==|== VERDANT DAWN ==|==
-|- Prologue -|-
A thick, heavy fog hung low over the ocean like a funeral shroud, enveloping anything that dared to brave its depths in its ghostly embrace. Thick tendrils of mist snaked through the air, obscuring all but the closest objects from view and tinting the world an ethereal grey, shapes, and colours blurring and fading, if they could even be seen at all. The few sounds that penetrated the cloud were muted and distorted, turning bird cries and waves crashing into frightful cries of unknown horrors.
A ship drifted quietly across the ocean, barely visible through the fog thanks to the lanterns hanging from its bow and stern. Across the deck, the crew worked in morose silence, the oppressive weight of the fog weighing down on them, smothering any desire to converse with each other, instead paranoidly scanning the fog clouds around them, as though nightmarish creatures hid within. At the helm of the ship, the captain manned the wheel, wrapped in a heavy woollen overcoat to ward off the chill. Beside him was another crew member, holding a lantern in an effort to fight back the fog.
"Captain…" The crew member began, his voice barely louder than a whisper, "This fog, do you think it's magic?"
"Of course it's bloody magic," The captain growled, squinting his eyes in an effort to see ahead of him, "I've sailed this way a thousand times over, and I've never seen this before,"
"What's causing it?" The crewmate asked with a shiver, half from the cold and half in fear.
"How in the hell would I know?" The captain snapped back, turning to face the crewmate with a scowl "If all you're going to do is make idle comments, why don't you make yourself useful, and keep an eye off the bow, to make sure we don't run afoul of anything,"
"Like an island or something?" The crewmate guessed.
"There's no land for miles around, halfwit," The captain scoffed, "We'll be sailing for another week at least before we hit anything,"
The crewmate nodded in understanding, and wandered off towards the bow of the ship, disappearing into the fog. The captain muttered a curse as he turned his attention back to the wheel.
"Bloody crew'll be the death of me," He spat, reaching inside of his overcoat and producing a small metal flask. Keeping one hand on the wheel, he unscrewed the cap of the flask and took a long swig.
"A little early for that, don't you think?" A voice drifted up from the fog as a figure emerged. The captain's eyes narrowed as he scowled down at the figure, recognising the voice.
"It's a little early for your infernal commentary," the captain replied, as the first mate made his way onto the quarterdeck, "If you're not here to take over the wheel, get back in the cabin and make sure we're still on course,"
"Your mood's fouler than this weather," The first mate countered, "We're on track, and even you couldn't change that in only a few minutes,"
"Fine then," The captain growled, "if you're not here to take over the wheel, get back in the cabin before I have you keelhauled,"
"You'd never be able to sail this ship without me," The first mate replied with a shrug, "Especially if you keep drinking at the helm."
"It'd be worth it to shut you up," The captain muttered, as he took another swig from his flask.
"I'd be wary of going through that too quickly," The first mate warned, "The wind's only barely strong enough to keep us moving, we'll be underway for longer than we expected, and the crew will mutiny if we run out mid-voyage,"
"If they worry that much about running out midway, they can get below deck and row," The captain growled, but in spite of his threat, he screwed the cap back onto the flask and tucked it back into the depths of his overcoat. He sighed, and leaned against the wheel, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, "First the blockades, then this wind, now the fog. If one more thing goes awry, we won't make it to port till winter,"
"The crew thinks we've been cursed," The first mate stated, moving to stand beside the captain.
"Do you?" The captain replied, eyeing the first mate warily. The first mate shrugged in response.
"I'm no mage, I can't speculate on curses," He retorted, "It's been a strange journey, but we live in strange times,"
"Captain!" A shout came from somewhere within the fog, interrupting their conversation, "Land ho!"
"What are you idiots shouting about?" The captain roared back, "There's no land here!"
"He's right, Captain!" Another voice joined in, "There's land just ahead of us!"
The captain swore, letting go of the wheel, which the first mate dutifully grabbed hold of, and storming towards the bow of the ship.
