H'aanit is greeted by great wingbeats as she neared an inauspiciously quiet hill. The clouds here are thin and part for the stars and the moon, a strange omen considering it was blustering with winds mere moments ago in the wood. Yet, here, the air feels totally different. It feels stilled, calm and too calm. It is as if it were a foreboding herald for something awaiting to break the mold.
"... the moon... yet... it doth remaindeth cold," H'aanit remarks softly to herself. Her breath still issues forth in white puffs. In fact, the quiet makes the chill only more present. She doesn't even need her torch in this lighting. It's such a wide moon, too... Its light feels almost inviting.
"Rr...!" Linde perks up.
The hill before them rises amid rocks and a cliffside right along the escarpment of the adjacent mountains. The mountains and trees seem to clear around this place. The destruction glimpsed of earlier does not encroach upon this place. Moonlight streams down peacefully, reflecting gently off the leaves that glisten in the silvery light...
Leaves and petals. Flowers. H'aanit's eyes widen as she realizes the hill is covered with flowers glistening in the moonlight. These plants should not be growing in such a frigid place, surely. That they are gives her hope. These must be...
"The herb-of-grace...!" The huntress can scarce believe it. It seemed outlandish, trusting that a plant so dainty looking could grow in such unforgiving conditions.
The huntress moves to advance, but Linde promptly blocks her, hair pricked up. The large cat bristles and growls from deep in her throat.
"...!"
In her moment of excitement, H'aanit almost failed to notice the sound of something above breaking the silence. The thunderous and distant rumble she heard before suddenly erupts multitudes in volume and an explosive roar followed by a blast of wind nearly topples her into the snows.
"...?! Whatten-"
Gusts whipped up by powerful wings blow across the flowers, clearing the snows. A huge shadow dims the area of moonlight before the humongous form lands. Dark scales glisten in the moonlight and sharp claws rake the ground as wide wings spread and the head of the dragon rears its head. Tough, yellow scales and skin line its wings and underside. It bellows right at the two intruders in its territory.
"GRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!"
Its roar alone sends shivers through the earth itself. That must have been the roar whose aftershocks she had heard earlier that shook trees for hundreds of yards. The wind from its wings flapping whip off all the snow in the area.
"A dragon...!?" H'aanit looks with wide eyes at the great creature before her. She realizes immediately that this thing was probably the cause of all the ruination she saw earlier...
"So ... this is a dragon's lair..." The huntress whispers, "Susanna hath not saiden..."
Dragons are creatures common in stories more than history. Cyrus had mentioned the whole myth of dragons and the gods, but no one had really seen a dragon for hundreds of years, honestly. And no hunter had ever really...
Except Z'aanta.
"Had I spoken of mine days hunting dragons?" Z'aanta chuckled as they camp in the woods on one chase for quarry.
H'aanit rolled her eyes "Many a time now, master... and it doth getten longer with each."
"Well! Mine memory must be improving with detail, hm?" The older hunter rubbed his whiskered chin as if he were some sage.
"... With every telling, doth the beasts getten bigger and meaner," H'aanit poked the fire before them while Linde and Hägen lay about, "Thinketh I do the world be'en not big enough for all the beasts thou huntedth."
"Oh! Thou doubtest me!" Z'aanta feigned extreme surprise and hurt, "But I telleth thee as it was! And it really was!"
And he then stood and scooped her up in a single motion in his arms. It took her by surprise, to say the least.
"Wh- Stoppen this!" H'aanit flailed, "Unhanden me!"
"Hohoho, why so averse, my girl?" Z'aanta laughed, "Be mine furs so foul after days of hunten?"
"Hmph!"
She made a quick strike with her foot off his chest, where the furs covered the least. Her blow made the older hunter reel back and he loosed his grip on her, allowing her to land on her feet.
"Oof!" Z'aanta still had a snarky look on his face despite the strike, "W-what's this? Aren thou blushen?"
"Don't ben a fool!" H'aanit turned away from him so the light of the fire wouldn't reveal anything.
"... As you wish," Z'aanta cleared his throat, "But, still, heareth this, H'aanit. There be'en more monsters and beasts in this worlde than imagination willen even hold. When thou art older, thou too shallen haven such hunts that nary will payeth heed to as real."
H'aanit scoffed, "I tellen no suche tall tales."
Z'aanta laughed again, "Thou willen see. But, even if none doth believeth thee, thou musten still keepst them. For that be'en our lore as hunters."
"Aye, I knowe," H'aanit turned to face him once her face cooled, "The lore of the beasts we hath hunted... tis what lenden us their strength in our hunts."
"Indeede! And heed this carefully, my girl..."
Z'aanta sat back down, rubbing his sore chest a little. H'aanit felt a little bad as she also sits back down.
"What is it, master?"
"Even should no man believeth a word of thine tales," Z'aanta rubbed his grizzled chin, "Thou canst always tellen it to me. And I shallen believeth every word."
H'aanit felt herself about to blush again. And then Z'aanta struck up yet another old tale about some hunt of his for a wyrm.
This is no time for fear. H'aanit's green eyes stare into those orbs of the dragon. They are an olivine color, with frenetic energy emanating something like madness.
This thing won't back down... but neither will she.
Turn that fear into excitement.
"... This willen be one such tale thou shalt hear, master," H'aanit clenches her bow and crouches down, ready to strike, "Over and over again, til thou beggest me to stop, as thou hath done me."
