

"...Not even a brain." With a flicking motion, she sent the detached head hurtling off into the dark to smash against the nearest wall.

With all the rest she'd been getting recently, her body seemed to be holding up well. On the other hand, she was sharply conscious of a blur creeping in around the edges of her vision, already strained trying to make anything out in the lightless basement. She could only hope there'd be less enemies here than there had been in the last fight, because she couldn't keep this up all day.

@VitaVitaAR@Lugubrious@Rezod92
Witch

Level 2 (6/20 EXP)
Location: The Avenger
Word Count: 839 (2 exp gained)


Though the hairy little man may have answered her question, what he told the Witch only left her twice as baffled as before. ‘Airship’ she could more or less decipher: it was probably just a ship that sailed across the skies instead of the seas. A useful word, apt to describe the craft the Seekers rode around in. As for the rest of his vocabulary, however… ‘Complete nonsense’ didn’t even begin to describe it.

Elerium-based? Nanotech? Space-farin? GEATHJERK?? The bewildered sorceress could only stare uncomprehending, victim once more to the unpleasant feeling of being far out of her depth. She’d meant to scare the engineer into spilling his guts, but rather than quail in fear he’d freely given her information she could scarcely even grasp. Was he so naïve as to somehow think her harmless? She nearly bristled at that, but immediately found herself stopped by a more important question—if this pint-sized tinkerer was telling the truth, then he was perhaps the most knowledgeable mortal the Witch had even encountered.

She paused, and took a deep breath. “I… See.” Clearly it wouldn’t do to rush recklessly in like she had been. These people were more unique than she could possibly have expected; perhaps even she couldn’t fathom the consequences of getting on their bad side. She resolved to try being a little more polite for the moment, to take advantage of their blind trust. It wasn’t often that people trusted the Witch, and less often still that she repaid that trust in kind; she really ought to enjoy this rare experience while it lasted.

“Yes, friend.” The word tasted strange in her mouth, but she nodded along and tried to put on her least ghoulish smile. “I don’t think ‘Martha’ quite suits me, though. Perhaps ‘Maratha’ will do.” The name had more of a Wraeclastian ring to it, and sounded a great deal more menacing than the furball’s suggestion. Already her plan of sucking up was bearing fruit: if science was the foundation upon which this airship was build, then a lot of things suddenly made a great deal more sense.

The Witch knew of science. The study of the natural world, which some scholars applied for practical purposes. Even in her own world it had been vital in its way, but its power and allure had always paled compared to the world-shaking might of thaumaturgy. Why waste time studying the fragile laws of physics, when a single swipe of a witch’s wand could rend those laws asunder?

Maybe, she now understood, this was why. Maybe in a world without gods and nightmares run rampant, a world where the natural order still held sway, that methodical practice of science could advance to heights she’d never have imagined. Rather than swat aside gravity with powerful magic, perhaps gravity could be tamed and understood—and through such understanding, a mountain of iron made to soar through the skies.

A little humbled, but all the more fascinated by the new horizons opening before her eyes, the Witch signaled her assent. “A gift, for me? You really don’t have to. But yes, the sum total of human knowledge is just what I need right now; be a good friend and hand it over.” In magic as well as science, she was starting at the bottom of the ladder, but with enough will and cunning she’d soon lord it over these fools in every possible field.

After a brief bout of bickering (she couldn’t even begin to understand what all the fuss was about), the device was in her hands. The Witch bit her tongue and accepted it as gracefully as she could manage—then immediately scurried off to a dark corner of the engine room, where she might examine her prize unobserved. It wouldn’t do to have them know what she was learning; better that she mask her progress and catch them by surprise.

It took her only a minute or so to work out how to manipulate the glowing panel, and from there she quickly delved deep into the channels of the Inter-knot, devouring all the knowledge she could find. Just how far had science, come, in this World of Light where everything fit together? A few searches soon yielded remarkable results: skyscrapers, aircraft, telephones, motor vehicles. Harnessed lightning carried through mile upon mile of copper thread, vibrating membranes that could mimic the sound of someone’s voice, glass eyes that watched and recorded every moment they saw. She looked up briefly to glance around the room she was in, aware and observant now for any spying cameras.

The device in her hands was more than just a library, though. It was a communicator, a messenger that sent and received words across incredible distances almost faster than the Witch could blink. With mounting glee, she tried reaching out to a few of her old acquaintances, who also seemed to have found their way into this invisible network of information. Needless to say, many of them were quite excited to hear from her.

