• Closed • A Dangerous Game Part VII (Graded)

[Vluharqih]

CREDIT

Date: Arc 719, 26th trial of Saun
Time: 22nd Break
Location: Webspinner Safehouse, Bolstrum

Drivia's eyes cracked open slowly, wincing at the bright slight streaming from some source high above her. She tried to move her head, but shooting pain across her neck and skull forced her to stop. Slowly, the events of the last trial came back to her.

She had followed the trail of evidence implicating Sintra in manipulating both Etzos and lisirra into weakening each other in order for her to sweep in and seize control to Bolstrum. It led to the Military Intelligence office in town, and Vluharqih had met Drivia, a woman in communication with other Sintra operatives. She had followed Drivia home, knocked her unconscious, and searched her house until she found the evidence she needed.

The letters the original Drivia had hinted at a meeting that same trial, and Vlu had jumped on the possibility to prove Sintra's guilt once and for all. She had taken the original, unconscious Drivia back to a safe location, and interrogated her, copying the woman's face in the process.

The infiltration of the meeting had failed when Vlu's form began to shiver, a common Yludih side effect of holding a new face for too long. She had been captured by the Webspinners, and, based on her current circumstances, was being held for questioning.

Two forms walked by her restrained body, whispering to each other. Drivia caught only bits of their conversation.

"The recluse herself demanded we... on her way... this is an emergency, Trissa!"

"She'll be here... from the market... had to break our 'no contact in public' rule..."

The shorter form froze and hissed at the other, and both turned to stare at Drivia, hatred in their eyes. One spit on the floor, and both turned and carried their conversation away from her.

Drivia moved her head slowly. She was strapped to a thick chair in the middle of a sunlit room. The walls were thick stone, and had the damp impression of being underground. Her limbs were all strapped securely down, and a table was set up beside her, poisons set atop with various torture implements. Drivia had to suppress a smirk- were they in for a surprise when none of those poisons worked on her.

The circular room had two entrances on opposite sides, no doors, and the hallways were well lit with torches. She tugged experimentally at the bonds, but they were too strong to break.

She was in trouble this time, and no doubt about it.

[Oberan]

Oberan was not sure what to do.

A dozen or more days ago he had infiltrated Rhakros alongside a small army made up of still-living Etzori. Soldiers and civilians alike. The living crowd had been joined by a large number of ghosts, seeking to avenge their deaths and those of their loved ones. Lisirra wanted to wage war? Well, she’d gotten one, and with the dead unable to pass on, the Immortal’s plague had had an unexpected side effect. Though the number of people alive had indeed diminished, the population of Etzos remained constant, and the dead were more than willing to teach Lisirra not to mess with their proud city.

Naturally, Oberan had not come along for the sake of vengeance or pride. His mission had been to find evidence of Sintra’s meddling, which he eventually did. Upon return to Etzos however, he found himself unsure what to do with it. Audrae’s instructions were clear enough, but the Mortalborn did not want to attract attention from the Webspinner. To be a part of the trail of domino’s that would make Sintra’s plan fall to pieces was one thing, but to be the one to knock down the first block was another. Yes, Audrae had built the trail, Oberan had provided some missing pieces, had filled up a gap. Now all he needed was a scapegoat. A strawman, if you will.

Now, that was where the problem lied. How did he find someone who was not one of Sintra’s agents? Surely the manipulative mother of arachnids did not rest on her laurels. As far as Oberan was concerned, she was well aware that there were people who did not agree to her having control over Etzos. She’d have people on the lookout for such troublemakers, perhaps pose as them too. After all, a likeminded individual had to be trustworthy, no?

Though the Mortalborn did not know of Sintra’s current position or the location of her HQ within Etzos, he did suspect it was within the city proper. Perhaps she’d dethroned Pahrn, making his residence hers. Either way, because the Mortalborn believed Sintra resided within Etzos proper, he’d made his way to one of the Outlying Cities, Bolstrum. Away from the Spider Queen’s immediate influence, he felt a little more at ease, a little less in the spotlight, but he’d be even more relaxed if he could pawn the evidence collected onto someone else.

A poor soul willing to take the fall in return for glory and justice and proud Etzori traditions.

Honestly, if he did not question the Turkeys’ intelligence, one of those guys would have been his first pick. It was doubtful that they could get the job done, however.

Possessing the evidence did not bother Oberan as much. After all, he did not have it on his person. Instead, it was stored safely in his Vault, which was a difficult to access cave within the woods around the city. No-one but him should know of its location. Also, the entryway was a submerged tunnel that required a five-or-more minute long swim, which no landwalking mortal race should be able to complete without drowning. Or without magical help. Just in case of such a thing though, Oberan had sealed the end of the tunnel with a steel trap door, and his God Seal. Additionally, he had erased the Vault’s location from his Rupturing Orb’s memory, in case someone would manage to get their hands on it. All that made him confident that no-one could enter the Vault by the conventional way. Perhaps tiny spiders could get in through other means, but the contents of the Vault could not be removed from it except through Oberan’s ability. Perhaps the spiders would swarm in and destroy the evidence, but for that reason he’d stuffed the evidence in a lockbox which had also been sealed by the God Seal.