"GRRR- HRAAAAAAA!" The dragon lets out another bellow, a final warning. Its wings spread but no longer beat, making it appear even larger.
"RR-RAARGH!" Linde roars back.
"Linde, letten us hunten!" H'aanit declares.
Ophilia unfortunately did not have her trusty staff with her. She had to leave that at Susanna's since it would have been a dead giveaway of her status as a cleric, as was the lanthorn. And it wasn't a convenient collapsible thing like Olberic's spear in the slightest.
That is not to say she could not cast any magic without her staff. Some of her divine prayers merely require a somatic motion and some verbal orison.
"Stay back...!" Ashlan whispers to her as they round a corner, going about the way Ophilia had come by. Ahead, there are voices of scuffles, with angry men shouting and gnashing metal.
The hunter squints a bit. It's not the best lighting to be going around with a bow and arrow, not to mention they are indoors. He glimpses some shadows but nothing solid. It seems no one is necessarily coming their way right now.
"What the- who's there?"
Ashlan and Ophilia turn at the sound of that surprised voice to see the disheveled form of Father Eschard coming from a perpendicular hallway. The bishop has his robes rumpled and wrinkled, as if they were hastily thrown on without being cleaned and ironed.
"F-father Eschard!" Ophilia's eyes widen.
"You... you're the sister..." Eschard pales, "What are you doing here?! What in the name of the Thirteenth is going on?!"
"You know this man?" Ashlan slowly lowers his bow.
"We... we aren't sure what's going on either. We heard sounds and..." Ophilia plucks up her courage, "And what are you doing here, father Eschard?"
The bishop visibly hardens his gaze at her question as if it were an accusation. To be honest, it kind of was.
"You have no right to ask me such a question... You of all people, bearing the lanthorn being here is blasphemous!" He says defensively.
"You're both from the church?" Ashlan whispers, "You know what, this isn't really the time..."
"Father Eschard, with all due respect, you are setting a poor example as bishop!" Ophilia hisses, "How long have you been patronizing such a place?"
"Shut up, you insolent girl!" Eschard growls, "You know nothing of how the world works outside the church!"
"You made an oath as a bishop, with vows!" Ophilia shoots back.
"Guards!" Eschard shouts suddenly, "Someone get over here! There's a rat from the church!"
"Aren't you from the church?" Ashlan looks confused now, "Hey, stop it-"
Ophilia makes a quick-thinking move and stomps her foot hard on Eschard's boot. The bishop yelps in pain. Ophilia pulls Ashlan through the other hallway while Eschard curses at them.
"Where are we going?" Ashlan asks the cleric as they escape the other hall.
"That way seems to be rife with people... so maybe we need another way through..." Ophilia says, trying to sound confidence despite not really knowing where she's going in this strange place.
Taking this other route that Eschard had come from, they come to another wing of rooms. Only one of the doors is open.
"This seems like a dead end," Ashlan keeps an ear out behind them, "... It doesn't seem like anyone is chasing us... it must be too much effort to divert..."
"That's good, I guess..." Ophilia sniffs a little, "Wait... do you smell that?"
"... smoke?" Ashlan's eyebrows arch up, "It seems to be... coming from that room."
Ophilia peeks into the door that is ajar and her eyes widen. The room inside is a bedroom similar to the one she and Ashlan met in. There are candles about the bed, with one whose flame is climbing precariously up the cloths of the canopy, likely causing the smoke. It is on the verge of burning the rest of the bed and spreading onto the walls and floors.
Strapped to the bed, Ophilia glimpses someone with their wrists tied to the post.
"...!" Ophilia runs into the room, "Someone's still in here!"
"Wait, there's fire-" Ashlan calls after her. He follows in exasperation.
To Ophilia's shock, it's Arianna tied onto the bed. Silken shreds secure her wrist to the bedpost. The front of her dress is open, revealing her cut stays. There are reddish marks on her pale skin, particularly near her throat, and her black hair is splayed messily on the pillow under her head. Her eyes are closed, with reddish skin around the eyes.
"Arianna!" Ophilia gasps and hurriedly unties her, "Ashlan, help me get her out!"
"Is this another ..." Ashlan leaves his question hanging as he helps cut the silks with a hunting knife, "Is she alive?"
Ophilia takes a second to bat the smoke from her face as she shakes Arianna's shoulder. The woman doesn't stir, but Ophilia hears the slightest gasp of air.
"She's still breathing! She might have passed out from the smoke..."
"Alright... bind up her clothes and let's go!"
Hastily closing Arianna's front, Ashlan and Ophilia move to get out of the room. Upon turning, they realize the door that was open has now suddenly shut.
"Huh? What the-" Ashlan rams against it and it holds fast, "Blast...!"
"... Ashlan, the windows!" Ophilia coughs a little as the smoke builds in the room.
Ashlan rushes to tear down the curtains and throw open the window. They are on the second floor of the Parlor here. This face of the building seems to be the rear, facing the white expanse of trees. Below, on the ground floor, are mounds of snow. The wind direction here seems weaker.
"... I don't think we can jump," Ashlan looks to Ophilia.
"Let's see if we can climb down by tying the curtains!" A lightbulb goes off on the cleric's head.
Ashlan keeps the window open to keep the smoke at bay as he assembles an ad hoc rope of shredded silken curtains. He secures it to a nearby column by the window.
"Are you sure you can climb down in that dress?" He looks to Ophilia doubtfully.
"Take Arianna with you first," Ophilia nods.