Anne Mayer
Nieve — Magic Shop

Oh thank goodness, Fran was stepping up. Whether or not she was actually a Chimera, that girl had strength and durability on par with one, and could probably take just about anyone on this planet if it came to it. Anne gratefully stood aside to let the Servant go ahead, and followed carefully down the stairs after her, about six paces behind.

Even in the dim light, it was clear the Knight wasn't enjoying herself. These cramped conditions really didn't suit her... How did she go from chatting up a royal to traipsing around in some dingy basement? She might not be as haughty as Remilia, but she was still a woman with standards, and even she was reaching her limit in these latest environs. Only a sharp instinct for danger and the ever-present weight of the young girl kept her alert, ready to act if and when things did go sideways down here.

She hadn't made much of the scratches in the storefront above, but by now it was obvious to even her tired eyes that something was badly amiss. "It's like they let an animal loose in here... Those centipede creatures you guys fought before, could they burrow?" She was only guessing, but none of the other likely answers seemed any better. A not-insignificant part of her was tempted to just let Fran walk off into the darkness alone, and handle whatever it was with a good thwack from her mace.

...Then again, a more cunning enemy might loop around the Berserker and set upon the seemingly vulnerable group behind her. Without foreknowledge of the enemy's combat power, sticking together was the only viable option. With a deep sigh, the Knight trudged on after Fran into the dust and murk, accompanied by the soft crunch of glass shards breaking underfoot.

@VitaVitaAR@Lugubrious@Rezod92
Witch

Level 2 (3/20 EXP)
Location: The Avenger
Word Count: 1812 (3 exp gained)

(Featuring Tora and Poppi by @Lugubrious)


Goldlewis may have stood out in a crowd, but what did that matter? To the Witch he was nothing more than another fool, another case of life wasted on a mind that did not deserve it. She could see it in his eyes, in the way they judged her without hesitation and painted her in colors of fear and revulsion. She hadn’t even laid a finger upon this man, but already he had decided she was too strange—too different—to ever be trusted.

It was nothing new to her. She’d faced stares like that ever since she was a child, sickly and friendless and brimming with inappropriate questions. Good little girls weren’t meant to wonder about how living things worked, or what happened to your body after you died. Good little girls should be reading their storybooks and reciting their prayers, so that they grew up to be good little wives. The young Witch had needed to go hunting for the answers all by herself, and in the pulled-apart guts of captured animals she uncovered more fascinating questions still.

With every year that passed after that, the strange girl grew steadily stranger. She ventured places she wasn’t meant to go, opened books she wasn’t meant to read, and learned things that nobody was ever meant to know. She became so strange that the good people of Oriath began to fear her, to lash out against her—first with mockery and condemnation, and then with fire. No doubt this Goldlewis was also a good person, and no doubt he’d just as readily cast her into the flames, if she didn’t do the same to him first.

So, that was to be their relationship. The Witch kept up her blank smile and listened closely to his tale, never showing a hint of surprise or apprehension. It all sounded rather convenient, actually: just kill seven underlings and then she could carry out some well-earned retribution. If anything, the extra steps would make this even more fun.

“Why don’t I come along, then? You won’t be disappointed.”

All together they left the city, partners in deicide, united only by their desire to bring this whole world crashing down. Another soon joined them, and the Witch greeted her with the usual eerie stare. Just how many of these Seekers were there? She could only hope that some of them fell in the battle against Galeem, or else it would be quite annoying to clean them all up afterwards.

Her irritation only increased when the woman promptly shot down her zombies. “Those were my servants, Sandalphon! Mine to raise, and mine to dispose of.” The tips of her hair rose up and floated in the air as she stalked towards the angel, her tone laced with poison. “Interfere with anything that belongs to me again, and I’ll have to teach you the consequences in person.” Now only a foot away from Sandalphon, she locked eyes with her and held her gaze for an uncomfortably long moment before turning away. Just because these people were useful to her for now, it didn’t mean she’d allow any slight against her to go unpunished. The others would do well to take note of that next time they had any qualms about her choice of assistants.

Fortunately for everyone, the sorceress didn’t linger on the matter for long. She was more interested in the Fulton device, which she examined with naked curiosity while she strapped it around herself. This is new. Though it bore vague semblance to a pack or parcel, she’d never seen any quite like it before. At some point in the future she’d have to ferret one away somewhere private, and puzzle it apart until she understood how it worked in its entirety. For the moment, at least, the other Seekers seemed to think it safe enough to rely on, so she’d trust that it functioned as intended.

