"I... think I'd rather follow the tracks." Blake made a face. "In my experience, spies aren't treated terribly well."
A logical conclusion.
She took a step before pausing, looking down at the Flame clutched in her hand. "But if I'm going to be fighting..." A moment's consideration and she reached up, pulling the bow from her head and revealing the cat ears jutting from her hair. A few seconds later and the ribbon was securely wrapped around the Flame as a cradle, and she tied the ends to her belt, allowing the Flame to rest there. She swayed experimentally, feeling the shifts in weight... and satisfied, she nodded once before continuing on.
Following the hunting party proved to be relatively simple. The tracks were fresh, after all, and Blake had not forgotten her old training. More importantly, as she continued onward, the echoes of magic rippled on the edge of her senses... magic that tasted of judgement and binding oath, so unlike anything she'd felt before... For a moment, she paused. When did I start considering the 'taste' of magic...? She shook her head; it wasn't the time to consider that. Especially when the source of the echoes drew closer.
As she crested a hill and looked down, she was struck by the sheer number of Grimm swarming the field before her. Her eyes swept across them, instinctively cataloging – no gleam of bone armor caught her attention, which meant the swarm was without any perceivable Alpha Grimm. That's... odd. Were every one of these Grimm born that recently...? Inevitably, her eyes were drawn to the center of the swarm, where a large ring of figures in shining armor stood. With enormous shields they pushed back the tide of Grimm, thrusting large spears into the field and methodically cutting them down. Still, the crush of bodies pushed them back, and the circle continued to slowly collapse...
Until a figure in the center raised its sword above its head and she heard the sound of a voice. The distance robbed it of any meaning, but it must have been a command. She felt a sweep of magic in the air, resonating with each of the figures below as their shields lit. As one, the soldiers – for what else could she call them? – slammed their shields into the ground, and there was an explosion of light and sound that pushed the Grimm all around them backwards, singing them with its power. A moment of recovery and the spears came down, their blades blazing with light, and the entire circle thrust outward as lances weaved of light seared through the beasts that surrounded them.
The way the Grimm are moving... there's something missing here. They seem so clumsy – interrupting her thoughts, one of the Beowolves surged out, grasping the end of an outstretched spear between its teeth. With a tug, one of the soldiers was torn free of the ring and pulled out of range, and the black shapes flooded in towards him.
She could have waited. She could have gathered more information; who these soldiers were, why they were here, what their goals were. Could have... but did not.
The shadows carried her down the hill.
Geran stumbled, his knee scraping across the dirt as he used his shield to brace against the pulling of the beast and struggled to regain his footing even as they began to surround him. An experimental pull on his spear failed to move it, and in a decisive movement he released it, his suddenly free hand drawing forth the thin blade at his belt. He slashed to one side, catching one of the beasts across its mask; the Princess' blessing still flowed through him, clinging to his equipment, and the brightness of Her soul seared at the Grimm with a hissing sound, driving it back as it growled in pain.
His attention was torn away as a claw scraped across the armor on his back, the force of it pushing him forward and off balance. He swung with his shield, but without others to guard his flanks it was clumsy and unwieldy – he defended his right side with more strikes from his short blade, but against the numbers he was facing it was a matter of time before they overwhelmed him. He backed away, fighting for every step, hoping his comrades in the ring would thin the numbers behind him and allow him to rejoin them, or the Princess would close in with the armor of her Soul.
And if they did not, and she did not, then he would kill and disable as many of the beasts as he could. He pivoted, striking out with his shield as he cleaved through a claw, slapping away gleaming fangs with the flat of his blade on his backswing.
When he was shoved from behind, stumbling and losing his grip on his shield, he grit his teeth. When the claw came for his throat, he leaned back, letting it pass beneath him as he lunged, burying the tip of his blade in a crimson eye. And as he felt the fangs close on his shoulder, finally piercing through his armor and crushing the joint, he refused to scream.
When the shadow fell over him, he looked up, prepared to spit in the face of the beast... and instead, found himself staring at a black shape falling from the sky. As his brain struggled to process the sight before him, he found his gaze drawn to the ears atop the figure's head. What is a Wilder doing here...? The hair on his arms stood up suddenly as the world around him twisted, spears of pure blackness lancing out from all around him and shredding the hide of the beasts around him. A moment later and they curled in, cushioning the landing of the Wilder as she plunged into the darkness without a care.
The dark shapes drew into themselves like liquid as she rose, wrapped in dark ribbons. A black hand shot out, catching the fangs of the beast behind her as her claws sunk deep into its hide before she crushed its skull into the dirt at her feet. She rose once more, the dark shape at her wrist writhing for a moment before a bladed shape began to emerge.
Hands caught Geran beneath his arms and began to pull him back towards the ring of soldiers, and he could do nothing but watch as the Wilder carved through the beasts like chaff.