Some called it paranoia, but when dealing with Immortals, Oberan was certain it was necessary caution. Semantics either way. Fact remained the Mortalborn did not know who to trust with exposing Sintra’s machinations. That is to say, he did have a lead. A possible candidate.

***

Several hours earlier

The Terest Inn was not a grand establishment by any means, yet it was one of the larger buildings of Bolstrum. Simple in its design –both on the inside and out-- and furnished for function, not form, the inn was not what could be called classy. On the contrary, it could best be compared with the several smaller establishments dotting the Outer Perimeter of Etzos. At least it was dry and warm inside, and despite the scent of stale ale clinging to the floorboards, it was better than the manure wafting into the streets from the fields around the settlement.

Oberan ordered himself an ale, content to be out of the rain, and sat himself down at a free table as close to the far wall as possible. Some others had already taken the table directly adjacent to the wall, but that was fine, he could settle for the next best thing. The two at the preferred table ceased conversing for a moment, both seizing the exact same moment to sip of their drinks and glance over at the new patron.

Thinking nothing of it at the time, instead keeping an eye on the door and glancing out of the window. His ale tasted just as stale as it smelled, and not for the first time he told himself he should have gone to Darington.

It was then that Oberan managed to overhear a rather curious conversation between two otherwise ordinary individuals. Perhaps he never would have listened in, if not for the conspiratorial mention of Sintra. Those voices came from the two at the table next to the wall. He resisted the urge to glance over, fixating his gaze on the window and the droplets racing down. Yet, his ears perked up and honed in on their conversation.

“—inform Lady Sintra, you think?”

“Not yet. We know nothing as of right now. I think it’s best to wait until we’ve at least questioned her.”

“I feel like we should send word we’ve captured a mole. Seems stupid not to.”

“It would if she escaped, but she’s not going anywhere. We can start interrogating today, and send a report with some substance. It’ll make us look better too.”

“I guess.” A sigh. “What do we do when we’re done? Do we …. ?”

“Yeah. She knows too much. Seen too much too. We can’t risk it.”

Oberan did not continue listening to the rest of the conversation. He’d heard enough. There was a lot to unpack, and a lot that made it feel like this was some sort of trap set to flush out the anti-Sintra folks. Still, it could very well not be. Perhaps someone had been caught and this was an attempt to lure out their associates. Who even knew? Oberan figured he could at least see where this lead him.

So he finished his ale at his leisure, watched the sky clear up, and made sure to leave the inn before the suspicious conversationalists. From an alleyway he kept an eye on them, tailing the two of them to what he thought would be their base of operations. What he found was an ordinary-looking house, and the ever-growing sensation of walking right into a trap. It had been too easy. The glance in his direction, the perfect part of the conversation starting a moment or two after he sat down, and then the two of them walking straight to this place without any attempts to lose or confuse possible shadows. Something felt off.

***

As such, Oberan did not know what to do.

Should he go in, risk walking into a trap set for him? Or should he simply leave now, while he was still unseen?

The longer he waited, the more likely it was for Sintra to catch wind of Audrae’s plan though.

Fuck it! Sure, why not. He who risks not, wins not. He could definitely get in and out without being noticed, so there was nothing to fear.

[Vluharqih]

CREDIT

The sound of clicking boot heels drew Drivia's attention. It came from the hallway behind her, and by craning her neck just so, she could see movement in the corner of her eye. A spasm ripped through her neck and wincing, she turned back to face front.

The bored looking hatchling that Drivia had encountered on her entrance to this safe house had been assigned to sit watch on her. For a break or two, the child had been content to watch her. Then the cruel streak had surfaced, and she had entertained herself by tossing small pebbles at the Yludih. Drivia had focused on ignoring them and studiously examined the wall a dozen feet above the child's head, not even flinching when a lucky throw caught her under a cheekbone and drew a thin line of blood. Sure enough, the child had bored of her torment soon after and had pouted on the stool until now.

Now she sat ramrod straight and kept her eyes locked on Drivia. Whoever was coming was a step above a Weaver, and Drivia struggled to remember the order of the ranks in Sintra's group. Hatchline, Weaver, Tarantula... she thought, but lost the rest of the list in the depths of her mind.

The clicking heels drew nearer, and a face loomed around the corner. It was a tall woman, her hair shaved short along the right side, the long hair of her left swept up and back in an undercut. Her dyed, strawberry blond hair obscured most of her face, but Alex caught sight of a pretty face, a look marred by the fury in her eyes. She wore the robes of the Webspinners as well, and from inside its folds, she drew out the two letters Drivia had pilfered from Recluse Frida's desk.

"What," she said between gritted teeth, "did you plan to do with these?"

The letters slapped down into Drivia's lap with a muffled thump. The woman stalked away and made a short, abrupt gesture to the hatchling perched on her stool like a deer ready to bolt. With a scamper, the child disappeared out of the room, and the woman grabbed her stool and jerked it closer to Drivia. Her motions were tense and she reminded Drivia of a Thunder Ocelot, her motions fast but perfectly in control.

"Nothing?" She said and arched one pale eyebrow. "Very well then."

The woman, who Drivia assumed was Recluse Frida, began what could best be referred to as a ritual. She cracked her neck, stood, and stretched out her back with gentle twists. Her slow, deliberate movements were at odds with her previous attitude, and Drivia could see the tension drain out of the woman. She rolled both shoulders five times and cracked each knuckle on her hands before sitting down again, and plucking a small vial from the glistening tray at her side.

