Member
Time: Evening (Forever Evening)
Location: Smithy’s Grocery Store - Las Vegas
Marie fell back in exhaustion, catching herself just before hitting the stained tile. She cupped her head with both hands, the sharp return of memory more painful than she might have expected. Her ears rang for a moment as her head throbbed. The air around her shimmered with something old. There was power there, power that hadn’t existed before, at least, not that anyone could tell.
Holt rushed to Marie’s side, his ethereal form phasing through the remnant chaos.
Marie, Holt’s raspy voice conveyed concern as best it could. Are you alright? Did something happen?
He could feel it, of course. The change in Marie’s voice moments before, her posture, the burning embers within that bathed her in an ephemeral glow, all was apparent. It was just as Puck had warned.
Marie stood slowly, the hem of her dress covered in blood, dirt, and ash, her sunhat blown away in the fray, small nicks, bumps, and bruises on her lower legs portraying more harm than she’d realized.
”Yeah,” she groaned, dusting herself off, wincing as she bent her right arm which had caught the brunt of her fall. ”I’ll live.”
The smell of burning flesh carried through Smithy’s, the charred corpses of her victims still blanketed in hot flames. Marie looked them over, emotionless, remorseless, but trying to make sense of what had happened. Gwyneth had taken over, that much she knew. Could she trace this new memory back to others, use it as a torch to illuminate Gwyneth’s other dark secrets? She scanned the room, hoping to find context for her newly discovered memory.
Odette had watched the White Witch change before her eyes. She felt Gwyneth's possession in her purse burn through the enchanted walls warming her leg. It astounded her the power released even at close proximity to another piece of her soul. Every time she turned around it seemed Gwyneth and by extension the White Witch was setting the bar higher. For the briefest of moments she saw Gwyneth herself. Slowly she approached White Witch, seemingly herself once more. Mandate was close by while Bach whispered in her ear on her shoulder.
“Quite the reaction, rage and witchfire. I suppose that was only a brief glimpse.” Odette guessed, the fey around them flocked openly surrounding Mandate and some returning to their Ambassador’s side lingering in her shadow and around her head.
“That was far too easy, The Hounds would not seriously expect to rid us that easily. Sending in a few people with guns.” The sorceress shrewdly observed the White Witch, physically and her clothing were in a state. “You are prepared to continue fighting, yes?”
Marie turned to glare at the Ambassador, but her eyes weren’t filled with hate or rage, only fatigue.
”If I must,” Marie’s voice carried her tiredness, but there was a subtle determination there as well. ”Might be easier if you handed me that box.” Marie gestured to the Ambassador’s purse. She didn’t know if touching Gwyneth’s artifacts would strengthen her any more than being in proximity to them. Either way, Marie was keen to be in full possession of what was hers.
The Ambassador dug the still warm trunk containing Sight out of her purse, “It would certainly be an interesting experiment. This...belongs to you.” She said with a slight begrudging tone. Clearly not eager to hand over her bargaining chip. They had shook hands and a contract was signed. The White Witch was obligated not to do her harm. “It is fair warning of me to say, powerful wards protected this for centuries and the magic that these were steeped in were powerful enough to pull my mind and soul into a world built then maintained by Gwyneth, by her will and her will alone. They are more than just containers for memories.”
She offered it.
Marie took the trunk quickly, holding it in both of her hands while looking Odette in the eyes.
”So you really saw her?” Marie sounded invigorated, her excitement apparent. ”She . . . pulled you into another world? Where did she take you? What did you see?”
Marie rattled off questions, all the while opening the box to reveal dozens of small divinatory stones, runes, and coins bearing images and symbols she didn’t fully recognize. The box gave her no trouble, but there was a power in it, something that resonated with her. Perhaps it hadn’t made Marie stronger, but more aware.
“I saw you. When-” She hesitated to say, taking an extra moment to tailor her words, “When I first began to look for more information regarding you, I did not fully understand what it meant when I discovered you and Gwyneth are one in the same, just incomplete. When I met you, in past memories - a bubble so to speak, you isolated yourself from the world. You believed that Queen Mab was still ruling in the Summer Courts. Only then did I finally understand. It is like a mirror.” She said holding the White Witch’s attention with her icy blue eyes. As for her other questions, there was no time to go in depth. “There will be time later to discuss, as for now we must focus. Gather what energy you have left to defend you and yours.”