Ashlan nods and hoists Arianna over his shoulder as he begins scaling down the window. Ophilia keeps her head low and an eye to the flames encroaching through the rest of the room. Something told her that Eschard might have tried to lock them in here before running out himself.
"..." Ophilia looks down to see Ashlan has made his way down into the drifts below. He calls up after her to hurry down.
Plucking about her wits and saying a quick prayer, Ophilia begins to slowly scale down. It really is difficult with this dress, not to mention the wintry weather penetrating the sheer garment.
There is suddenly a creaking noise from the silk. Ophilia looks up to see the flames and smoke billowing out the open window. There is a snap and she feels herself weightless for the next moment or so before landing roughly on something cushioning her fall.
"OOF-!"
"Ugh!"
She opens her eyes and finds herself lying in the snow beside Ashlan. The hunter groans and sits up.
"Well, that went well..."
"Thank you..." Ophilia looks to see Arianna lain down nearby, "Ah, Arianna!"
The woman stirs a little when the cleric looks her over for injury. Her eyes weakly open a crack.
"O... Ophilia...?" Arianna coughs.
"Thank the Flame... are you hurt? Can you move?" Ophilia asks despite her teeth beginning to chatter in the cold.
"What happened...?" Arianna asks blearily, "Where are we?"
"We just left the room we had found you in. A fire has started in the Parlor, I'm afraid..." Ophilia looks to Ashlan, "Ashlan, would you be able to find your way back to Stillsnow with Arianna?"
"What about you?" The hunter stands, patting the snow off his briefs.
"I'm afraid I still have business within. I must get back in," Ophilia says with a determined expression, "Arianna needs to get back to town. Please, Ashlan."
"... It's not how I was raised, to leave a lady to fend for herself..." Ashlan looks apprehensive.
"I'll be alright. This isn't your fight, after all!" Ophilia smiles, "If all goes well, I shall meet you in town at the tavern."
Ashlan has no words of retort against her that come to mind.
"Take her back to the house on the south side of the river... I think that is where she lived..." Ophilia thinks back, "But hurry. I fear something big will be happening soon here..."
"... I'll send for help if I can," Ashlan picks Arianna up in his arms, leaning her head on his shoulder, "Do not pick battles that cannot be won."
"Lady ... Primrose..." Arianna mumbles, dazed, "Please... help her..."
Ophilia nods, "We'll find Primrose. Now go before the fray embroils further!"
Olberic swings his sword with such might that three men go flying, with one crashing into the chandelier overhead. The fixture then falls with a magnificent crash onto several other Obsidians. The fighting now has reached some sort of main hall.
"Excellent... Call flames...!" Cyrus uses the chandelier flames to his advantage to further scorch their opponents. The flames catch onto some of the nearby curtains, portraits, and carpet.
"B-be careful playing with fire, dear scholar!" Simeon cries nervously as he evades yet another Obsidian.
Alfyn and Therion have their hands full trying not to fatally injure anyone. Really, Therion just didn't feel urgently about busting them up further than a knockdown to the face. Alfyn, of course, is trying to avoid using his axe wantonly.
"D-damn!" The Obsidians curse, "Release the sentinels! Kill them all!"
"How are so few so strong?"
"Sentinels? Oh dear..." Cyrus hurriedly casts another series of icicles to catch those fleeing, "Any sign of the others?"
Simeon manages to find one guy about to pass out from getting bashed in the head against a column.
"Where is Rufus?" Simeon asks in a low voice, pulling up the hoodlum by the scruff of his dark hood.
"Ugh... You're all dead... No one... crosses the Obsidians!" The guy gives a last yell. But before he can follow up with his threat, Simeon drops him back down onto the floor and he just lays there, groaning.
"Yipe!" Alfyn nearly gets nailed by a wild dagger throw from one of the Obsidians. He backs into the wall behind just as the Obsidian rushes to gut him.
"You're dead, boy!"
Alfyn squeezes his eyes shut. There is a swoosh and a yelp, then a crash. The apothecary opens his eyes to see Therion having knocked that guy and another one down with one swooping kick.
"Come on, I think I saw some deeper chambers," Therion pulls Alfyn along.
"R-right... Thanks!" Alfyn grins.
"Oh dear, Alfyn! Therion! Please don't go too far ahead- woah!" Cyrus is cut short by an Obsidian that tries to drive a dagger in his side.
"Professor, be careful!" Simeon is still focused on evading, "... Uh, I'll see if I can go ahead as well! You both seem quite good at holding the fort here...!"
"... May as well!" Olberic gives another bellow as he swings some other poor guy off his feet, "The more ground we cover, the faster we find the others!"
"Phew... I do hope I have the stamina..." Cyrus sighs as he and Olberic are pushed together, back to back.
Simeon gives a quick wave before running through the thinned throngs of Obsidians as Olberic and Cyrus take the brunt of attention.
"There are less of them now," Olberic says stalwartly, "And they shan't get past us."
"Right..." Cyrus flips through his tome as electricity gathers at his finger tips, "I say... does anyone smell that?"
"Hm?" Olberic takes a second to notice a bit of smoke...
"What-"
"FIRE!"
An Obsidian comes running out from a side hallway in the hall, shouting, "There's a fire brewing in the west wing!"
Cyrus' observant eye glimpses there are some people among the Obsidians who are not actually Obsidians. They seem to be trying to leave, having come from a different direction and gotten tangled up on the combat. One of the ones most noticeable is wearing white robes. Unfortunately, the scholar doesn't have much time to think on those strangers for now. He can hazard a guess they must be patrons like Marion.