Drivia kept her silence, but her skin prickled with anticipation. Of all the vials the woman could have chosen, she picked the one that might just save Drivia. She leaned forward slightly, her bonds creaking as she did, but thankfully the woman didn't seem to notice or care.

"This, my dear, is a potent adrenal." She said, holding it up so the light streamed through, illuminating the small vial of green liquid.

Yes, you stupid traitor, Drivia thought, barely concealing her scorn. It's made from the Trapper Spider, a rather ironic name considering it's my ticket out of here.

"It's made from one of Sintra's little pets, called a Trapper Spider. It gives you a powerful shot of energy, but it also has the lovely side effect of sensitizing all of your nerve endings and making this whole process much easier." The woman slid the cork from the neck of the small vial and slid a needle inside. Once the long point was slathered in the drug, the woman leaned forward and slid its point into Drivia's exposed forearm, right where the vein would be, were she human.

Instead Drivia was pushed backwards as what felt like a kick to her asterism from inside her chest stole the breath from her.

She was alive.

Never before had Drivia felt so much energy coursing through her body. Her muscles thrummed with anticipation and it was only with the utmost control that she managed to keep from shaking. Her mind felt alive like it never had before, but already she felt the energy subsiding. The woman across from her was still looking down, her brow furrowed as she impaled Drivia with the needle. She took her chance and attacked.

Her head crunched down and impacted the top of the Recluse's head, driving it into the thick wood of the chair arm. Her arms flailed and the needle clattered to the floor. Drivia strained against her bonds, pouring the fading strength into her arms. With a cracking sound, the bolts along her right arm came loose, the leather straps keeping her in place now swinging free. Her hand scrambled across the nearby table, scooping up a scalpel and giving herself a deep gouge across the finger as she did so. She ignored the blood that coated the blade and quickly sliced through the bonds holding her other arm in place.

The woman on the floor began to push herself up, her head turning to face Drivia.

Panic welled up inside her and Drivia grabbed at the table again, her fingers searching desperately for a vial, any vial. She dared not take her eyes off the rising Webspinner. Her fingers scrabbled across the wood sending tools scattering, feeling smooth metal, worked leather, a knotted cord, but no glass.

The Recluse was facing her now, her lips contorted in a snarl. Blood was trickling from her forehead where it had struck the rough arm, but she was no worse for wear. In fact, the calm, composed demeanor she had shrugged into like an overcoat was shorn away. The controlled fury was back. That Drivia had infiltrated them. That Drivia had dared to strike her, a Recluse of Sintra.

There. A glass vial. She was out of time, and time seemed to slow as the Recluse raised a small blade, scooped up off the floor from the mess Drivia had scattered. The woman cocked and poised her blade to strike at Drivia's exposed and defenceless face.

She swung the vial towards the woman just as the blade sliced through Drivia's neck straight from ear to ear.

Blood poured from the wound, but the momentum of her arm shattered the glass vial against the woman's head. Glass shards impaled both of their skin, and the poison inside, whatever it was, spilled into them both. Drivia knew what to do. She kept pressure down with her head, not letting the wound gape and tear open more as Recluse Frida collapsed on the ground, screaming and writhing on her back. The sound carried up and out whatever open window the sun was streaming in, the tortured sounds of someone in mortal pain.

Drivia tried to work fast as the sound of running footsteps came down the hallway, and what was likely every Webspinner in the place descending on their little torture chamber.

[Oberan]

Mind made up, Oberan pushed himself into action. Giving the house a wide berth, he completed a couple laps around the block to study the exterior and plan the most suitable entrance point. Naturally, he made sure to remain out of sight as much as possible, relying on shadows and the corners of buildings to keep him unnoticed.

As noticed earlier, the building itself did not seem to be anything special. One thing that stood out was its size, being a little larger than most other residences in Bolstrum, but even then it was not unique in that aspect. Everything else, from its architecture to the materials it was fashioned from was similar if not identical to most other buildings in the small town.

Two floors made up the entirety of the structure, one of which being the ground floor. Several windows at each level, mostly at the front and back, as the buildings next to it would render windows on the side rather useless. However, one side had a neighboring house with just one floor, and there was a window in that wall. On the ground floor there also was a front door, but it would be rather stupid to brazenly stroll in through there.

Then again, it might be something they’d never expect.

However, if this really was one of Sintra’s Cult’s hideouts, there probably would be someone stationed by the door to ask for a password, as often seen in plays. Or perhaps there was a secret signal that needed to be given. Either way, the Mortalborn was doubtful he’d get in unseen through the front door. If necessary he could subdue just about anyone if it was just one on one, but he did not have enough rope and rags available to gag and tie up all a whole clubhouse filled with Sintra’s followers. Not to mention how much time he’d lose if he did.

Instead, the Mortalborn darted into the small space between buildings, and utilized the close proximity of them to push himself off the walls, climbing up in the span of a few moments. His hands grabbed the ledge of one of the windows, feet bracing against the wall as his arms slowly pulled him up. As soon as he could glance through the glass and confirm that no-one seemed to be inside, Oberan used his God Key on the pane. The latch clicked, and the window swung open on its own. Clambering inside was no problem at all.