“Up we go…” She tugged her cord, and then clenched her teeth tight together as the earth shot away beneath her. Her stomach roiled, her vision began to fade away at the edges, but had it not been for the whipping winds and the sheer force of acceleration rendering it impossible she might have cackled with wild delight. To fly, and be free as a bird—to see the world splayed out in miniature underneath, like a toy she could break or rearrange at her pleasure. The Witch treasured the sensation for as long she possibly could before the rush overwhelmed her mind and forced her back into the dreamless dark.



She awoke alive, already a lucky thing. So many took life for granted, ignoring the gift that it truly was. The Witch breathed in deep as she came to her senses, and took in her new surroundings by degrees. Her new ‘friends’ were all here, along with that ignorant angel from before. None of them greatly interested her for the moment, though: it was the place that caught her attention, the walls and floors hewn from solid steel. The entire room vibrated softly with a barely contained power, and a glance out the window revealed a sight not too dissimilar from what she’d witnessed before: the earth at a distant remove, and the clouds all above and around her. The Seekers’ base was a castle in the sky, and for the first time the Witch found herself frankly impressed by the crew she’d chosen to join. With such might and resources at their command, they might truly have a shot at bringing down the Lord of Light, even without her generous assistance.

More than anything, she wanted it now for herself. What better throne to rule from than one that perched among the clouds, far beyond the reach of the benighted masses below?

All for a later time, once the present situation was dealt with. In the moment, she kept herself cool and impassive, and directed her attention to the chart of the sky-castle’s innards. Many of the names held tantalizing fragments of meaning, but by and large she couldn’t make much sense of it all. No matter: if they saw fit to let her roam here as she pleased, then she would exploit that privilege for all it was worth. Without another word to Grimm or any of the other unfortunates in the Deployment Bay, she slipped off through the entrance to the engine room, following her intuition towards the thrumming source of the Avenger’s tremendous power.

When the Witch stepped through the aperture, the angular, metallic confines of the airship's halls opened up into a chamber of unanticipated size, like a cavern at the end of an underground tunnel. Its true bottom, carpeted in dark mechanical miscellanea and clearly not meant for human traffic, lay a dozen or so feet below the entrance, but the platform that extended before her served as the room's functional floor. Before anything else, though, the newcomer was obliged to take in the Engine Room's namesake: a colossal, three-floor contraption of smooth, rounded metal and bulbous, reinforced glass, housing a suspension of luminous, bubbling fluids that surrounded various mechanisms within that twisted and turned in inexplicable patterns. With no pistons, turbines, magnets, or crankshafts in sight, this was a marvelous feat of engineering so far beyond the modern man as to be utterly alien, which in a very literal sense, it was.

For a scion of a medieval era, of course, it might as well be magical. The yellow-green glow emanated from its tanks, the strangely sonorous hum, and the subtle but bizarre smell given off by the engine did little to dissuade this impression. From its exterior ran a number of cables and trusses, stretched out with the lethal beauty of a spider's web. Though it did not beat, there could be no doubt that this fantastical construct was the Avenger's heart, the source of the power to defy gravitational law.

Indeed, she’d never seen thaumaturgy quite like this, though the structure wasn’t so unfamiliar to the Witch as one might at first assume. Even in her time, magi and madmen had combined science with nightmare to forge metal creations of horrifying potency… For now this vast engine remained beyond her comprehension, but with sufficient time and study it might not have to remain that way.

After a moment of staring wonderment, she moved on. In the eerie glow of the engine lay two workstations, one at either end of the chamber. Closer to the entrance the Witch found a square formation of sophisticated machines, arranged like the standing stones of some archaic ritual circle. This electronic perimeter almost completely enclosed the actual work zone, where a pair of strange inventors were fiddling with an elaborate prototype device.

One looked like an aged human, albeit with bizarre proportions. Short and squat, with a head almost as big as his torso and a spiky white beard that reached his knees, he tinkered with deliberate confidence, making him look like the one in charge. In sharp contrast, his understudy appeared to be an egg-shaped creature, only a few feet in height and wearing denim overalls over a coat of short, stripy brown fur. While his body featured only stubby, underdeveloped limbs, the four-fingered wings that extended from his back offered the reach and dexterity his actual arms lacked. Ruddy brown eyes with no whites peered out from his neckless, noseless head, absorbing every motion made by the hands of the older engineer.

Perhaps fortunately, they were so fixated on the task at hand that they had yet to notice the Witch. The same could not be said, however, for the third person nearby. Though shaped and dressed like a girl of around fifteen years, with a spiky ponytail of lavender hair and big orange eyes, the bevy of artificial materials clearly visible in her construction -particularly her limbs- outed her as an automaton. She lounged against the railing just outside of the research station, tapping away at a handheld device until movement caught her eyes.