"If even a single one of you ingrates have been sneaking into the rum supplies today, I'll have every bastard's son on this ship flogged!" the captain threatened, shoving past crew members as he made his way toward the bow of the ship. "I told you, there's no-" He stopped suddenly, stunned by what he saw before him.
Where there once had been nothing but ocean, an island now stood, an ominous monolith emerging out of the water like a fortress. The fog clouds that had plagued the ship's journey surrounded it, but the island itself was clear, as though sitting in the eye of a storm. The island itself was huge, stretching further than the eye could see, with rolling hills, dense forests, towering mountains, and golden sands. Illuminated by the sunlight beaming down through the gap in the clouds above, the island didn't even seem to be real, more akin to a mirage or illusion.
The crewmate who had sounded the alarm turned to face the captain. "What do you make of it, Captain?" He asked, breaking the silence that had fallen over the entire ship. "You said there wasn't any land around here,"
"There shouldn't be…" The captain began, his attention still focused on the island, "But it can't be an illusion, no-one could make one this big,"
"Have we drifted off course?" Another crew member suggested.
"Not unless that mage's map is faulty," The first mate answered, pushing his way to the front of the ship beside the captain, "And it hasn't led us wrong so far,"
"What should we do, Captain?" Another crewmate asked, turning to face the captain with a questioning look.
The captain took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and turned to face the crew.
"Drop anchor, furl the sails!" He commanded, "And run out the longboats! we're going ashore."
= ONE YEAR LATER =
A ship sailed quickly across the ocean, outlined against the horizon by the morning sun. Across the deck, the crew were lively, conversing with each other, or occasionally breaking out into sea shanties as they worked. Though barely audible against the waves crashing against the bow of the ship, it was evident the crew was in good spirits. The captain stood at the helm of the ship, holding the wheel steady as he peered off into the horizon, keeping an eye out for the ship's destination.
"We're getting close. Should be in port in an hour or so," The captain said, turning to address the man who stood beside him.
He was tall, standing at about six foot, with a solid build, broad shoulders, and a muscular physique. His hair was a deep, dark black, with a short, rough haircut, as though done in a hurry, without any particular care. He was dressed in a formal suit, though where the tie should have been, there was instead a bone amulet, carved in the shape of a large fishhook and hung on a simple leather cord. He stood out from the other passengers on the boat, though it was clear that he wasn't particularly comfortable in the attire, constantly adjusting the tie and fiddling with the cuffs. Around the collar and cuffs of his shirt, the tips of what appeared to be tattoos were occasionally visible, the midnight black ink contrasting against his tanned skin. He was deep in thought, absently staring off into the distance, but the captain's words shook him from his musings.
He turned to face the captain, a warm smile growing on his face, "Glad to hear," he replied, his amber eyes focusing on the captain, "You make pretty good time, I was worried we'd still be at sea for quite some time,"
"We caught a lucky break," The captain replied with a shrug, "Mistshroud Island usually plays havoc with the winds, one minute they'll be threatening to tear the mast from the deck, the next you'll be sitting in dead air,"
"Mistshroud is a strange name, don't you think?" The man asked, "I mean, there's not even a cloud for miles around,"
"Not anymore, there isn't," The captain answered, " But when it first appeared, the fog was so thick you couldn't see from one end of the ship to the other. We damn near crashed into it. It wasn't till about six or so months later that the fog began to clear up, and by then, the name had stuck,"
"We?" The man asked in surprise, "You found the island?"
"Aye," The captain said, "Found it, charted up maps for it, spread the story, everything. Even had a nice spot of land staked out for a fishing cabin, but in the end, the Magic Council made us a fine offer to buy up the maps. Made enough money to retire on the spot,"
"Why keep sailing then?"