Touching down on the wooden boards that made up the floor, Oberan’s feet made no noise at all. The supple leather of his boots was worn and weathered enough not to creak and squeak, and the Mortalborn was quite experienced enough to recognize when a floorboard would break the silence.

Several beds lined the walls. It seemed this was a dorm room of some sort. Too much beds here for it to be a normal house. Perhaps an orphanage or barracks, but Oberan knew for a fact that the Bolstrum Barracks stood at the outskirts of the town, and there was no sign labeling this place as an orphanage anywhere. Suspicious indeed.

He crept towards the door, opening it just a little so he could look into the hallway. A stripe of light streamed inside the darkened room. Wood squealed behind his back. He could hear the rushing of air. Quickly, Oberan threw himself to the side, barely avoiding a makeshift bat cracking his skull.

The wielder of the bat, a woman wearing nothing but bedwear, sucked in a whole bunch of air.

“Intruuu—!"

Oberan acted fast, rushing forward with a swift couple steps, striking her right in the throat before she could alarm the whole building. Her scream became a choking cough halfway through, but the damage had already been done. Wood clattered on wood as the bat fell from her hands, both reaching up instinctively. Not a second later, her head snapped sideways when a well-aimed kick met her jaw. She collapsed sideways on one of the beds, motionless.

There was no time to wipe the sweat from his brow and take a breather though, Oberan heard several sets of footsteps rush up the stairs, a loud voice barking commands.

“You, you, and you, search the rooms! You two, guard the hallway!”

A fight in silence was impossible. The commotion had been noticed. It had all gone a bit south. Fuck! He should have checked the room more thoroughly before entering. And certainly before moving through. Rookie mistake, Bran, rookie mistake!

A door further down the hall was thrown open, then another, and another.

Then, the dorm’s door too violently swung into the wall, three people bursting into the chamber, armed and ready.

Nothing.

Slowly, carefully, the three stepped inside, eyes fitting to and fro. One checked behind the door. No-one there. Another bent over to glance under the beds. No-one there either. The third gestured to the other two, pointing at two beds where a roughly-human shaped figure was obscured by the covers. One of the shapes stirred. More gesturing, and two Webspinners tiptoed to that one, while the other Spinner remained by the door.

One readied their club, the other grabbing the covers. They glanced at each other, mouthing numbers. One, two, three, NOW. They tore the blankets away, club immediately coming down towards the head of the person in the bed, stopping right before impact. This was one of their own. Meaning…

At the other bed they once again prepared themselves, going with the same strategy. They’d clobber the intruder before they had a chance of slipping away. One, two--

The covers suddenly flew upwards, ensnaring the cultists’ heads, blinding both of them. In response one brought down their club, striking only a mattress. A moment later, they threw off the blankets, restoring their sight. However, Oberan’d dived out on the other side, and was already dashing right for the door. In his path was only one more obstacle, which was readying their weapon, determined to strike down the intruder.

Three meters, two, one—

Rushing air. Club swinging widely. Oberan let himself fall backwards, underneath the trajectory. He sled for a moment, through the cultist’s legs. He grabbed both of the man’s ankles as he passed, yanking the guy face first into the floor. Curses were thrown around wildly. Behind Oberan, the two other Spinners were giving chase. He was already back on his feet, door handle in one hand, key in the other. It slammed shut not a moment later, and the key in his hand lost its shape.

Static rang in his ears, a faint but distracting crackling sound that always started and persisted for a brief while after he sealed anything. A small smile played around the Mortalborn’s lips despite the situation.

Two more of Sintra’s followers awaited him in the hallway.

A shadow would have betrayed the first attacker if their battlecry would not have, their bunt weapon hitting only air, as Oberan once again had to avoid a heavy strike. The door handle was broken off by the power behind the swing.

Another strike, another evasive action. Oberan’s back hit the wall. The two cultists approached, smelling victory. However slippery this intruder might be, with no-where to dodge towards their strikes could no longer miss.

Out of nowhere though, the Mortalborn threw a handful of sand into the eyes of the closest assailant, then quickly swapped places with him to evade the smashing club of the first. Whether it was bone or wood, something cracked loudly, and a scream followed, the blinded Webspinner clutching his shoulder.

Oberan rushed towards the stairs, the second cultist dashing to cut him off. Unfortunately for them, they did indeed manage to. Blocking the way with their body, though not ready to attack. Not slowing down one bit, Oberan unceremoniously rammed his shoulder into their chest, pushing them backwards. They crashed down the stairs in a painful tumble, landing down below in a heap. Oberan too couldn’t stop himself, feet slipping from the edge of the upper tread, sliding down halfway before managing to get back up. His back and ass were hurting, but compared to the cultist who was not moving, he felt rather lucky.

He did not dwell on it though. If there was a time and place for it, it wasn’t here and now. Quickly he leaped over the motionless cultist, running through the hall downstairs. A lot of rooms to the side, with more of Sintra’s followers spilling out. There had been a couple waiting near the stairs too, resulting in a whole bunch of them now being on Oberan’s heels. Underneath his breath he cursed and swore, and kept running, for that was all he could do.

Finding another set of stairs, he did not think twice before following them down, feet rapidly tapping each tread, slowing down a little to avoid slipping a second time. In hindsight, this had been a bad idea, as a basement really was the worst place to run to. Fortunately for him, at the foot of the staircase was a lit hallway and a smaller chamber up ahead.

[Vluharqih]

CREDIT

Drivia ignored the screaming woman on the ground and tried to shift. She began to meld into the formless state, but the tension of the situation snapped her back before she could complete it. No shifting to a Grey Velox to escape these bonds.

She leaned over as far as she could, severing the cords keeping her legs in place. Her other hand remained clasped in place over her severed neck, blood still leaking out. Luckily, her esophagus seemed intact- the lack of veins meant the wound was no worse than a cut to her arm, no matter how unnatural it seemed.

Drivia stood, her stiff muscles protesting. Who knew how long she had been stuck there, and her right leg had a tendency to tighten up after the wound she had recieved from the Webspinner assassin, healed though it was.

She aimed a vicious kick at the woman still writhing on the ground, snapping her teeth together with an audible click. In the sudden silence she heard a gasp from behind and she spun to see a Webspinner standing in the doorway, eyes wide. More footsteps could be heard on the staircase at the end of the hallway, but that was a problem for later.

Drivia shifted into Val, seamlessly shifting with no problems this time. She cursed her discipline, making a mental note to work on it later. At the moment, the charging, silent, and very angry looking Webspinner wielding a large club was her bigger problem.

With only her talons and the bloody scalpel to help her, she needed to get inside the reach of this new threat. She tensed her knees and attempted to leap sideways as the Webspinner swung, but her too-long robes caught and she stumbled, the cloth tearing loudly.The club cracked on her shoulder and Val grunted in pain. The attacker lifted their club to swing again, but she was recovered now and lunged forward to tackle her target to the ground. The scalpel in her hand dug into the shoulder of the Webspinner and her talons tore at his clothes.

He tried to batter her with his club, but she was too close and his ineffectual swings glanced off her back harmlessly. She swiped her nails across his neck, tearing at the exposed flesh. The man gave a startled grunt and his free hand pulled at her robes, strength ebbing from him with every beat of his heart.

She stood as soon as she could, pulling his grasping hands free. The footsteps coming down the staircase were louder now, and Val had to move quick. She shrugged out of the bloodstained robes, leaving her in her undergarments. They may draw some questioning looks from people on the street, but if she got free of this place she couldn't care less how her reputation suffered.

Bloodstains covered her hands and forearms, her white hair was liberally spattered, and it still oozed down from the wound on her neck. She crept forward, standing, hidden, by the doorway near the staircase. She glanced back to ensure she hadn't left behind a trail of blood footprints or some such nonsense, and prepared to attack, her wings flaring slightly. She could examine the other hallway once she'd dealt with this new threat, whatever it was.

[Oberan]

The small room was just up ahead. So close, but so very far as well. Running into the basement had been a huge mistake in any other situation. Double so since Oberan was unfamiliar with the layout of the building. Exits and entrances that he imagined waiting for him up ahead may or may not be fictional. Turning back now was impossible though, the horde of Webspinners on his heels served as an impenetrable blockade. If he hadn’t been here for the mole, he’d never have cornered himself.

Well, at least he knew he always had a way out.

He glanced over his shoulder to gauge the distance between him and his pursuers. A couple were closing in, faster than the Mortalborn. They were sprinting to close the gap. To widen it, Oberan would have to speed up as well, something he couldn’t afford to do as it would tire him out too quickly. It would be impossible to outlast these guys at full speed.

All the Spinners needed to do was get close enough to grapple. In contrast, Oberan had to make sure he didn’t tire before them, as he did not know this area. They had the homefield advantage. In Etzos proper, the thief’d have no problems running at full throttle, hide in a dark corner, and give his pursuers the slip. Unfortunately, that proved rather difficult in a confined space.

So instead, he began spilling lead balls from his hands. Dozens and dozens at a time, seemingly appearing from out of thin air, rattling down onto the hard stones. More and more and more. They weren’t ideal ball bearings, but they were all he had. Still, too large or not, the sheer number of them made the floor quite a bit harder to traverse, forcing the Spinners to slow down a bit, lest they fall on their faces.

The doorway was only a few steps away.

In the middle of gloating as he heard someone violently meet the ground and cuss loudly, Oberan nearly missed the person-shaped shadow near the room’s entrance. Already in the middle of stepping through, the Mortalborn responded as fast as he could by throwing himself to the floor. Pain burned though his shoulder, skin suddenly exposed. He tumbled a couple times before righting himself, leaping to his feet immediately. Stance wide, hands defensive, flinching for a moment as he used his wounded shoulder.

Yet, before him was not a cultist wielding one or other bladed implement, but a mostly-naked flapper with his blood on her talons. On the floor were two dead cultists, battered and bloody. In the middle of the room stood a chair with leather bindings that had been cut through. He dropped out of the stance immediately, showing her he was no threat to her. Yes, this was the person he'd come looking for.

“You must be the mole,” he said in between quick breaths, “come with me if you want to live.”

There was an orb in his hand that hadn’t been there before. Oberan traced one finger over it with hasty motions, then tapped the surface of the item a couple times. Except for a slight flash, nothing happened.

“Fuck!”

Out of charge? Fuck, that’s right, he’d jumped a considerable distance only yesterday. The escape portal he’d set up was a couple miles out of Bolstum, in case Sintra had her people close off all exits. Now, not enough ether had been gathered yet to open a portal to that area.