The announcement of an impending inferno gets the attention of some Obsidians to slowly reconsider their options of staying and fighting or fleeing.
"S-Screw this!"
"I got more t' live for than this!"
Some turncoats do make a run for it. The smell of smoke now seems apparent to everyone. Cyrus looks to Olberic with some apprehension.
"Mayhaps we cleave our way through now?"
"... Let's," Olberic nods and makes a sweeping cut, "Out of my way!"
"Kyaaah!"
Tressa and Primrose narrowly dodge a roundhouse kick from Rufus. The man's hand-to-hand combat severely overpowers their own physical strength. Primrose, however, is dexterous enough to evade his strikes, if only by a hair. Tressa more or less half-trips and luckily evades that way. The merchant rolls back into a wall to the side of the room, clutching her polearm.
So far, aside from the initial guard that Prim killed, they managed to strike down two other associates. One was another of Prim's dagger strikes to the neck. The other one, Tressa had blown him high into the ceiling, where he smashed into the stone before landing limply on the floor afterward. The remaining associates are wary and seem to largely aim for Tressa.
"Huff...! Ungh!" Tressa barely manages to fend off a dagger with the body of her spear. Her large gust from earlier and her emotional outburst in the cave leave her weak and shaky. She feels like she's running purely on adrenaline right now, and she might drop her weapon at any moment.
This is not lost on Primrose. Unfortunately, the dancer is occupied with Rufus. The left arm of the crow keeps her movements well squared away with his footwork and wide reach thanks to his burly arms and devastating martial arts.
"Worried for your little friend?" Rufus smirks, "You should've thought of that before coming here with such grand dreams of revenge."
"Tsk... Be QUIET!" Primrose growls and makes a twirl with her body, tainting the floor below with darkness, "Waltz!"
The darkness blasts forth from her dance at Rufus. She follows up with another step and another, buffeting him with blast after blast to his chest and face. It pushes him back and she confidently advances.
"Urgh-"
"I have hunted for so long... I. Won't. Fail!"
She whips out her dagger, intending to stab him fatally after weakening him with her assault.
"... That's not happening."
Rufus seemingly immediately recovers from her waltz assault and grabs her wrist. The darkness has bruised him in several areas of his face, but he seems far from knocked down.
"-!" Primrose's eyes widen. Had her dark attacks done nothing? How?
"Don't you know that crows fly in the dark?" He smirks.
There is a sickening crack as he kicks her snagged arm.
"Aggh!" Primrose gives a cry involuntarily as he snaps her arm. Her dagger clatters to the floor.
"P-Prim!" Tressa cries out as fear begins to build. Like wolves drawn to a scent, the Obsidian associates close in on the merchant.
"Uhh... ahh..." Tressa trembles, sweating. She feels her fear reaching the levels of when the raven in the cave spooked her.
"Don't let the fear win. Never show fear or they'll eat you up! It's a shark-eat-shark world, Tressa."
That was one of the first lessons her Pa made sure to teach her. The Muscled Merchant knew better than anyone to show fear.
Tressa wouldn't be able to live it down if she backed out now...!
"H-Haaa!"
Building on her stress, Tress lets loose a tempest. The associates find themselves unfortunately gathered much too close to her. The winds ripple and blast them back altogether. Rufus turns at the bristling winds to see his men thrown like ragdolls into the walls nearby with loud slams.
"Tch...!" He moves to pivot.
"...!" Primrose sees Rufus charge at Tressa, "NO!"
Tressa is surprised as the large frame of Rufus barrels through her tempest like a cannonball, undeterred by her gales.
"W-wah!"
The merchant, thanks to her much smaller shape, manages to sidestep just out of the smashing hit that would have otherwise spattered her head onto the wall. Unfortunately, the huge burst of magic she just used makes her unable to scramble to her feet in time before Rufus goes to try and kick her. And she'd dropped her polearm!
"Tressa!" Primrose flings her dagger at Rufus' leg to ensnare him.
"Too little too late!" Rufus growls.
"Ugh... Take this!" Tressa scrambles instead to pull out a gleaming something from within the folds of her dress.
"...!"
Primrose has to look away as the white light suddenly envelopes the room in a flash so bright that she feels it almost burn her a little. She hears Rufus give a yelp and then also a frightened shout from Tressa.
When the light fades, the dancer blinks twice to adjust her vision. Her eyes widen.
Tressa lies motionless at Rufus' feet, blood pooling from her bruised face. Rufus himself is just slightly winded. Smoke coils up from some of his skin where the light soulstone burned him, but they're minor wounds. His face borders on a grimace and then twists into a smile. He flexes his hand that he'd slammed into Tressa's skull.
"... That stung..."
Primrose is almost frozen in place at the scene. Rufus lets out a sigh. He reaches down and pulls Tressa up roughly by her hair. Most of his men are all knocked out by now, some groaning loudly in pain. Rufus faces the dancer. One of his eyes are closed, maybe having been partially blinded by the light.
"You saw your father die. You'll see her die, too," Rufus says with a smirk, "And then I'll send you to both their sides so you can apologize."
There is a sudden chill that drops in the air. Rufus feels the hairs on his neck prick suddenly as he sees the dancer's form seemingly change before his eyes. Her dress is enrobed in ethereal darkness, while her eyes are glowing red like a blood moon.
"... Woah there-" Rufus keeps Tressa in front of him like a shield.