"Ah, you know how it goes. Life gets stale, stuck in one spot. I'll wait till I can't do it anymore before I pack up and quit," The captain said, turning his attention back to the horizon. A shape on the horizon, rapidly growing in size, caught his eye. "There!" He said, pointing towards the shape, "Mistshroud Island, dead ahead,"
The shape grew and grew as they sailed closer, till it was finally close enough to make out detail. Most of the island was still covered in green, a dense woodland stretching from the shore to the mountains, but nestled in a small cove, a rough settlement sat, the various buildings standing in stark contrast to the surrounding vegetation. A long wharf stretched out from the centre of the town, where there were a few other ships docked.
The man turned to face the captain again, "Thanks, Captain, for the speedy journey, and the conversation,"
"No trouble," The captain replied, his eyes not leaving the horizon as he steered the ship towards port, "Now get out of my hair so I can concentrate,"
The crew was well-practised at docking and unloading the ship, the call of taverns and alehouses undoubtedly helping expedite the process, and before long, the suited man found himself making his way down the gangway onto the rough-hewn planks of the wharf, a drawstring travelling pack slung over one shoulder. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, a smile growing on his face.
"So, this is Sirocco, huh? Smells like opportunity," He said quietly to himself. He finished his walk down the wharf and began to make his way through the wide streets towards the centre of town, scanning the rudimentary signs hanging above doorways, advertising the businesses within.
"Should be around here somewhere," He muttered to himself as he searched, "Where the hell is-" He stopped as he exited the street into a plaza, and spotted the location in question.
A plain wood and stone building, mostly indistinct from the other buildings around it, save for the large window occupying most of the front wall. Through the window, a loose collection of tables and chairs was visible, along with a few customers, and a lone waitress standing at the counter. The entrance was visible at the side of the building, decorated with a crudely made sign, carved to resemble a gust of wind. "Ah-ha! Spring Breeze Café!" He exclaimed, loud enough to draw the attention of some passers-by. He ignored their questioning looks as he strolled across the open plaza towards the café. He made his way around to the side entrance. As he opened the door, the small bell nestled above rang quietly, drawing the attention of the waitress and other patrons.
"Hello there!" The waitress greeted the man, "Welcome to Spring Breeze Café, can I get you anything?"
"Not right now, thanks, I'm waiting for a meeting here," He replied, "I'll order when my friend arrives, if that's alright,"
"Of course," She replied, bowing her head politely, "Please, take a seat,"
The man nodded in reply, and made his way over to one of the far tables, claiming the seat facing out the window, and gently placing his travel pack on the floor beside him. He relaxed into the chair, leaning back and gazing out the window, watching the birds fly high above the plaza outside.
The ringing of the door opening drew the man's attention, and before he could turn to see who had just entered the café, he heard the newcomer make his way over to his table, confirming the suited man's suspicions.
"Are you… Sumi?" The newcomer asked,
The suited man smiled and turned to address the newcomer. "You must be Alan's friend," He replied. He gestured for the newcomer to take a seat, "Please, call me Cyrus,"
The newcomer paused for a moment before introducing himself, seeming a little put off by Cyrus's behaviour, "I'm Mr. Harpe," He said finally, as he sat down opposite Cyrus, "I didn't realise you and Mr. Sica were on a first name basis, Mr. Sumi,"
Cyrus let out a small laugh, "My last name isn't Sumi, that's an old name, from my previous work. Let's skip the formality, if we can't trust each other with our first names, how can we trust each other while working together?"
Mr. Harpe gave Cyrus a quizzical look, but eventually, he relented, "Alright then, Cyrus… call me Frank,"
The waitress made her way over to Cyrus and Frank's table. "Are you ready to order now?" she asked, a smile still present on her face.
"Of course," Cyrus answered, "I'd like an espresso,"
"A pot of green tea, please," Frank added.
The waitress nodded and left to prepare their drinks. Cyrus turned to Frank,
"Green tea huh? Wouldn't have picked you for the type,"
"It is supposed to help you relax," Frank replied with a sigh, massaging his temples with the tips of his fingers, "I don't know if it really works, but I'll give anything a try at this point. I feel like I haven't slept for a year,"
"Since this island was discovered?" Cyrus guessed, and Frank murmured in agreement.