“New plan; run!” He pushed her into the other hallway, breaking back into a run as well. The horde of Webspinners was streaming out into the chamber already. He was out of lead balls. Did he have anything else to slow them down? Think, think!

“I hope you know where this leads, because I have no clue!”

Despite the botched infiltration, despite the horde of Sintra’s agents cornering the two of them, despite the wound stabbing his shoulder, Oberan felt quite invigorated by the situation. Adrenaline was coursing freely through his veins, his whole body thrilled by all that’d happened. He never felt his Domain more strongly than in these circumstances. It buzzed and resonated, reinforcing the exhilaration.

“Have some of this!” he laughed, hurling flasks on the floor behind him. They shattered in hundreds of pieces with a mournful ringing noise. Slippery lamp oil pooled on the tiles. This should buy them some time.

[Vluharqih]

CREDIT

She reacted as soon as she saw movement, lashing out with her talons and thrusting herself forward. The newcomer tumbled, dodging the worst of her strike and she let out a faint, involuntary hiss. She tensed herself to leap again when she realized the man rolling across the floor wore no robes. Sure enough, as he rose, she saw him raise his hands defensively.

From the hallway he had just come from, another loud thud echoed, and more curses. Either they were tripping in their eagerness to get at her, or this man had done something to slow them down. But who was he?

Even as she stared at him, he dropped out of his stance and panted at her. “You must be the mole, come with me if you want to live.”

She relaxed out of her aggressive stance, letting her shoulder slump. Val did have to suppress a slight eye-roll at the dramatic sentence, a good line in a play for the dashing hero, come to save the damsel in distress. She glanced at herself, blood-covered and having already killed two Webspinners, and wondered at what kind of damsel she would make.

He suddenly had an orb in his hand, and Val frowned, not having seen him move. When he tapped it, tracing intricate symbols on its surface, a slight answering flash came from inside the orb, but nothing else. He swore, and, unsure, she frowned at him questioningly. "I take it that's not supposed to happen?" She said in a quiet voice, slightly scratchy from the cut through her neck.

He shouted and pointed for the far corridor, taking off and shoving at her nearly before Val had processed what he had said. Cursing, she took off, her wounds slowing her slightly, and she fumbled at the table, managing to scoop up two vials as she ran. Behind them, seen over her shoulder as she entered the hallway, the Webspinners were already pouring into the room she had left. Nearly a dozen of the black-cloaked bastards, she thought, far too many to fight and survive.

“I hope you know where this leads, because I have no clue!”

Val had no idea and was on the verge of shouting it back at him when they reached the first corner. This looked familiar. She skidded to a halt, wasting a precious two trills as she snapped her head in each direction before grabbing a handful of her rescuer's clothing and jerking him along behind her, making a sharp right turn. Behind her, she heard him shout something and a shattering noise made her guess he had thrown something. She didn't spare a trill to look, but bowed her head and ran on.

The direction she had chosen was good, this area looked even more familiar. Could she have come in this way? Desperately she wracked her brain for the layout she had seen upon entering, but her brain was still cloudly and sluggish to respond. Two more turns were made and Val could feel herself starting to slow down. The man beside her seemed full of energy, his eyes sparkling with what appeared to be enjoyment. Aelig's balls, was he smiling?

Val nearly ran past the door, snapping an arm out and catching the sill as she tried desperately to stop her headlong rush. Yes, it was the same office she had been in earlier. "Hey," she hissed at him,"in here."

She ducked into the room, thankful that they had put some distance between them and their pursuers. The door closed soundlessly behind her, Val's eyes already locked on the desk.

It was much the same as before. Sparsely ornamented, with a bed, fireplace, desk, wardrobe, and reading chair on a plain rug. A painting of a cluster of spiders hung over the fireplace, and there was a door set in the wall opposite them. Panting and nearly tripping over her own feet, she dashed over to the desk and snatched the letter, still sitting where she had set it down. "This is the proof, showing Sintra is a venomous, two-faced liar." She rasped, coughing again as a trickle of blood made its way down her nicked windpipe. Stomping footsteps began to echo down the hallway and Val gave her rescuer a glance and set her finger to her lips.

Slowly, she crept towards the wardrobe and opened it, revealing several sets of the long robes. Raising an eyebrow at him, she grabbed on and pulled it on, allowing it to settle on her shoulders, bunching over her wings. It was a terrible disguise, but it would work from a distance. She reached into the pocket, pulling out an odd set of earrings that tingled in her palm. They were of a metal she hadn't seen before, and quite unobtrusive. She let the fall, deciding to deal with them later. She held out another robe to her rescuer, hearing more running footsteps just outside the door they had entered through.

That was when Val noticed the child. The little girl who had opened the door for her when Val had first arrived at the safehouse. The child who had thrown pebbles at her as she had been tied up. That little girl was pushing herself up, rubbing at tired eyes as she squirmed out of the covers, but in a trill, they would be spotted. Val wasn't close enough to stop her from crying out and she desperately hoped her rescuer was faster than her.