A dagger suddenly flies in and impales itself on his arm. He's taken by surprise and drops Tressa.
"Wh-"
In his focus on Primrose, he'd failed to notice a certain thief and apothecary run into his private sanctum in the Parlor. Therion rushes to kick him, batting him away from Tressa so Alfyn can scoop the unconscious girl away from danger.
"Tress! Prim!" Alfyn worriedly gathers the battered Tressa in his arms and looks to the dancer.
Primrose seems to snap out of her daze, hearing Alfyn's voice, "A-Alfyn?"
"More bugs, huh?" Rufus snarls, swinging hard for Therion, "More corpses, more like."
Therion manages to evade his wide swipes and lands before Alfyn, his sword and dagger out. Rufus scowls and pulls out the blade embedded in his forearm. He flexes his hand without issue and narrows his eyes at the intruders. Primrose rushes to Therion's side, retrieving her own dagger. Her disabled arm dangles a bit grotesquely, but she shows no fear on her face. There is, however, some apprehension. Therion can feel a chill emanating from her. It's not like that of wintery cold, but rather when something causes the ends of your hair to stand on end.
"... Alfyn, is she alright?" Primrose asks worriedly.
"She's a bit knocked out but I gotta get a better look..." Alfyn keeps Tressa protectively in his arms.
"Take the pipsqueak outta here," Therion keeps his eyes on Rufus.
"A-Are you two sure?" Alfyn asks worriedly.
"Hm! Two makes no difference, really..." Rufus chuckles, cracking his knuckles, "I'm used to dirty odds."
"Go," Primrose says sternly.
Alfyn nods and quickly carries Tressa out from the fray.
"... Thanks for showing up," Primrose says softly under her breath.
"..." Therion grunts softly.
"Prepare to be buried," Rufus smirks. He flexes and charges.
Ophilia makes a loop about the manor side to find another entryway. Smoke is rising into the sky from the burning section she had just left. She hears shouts and screams from within. The cleric winces at the sounds.
Around a wall of columns, she sees people running out into the winter air. They don't seem to be dressed as Obsidians. There are also some of the Parlor workers among them, looking as if they'd been dragged out of bed.
"Ahh!"
"What has the world come to?"
"Out of my way, you whores!"
Ophilia hangs back out of sight and then slips in amid the spillage of chaos. There are signs of destroyed property and people groaning or just not moving on the floor. She bites her lip and quietly makes her way through as best as she can remember.
As she passes an over balcony level, she sees the familiar scene of Olberic dominating against the mookish Obsidians. Cyrus is casting spells and similarly decimating their depleted enemy numbers.
"Olberic! Cyrus!" Ophilia shouts down to them, "Are you both alright?"
"Ah, Ophilia?" Cyrus looks up, "Thank the gods, you're alright! Uh, we're about done here... Woah!"
"Hmf!" Olberic kicks a straggler away from the scholar, "Do you know where Tressa and Primrose are?"
"Uh, no, I'm afraid not, as we got separated... I'm about to make my way where I believe they will be..." Ophilia nods, "Please, do get out before the fire comes!"
Olberic glances around. There are fewer than ten Obsidians left standing in their way.
"No, we will go in and aid as well!" The warrior declares, "I think we have worn their defenses through."
"Alright, then... Icewind!" Cyrus blasts a clear path for them up to reach Ophilia with an icy construction, "That should hold...! Let us go!"
Ophilia runs ahead as Olberic and Cyrus clamber their way up to her level. She sees a fallen prostitute leaned against the wall nearby and pauses immediately. The woman has a painfully twisted leg and her dress is ripped. She looks like she might have fallen and been nearly trampled trying to leave this place.
"Are you alright?" Ophilia kneels down by the woman, "Can you move?"
"Unh... My leg... I think it's broken..." The woman winces and looks to Ophilia with a pleading whimper, "Please, help me. There's a fire..."
Ophilia recognizes this to be Jura, one of the women in the resting room when she'd first arrived with Arianna.
"... Olberic, Cyrus, please, go ahead," Ophilia purses her lip and looks to the men, "I'll help get her out. I can heal her leg."
"... How much magic have you expended of yourself, scholar?" Olberic looks to Cyrus, some sweat running down his face from their earlier battles.
"Uh, well, I assure you I have quite the deep reserves as a Gate..." Cyrus coughs into his hand.
"Then you stay with Ophilia. I will go on ahead," Olberic nods and starts tromping onward without letting the others get a word in edgewise, "Hurry back to town. Find a carriage if you can! This place is not safe!"
"Are the others okay?" Ophilia asks Cyrus as she keeps her eyes on mending Jura's leg, "Therion, Alfyn, and Simeon were with you, right?"
"Ah, yes, Simeon had gone on ahead, after Therion and Alfyn also..." Cyrus sighs, "We weren't very coordinated, I'm afraid. And this Parlor is quite large."
"Mm... Several others had run out as well... Ah, the cold!" Ophilia realizes, "If they get lost in these woods, they may freeze to death!"
"Never fear, Ophilia. I can generate for us to remain warm," Cyrus makes a small poof of flame dance at the palm of his hand, "Granted, a cold wind might snuff this out, but no matter!"
Ophilia smiles a little and goes to help Jura stand, leaning her on her own body, "Alright, can you stand a little?"
"Mm... Thank you..." Jura sighs, "The patrons... they ran out without much of a care for us..."