"Every other merchant's guild was too tied up in investments and such, I was the only one liquid enough to be able to stake a claim here,"
"Has founding a guild really been that much of a hassle?"
"You have no idea," Frank replied in a deadly serious tone, "I hope you don't like your natural hair colour because you'll be going grey before you realise it,"
"Sounds dreadful," Cyrus replied, "But I'm sure our partnership will make both our lives easier."
"One can only hope," Frank replied.
The waitress returned with their orders, and the two men fell into a comfortable silence as they enjoyed their drinks. Cyrus took this opportunity to study the other man. He was probably only a few years older than Cyrus, but in comparison, he looked ancient, his face etched with deep lines, and his brown hair tinged with streaks of grey. He was dressed in a suit, but wore it with comfort and ease, clearly more used to the restrictive formal attire than Cyrus was. Heavy bags sat under his green eyes, and he looked almost ready to fall asleep right there in his seat.
The bell sounded once again, signalling the door had opened, and Cyrus couldn't help but turn to see who the new arrival was. It was a woman, if he had to guess, though it was hard to tell, as she was dressed black hooded cloak that obscured practically every detail about her. The only visible detail were the tips of her silver coloured hair peeking out from underneath the hood. Cyrus felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise, his eyes narrowing in suspicion as he watched the woman talk quietly to the waitress. He tried his best to discern what they were talking about, but he couldn't make it out over the conversations of the other patrons. His suspicions only grew as he watched her produce a stack of Jewels, and hand it over to the waitress, who wore a concerned expression as she accepted the money.
As Frank finished his tea, he cleared his throat to recapture Cyrus's attention. Reaching into the depths of his suit jacket, he produced a scroll. He set his pot and cup to the side of the table, and unfurled the scroll, laying it out on the table facing Cyrus.
"A binding contract?" Cyrus asked, "And a very well-made one at that, I'm impressed,"
"I take it you're familiar with them then?"
"Somewhat," Cyrus replied, "I have a… shall we say, close friend. She's a subject matter expert, at least compared to me."
"Well, this contract serves to make our partnership official. I also have the deed to your guild hall and the plot of land it sits on,"
"Fantastic," Cyrus exclaimed with a grin, "I hope it wasn't too difficult to get what I requested,"
"Somewhat, but not enough to complain about," Frank answered, "I believe it will be worth the effort in the end." He reached into his coat again and produced another scroll, which he unfurled and handed over to Cyrus.
"An office and detached residence," Cyrus read aloud from the scroll, "Two dormitory wings detached from the main building, a fortified basement shelter, and an outdoor training courtyard,"
Frank nodded in confirmation, "I've arranged for some supplies to be delivered, but in the future, you'll have to source them yourself, so I suggest rationing them until the industry here has developed a little more."
"Well, I think that's everything," Cyrus replied. He touched his finger to the bottom of the contract and began to sketch out his signature, his fingertip leaving behind a trail of ink as it moved.
"Neat trick," Frank commented as Cyrus finished signing.
"It comes in handy more often than you'd think," Cyrus replied. He handed the scroll back to Frank, who rolled it up and returned it to the inside of his jacket.
"Maybe more often than you'd think, personally, I imagine I'd be making use of it on the daily," Frank retorted.
"I suppose you would, you probably sign a lot more contracts than I do," Cyrus grinned, "Maybe if this whole guild thing doesn't shake out, I can find work as a novelty pen,"
Frank chuckled, "I doubt it would pay nearly as well, but it's certainly a position you're uniquely qualified for,"
Cyrus and Frank shook hands, and then Frank stood up out of his seat, letting out a weary groan as he rose.
"I think that's all we had to discuss, but if anything else comes up, don't feel concerned about reaching out," Frank said, smoothing out some creases in his jacket, "I wish you luck with your guild, Cyrus,"
"Thanks," Cyrus replied, "I hope you get a chance to relax now, Frank,"
The corners of Frank's mouth twitched upwards into a wry smile.