[Oberan]

The both of them made a break for it, rushing out into the other hallway. Behind them, the Webspinners pursued, flowing into the torture chamber like a landslide. Oberan threw enough vials of oil on the floor to trap an area that would be difficult to leap over and avoid. Not much later, the first corner offered them a choice. Ms. Mole seemed to remember something, grabbing a handful of Oberan’s shirt to pull him in the right direction.

He followed her closely, every so often glancing backwards to keep an eye on the progress of the Webspinners. Thankfully, it seemed his obstructions had managed to slow them down somewhat. The Mole darted in a room to the side, and Oberan did as well a moment later. She closed the door silently. From what the Mortalborn could tell, this seemed to be a private room slash study for one of the higher ranked Spinners.

The urge to ask what they were doing here was rising, but catching his breath was more important at the moment. His charge seemed perfectly fine though, immediately rummaging through the stuff on the desk. Her hands fished out a letter.

Proof of Sintra’s deception? Perfect!

“I mean, her Domains kind of give it away, but sure.”

She coughed, and Oberan’s eyes fell on the cut across her neck. In the heat of the moment he’d failed to notice it before. Now that he had though, the wound seemed rather deep. It bled too.

“How the hell are you even standing with that wound?” It was less a question and more an expression of surprise. An injury like hers should have rendered her dying on the floor, but she’d just been running around like it was no big deal. Clearly it wasn’t as bad as it looked, which meant she’d been rather lucky.

Footsteps rushed past in the hallway, the both of them going silent immediately. Safe, for now.

She crept to the wardrobe, picking out some simple disguises. One was for him, which Oberan put in the Vault immediately, exchanging it for a set of bandages while his companion pulled robes over head.

“Hold on, I’m going to bandage your neck up real quick.” He might not be a doctor, but even he knew that it was better to stop the bleeding as fast as possible. No was not an answer, his hands quickly wrapping the bandages around her injury. Tight, which he hoped would help staunch the flood of blood quicker. Stabs of pain in his shoulder reminded him he should take care of his own wounds as well.

The lacerations on his shoulder weren’t too deep, though they spilled a lot of blood. His sleeve was drenched in crimson. More feet raced in the hallway outside the room, though the Webspinners did not seem to notice Oberan and the Mole were hiding in the office just yet.

However, from the corners of his eyes he spotted the Halvriel leap into action. A child was getting out of bed, eyes widening as she noticed the two intruders in front of her. Her mouth opened, and the beginning of a cry for help escaped. Oberan was too late to do anything about it, though he did try. One arm shot out instinctively, unnecessary though helpful for focus of his power. The girl slumped and crumpled, unconscious on the floor.

“You hear that?”

“It came from over there!”

“The office!”

“They’re in the office!”

“Over here, we’ve got them!”

Oberan spun on his heels, again reaching out with a hand towards the door. In it was a key that seemed to melt. The door shimmered for a moment, like the thin film on the surface of a soap bubble. A continuous tone beeped in his ears, accompanied by whispers in a tongue he did not understand, but recognized all the same.

Just in time.

The door handle rattled, violently pumped up and down, but the door itself did not budge. They threw themselves against it, to no avail. Someone yelled to get an axe. Soon after the bladed head of the weapon pushed through the wood. It pulled out, then struck a different spot. Again, and again. Yet, no splinters of the door rained down. The damaged portions remained in place, unmoving.

Oberan’s worry vanished. The seal held, the doorway was inaccessible. He grinned, then pumped about half of the Thrill syphoned from the little girl into the Mole.

“We’ve got a bit of time,” the Mortalborn said, eyeing the other door. He jammed a triangular doorstop underneath just to be sure. He had a couple keys remaining, and he’d rather save them for when they were actually needed. “She’ll be out for an hour or so,” he gestured to the girl, “and they can’t get in.”

Indeed, the Webspinners were still hacking away at the door, but while they did manage to damage it, the debris refused to be moved from their position. Oberan wrapped his shoulder in makeshift bandages, the pain only a dull ache at the back of his mind, suppressed by the syphoned Thrill.

“You know the way out, more or less, yes?” he asked, still keeping an eye on the door with the stopper. He did not introduce himself, figuring it would be best not to, if only so the Mole wouldn’t be able to tell anyone who’d given her additional evidence. Also, it really wasn’t wise to give the Webspinners outside any clues. “If you’re interested, I’ve got some more proof of SIntra’s machinations for you. We’ve got to escape first though.”

[Vluharqih]

CREDIT

Her rescuer's surpise at her wound gave Val a pause. It wasn't good. If he got too close or knew what he was about, he'd know something was off. Most common people didn't know much about Yludih, but demon, abomination, and unnatural were all appropriate terms she'd heard before. Regardless, she let him bind the wounds, a largely pointless gesture, but it would hide the wound when they made it to street level, and might help with the clotting, though that had already been going quite well, she thought. He tightened the bandages a bit too much, but she made no complaint. She'd be able to move her head around a bit more freely and she nodded her thanks to him, only then pausing and frowning.

She could have sword that she handed him a robe, yet there was none near him. And for that matter, where had he gotten the bandages from? She had been in this room earlier and hadn't seen any signs of anything like htat, though she supposed she could have missed it. She was getting ready to question him when the child moved.

The man threw out his hand, the child dropping limp, and possibly lifeless, on the floor. Her eyes grew wide and she took an involuntary half step backward. A mage? she hadn't had much experience with magic users, but what could one of those people want with her? Yet again, her question was interrupted by the shouts from beyond the door. She cursed, her voice oddly strained with the tight bandages, and moved to shove the wardrobe in front of the door, only to see the mage throw out his hand yet again. The door shimmered, an oily residue seeming to coat it, and the handle moved.

Too late, she thought.

But miraculously, the door remained closed. They had just entered and had not locked it behind them, yet the door itself was firmly shut. "What are you?" Val said, turning to face the man. Her eyes searched his face, but she could think of no reason why the Webspinners would stage something like this, nor any scenario that could have been worse for her. No matter his goals, she might as well accept his help for now, though Val knew there would be a price. There always was.

The blade of the axe head thumping through the door made her jump, sure that it would soon fall apart, but somehow it didn't do anything. Again, the blade of the axe poked through the door, but the splinters and woodchips stayed locked in place, held by whatever power this "Hero" had. As he turned back to Val, she felt her pulse increase, her energy spike. He had done something to her, she was sure of it. Despite being exhausted after crashing through the doorway less than a bit before, she now felt refreshed and ready to run.

She listened in silence as he spoke again, her mind reeling with the repercussions of this. Dully, she strode back over to the desk, but was unable to find anything else of use. Belatedly, she went over to check the child, finding her unconscious and breathing. She dragged the body across the magically locked doorway, stretching her out so any chasing after them would stumble over her, slowing their pursuit. Finally, the man seemed to be finished his self treatment and Val strode over, poking at it with a practised air. "It'll do, though you'll need some stitches once we're through here." She paused, feeling slightly awkward. "Sorry about that, by the way."

"As for how to get out, yes. Though I don't know from this door, we shouldn't wait. It won't be long before they think to come block this entrance too, if they haven't already."

His words made her prick up and turn towards him sharply, taking her eyes off their exit door. "Who are you, really. Seems a bit too convenient for you to magically arrive just as I was captured, and for you to have more information that I so desperately need. Why do you hate Sintra?"

Following her own advice, she scarcely waited for his reply before striding over to the door and opening it, peering out cautiously. Clear.

She dashed out, moving as quickly as she could. The energy she had been given made her feel alive, and she put it to good use. They tore down hallways, the exit dead ahead. "There it is," Val gasped, slowing as a large figure dashed out from a side hallway, his deep voice calling out, "Here they are! Viktor!"

His bulk filled most of the hallway, not halting as she drew near. When she was ten meters away, she tensed her legs and readied herself to spring at the last barrier to their freedom.

[Oberan]

“What are you?” the Avriel said.

Oberan did not really know what to answer. Perhaps he’d have bragged about his unconventional parentage if she were Naerikk, for kicks, but not in this lion’s den. It probably was not a good idea anyway. It might be seen as more Immortal meddling, which could have an effect on how she viewed everything else he told her. With a mission that required him to remove Sintra from Etzos’ seat of power, it just might give the Archanid Immortal ideas to convince the doubters that she was their best bet. After all, if Audrae had her eye on Etzos, it surely would need to adopt the culture of Augiery and worship the Shadow Queen. Things Sintra would never force upon her dear Etzori populace.

“Is that important?” he shot back, focusing on his wounds.

She did her own thing for a while in the meantime, inspecting his handiwork once they both were done. Apparently he’d need stitches, and the Mortalborn sighed. He really disliked the feeling of string pulling on his flesh, whether it helped heal his injuries or not.

“Don’t worry about it. Could have been worse.”

The both of them headed for the door, but his offer of more dirt on Sintra made her turn around. Suspicion was clearly bubbling around in her mind. Oberan raised his hands defensively. She did not stand around to wait for him to respond, so he simply followed her through the doorway as he spoke.

“Oh, I don’t hate Sintra. I don’t like her, but I don’t hate her. She’s whatever, I guess. This is just business. I’m just a liaison. A hired hand. I was approached by someone who suspected Sintra might have been tricking us all. She had an idea where Sintra might have hidden the evidence, and I was to find it and hand it over to someone willing to use it to expose her.”

He had to get the words out quickly in between breaths, and stopped when the bulky figure appeared before them. The exit was right there, blocked from view by the large man. How to deal with this guy? Oberan could easily knock him out, like he had done to the child. However, even when splitting the Thrill between himself and his companion, it would nearly incapacitate themselves when the effect wore off. A most unpleasant experience he did not want to go through again.

The woman seemed to be planning to evade. His size would make that a difficult task, but trying certainly couldn’t hurt. Oberan was confident in his own ability to bounce off the walls, darting up and over the giant before he knew what was happening, especially with his physical prowess amplified by the syphoned Thrill. But could his new companion do the same?

Perhaps it was better to bring down this goliath, just in case. In one hand appeared a leather sling, in his other a large stone. Saving some of the lead ball would have been a good idea, as those were heavier and more dense. Still, a rock would serve too. After loading the rock in the pouch, he spun the weapon above his head, creating a low whistle as more and more momentum was generated.

Usually, the Mortalborn was not a great shot. Moving targets were difficult to hit, as were small ones. Launching a projectile in a straight line at a gigantic target that could not dodge to either side however? Now that should not be a problem at all.

“Duck!” he warned his companion, right before hurling the large stone in the desired direction with non-insubstantial speed.