"Oh, hi!" The robot girl lowered her phone as her sensors adjusted. "Poppi not seen you before. You new? Well, welcome to Avenger. Poppi is Poppi. What your name?"

The Witch regarded the animate creature as one might observe a particularly interesting rock. “Nobody ever really cared what my name was,” she said slowly, “so I didn’t see a point in remembering it. And I won’t remember yours, either.” She walked past the chirping automaton like it wasn’t even there, and approached close enough to the bearded engineer that he’d have no choice but to acknowledge her.

“Take a look. You should be able to tell what I am, yes?” She gazed down upon him coldly, with one narrow black eyebrow slightly raised. “That’ll do for introductions. Next, you’re going to tell me all about this place and how it works.”
Anne Mayer
Nieve — Suspicious Shop

Even for a princess, it seemed a little overkill to send a trio of otherworldly warriors to go and collect her shopping. Did she not trust her own servants with the task? Anne supposed it could be a test, a way of verifying the new hires were reliable—or maybe Serena just wanted to get back at Remi by bossing her around a bit. Either way, the Knight had little choice but to accept the proffered letter and the work that came with it.

After a brief request for directions and a polite assurance of their success, the royal's three newest minions left the Guild behind and hit the streets. Anne had planned on asking some of the locals if they'd seen a golem wandering around, but it turned out she was in luck: Lewa found them practically the moment they walked out the door. She wasted no time in hurrying over to greet him, and gladly took the silent girl off his hands.

"Thanks for keeping her safe. Were you able to find anything out?"

They took their time filling each other in as they walked, and by the time they neared the shop everyone was just about caught up with what the others had been up to. That still left a few unaccounted for, but Anne trusted they could take care of themselves... The girl was the one who needed protecting right now. That she was afflicted by mental illness didn't surprise the Knight, but the revelation of her Fae nature only made things more confusing.

"Is that right?" She looked down at the child, raising an eyebrow. "You're a Fae? Fairy? Fair folk?" She didn't look anything like the fairies Anne knew, but the Gensokyo group had mentioned a race of the same name. Given its roots in old legends, the word was probably used to describe numerous subspecies across the various worlds. "So where are you from...?" she murmured, still speaking to the girl but not truly expecting an answer. Once again, she'd have to dig up the truth herself.

In her distraction, she barely noticed that they'd reached their goal until Remilia spoke up. The Knight blinked, and squinted at the empty windows through her glasses. "Maybe the Princess got the hours wrong..." Even as she said it, she knew that wouldn't be the case. She had a bad feeling, and when Remilia caught the scent of blood Anne muttered a quiet command to her DC coat. Shimmering hexagons briefly glittered in the air as its barrier extended to wrap around the child as well, a direct layer of protection should anything nearby seek to do her harm.

"If it was an accident, someone should have noticed by now." She carefully stepped through the door and glanced around, visibly reluctant to take the lead so long as the golden-haired girl was still in her care. "Ugh... This already reeks of a trap."

@VitaVitaAR@Lugubrious@Rezod92
Witch

Level 2 (1/20 EXP)
Location: Meridi-at-Han
Word Count: 979 (2 exp gained)


With her eyes still fixed on her prey, the Witch failed to notice the shadow slipping up behind her until just a moment too late. A glimpse of movement, the abrupt and shocking sensation of fingers tapping against her back—instinctively the sorceress spun on her heel, ready to cast her fiery wrath upon this new assailant, to burn anyone who dared to try and cross her.

This shouldn’t have been possible. Her energy shield should have stopped any attack before it could reach her. Except this hadn’t been an attack, and already she could feel its strange nature working through the whole of her physical form. Every itch was wiped away, every pulled muscle eased, and when the healing tide finally reached the labyrinthine channels of her twisted mind she found herself instantaneously and wholly overwhelmed by it. The fierce light in her eyes winked out, and she dropped to her knees, clutching with both hands at her fragile, throbbing skull.

Could Primrose have known what she’d done? Unlikely: most beings hardly needed more than a few tweaks to fit in with Galeem’s new world, a veil laid over their awareness to filter out any hint of incongruity. Wild though she was, the Witch should have been no different, but for one wrinkle—her memories held knowledge that could threaten even a god, secrets dire enough to bring entire timelines to ruin. Merely altering her perceptions wouldn't have been enough: almost the entirely of her recollections had been shattered in the remaking of the world.