"One can only hope," He replied, "See you around, Mr. Cyrus,"
Cyrus watched as Frank walked out of the café, but as he left, he couldn't help but feel a growing sense of unease. His instincts were alight, screaming at him that there was something wrong, but he couldn't quite put a finger on what the issue was. He glanced at his empty coffee cup, and turned to look around for the waitress when the problem finally clicked.
The café was completely empty.
Cyrus jerked his head back just in time to avoid the dagger as it sped through the air, embedding itself in the wall beside him. He glanced in the direction the projectile had come from, trying to spot the attacker, but a brief flicker of movement drew his attention back to the seat opposite him, which he now found occupied by who he could only assume was the silver haired woman from earlier.
She'd removed her cloak, and now Cyrus could get a proper look at his attacker. In addition to her silver hair, she had pale skin and deep red eyes that seemed to stare straight into Cyrus's soul. She was dressed in a black, form-fitting shirt that left her shoulders exposed, with matching fingerless gloves that covered her hands where the sleeves ended, all accented with red highlights. To top it all off, Cyrus couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at the red flower hairpin on the right side of her head.
Both her elbows were propped up on the table, with one hand holding a matching dagger, and the other supporting her chin as she inspected Cyrus, a sly smile on her face.
"Shall we get started now? Or would you rather finish your drink?"
Cyrus reached over, and yanked the dagger free from the wall. It was exquisitely crafted, lightweight, durable, and perfectly balanced for throwing, with a cruciform hilt and a blackened leather wrap around the handle. He spun the knife in his hand and offered it hilt-first to the woman.
"Already finished," Cyrus replied, a smile growing on his face to match his opponent, "But I appreciate the courtesy,"
The woman's expression didn't change as she took the dagger, lazily spinning it between her fingers. Cyrus took his cup and placed it on the table behind him, out of harm's way, before turning back to face the woman.
"Alright," He said, rolling his shoulders in preparation, "Whenever you're re-"
Before Cyrus could finish his sentence, the woman began her assault. The woman flipped the table up into the air, and launched it towards Cyrus with a powerful kick. Cyrus swore in surprise as he stood up out of his seat. He spun, grabbing the back of the chair as he turned, and swung it into the table, shattering both into an explosion of wood and shrapnel. Through the cloud of splinters, a flash of silver caught his eye, and he ducked down, barely dodging the dagger as it sliced through his jacket and suit, leaving a shallow cut on his left shoulder.
"Come on, really?" Cyrus demanded, as he shrugged off his jacket, "This was my only suit,"
"I'll be sure to get you measured for a new one," The woman replied in a suggestive tone, as she settled down into a combat stance, holding her second dagger in a forward grip, "You'll need it for your funeral,"
Cyrus didn't reply, instead dropping into a boxers stance, still holding his discarded jacket in one hand. The two opponents remained still for a moment, carefully watching each other for any signs of movement, before Cyrus launched into action.
He threw his jacket towards the woman to distract her, and charged forward after it, ducking low and aiming for her legs. She didn't take the bait, instead jumping forward and flipping over Cyrus, scoring a cut down his back as she went. Cyrus turned to face her just in time to block the follow up attack, shifting the dagger thrust just enough to avoid another cut.
"Well damn, if you were just trying to get me out of the suit, all you had to do was ask," Cyrus quipped, as he grabbed the woman's arm and yanked, pulling her off balance and throwing her towards the café window. She rolled to regain her balance, and came to her feet just in front of the café window. Cyrus grabbed a handful of the ruined fabric of his shirt, and tore it off, revealing what lay underneath.