Blake spun, her blade twisting slightly to curve into the vulnerable spot where the Beowolf's armored mask gave way to the Grimm's equivalent of flesh. She breathed calmly and evenly as she confirmed her suspicions. They're... slower. Weaker. No wonder these men can fight them without Aura... dangerous as it is. She frowned slightly as she remembered the man with blood pouring from his shoulder. If she'd been a second later, he'd likely be dead – as it was, she could only hope they had some method of healing him. We need to learn to heal soon; I hope that the others are okay after the battle...
At the time of our departure, they were not critically injured.
In her mind, she nodded; externally, she did not waste the movement. Weak as the Grimm were, there were still plenty of them, and she would continue to focus until there were not. She spared a glance for the soldiers, but it seemed they'd rallied – and the figure in the center, with the broad-bladed sword, had exited the ring and was peering at her. She could feel the swirl of magic as it built, and the blade began to glow brightly. For a moment, the Grimm around her cast long shadows that Blake stole with her own.
Then, with a wordless cry, the figure swung, and a wave of light scoured a swath of Beowolves out of existence. The power behind that spell was considerable, and Blake found herself glad that it had not been aimed at her. Still, with her flank completely cleared, she could finally focus. She turned to the remaining Grimm and reached out with both her physical hand and her mind. Her shadow, newly bolstered with all the stolen darkness, surged out from beneath her as she guided it. A field of dark thorns blossomed before her, the black of the Grimm's blood impossible to see against the field of darkness that stretched beneath them. She held it there for a moment, breathing in the strangely satisfying feeling of letting her magic loose once more. Then she relaxed, the thorns withdrawing and leaving behind a field of collapsing Grimm as her shadow once again wrapped itself beneath her.
With a nod, she turned to face the remnants of the dark tide.
As the last of the Grimm dispersed into dark mist, the soldiers formed a loose semicircle facing her, with the armored figure in front. From this distance, it became clear it was a woman – though the armor was not particularly feminine in appearance, it was slim and the figure's posture clearly feminine. As she removed her helmet, revealing soft features, blonde hair, and a piercing silver gaze, Blake's guess was confirmed.
"I admit I never expected to see one of my men saved by a Wilder. Still, you have my thanks." The woman's voice was smooth and commanding, backed up by a firm confidence. Still, something about that word, and the way she said it, made Blake's eyes narrow. "May I ask why you're here? It's rare to see one of your people alone."
Blake's stance shifted slightly as her eyes swept across the men confronting her. Several of the soldiers tensed, their grips on their spears tightening. "Is my presence an issue?"
The woman blinked, surprised, before she took a look around her. With a chuckle, she sheathed her sword, and her men slowly relaxed. "...No, just surprising. Your people so rarely enter any of our grounds, least of all plains like these, and we've never encountered one of your Hunters before. Forgive my men; we've had some unfortunate encounters with tribes in the past, and we're all on edge after the battle." She raised a hand, palm open, fingers straight, and thumb curled in. Holding it in front of her chest, she bowed very slightly. "I am Veve of Ciel. How shall I refer to you?"
For a moment, Blake remained, her stare impassive. Then she nodded, relaxing her stance. Her mind rapidly flicked through options for her introduction. Ciel could refer to a family, or a Kingdom, or... anything else. Still... the way she'd referred to tribes... There was something that should sound reasonable. "Blake of Obsidian." There was a strange feeling that drew her attention away for a moment, as magic shifted in the air nearby, and she finally realized where they were standing – not particularly far from where she had arrived in this time, the day before. When she turned her attention back to the soldiers, she found Veve had noticed the sensation as well.
"...Between your own magic, and the fact that you felt that... Would I be wrong to assume you are here to investigate the Event as well?" When Blake didn't answer, Veve merely nodded to herself. "...Hmm. Very well, Blake of Obsidian. I must make my own examinations of the magic in the air here, as I suspect you must as well. However, I owe you gratitude for the safety of my subordinate. With our horses slain, we will be making camp here; you are welcome to share it with us for the night, whenever your duties here are complete. In the morning... we shall consider what comes then. For now, I must direct my men." With a nod, she turned and began giving instructions, and shortly afterward her men had spread out, gathering supplies from fallen horses.
Blake, offered an easy explanation for herself, simply moved closer to the weakness in time that marked her arrival.
So they can feel this? And to so casually recognize my magic... it must not be so rare in this time.
Their magic is different from yours, however. Even if they cannot tell yet.
How? It feels... different, but I can't pin down the methods.
It is a complex difference. The magic they have used draws from Aura and intertwines with it.
And mine draws from you. Hmm. Slowly, she knelt on the ground. She was meant to be studying the disturbance, after all... and it was too convenient an excuse to leave unused. Do you know any context for this time? The way she referred to me as a 'Wilder' and talked about tribes...
Nothing of use. I had not yet awakened or come to study the life of this world; even if I had, without an Arbiter any information would be broad.
...Right. The Flame of this time is still inactive... Well, I'm supposed to be sharing their camp. I suppose I'll see what I can learn then. They didn't seem hostile... For now, we have some undisturbed time. Is there anything it can be useful for?