"... Let's get you back to Stillsnow," Ophilia looks to Cyrus. The scholar nods and they start to make their way out of the ruined Parlor. A lone, straggling Obsidian attempts to leap at them in surprise, only to have Cyrus lob his little flame at him in reflex. The Obsidian topples backwards and gives a yelp before falling off the balcony, landing with a crack on the floor below.
"... Well then... yes! Let's be on our way!" Cyrus flaps his coat a bit and adjusts his collar as if he'd wholly meant to do that.
Alfyn nearly runs into Simeon while carrying Tressa away from the inner sanctum of the Parlor.
"Simeon!" Alfyn exclaims, "Egads, you got away from them? Where' Ol'Berg and Cy?"
"Uh, last I saw, they were still within the main hall area..." Simeon glances down at Tressa in the apothecary's arms, "Oh, dear! Whatever happened?"
"The guy, head of the Parlor... He done a number on poor Tress..."
"M... Mnh..." Tressa whimpers, perhaps stirring.
"I gotta get her outta here..." Alfyn looks back the way he came with worry despite saying that.
"I shall go on ahead then. You best make your way out. I think this place is falling apart..." Simeon says firmly and goes past the apothecary.
"Don't let the big guy hit you," Alfyn advises, "Looks like a nasty hook."
"I have a knack for jumping out of the way," Simeon winks.
Leaving the apothecary, Simeon makes his way into the inner sanctum. As he nears, he can hear the grunts of effort amid battle, followed by loud sounds of smashing stone and blades skittering across surfaces.
Peering in past the doorway, Simeon sees the bodies of Obsidian associates on the ground in Rufus' personal chambers. There is blood speckling the stone and certain furnishings have been smashed, ripped, and destroyed in the fray.
Primrose is whirling with her daggers and tendrils of darkness aiding her as one of her arms seems to dangle uselessly. Therion is swiftly evading as well, darting about with his sword and dagger drawn. Rufus is savagely swinging and impressively guarding against both of them. One of his arms appears weakened compared to its other, but he is still keeping both thief and dancer on their toes all by himself.
Therion just barely avoids tripping on a fallen associate and rolls to avoid a savage stomp by Rufus. He'd used the viper dagger to stab Rufus first, and the man doesn't even seem that hampered by the poison as they're fighting!
Meanwhile, Primrose seems to be wearing down a little, and Rufus can sense her weakness. She is keeping a tight rein on her power here, which diverts from her full combative ability. Sweat drips down her face as her eyes blaze red. Her lips are wrought into a defiant snarl.
Perhaps she had been too hasty to get angry... it has riled the darkness to the surface. And the sight of Tressa... it was too close for comfort.
The darkness is urging her, goading her to kill. It wants to let loose and consume the life around it, all the souls... but she knows she can't do that. She can't lose herself... even with a third of her revenge so close!
"You could have left well alone!" Rufus makes a side kick that hits Therion by surprise, sending the thief into a column. The Obsidian focuses back on Primrose, "But no! You had to be like your father of all people, sticking your nose where it doesn't belong."
Therion coughs from the impact as he slams into the stone. He is wiry and built to dodge. A hit that actually connects, especially from a musclehead like Rufus, could nearly knock him out in one go. The thief collapses to the floor and staggers to stand, red dripping from his lips. That strike was like when Gaston nearly cracked his head open.
"Don't you dare... mention my father!" Primrose primes her dagger and takes a stance before whirling her arms about, drawing a whirlwind of darkness around herself.
The negative energy swirls and Simeon's eyes widen as he sees some of it feeding off the fallen associates. The room temperature drops and a gale of discomforting air follows in a bewildering grace. The potential of the dark air swells and Rufus feels it lacing against him like various strings, trying to ensnare him.
"Kh-" Rufus braces and then roars, "ENOUGH TRICKS, WITCH!"
His left arm with the tattoo thrusts through the dark winds with a decisive action and grabs Primrose by her jaw and neck. The lunge pins her to the wall behind. All at once, the dance and whatever effects it was supposed to conjure fade immediately. The dancer pales, totally caught off guard. Her dagger was knocked out of her hand.
"Ugh!" Primrose gasps in that tight grip. She squirms. Where did all her magic go? It's like her Gate dried up all of a sudden with that last dance.
"Game over," Rufus sneers and his fingers tighten on that thin neck.
"Nhk-" Primrose digs her nails weakly into his arm in vain. That muscle won't budge. It won't move until it's squeezed the life out of her.
"...! Pri-"
Before Simeon can call out her name, a sudden rush blows past him from a familiar, burly figure. Rufus doesn't react in time as the tip of a familiar collapsible Sunlander spear pierces his side with gusto, sending his blood splattering. It's so deep that it erupts out from his other side with a spray of blood.
"GUHHH-!" Rufus spits blood. His grip weakens and he drops Primrose. His eyes bulge and he turns to see the steely eyes of Olberic Eisenberg staring him dead in the eye. The warrior's grip on the shaft of the spear is firm, and he painfully twists it in the wound. Blood squelches out and Rufus coughs.
"Y-you..." The left arm of the crow gasps and swings an arm to force Olberic away. The warrior pulls back, easily evading the blow. The spear pulls out of the wound as well, amid a gush of blood that pools onto the floor.
"Urgh..." Rufus clutches his grievous wound and slowly sinks to his knees in his own blood. His breath is rapid and he's feeling that old fear rear its head.
"Unh..." Primrose sits up and coughs, rubbing her bruised neck. She looks at Olberic with Sadiq's bloody spear and Rufus on his knees before him. The warrior has the scuffs of battle all over him, tearing his usual jacket, knicking his armor, and staining him with blood and sweat. Composing herself just a little, Primrose stands. Olberic gives her a somber look of acknowledgement before stepping back, leaving Rufus to her.
"... Ha..." Rufus manages a wry, bloody laugh, "So... The girl... has friends..."
He turns his head slightly to look at Primrose, strands of his hair loose and draping about his face dripping sweat and blood after all the fighting. His lips are curled into an expression of defiant mockery.
"How... does it taste...?" Rufus sputters, "Is vengeance... as sweet as you thought... after all these years...?"
"... Don't flatter yourself," Primrose manages to say as she sends a tendril of darkness to retrieve her house dagger, "This is only the beginning."
"... Still got that fight in you...? You'll need it... for the long road ahead..." Rufus gives a bloody grin, not fearing the inevitable end before him.
"Where is the rest of your foul flock?" Primrose asks through her teeth, "They'll join your side soon enough."
"... Take that strength with you to ... to Noblecourt, girl... You'll need it to... face the truth..." Rufus rasps, bowing his head. A smile still graces his lips. He'll have the last laugh.
Truth? What is he talking about...
Noblecourt...
Primrose narrows her eyes and points her dagger at Rufus with a growing scowl, "A poor choice of last words."
Therion looks up to see Primrose cut Rufus' throat as he's on his knees. He looks away quickly before the blood sprays too much. There is a thud of the body hitting the floor.
"... Are you alright?"
The thief tentatively looks up to see Olberic offering him a hand. Therion scoffs and struggles to stand on his own. Olberic hefts him to his feet with one arm.
"Proud one, aren't you?" Olberic gives a wry smile to the thief on the side.
"..." Therion scoffs.
"Prim!" Simeon runs in to the dancer and looks her over worriedly, "Oh dear, your arm! Your neck!"
"Simeon..." Primrose exhales a little, her eyes still red and tinges of darkness still wisping about her, "Unh..."
"Prim?" Simeon looks in horror as the dancer doubles over in pain, "Prim!"
"What's wrong?" Olberic looks over in alarm.
"Hff... Ngh..." Primrose writhes as Simeon tries to hold her. She can feel that biting pain as the darkness tries clawing its way out. It wants blood. It wants souls...
"She's feverish," Simeon hurriedly hoists her in his arms, "We need to get back to Stillsnow!"
"Yes, that would be prudent with the fire spreading..." Olberic detects the bits of smoke permeating the air now.
"... Did the others get out..." Therion asks so quietly he's almost not heard. He manages to walk at least without falling over.
"Yes, I saw Sir Alfyn leave with Lady Tressa..." Simeon starts walking out with Primrose in his arms. The dancer doesn't move much, merely clutching his coat like a child curled against his chest.
"And Ophilia and Cyrus should have left as well," Olberic nods, "Let us be away from this wretched place..."
"Aye..." Simeon says softly, "Let it burn."
The apothecary runs out from the Parlor, trying not to look too hard at the bodies that lay listlessly about the hall. The cold air just outside slaps him in the face with a welcome sternness and he pants, seeing his breath fog in the night air. He glances down at the unconscious merchant in his arms and picks a direction to start running. The trail left by their carriage is still fresh, so he makes his way there, hoping the snow hasn't filled in the tracks back to town.
As he makes his way down the steps, a familiar cane whips out for his head. The apothecary barely manages to duck so the metal head just clips his brow. It costs him his footing and he quickly presses Tressa closer to him to shield her as he begins rolling down the snowy steps.
"Agh- Unh- Uff!"
Alfyn ends up slamming into a tree that breaks his fall. Residual snow from the branches plops down on him. When he wipes it away, he finds himself looking at the furious face of Marion.
"Ulp," Alfyn sweats.
"You! You miserable CON!" Marion moves to smack Alfyn with his cane again, "You've RUINED everything!"
"Ngh!" The apothecary makes sure to protect Tressa as he blocks the blow with his arm. Scrambling to get away from the incensed noble, he makes his way down the steps in a hurry.
"Get BACK here!" Marion growls.
There is a brief sound of something like thwick. Alfyn turns just in the nick of time to see a crossbow bolt sink into his shoulder. He staggers, but doesn't go down. From the trees, remnants of Obsidians emerge, probably having fled the Parlor.
"Ugh..." Alfyn winces but keeps his grip on Tressa tight. Among the Obsidians, he sees perhaps their patrons, as well as a whore or two.
"You're one of the ones we saw coming on the wagon!" One of the Obsidians points, "You're the ones that set fire to the Parlor, aren't ya?!"
Alfyn sees the Obsidian with the crossbow still aimed at him. This is bad. He's a bit surrounded.
"That's right, he stole my carriage!" Marion shouts shrilly.
"We... We didn't set fire t' anything...!" Alfyn protests.
"Boys! We'll string this one up and hunt for his lil' friends!" Another Obsidian growls.
Alfyn thinks quick and pulls out one of his tinctures. He smashes that down, releasing a billow of air that kicks up enough snow to obscure vision.
"Awah?! He's a Gate!"
"Damn, I can't see!"
Alfyn breaks into a mad dash towards the opening he saw. He can't fight with Tressa like this...
"Oh, no, you don't!"
He just barely gets out of the pincer attack when someone tackles him, knocking him down into the snow so he drops Tressa. The girl lands a feet or two from him in the snow. Alfyn gets a hard slug to the face by the Obsidian that's straddling him.
"Take this, ya whelp!" The Obsidian lands another hard punch on his cheek.
"Nrgh!" Alfyn grabs a fistful of snow and throws it at the guy's face. His Gate output changes the snow from soft into sharp, and the Obsidian is forced off by the cold needles.
"Argh!"
The apothecary quickly gathers Tressa in his arms. He looks on ahead and another bolt narrowly misses his head from behind. Then, he hears men yelping, and a familiar voice yelling, "Call lightning!"
There is a brilliant flash of light and the sound of crackling. Alfyn turns to see the residual traces of lightning sparking among the trees. To his relief, he sees the scholar and cleric. Ophilia is helping another woman, it seems. Cyrus' lightning has blasted off most of the attackers and scared away the others.
"You guys!" Alfyn turns to face them as they come over.
"Alfyn! Your shoulder!" Cyrus exclaims, "Ah, and Tressa! What happened?"
"Uh, no time to explain... We need t' get back to town!" Alfyn looks them over, "Are you alright?"
"Mm! This is Jura. She's hurt her leg badly... We should get back..." Ophilia glances back at the clearing and then at the path ahead, "Is this the right way?"
"If memory serves, it should be..." Cyrus rubs his chin, "We best hope the snow lessens that we might still have tracks to go by..."
Alfyn squints a bit at the tree line behind them. A reddish glow has grown behind, among the trees. It reflects against the sky a little, and sways with the chilly wind. Ophilia catches his gaze and looks back as well.
"... The Parlor..." She breathes.
"... It's going to burn down, isn't it..." Jura, leaned on the cleric looks back with near tears of despair.
"... We need to go," Cyrus says softly, "I believe the others will catch up."
"Mm..." Ophilia glances ahead and notices an arrow stuck in a nearby tree. There is a familiar green-colored cloth tied to its head, "Huh?"
"What is it?"
"Um, that arrow..." Ophilia thinks a second, "I think this is the right way... Ashlan must have left it..."
"Ashlan? Who?" Alfyn blinks.
"He was someone that helped me back in the Parlor... Anyway, I'm sure he left that marker for us to follow...!" Ophilia moves to forge ahead in the snow despite her utterly weather-inappropriate wear.
Cyrus hastily doffs his coat and goes to wrap it about Ophilia and Jura's shoulders.
In the town of Stillsnow, there was a ruckus that night. Unsolicited, several people suddenly appeared from the woods in the direction of the Parlor. While most of the townspeople were aware of that dirty little secret, others regarded the woods themselves with apprehension. To see people emerge from it in a state of panic brings about unrest itself. Not to mention, people could see something red and glowing in the night even from town. That glow is the color of flames.
Kalv pokes his head out from the tavern and narrows his eyes into the snowy night. Something is very wrong.
Some of the patrons that went out to look come back in, saying there were visitors from out of town that came back from the woods shouting about a fire.
"Gods! What has this world come to?"
"Tsk..." Kalv steps out and sees the familiar Parlor wagon stalled by the familiar house for the town whores. Oren is lighting his pipe, rather unaffected by the spectacle... or just plain ignorant.
"Oren!" Kalv stomps over grumpily and hisses, "What are your employers doing? The forest is on fire!"
Oren drops his lit pipe as Kalv walks over and he stammers for a response, "Uh, i-it's not my time to go picking anyone up just yet..."
Some people emerging from the woods are shouting about a fire and bandits at the Parlor. The secret this town had tried to always hide is now being exposed.
"Tsk... This is going to be quite a ruckus, isn't it..." Kalv runs a hand down his face.
"... Shouldn't have let that red on the carriage..." Oren mumbles, only to earn a stink-eye from Kalv.
Within the house by the river, behind Oren's parked carriage, Ashlan had managed to get Arianna back before the rest of the goers at the Parlor began fleeing. He nearly surprised Sandra to death barging in with the woman in his arms. After he managed to convince her of what happened, she bade him bring Arianna upstairs. The hunter laid the unconscious Arianna down and returned to see that Sandra had fled the premises.
Right now, Ashlan is sitting by Arianna's side, keeping an eye out the window as more people seemed to gather about east. He wonders if Ophilia managed to accomplish what she needed to do... as well as where that unscrupulous bishop ran off to.
Arianna's eyes flutter open and she coughs weakly, "Unh..."
"Ah, are you alright?" Ashlan looks away from the window to tend to her.
"W... water..." She gasps a little.
Ashlan goes to scoop up some snow from the windowsill. Making sure it's clean, he feeds it to her.
"Mm... thank you..." She sighs and looks around, "Where... where are we?"
"Back in Stillsnow. This is the house Ophilia bade me bring you to..." The hunter sighs.
"W-where are they? Ophilia and... Lady Primrose..." Arianna's eyes widen in alarm.
"I'm afraid they have yet to return. But others seem to be running from the Parlor now," Ashlan tilts his head a bit, picking up the ruckus from outside, "It seems Ophilia was right..."
"... Is the Parlor...?" Arianna asks with dread.
"It was beginning to catch aflame. The room we found you caught on fire..." Ashlan shakes his head a bit at the indecent scene, "You yourself were left for dead, it seemed..."
"... ..." Arianna turns away from him a little, curling up on her side, against the back of the sofa he'd lain her on. He hears her soft sobs and scratches his head awkwardly.
Standing back by the window, he is relieved to see the familiar face of the cleric among those that come running back from the Parlor.