The tattoos that began at his neck and cuffs extended across the entirety of his upper body, hiding his natural skin tone under a sea of midnight black ink. The tattoos seemed to shift as he moved, the ink taking on a prismatic quality as the daylight shone on them. Cyrus closed his eyes and sighed in relief as he stretched, "Oh damn that suit was uncomfortable," He announced. He opened his eyes, and glanced towards the woman, who's attention seemed to be focused on his now revealed body. "Enjoying the view?" Cyrus joked with a grin, taking a moment to pose and flex his muscles. His grin only grew as he saw the blush growing on the woman's face. As soon as he saw her mouth open to reply, he charged, aiming to take advantage of her distraction. Unfortunately, whatever momentary charm he'd managed to work on her was short lived. As soon as Cyrus got close enough to make an attack, the woman jolted forward, closing the gap between the two combatants. Cyrus cursed under his breath, realising the trap he'd just fallen into, but instead of launching an attack of her own, the woman's hands latched onto his shoulders. Cyrus didn't even have the time to blink in surprise before the woman pulled him forward into a passionate kiss.
The next thing Cyrus knew, his opponent had grabbed him by the head. With a deft backwards roll and a strong kick, she launched him through the café window, shattering the glass and sending him tumbling out into the plaza beyond. He lay dazed in a pile of broken glass, a dumb smile on his face, but after a moment, he began to regain his senses. He climbed back to his feet, wincing at the carnage his short flight had inflicted on the exterior of the café.
The woman emerged from the ruined café window, broken glass crunching under her feet. The daggers she'd been wielded had been sheathed, and now she carried a long, straight sword in one hand. It appeared rather plain, and somewhat flawed, the sunlight glinting off what seemed like a collection of scratches and imperfections in the polished metal of the blade. But Cyrus wasn't fooled, recognising the intricate patterns of enchanting runes, hidden within the otherwise random markings along the blade. He wasn't close enough to decipher the nature of the weapon's enchantments, but it was enough to make him wary, the reflections glinting like moonlight in the eyes of a predator.
"That's a little unfair, don't you think?" He called across the plaza, brushing off some of the shards of glass.
"The sword? Or the kiss?" The woman replied, holding her sword in a low stance as she slowly approached.
Cyrus didn't reply. Instead, he laid one hand on his chest, covering one of his tattoos, and muttered something inaudible. As he moved his hand away, the tattoo seemed to drain of colour, leaving only a faint outline as the ink pulled itself free from his skin, following his hand. He clenched his fist, thrust his arm out, and the ink flowed out from between his fingers, forming itself into the shape of a long polearm with a large, curved blade at its head.
"Finally, you're taking things seriously," the woman quipped. She darted forward and thrust her sword at Cyrus's head. He parried, slapping aside the blade with the rear of the spear, then countered with a wide slash, aimed at her chest. She leaned back, letting the inky weapon sail over her, then raised her leg, launching a kick at his jaw. Cyrus just barely raised an arm to block the kick, forcing him to take one hand off his polearm, and the woman was ready to take advantage of this opening. She grabbed onto the haft of his weapon, hooked her foot over his blocking arm, and launched herself into the air, knocking him off balance as she pulled his polearm with her. She kicked off his shoulder to gain a little extra air, and spun as she descended, preparing to deliver a lethal slash. Off balance and out of options, Cyrus could only grab his polearm with both hands and raise it to ward off the oncoming blow.
Sword met spear in a mighty clash, the blade biting deep into the inky haft of the weapon. As she bore down on him, the runes on the weapon flared to life, and Cyrus could feel a surge of energy pass through the blade as it began to cut deeper and deeper into his weapon. Cyrus barely had enough time to recover his footing, but as soon as the sword finished cutting through his weapon, he sent a kick directly into her chest, launching her back into the air where she couldn't dodge.