Mandate, for her part, had meandered closer during the Ambassador’s exchange with the White Witch, having returned to her side once her playtime was done. The heavy golem was mostly preoccupied with wiping at her hands with a strip of cloth stolen from her victim’s clothing, working to remove his blood from where it pooled at her joints and crevices. Still, some of the conversation managed to float its way into her ears. Hopefully the Ambassador would give her the important footnotes at another time.
”You think there will be more to kill, Miss Ambassador?” she asked, curious and perhaps a little contemplative. Maybe she should have grabbed the man’s gun like she’d been wanting to, she mused. It wasn’t like she needed it, but such things killed faster than she could run. Although, she’d found it inconvenient the last time she’d held one, how it did not fit her finger, or her hand for that matter. The little piece that prevented her digit from operating it didn’t look important…
The Ambassador turned looking up to her friend, “Yes, I do not doubt the Hounds of Humanity are finished with us yet. I remember quite clearly, only a few days ago the destruction they brought to us.” A rumbling agreement from the Fey around them. “We are not the weak-”
Three bullet shots rang through the store cutting through the shadows, cutting through the distinct form of a Far Derrig in their rat-like appearance. Their dark red coat bled colour, greying into ash as the silver bullet ‘purified’ the spirit. With it the strangled cry of their death.
The Fey around them erupted with anger, in a blink of an eye their magic soaked their surroundings elongating Odette’s shadow filling it with various shapes making it unrecognizable. The ground in the aisles became swampy with bog, a vile stench permeated the air. The Ambassador braced herself against it. In another blink The Ambassador began warding her surrounding area, Words of Power summoning the Arcane Stream upon them. She stepped behind Mandate, working another layer.
It became abundantly clear that her wards would do them no favours, multiple shots began to tear through the shop. Each with a target, not firing indiscriminately as they did before. Her wards shattered. Fey took shelter in their boggy hatred, erecting natural shields of their own as opposed to magical.
The sudden pain striking Mandate, which a foggy memory compared to the sting of insects, brought with it a violent flinch from the golem, her arms swinging up instinctively to block her face as she nonetheless turned her body towards the assault, presenting a wider target and greater cover. ”Ow!” Ow? Ow? That was unacceptable. She was becoming far, far too familiar with pain, in her opinion; one time was already too many.
But Miss Ambassador came first. The golem whirled on her feet deceptively quickly, resisting the urge to arch her back as the little stings prickled their way across it, rather than her front. She now faced the Ambassador and the White Witch, her body low and hunkered forward, arms spread. ”Miss Ambassador, are you alright? They’re hurting!” Her voice was almost a petulant whine, her ‘v’ of a mouth flipping into a frown. Areas of the golem’s broad chest carried dents, as if pockmarked. Similar marks were doubtlessly appearing on her back now, judging by the noise and stinging pain.
Holt positioned himself between Marie and these new assailants, ghastly arms like black tendrils spread wide to absorb the oncoming fire. A silver bullet passed through his left side, a flash of light and crackle of energy sparking from the impact. Holt screeched in pain, an audible hiss that sent shivers down Marie’s spine. She’d never known he could be hurt.
Looking down on his left hand, a mass of sharp, ethereal claws, a burning hole had pierced Holt’s form, the edges of the wound glowing with white light, preventing the familiar from healing himself. Instinctively, he took Marie’s shoulder and pushed her behind Mandate alongside the Ambassador.
Marie could hear a dull whimper, one of the wolves had been shot. Before she could survey the area to see which one, another bullet came zipping past, grazing her right shoulder. At first, it was nothing, only the slight sting of air hitting the fresh cut left by the edge of the bullet. But soon after, there came a sharp pain, a burning pain that seemed to spread to her entire arm. She winced, holding her arm closer to her body to ease the pain, but it wouldn’t pass.
Witch hunters . . . Holt spoke in a whisper, looking to the attending fey all gathered in the Ambassador’s shadow. He could see the looks in their eyes, some held panic, but others true terror. He wondered if they knew.
”I-I-Is-s this s-silver?” Marie struggled to ask, gasping with every breath, teeth clenched in response to the pain. She knew the powers that iron held over the fey, indeed, over any magic; she knew the stories of witches being harmed by silver, but never had she experienced the malice of witch hunters or their instruments . . . not in this life anyway.
Holt nodded, looking down to find that his wound had only partially closed.
Their weapons are blessed. These are the armaments of witch hunters, your magic alone cannot halt their progress. But perhaps our magic combined . . . Holt turned to the Ambassador, now fully visible in gruesome detail, a black shade with no distinguishable features save a head full of jagged teeth and two long tendril-like arms sporting vicious claws.
Holt finally appearing and pushing the White Witch around meant she was as affected by their weaponry as The Ambassador’s wards were. The familiar was a shadowy apparition with teeth in what she assumed was his true form. White Witch herself was injured from a bullet graze. Mandate had clear dents across her chest and arms. She assured Mandate, “I am alright.” Her brow furrowed, switching to new tactic. Do as her allies did, the fey had in their expression of anger changed their surroundings to their advantage. From what she could see the ground had become swampy and difficult to trek through. The items on all the shelves were still there, haphazardly but they remained.
The Fey in her shadow whimpered as Bach tried to console them, he tugged on her ear. “My Lady, we cannot remain.”
She nodded. “White Witch, we need to gather everyone close, set traps and slow down their advance. We may not be able to affect them directly but everything around them is still susceptible.” White Witch seemed to be focusing elsewhere, Odette snapped her fingers in front of her face. “No matter how battered you are, focus allow the pain to sharpen your actions. Fan the flames.” Odette adapted a hardened tone, firmly trying to get her attention. Stabilize the fear. The Ambassador hardly wanted to send the Fey into certain death and it would soon mean they would be surrounded, there was only so much Mandate could do. “I need time to craft our escape.”
The rings of dents ticked time away, Odette closed her eyes calling upon the Arcane Stream the shelves of groceries began to levitate surrounded by misty blue. Some of the floating cans were shot out of the air mistaken for a true target. A shout from one of the Hounds told them they were not far, perhaps conserving their limited supply? Soup cans, bags of pasta, boxes of powdered potatoes were lifted scattered into the air at random. Another shot sprayed soup contents, feeding the swamp.
Marie followed the Ambassador’s words, straining her eyes, which had begun to glaze over with a soft haze. This nullifying poison was spreading, weakening her, draining her stamina, dulling her mind. A tool of the witch hunters, she thought, to make their victims unable to protect themselves or fight back. But Marie was no second rate witch. Gwyneth had made herself known before, twice now. Perhaps these circumstances were exactly what she needed to unlock that hidden potential.
Holt, Marie’s mind linked with Holt’s, even her inner voice carrying the same fatigue as her body, Shake the earth, stir the winds, don’t let them any closer.
Holt gave a single nod, his ephemeral body coalescing into a mass of dark shadows, shifting into the form of a large raven. Off he flew into the fray, carrying on his wings an unnatural gust of air. Around the Hounds he flew, drawing some of their fire as they struggled to see his misty figure in the growing fog. The wind became so strong it threatened to topple still standing shelves. The Hounds’ bullets flew straight, but their focus was gone.
Soon after, Holt assumed a form Marie had seen only once, the one gifted to him by Joseph, that of a black goat. He stomped around Smithy’s, bucking his head, long, gnarled horns scraping the walls. With each pass, the ground beneath them began to shake, upsetting their balance further, forcing them remain stationary to catch their balance.
Marie used this time to conjure her strength, or that of Gwyneth, and find some piece of that old magic. Much to her surprise, it came with relative ease, a gift she had witnessed before but had not always been able to perform . . . the gift of fascination. She lifted her arm, two windows near the entrance shattering in response, spraying the still encroaching hounds with shards of glass. The winds summoned by Holt became more wild with her aid, as did the trembling, now stretching to the walls and ceilings, causing light fixtures and display shelves to fall and add to the swamp of debris.
Odette caught her balance of the shaking ground against Mandate, that would be what they needed. Disturbing the environment around them was the perfect deterrent. The Ambassador turned her back to Mandate, summoning her will to open a portal. Bracing herself, she shut out the world around her, shutting out the audience, closing her mind to all foreign distractions. She acclimatized to the vibrating ground, the noise faded away. Quietly the sounds of a rushing river came to her in her imagination, far away and changing from the sounds of a river to a heartbeat. She lifted her arms into the air blue energy flowing down from her hands to her arms. Words of Power spoken in French Odette invited the Arcane Stream to open and it responded in kind.
A line of energy was drawn down, it widened in a triangle brightening their surroundings considerably. A wave of life flowing from it. From it slowly a door took shape, first it’s wooden frame, panels and then finally a golden door knob and hinges. The portal was formed after a couple minutes. Light outlined the frame. Opening her eyes, Odette looked to her right seeing the White Witch pushing through her injuries then to her left she saw two guns pointed at her.
Dread spread through her stomach. Two Hounds had broke away from their main formation, sneaking alongside the parameters to arrive alongside them. Turning to face them magic still gathered in her hands, no time to properly react, the pair of guns fired. Odette flinched at the first bullet ricocheting off of Mandate’s right arm while the other found its home in her shoulder. The force drove her back into Mandate’s left arm. Stumbling to a knee.
The pain was white hot blooming down her arm and collarbone. The burn from the blessed bullet spread blocking magic from her right arm. She felt familiar with the pain as if she was experiencing the poison of iron once again. “My lady!” Bach shouted, growing back to a human size supporting her torso. Lifting her clear of Mandate’s arm.
Odette let out a drawn out groan, biting down hard on her lower lip. Stifling the cry.
“Ki-Kill them.”
Mandate barely heard the command, though it was hardly necessary. Something had squeezed inside of her for a terrifying moment after the startling pain had bloomed on her side rather than from behind. Then it had returned, and made a seemingly permanent home for itself when Mandate registered Odette’s motion in her arms.
The sight of the ambassador on her knee, a wound driven into her shoulder, was what solidified the feeling. No. And then the Ambassador was leaving her arms, her mind too stricken in that moment to protest. There was a chorus in her mind-no, rather, her mind was the chorus, babbling and incoherent. Fear, twisting inside of her like a knife inside fragile human flesh. Rage, scalding and seething, demanding.
It was a combination of the latter and simple instinct that snapped the golem free of her trance. The tile was exploding beneath her foot before she had even completed her turn, a wordless and senseless scream tearing itself free as if from a hundred throats in discordant harmony. The soothing surreality of her multi-toned voice was gone, leaving only noise and fury.
There was no adrenaline in her body, no veins to carry blood and no heart to race, but the distance between herself and her targets seemed to eat itself up at a frantic pace, the ground exploding beneath every stomp in her long-legged, hunched sprint.
The hounds, for their part, seemed to realize the futility of their gunfire after only a moment. Their backpedaling retreat became a frantic dive to escape her reach. Her arm swung around with all the speed of a frantic rage, the strike of her claws snagging and tearing through one soldier’s equipment, followed by the flesh of their side. A strange buzz swept across her hand in the moment of contact, but it didn’t matter. It was, compared to destroying them completely and utterly, a secondary issue.
The hound was sent into a crimson spiral to the ground, their scream echoing oddly in the magic-rich air. The other paramilitant was caught in a firmer grasp; Mandate’s hand struck true, snapping around their throat like a vice as the golem skidded and stumbled past. It was only a momentary restraint that did not see them decapitated as her first Hound had been.
It didn’t matter. They had to die. Anything else was unacceptable, and anything too slow was not currently practical… But Mandate would allow herself a small vindictive act. Her stampeding became a skidding turn, her occupied hand slamming into the ground hard- accompanied by her target’s neck- as she fell onto all fours. Lifting up the dazed and choking man, the golem lunged to close the distance with the injured secondary ‘soldier’, still writhing and scrabbling upon the ground. The choking man was slammed head-first into his agonized companion, and suddenly both were silent. Not enough, have to be sure. Her hand released his throat, covering the entirety of the man’s face. Screaming with that same agonizing fury, she drove him downwards.
The ensuing force of his head striking his companion’s turned both into what could only be called shrapnel, and left her hand buried into the floor up to the elbow.
Grasping Bach’s shoulder The Ambassador pushed herself up back to her feet. Feebly, her breathing was shallow, blood bloomed across her white blouse. Sweat beaded at her forehead. She felt like everything was fogged, growing distant by the minute. She saw Mandate’s retaliation. She looked to the door then pointed, “W-we need to leave.”
Bach nodded gently towing her to the door, with her free hand she grasped the doorknob tugging it open. All the while the floor was unstable with the disruptions from Holt and the White Witch. A wall of light greeted her as the door swung wide open. She grasped the frame, looking to both White Witch then to Mandate. The Hounds were on the other side of their defenses, Fey came flowing behind her running to the retreat of the portal. The flowing energy of the Arcane Stream gave her the final push to cross the threshold to safety.
Marie made a motion to Holt, bidding him to return.
Holt did as commanded, making one final revolution around the room, trotting down the isles, dodging around struggling Hounds, nicking a few with his horns as he passed. Before returning to Marie’s side, Holt passed by the other half of their group.
The Ambassador has opened a portal for us. Gather yourselves and fall back. Further efforts to protect yourself will be in vain.
With that warning issued, Holt returned to his ethereal form, appearing next to Marie as a mass of dark shadows, supporting her with his magic.
Marie could feel the influx of power, it was enough for her to make her escape. Picking herself up, Marie followed the Ambassador through the portal, the chaos of Smithy’s slowly fading to black, replaced by the soft glow of the night sky and the sound of rushing water.