It took only a single breath for it to be undone, for all the countless horrors she'd witnessed to come flooding back into her awareness.The Decay. The Tangle. The Cleansing Fire. Severed fragments of memory abruptly snapped back together into a bloodcurdling, paradoxical whole, and in a heartbeat she knew with crystalline clarity what she was, what she always had been.

Murderer. Champion. Devourer of gods.

Her trembling hands dropped to her sides, and a low chuckle wormed its way out through the draping curtains of her hair. This lightbringer, this all-powerful fool, it thought itself untouchable? It should never have left her alive. She was the girl who’d slaughtered her way across a cursed continent and laid low the ghosts of empires past. She was the witch who’d killed an entire pantheon’s worth of so-called deities just to settle a grudge. She was the traveler who’d ventured deep into the Atlas of Worlds, and found its countless realms yet unequal to the scope of her ambition.

Now, unleashed once more, she'd be the one to murder this latest jumped-up demiurge and bring its whole wretched creation to an end.

…Of course, grand declarations aside, the Witch was far from the unstoppable force she’d been feared as once upon a time. When she shakily rose to her feet again, she did so not as a conqueror of dimensions, but as a sickly-pale and waiflike young woman with only a few scant slivers of power and a handful of enchanted gemstones to her name. She looked back towards Grimm and blinked in surprise, first at the fresh baby bug that had somehow popped into existence at his side and second at the impossibility that he should call her a friend. Hardly anybody claimed such closeness to her, let alone a freshly burned foe. She didn’t know whether to be relieved or offended by it.

“It’s not the ugliest child I’ve ever seen. Really though, all that trouble just for one little grub?” She squinted at the hovering child, mildly curious as to its nature but too exhausted to bother investigating further. Her smile had vanished, leaving her face a mask of imperious detachment—but a faint wickedness still gleamed in the depths of her stare. “…And to think that it had to end just before the best part. Next time you’d better not leave me feeling so unsatisfied.”

Speaking of ‘stopped,’ her head twitched upward to sneer at the oversized spoilsport who thought he could chide her. “I’ll take a good bonfire over a lousy old market any day,” she snapped back at him, before his next words stopped her dead in her tracks.

Gleaming. Of course. It hadn’t been mere coincidence that her memories had returned at that moment—this group, all the members of the crowd who’d seemed a bit out of place, they’d known the truth from the beginning. Her eyes roved over the rest of them, taking each in a new light: the plain-looking fellow who’d ruined her fun by going after Grimm, an older man who’d yet to do anything of importance whatsoever, and lastly some tall strumpet in a fancy dress, who must have been the one to free the Witch just now. I suppose I ought to feel grateful… But I don’t, really. In fact, she didn’t like any of them very much at all.

Still too interesting not to stalk, though. Even in the good old days, the Witch hadn’t risen to power without some help from a few naïve saps who’d believed her the lesser of many evils. Not too long after Grimm came into sight, the Witch caught up with the ragtag crew as well, now accompanied by a pair of freshly raised zombie servants. That big monster rampage had left plenty of dead bodies lying around, and it seemed a shame to let good material go to waste.

With a fresh spring in her step, she slipped in right by Goldlewis’ side, perhaps a little too close for comfort. “Nothing left, you say? Oh yes, do tell me more.” Beside that giant of a man she looked smaller than ever, almost a child in comparison, but the look of eerie fascination in her eyes could have made even a titan shudder. Just whom—or what—had the Seekers now invited into their midst?
Anne Mayer
Nieve — Mages' Guild

"Yes, he's one of ours." Even if so-called golems were a known quantity here, the streets Anne had walked through on the way here hadn't exactly been teeming with them. The odds of there being two of them carrying blonde children around were small enough that she was willing to chance it. "We can meet up with him once we're done in here. If we're lucky he'll have found some more leads for us to look into..."

It was good to know that Lewa had kept the young girl safe, but right now Anne's attention was mostly occupied by the contract Serena had handed her. She didn't exactly like paperwork, but running a trans-galactic research institute had given her plenty of experience in putting together formal contracts and agreements. Specifically, she knew all the underhanded methods people used to try and trick one another in the small print—mostly because she'd employed all those tricks herself. All in the name of world peace, of course.

However, by all appearances this document was exactly what it purported itself to be. Ideally she'd have had more time to familiarize herself with the local legal systems, but... It'll do. The benefits of the agreement easily outweighed the risks, and in the worst-case scenario they could just forcefully twist the arms of anyone who tried to use it against them.

"I'm satisfied with this." After neatly signing her name, she handed the papers across to Remilia. "You can look over it yourself if you want, but I can vouch that there's nothing shifty about it. We thank you for your patronage, Princess." She flashed Serena her most charming diplomatic smile, with a graceful nod of her head. Laying it on a little thick, but she did genuinely owe her for the help with the magic items, and for putting up with the stroppy vampire.

@Rezod92@FujiwaraPhoenix@VitaVitaAR
Witch

Level 2 (0/20 EXP)
Location: Meridi-at-Han
Word Count: 302 (1 exp gained)



The king of bugs assailed her once again, but he’d already tipped his hand. Now the Witch was ready for him, and moved not with desperation but keen-eyed focus. Two firebats burst into embers as she shot then out of the air; the third could not touch her now that she knew to anticipate its change of course. Grimm was still quicker than her, prone to puffing into clouds of smoke and reappearing in completely different places, but after the first couple of times that trick would no longer take her by surprise. She kept alert, relied on her ears and her surroundings to better tell where he’d moved to, and even began to predict and anticipate where he’d strike from next.

As her confidence grew, so too did the Witch’s aggression. She pelted her enemy with wand-strikes at every turn, chanced fireballs when she knew he’d be hard-pressed to dodge them. Her eyes blazed brighter than ever, as though she could practically see her victory lying ahead, the glorious end to this hard-fought duel—at least, until some clueless goon in a suit saw fit to throw himself into the fray. The Witch jumped back when she saw him, but it was not her he’d come for: his strange inky power went straight for the elusive circus master and sought to snare him before he could blink away.

Was it just dumb luck? Did she have some unknown admirer? Whatever the case, the Witch would never shy away from such a golden opportunity. Tongues of flame rose up around her, casting her narrow frame in silhouette, and a final fireball soared forth from her wand to strike her foe down for good. If the newcomer happened to get caught in the blast, well, that was his own fault now, wasn’t it?
Anne Mayer
Nieve — Mages' Guild

"Like I said, I don't know their true purpose either." Anne seemed lost in thought as she answered the princess. With her eyes fixed upon the small box and its contents, she gingerly picked up the necklace by the chain and watched it float again in the air, still pointing off in Aventon's rough direction. Now that she'd confirmed its function... It was as good a proof as any that Millie remained alive and safe.

Safe. She set it back down, breathing a deep sigh of relief to herself even as Remilia launched into another childish outburst. Until she secured official aid for the town, the Knight could check on the tracker at regular intervals, and be ready to respond if it ever stopped working or drifted too far astray. In short, she could stay here and see her task through to the end without breaking her promise to protect the young girl.

Even as she realized this, however, the second part of the mystery lingered like a haze in the back of her thoughts. The jewel could be activated if a certain person died—did that make it a failsafe, a way for the Heralds to get whatever they wanted out of Millie in the event that she died? Or was Millie the 'inheritor' Serena had mentioned, meant to receive the jewel's spell once the time was right? Neither option sounded like good news, but at last a clearer picture was forming in Anne's head, a reason behind the Heralds' seemingly inexplicable actions.

She'd keep quiet about it for now. Until she had proof that the royal family could be trusted, she would investigate further herself, and find someone to crack the final piece of the puzzle. With everyone's attention momentarily drawn away by Remilia, Anne silently closed the box and stashed it safely out of sight in her coat.

Now, before our noble Lady gets us all executed... The Knight cleared her throat. "Um, I apologize. I must have distracted her Highness at the wrong moment, so that she missed your obnoxious demands—" Oops, slip of the tongue. "—I mean, your request. Anyway, I'm sure everyone will hear of your magnanimity once you succeed at the Princess's, uh, important mission." Five more minutes of this and she was going to physically grab the vampiress by the hair and drag her along on whatever errand they'd agreed to do. For the moment, she simply made meaningful eye contact with Serena, hopefully enough to convey that it was best to simply move on and talk business.

@Rezod92@FujiwaraPhoenix@VitaVitaAR
Roll up, roll up!!
Come one, come all, and witness a most wondrous dueling performance!

Featuring:
The Witch

and
Troupe Master Grimm

With credit to @Drifting Pollen and @Lugubrious for descriptive prose.


“…What if I want to burn the child as well?”

All jests aside, she'd quite enjoyed the ringmaster's poem. The pointless scribblings of so-called artists had never much appealed to the Witch, but when a verse contained so many of her own interests—nightmares and visions and flames, oh my—even she couldn’t help but crack a grin. Who’d have thought that this circus would ever prove so entertaining?

A shame they likely all wanted to murder her, though she was hardly unused to being reviled. Now, should she make a break for it? Those stretching shadows had been warning enough of the impending threat, and the Witch already stood poised to make her escape. On the other hand, she knew a narrow girl like her would never outrun all those hovering bugs, no matter how desperately she fled.

She could stand and fight, then, unleash her power and show these bugs why she was so rightly feared. Their numbers might seem overwhelming, but her spells were well-suited for dealing with clustered crowds, and she hadn’t yet exhausted all her tricks. On the other hand, she’d just seen an enemy casually shrug off one of her fireballs, and wasn’t in the mood to try her luck again. That left only Grimm, and his inexplicable invitation.

The Witch had always been too curious for her own good. That this tall gentleman’s offer was so strange, and so very likely dangerous, only made it all the more enticing to her. Over the whispers and chatter of the audience, over the sweet wet music of her undead slaves doing battle, the Witch sauntered forth to meet the Troupe Master midway.

He bowed, and she nodded her head in return to him. Already tongues of fire swirled up around her in anticipation, ready to set things off with a bang.

Her acceptance seemed to excite the crowd of Grimmkin, igniting a fresh round of eager whispers, and the perimeter of ghostly bugs receded a few feet from the impromptu dance floor to make sure the duelists had enough space. With his polite gesture uninterrupted and over with, Grimm whirled around, then disappeared in a flare of scarlet flame. He reappeared just as suddenly at the Witch's four o'clock position, his arm -itself long enough to reach his knee- already extended with his cape hanging from it it like a membranous wing. Though black on the outside, the odd cloth featured an inner lining of bright, pale red, much like the Troupe master's eyes, and it squirmed with the fitful glow of a sputter candle.

"Ssair." At Grimm's unintelligible rasp, a winged sprite of living flame darted forth like a wrathful magpie, its blazing wings a blur as it hurtled toward its creator's adversary. After a brief, a second firebat surged out after the first, and a third followed its predecessor immediately. Like the Shadows' fireballs they changed course to hunt the Witch down. Their much greater speed made them harder to react to, but easier to evade. Regardless of whether or not they hit, though, Grimm continued his dance. Only a moment after releasing his cloak, he teleported into the air, where he hung suspended for a moment as he wrapped his cloak about him. The next instant he hurled himself down at the Witch in a corkscrew dive, a javelin in the night, but his wounded leg would greatly impede his landing.

The sorceress may have allowed Grimm his bow, but that was all the mercy she would grant him. The moment he started to spin, her wand flicked upwards in a sharp gesture and sent a bolt of fire screaming his way. The merest instant before it landed, however, the Troupe Master vanished into the air, and left her scrambling to find her target.

Where?? She whirled about, eyes blazing blue, but with the audience as a backdrop every direction seemed nearly the same. It was his voice that alerted her, and drew her attention just soon enough to snap off a kinetic attack at the first sprite. The translucent arrow pierced a hole clean through the living flame and left the rest to burn away, though by now another was already streaking towards her. The Witch shot again—a miss—and then lunged to the side, anticipating the worst after her earlier experience with homing attacks. Her caution proved well-founded, and she made it just wide enough to avoid the second darting wisp of flame.

Unfortunately, the Witch wasn’t known for her speed. The third sprite had already adjusted its trajectory, and this time she couldn’t dodge quick enough to slip past it entirely. The projectile grazed the edge of her invisible barrier and left it glowing with residual heat, already a little thinner than before.

With her attention occupied by Grimm’s sequential attacks, she barely had time to react to his following move. With spiraling black death bearing down on her from above, her body responded on instinct, an ungainly dive that left her sprawled on the ground with limbs askew. She’d landed hard enough that it actually took another fraction out of her shield—but it got her clear, and with her barrier receiving the pain for her she recovered almost instantly. Her wand twitched again, and a blinding orange light filled the short space between the Witch and the grounded Grimm as a second fireball roared forth to greet him.

Hampered by the half-crushed leg that nearly buckled beneath him from the force of his dive, Grimm remained crouched long enough that by the time he rose, the Witch's fireball couldn't be avoided. It splashed against his cloak with an angry hiss, leaving the fibers scarred and smoldering, but even in this state the Troupe Master did not stagger so easily. "Hhagh!" Springing off his good leg, he through himself into a second corkscrew lunge, this time purely horizontal. Even if he couldn't put together a proper offense against the Witch's magic, and his injury slowed him down somewhat, his relentless offense would put the Witch's reactions and agility to the test. If his opponent couldn't find a way to seize control of this dance, it would certainly be Grimm dictating its unsustainable pace.

When the momentum of the spiral arrow petered out after about twenty feet, Grimm's cloak unwound and he slid to a stop in a crouching position, vulnerable for a brief moment. Like smoke, however, he soon vanished from the Witch's clutches. He teleported once more, and when he flared back into existence a split second later, he got his bearings and surged toward his foe with something new: a sweeping overhead claw slash, followed after a split second by an unaimed upward slice that carried him into the air. Then, once silhouetted against the night sky, the Troupe Master exploded like a fireworks display, four plumes of scarlet flame raining down across the arena. He reappeared a a short distance away, searching for his dance partner amidst the dazzling blaze.

A sapphire gleam flashed across the spellcaster's eyes, even as her teeth clenched together so hard they could break. Here, in the thick of battle, she felt perhaps more alive than anywhere else, in tune with the mayhem around her. Funny, that she should only see so clearly with death so close at hand.

She'd noticed how Grimm seemed to be favoring one leg, the other twisted out of its proper shape. Vital knowledge, but it wouldn't have saved her from that second lunging attack. Her rescue came from circumstance, luck, and Grimm's own haste: he struck before she could even fully rise to her feet, but did not think to strike downward as he had before.

The Witch dropped straight back into a sprawling position, flattened tight against the ground. Rather than spear her through, the lunging ringmaster shot right over her and quite possibly tripped himself up in the doing. Far too close for comfort, but she was adapting to his speed now: the instant he passed by she rolled onto her back and shot him from behind with a translucent missile.

Too late. He'd disappeared again, and she hit only smoke. A bothersome trick, but she'd seen it once and wouldn't fall so easily again. Her legs kicked out to the side, and her body spun up into a sitting position before he came tearing at her with razor-sharp bug-claws bared.

A more skilled fighter might have tried to parry and riposte; the Witch simply scurried backwards as fast as she could manage. Her foe was quicker, and his first strike again grazed her barrier before she swayed just shy of the second.

She'd avoided direct hits, but already her shield was down to half its full strength. Now it was her turn, though. That flashy silhouette made for such a pretty target, and she'd never miss the chance to add some flair of her own to the performance.

Right as he burst open and unleashed his flames, an answering fireball soared up from beneath. It detonated just beneath him, the edge of the blast licking at his cloak before he disappeared, his quartet of projectiles consumed all at once before they could spread out. The remnants of the clashing attacks rained down across the battlefield as a hail of sparks, a thousand stars in the dark.

Blue and crimson eyes alike hunted one another through the chaos, but Grimm was tall and distinctive, the Witch small and crouched low with knees bent. She fired first this time, following her last fire attack with another just as fierce, then darted preemptively to one side before he could charge her way again.

As the Grimmkin oohed and aahed over the rain of embers, Grimm searched for the Witch in vain. He tasted her fury before he saw her elusive form, and the blazing bolt that struck him brought him below a treacherous threshold. In an instant his body burst apart into a swarm of black batlike insects that fluttered about in a mad panic. Most of them acted as little more than living shadows, but one glowed from within with a distinctive—and familiar—scarlet luster. These frenetic constituent bugs darted wildly this way and that, but they seemed incapable of attack; if her aim was true, the Witch could sling a couple spells before the swarm reassembled.

The Witch in question, though mildly baffled by the bug-devil’s latest trick, had been waiting for just such an opportunity to cut loose. Her wand swayed like a conductor’s baton, and sent half-visible bolts humming through the air one after another, enough that a few were bound to hit their mark. Ruined bats toppled one after another, before the sorceress abruptly ended her solo with a final fiery shot straight at their bright-lit leader. Another detonation shook the field, and a half-dozen charred sets of wings simultaneously fell to earth in its wake.

“I like you better this way!”

She didn’t dare press her offense any further with her mana pool partially drained, but it hardly mattered. Within this brief respite she’d earned, her energy shield had stopped taking damage and started rapidly repairing itself, such that by the time Grimm showed his mask of a face again it'd already be close to full strength. Sweat dripped down her forehead and glistened in her dark hair, but her eyes now held in them a fresh confidence, a certainty that she could win in a battle of attrition. So intent was her focus upon the fight itself that she barely noticed the new figures joining the audience, each silhouette distinct from those surrounding it.

The swarm coalesced then into a ball of writhing wings, and Grimm emerged once more from within. His overall vitality lay just above the halfway point, but his bone-white features betrayed no sign of pain nor worry. He threw open his cloak to bring forth another salvo of firebats…

The Witch took a guard position, her wand held aloft…

…and the twilight tango continued.



Total word count: 2006
Grimm exp: 6/10 -> 9/10
Witch exp: 7/10 -> 10/10 (Lv up!)
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