Now with a moment to spare, Cyrus slammed the two severed halves of his weapon together, but instead of reforming back into a polearm, the ink morphed into a long length of chain, with a wide hook at one end. He spun the chain, and hurled the hook towards the woman, managing to catch her mid-flight. He flicked the chain, sending her crashing towards the ground. As she impacted the hard stones of the plaza, the chain went slack, dislodging the hook just enough that she could escape. She bounced off the ground and spun, kicking the hook back at Cyrus at high speeds. He cursed, releasing his magic and turning the hook back into liquid ink, but the speed the ink had been travelling at still resulted in him getting splattered. He spat, trying to get the ink out of his mouth, and instinctively raised his arm to wipe the ink out of his eyes. Too late, he realised his mistake, and he found his legs scythed out from underneath him, sending him tumbling backwards. A sudden impact to his chest slammed him into the ground, and by the time his vision was clear, he found himself looking up at his opponent's sword, the point of which sat against his throat, only moments away from taking his life. She stood, one foot on his chest, her chest rising and falling as she breathed heavily, clearly somewhat exhausted by their battle.
The corner of her mouth twitched upward. "Any…last words?" She said, pausing slightly to take a breath.
Cyrus fought to maintain a serious expression, but eventually, his demeanour cracked, and he began to chuckle, which quickly turned into a full bellied laugh,
"I surrender!" He announced with a grin, "You've bested me, assassin,"
He made to push the sword away from his throat, but the woman was already standing up, her foot sliding off him, only pausing when it reached his beltline. Cyrus grimaced as his whole body tensed up from the unfamiliar weight. "Careful, you don't want to damage me any further, Dorothy." Cyrus groaned as he shifted her foot off, the exhaustion of the fight catching up to him as his adrenaline died out.
"I don't know what you're talking about," Dorothy replied innocently, a gleeful, coquettish smile spreading across her face as she leaned on the hilt of her sword, offering a hand out to help Cyrus to his feet. "Don't tell me you're actually exhausted, you didn't even make a crater when you slammed me down,"
"I'm tired!" Cyrus protested, as he accepted the offered hand, "I've been on board a ship the last few days, you try getting any proper sleep in a hammock,"
"I've been stuck on an island for the past month!" Dorothy fired back, sheathing her sword with a dramatic flourish, "I've been sleeping in trees looking for signs of dark guilds, and spying on merchants having the most boring discussions in the world. You try spending hours under a stasis spell so you don't suffocate, and see how much sleep you get then,"
Cyrus didn't respond, instead he reached out and took Dorothy's hand. He gave an extravagant bow, and kissed the back of her hand. "Apologies, my dear, I didn't mean to offend," He murmured, "Will you accept my most humble of apologies?"
Dorothy blushed lightly at the gesture, and sighed, "I'll accept it for now, but you better come up with a real apology later, you hear?"
"Of course," Cyrus said. He let go of Dorothy's hand, and wrapped his arm around her waist, before glancing around the plaza at the mess their battle had made.
"We'd better go find the café owner, so we can pay for damages," Cyrus mused. He gave his hand a negligent flick, and the ink that had been sprayed across the plaza from their fight raced back towards him, merging back into his skin and returning the colour to his tattoos.
"No need," Dorothy replied dismissively, as she leaned into Cyrus, "I paid them before I ambushed you, just in case,"
"I thought you were paying them to evacuate the café? How'd you get everyone to leave then?"
"I said it was Magic Council business," Dorothy shrugged, "They were happy to cooperate after that,"
"That's a little risky, don't you think?" Cyrus queried, a concerned expression on his face, "We don't work for the Council anymore, we can't throw their name around to get our way."
"I'm not going to make a habit of it, this was a special occasion," Dorothy retorted, as they began to make their way towards the edge of town, "Besides, the Magic Council doesn't have enough of a presence here to cause us any concern,"
"Yet," Cyrus countered, "They don't have enough of a presence yet,"
"And by the time they do, this whole incident will have been forgotten about," Dorothy finished.
Cyrus mulled her words over, "If you say so," He relented, "I trust you,"
"Good, I trust you too," Dorothy replied. She pulled his arm down, then planted a kiss on his cheek, "Now, let's see what state our new guild hall is in, shall we?"
Authors Note: Finally managed to finish this. Been plugging away at it on and off for a while now, but its finally ready to be posted.
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Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed!