☆ Event: A Tale of Two Cities

[faileas]

Event Log: September, A Tale of Two Cities

I. THE TRIP OUT On Septeril 5th, those who've agreed to go as dignitaries to Dorchacht will meet with Nerissa Bell in the Coven's foyer. Given the group is a little large, and the boat they've procured for the voyage would be a little crowded with all of them on it, she suggests there be two groups: the first one will go now and will return around the middle of the month, while the second will depart a few days after the first group returns, just to give them some breathing room. a. DIGNITARY: THE SHIP Those joining Nessie are led to the docks, where an old ship is being scrapped down, barnacles removed and hull shined to perfection. Sailors call to and fro from on board, buckets of water thrown off the side away from the docks and there's a tingle of nervous excitement from the gathering crowds come to wish the dignitaries and ambassadors a bon voyage. She's of a medium size, able to hold her crew and half of the assigned dignitaries with little trouble, and from top to bottom the moose-like Faun of a captain calls her a seaborn miracle; short of a sea wyrm, she's never faltered nor fled the waves, but he'll admit that she's been more a fishing boat than anything the past couple years. Judging from the way his tuffed tail lashes in excitement, he's thrilled to be out on a real voyage again -- even if it's to those notoriously unfriendly blokes 'round the corner of the map, haven't been in decades time and they've always been up their own arses about this and that. While dignitaries are supposed to relax the best they can on the four day trip, the captain doesn't seem to mind offering work to those interested in learning the way of the sea or with the know-how already, eagerly asking the Mirrorbound about their experiences beyond the glass... much more than he is about talking about himself outside of his ship, who he loves a great deal and sings the praises of up and down the hour, through sea shanty and spoken word. His large antlers don't seem to get in the way of his work nor bar him from getting in and out his quarters, but watch out! They are large and they do hurt. All's not well going to and from Dorchacht, though, as while the waters are safer than the land by far, there's plenty of dangers within the deep: Infected Merrow swim in the shallows, singing sweetly from rocks that jut out at the shore, and some more adventurous ones try their luck closer to the boat too. The captain's Navigator, a Witch with just as rowdy an attitude if more polite a tone, can manage a deafening spell on the ship to keep any from falling seaward, but asks that those who can to rid the ship of those terrible pests, whether by cannon, magic, or something else similarly ranged. Oh, it'd be perfectly alright if they killed them, plenty of them out here in the sea and growing ever more, but if they simply want to scare them off then by all means! There's also all manner of sea beasts as well, from krakens on the smaller side to the mentioned sea wyrms earlier, though the captain'll say that they're just babies compared to the mother he'd faced last year -- still troublesome little bastards, best put down before they're drowned themselves, but nothing to turn tail at. Outside of these... troubles... there's disorderly sailors of Monster and Witch alike, the former being compromised primarily of Turnskin and Faun for heavy lifting, with a Harpy in the crow's nest to help with speed, and the latter being those specializing in Divination and Astrology for directions, as well as some elemental manipulation from the Evocation course. Unlike the proper Coven trained, they seem like they're a little more unconventional with their magics, using "shortcuts" and combining spells to great effect. When they're not on the clock as it were they enjoy a great deal of ale, howling stories and song, pushing each other around whilst the journey's bright and startlingly serious when things turn south. Be careful you don't get in a fight, or perhaps you'd like to show your stuff in a little competition: They're willing to do anything to pass the time. b. ESPIONAGE: THE DEVICE Upon hearing that there are some who would be interested in investigating the device that Mhairi mentioned, a young Witch opens up the room it's being stored in now to allow them a chance to check it out. They warn that it isn't particularly cooperative, but maybe those with some knowledge of magitech - or their world's equivalent - might be able to help? While not exactly the largest device around, it's one that stands out. Something resembling a Tesla coil stands atop the piece of tech, tall enough to almost reach the ceiling of the rather tall room, and various dials and knobs and gauges adorn the outside of it. Those who are perceptive to magic - training in detection spells, or who have a good sense for it, or even a sixth sense for something poised to happen - will be able to note that there's a sort of... presence in the room. It continues to build up, the more people that come in to investigate. Anyone that tinkers with it, has active magitech on their person, or even uses magic in it, only help to build the sensation. And then, when enough Mirrorbound of both the Witch and Monster persuasion are in the room - A whirring noise fills the room, as the device comes to life. There isn't any time to vacate the room, because whether it was an intentional thing to activate the teleporter or not, it's activated. The intention of using it for travel to Dorchacht remains embedded in it, and from one moment to the next, the group in the room find themselves not in the Coven, but in the midst of trees. All around you is the forest just beneath the cliffs outside of Dorchacht. In the distance, if one looks hard enough, they might be able to spot the Black City itself. Besides the storage room of the Coven vanishing in a flash of light and electricity, the device is absent, too. Some of its smaller parts can be found scattered in the craggy grass at your feet, in the roots of trees, as if it completely fell apart the moment that the magic was activated. Whatever you had on your person, when you left? It's all that you have, now. And there's no way back from here. (Notes: Some small reminders - the boats take 2 days to reach Dorchacht, meaning they take 2 days to come back as well, and the teleportation device used by the espionage team is a one-time use only. The espionage team will be able to return to Aefenglom at the end of the month courtesy of some inside help, using a similar device that managed to bring them there in the first place. The Watches can be used on the ship, but are prone to static and dropping calls. Communication is possible from Dorchacht, though voice and video both feel a little muffled.)

II. DORCHACHT It's déjà vu. While Aefenglom is known for its dusk-hued skies, made of lustrous pinks and purples and blues, this city is dreary to the core. The streets are covered in a perpetual fog, not unlike the city you hail from, but thicker, denser, tinged with the flavor of industrial smog from the factories whose spires you can see in the distance. Magitech lights - lanterns above doors, street posts, flickering in the windows you pass - illuminate everything throughout the entire day, as if the sunshine can't reach through the foreboding fog nor the onyx walls. Even the windows are barred, offering a paranoid protection against the outside world. Doors seem hardier, and each building is reinforced and protected in a way that may feel familiar to those that have encountered the protective magic wards. They're heavier, leaving an almost ominous presence that causes unease to hang just as heavy in the air as the smog. The people of this city are just as dreary as the streets, though they do mill about with the same frequency as any city. Those from Aefenglom may recognize familiar faces, and they might find themselves looking twice at you, as if some part of them remembers you as well. Something seems... off, however. There are fewer Monsters in the streets than there were in the dream, though it isn't too hard to catch a glimpse of one here and there. The streets even seem a little more cleaned up than they once were, as one makes their way down them. At the heart of the city, dignitaries will be brought to the Coven. There, they're greeted by a slender and elegant woman, eyes bright and clever, but just as sharp as the red-lined smile that she offers her visitors. "Nerissa Bell," she begins, tone polite if clipped. There's the sense of a woman who won't waste words from her person, and she turns her eyes towards the dignitaries. "You must be the charges she spoke of. Mirrorbound, they call you?" A shallow inclination of her head, barely called respectful, as she smiles wider, in a way that would be kind if knives were made to be dull. "A pleasure. I am Morgana Drummond, head of the Coven here, and I welcome you to my city of Dorchacht, the safest haven against the Cwyld across all of our poor Geardagas." a. THE COVEN Morgana Drummond gives them a quick tour of their facilities, speaking lightly of the curriculum they have here that differs from Aefenglom's own (more of a focus in manipulation spells, be it the sort of commands that have become such a familiar sight to things such as perception and "paths" that can be seen through scrying, the other areas of practice more of "extra" than essentials) as well as allowing them to peek in on some lessons taking place. They won't be able to interact, but it is admittedly of a higher feel than what Aefenglom asks, though it's simply the seriousness of the atmosphere giving that impression. After showing them to where they'll be staying within the Coven's hospitality as well as mentioning the areas of their infirmary, library, and welcoming the Witches to try a hand at their lessons, she and Nerissa part from the characters as a whole to discuss the business of the month. There is a notable increase in guards, both around Morgana's person even within the Coven's walls, as well as the building itself. They seem to be in the business of keeping people on a kind of "railroaded" layout of the Coven building, but can be distracted for a quick peek -- the real help comes from those with triple stars hidden in plain sight, beneath the brims of hats and worn as idly jewelry and easily missed charms. These sympathizers will actively seek those out to speak with them, to let them know that even here there are those that would like to see change brought to Dorchacht, and assist in entering places that Mirrorbound otherwise would not be able to enter. Such as the library here, which contain higher level spells including the enchantments specific to the city walls. The history is just as muddled as it is in the later mentioned public library, the "when"s being vague and the like, but depicts Drummond's rise as the head of the Coven: She came to Dorchacht on a ship hailing from Aefenglom along with a number of other Witches and rose above the rest to become the esteemed leader she is now. Without her, many of the text will agree, Dorchacht would not be as it is now. Those with any notable signs of infection may be asked to step aside and allow Dorchacht's Witches to give them a check up -- better safe than sorry -- and this goes for Witches and Monsters alike. They'll be brought to the double doors that were so heavily secure within the dream, whether they'd like to be or not, and escorted inside. b. THE CITY Unlike the dream, things seem to be more... well-behaved. Auctions have been moved from the pavilion and in its place are genuine vendors to purchase from: Food, clothing, toys, trinkets, protective spell scrolls, all manners of things. There's still Monsters around, a little more tidy than before, but they hold the same stares they had in the dream, pinched expression and disinterested in conversation. There are signs that lead way to auctions if one is truly curious to see the extent of that terror, to gain insight on the situation there, but tailing someone might be hard within the twisting turns of the new bazaar. Another notable part of the city that can be accessed by those dealing in espionage include the barracks if they pose as hopefuls to join their ranks as handlers for their Monsters, which are collared in a familiar way to the dream, and seem reactionary to quick movements -- they're explained to be the essential frontline of what constitutes as a military force, very important, Mirrorbound Monsters beware you not suffer the same fate. The next place one might seek out is the library: While this is all deemed public knowledge, it offers insight into the kind of history and mindset that's been bred the past decade at minimum. Books regarding the dangers of Monsters, how to care and train them, practical spellbooks for those untrained by the Coven proper... The history books themselves are vague in regards to the "when" of things, and seem to be more contemporary in comparison to how old the city feels itself. There's a variety of more cultural knowledge such a cookbooks (including those dealing with monster parts) and floriography (more dour meanings compared to Aefenglom's flurous), but the relevant ones have been noted thusly. c. THE RESISTANCE Whether you're espionage or dignitary, those seeking the Resistance know what to look for: a trio of stars (some worn more openly than others), protests against the city's treatment of Monsters, and dispelling runes on the walls. Once proven that you're friend over foe, they're more than happy to have the assistance of any Mirrorbound in their company: A fight against the current practices is a fight they're for, after all. Riot! Disrupt the peace! The auctions, while a little more downplayed than in the dream, are still going, and the Resistance has good word on where they're being held in the grand city. Their goal? To cause a disturbance big enough to distract, but not big enough to catch Drummond's eye... that said, with her having to play the nice host to Aefenglom's associates within the main building, there's more to get away with. Free the Monsters! Whilst distracted, other members of the Resistance plan to dispel the runes in certain areas and smuggle off what Monsters they can, valuing quantity over quality. While the more mind-broken may resist heavily, it won't be hard to find Monsters of all kinds (save Dragons and Fae, which are notably absent from the auctions and city in general) accepting help to escape, eager to think for themselves once more. Find a way for them to escape the city safely, but know that the docks are heavily guarded in case of stowaways. Free the city! Kind of. A third party of Resistance members are looking to weaken the enchantment on the wall of Dorchacht itself, meaning they'll be looking for those brave enough to tread outside the city and into the Wilde just beyond its protective gates to take a look at and inscribe runes to hopefully diminish the compulsion in place right now. It won't be immediate, but it'll help in the future... just be careful, there's plenty of danger beyond the wall to contend with. As an interesting note, while the Resistances' bonded pairs are definitely unlike Dorchacht's compulsion-based ones, they're not exactly like Aefenglom's either: They call themselves comrades and partners, brothers/sisters in arms, giving it more of an equality forged from the same brass than something to do with convenience. (Notes: Those being willing, or unwilling, participants in the check-ups may reply to the top level there with how visibly infected they are for a special treat! Only for this month.)

III. AEFENGLOM Preparations for Meán Fómhair begin before Nerissa and the dignitaries head off on the 5th, but they seem a little quick even for the ever-festive people of Aefenglom: Apples begin the appear in great quantities to be used for later, some yellowed versus the red ripeness one thinks of when they're ready, there's hay bales tucked safely away for the days of, and there's little conversation to be made save for how things might be going in Dorchacht, though if any of the Mirrorbound try to join in they'll change the subject to Meán Fómhair in a split second, smiles thrown wider than the weeks before. Seems all is not quite as well as they'd like to appear. a. MARKET UP With the Parliament tense and looking westward, there starts to be gradual, but steady, increases in new appearances from some interesting individuals about the city. At face value they're no different than the vendors already found in great quantities, human and Monster alike, but one look at their wares proves different. The goblin market, as it's familiarly called, is somewhat accepted by the Parliament as something allowed to exist as part of their mercantile culture with Coven-approved medicines, alchemical practices, enchantments, so on and so forth, and only somewhat thanks to these known wares. Beneath these, with a dropped word or a curious eye, one can find things that are more than likely not sanctioned by either branch, things the vendors say can sate Monster and Witch alike without need of a Bond, though they decline to include the fact that such things are only temporary and that, like all hits, they'll need to come back for a greater quantity to get the satisfaction they need. Overpriced as they are (due to their private nature, it's high risk, surely they understand), they sell Monster parts of most kinds, Witch's Blood that may or may not be genuine, and what they call "extra strength" potions to mimic the feeling of a temporary bond without needing a second person to partake -- of course, you're welcome to share it, the more the merrier. However, this market hides a darker side, known more to those living among the aristocracy or who have the money and means to it, and characters are more likely to find themselves led there one way or another -- be it kidnapped or tricked, the black market isn't picky about how they drag their targets in. While Aefenglom prides itself in its fairness and equality, as in example with the goblin market not all is what it promises. Nowhere else is this more true than with the black market itself, using techniques familiar in Dorchacht to control their living wares, emboldened by the absence and turned heads of the government while remaining as discreet as they can be, they've ascended from the tunnels beneath Aefenglom to turn old houses into private auctions and the more deserted streets into bazaar-like adventures. Not all of these are unwilling wares, characters may find, and drawn by necessity for their own well-being or for their family's, but it's clear that a greater number are those from the Outer City. b. PROPAVANDALS Unbeknownst to Aefenglom's higher ups, Dorchacht has sympathizers of its own within this city's walls. While Bonds haven't been specifically dissuaded against, given that there's alternatives to the more permanent tethers, not all are in favor of changing completely. It's been ten years since Miss Bell gained her seating, such citizens'll say, and there's been decades prior where they hadn't needed that. That Monsterkind and Witches could be, and sometimes were better off, apart. Home remedies and extra practice, or finding a substitute, was all that was needed. More privately and growing in whispered popularity, that there ought to be more restrictions on the two in general. Once these words have started, both conversations planted as well as encouraged for thoughts already leaning a certain way, small attacks on those Bonded being to occur. They target the main populace and those with connections to the Coven itself, especially the Mirrorbound given Nerissa's alleged responsibility to them, and it seems they're well-practiced in hiding their activities because all investigations done towards the perpetrators, whether done by the Mirrorbound or officials themselves, will lead to only dead-ends outside the City. The culprits are hard to catch on foot, using the environment they'd grown up with to their advantage in escaping any manner of way -- it isn't just humans, but Monsters causing trouble as well -- but it isn't impossible... Just that they refuse anything but their right of silence on the accusations, claiming they'd had no part in anything, regardless of what proof might be found. The attacks and vandalism itself range from harmful messages appearing with magic on walls and doors, vaguely threatening letters written in ink that evaporates in sunlight, to fruit thrown and possessions left in tatters after breaking and entering. They don't stop at residential houses either, aiming for businesses held by those with any connection to the Coven, held by those with Bonds, and seek to cause any number of annoyance and distaste to those they attack. If it weren't for their Bonds, their Coven connections, they wouldn't be treated this way. That's the message they seek to send. c. UNEASY FESTIVITIES Come Septeril 21st, and lasting til the 23rd, Meán Fómhair is tentatively in full swing. The residents of Aefenglom are more on edge than during previous festivals save the red-hued Lithia, even once the first dignitary group has returned and the second left. There's barrels of apples decorating the street corners, but they don't seem as plentiful as they should. The games have a forced cheerfulness about them too, the unaffected being children who gleefully take part in each race, each competition, as well as the doctors with their cure-alls and promises of something to promote the harvest's delight, peddling medicine and medical advice to all who lend an ear with earnest grins and a profit to be made. The medicines are largely placebos with some possible side-effects for those that aren't, such as voice changes and intense cravings for various foods, but they seem to be very popular this year -- there's at least a couple merchants talking up the good fortune Dorchacht's stress has brought this year to one another, quieting down when they catch outsiders eavesdropping. With the continued attacks on those Bonded and Coven-affiliated, with one of their Speakers across the continent and the other sorely wrapped in Parlimentary business dealing with the attacks, the city holds its breath and tries to endure. Tries to be bright and cheerful while keeping obvious supplies behind their counters, to keep fright from their expressions and mind lest it invite the Cwyld to their midst, and ultimately drawing apart from one another in a time where unity is more than needed: Time will tell what actions might sew shut the new wound struck across Aefenglom.

Welcome to September's event log! The questions thread is split into two this time: one for Dorchacht, which can be found HERE, and one for Aefenglom, which can be found HERE. Please keep questions to their respective cities! This'll help both us and your fellow players in sorting information. Additionally, this event is a little special - we've prepare an OOC post to go along with it. Check it out over HERE - don't forget about it, as it'll help us see how things'll progress in the cities!

Comments

[belligerentwarrior]

[Oh, they were definitely something of a kindred spirit. The burly man even has the same nervous tick she did.]

[There almost seemed to be a hesitance to his words, a sort of mild vulnerability—it made sense, considering what he'd said about freedom before, as he points out. The best thing to do would probably respond delicately, in kind.]

[Instead, Fang laughs.] You're a riot, big guy. Who better to navigate a minefield than someone with a minefield, yeah? [Granted, their similarities ran the risk of feeding each other's worst qualities—even if it only lasted a day, Fang's own terrible anger mixing with his could be disastrous to the delicate mission of the dignitaries.]

I take a drink, you take a drink. Toast if want to—I won't tell you what to do. Not like it's a real Bond with vows, yeah?

[The turnskin glaces up at him, idly settling a hand on her hip.] And if you hate it that much, it's over in a day, no death required; and you still get out of your magic headaches for a while, or whatever you Witches get.

[It hardly mattered they'd just met. She'd brought these potions to help the Bondless. Frustrated Witches and half-feral Monsters would just make a bigger mess of negotiations in the end.]

[mirshikar]

[ It eases him, the huff of her laugh, brusque as it is along with her divulgence that she's just as hazardous as he is, even if she doesn't come along with the same flashy warning lights. And if his smile ticks up at the casual moniker of big guy, it can't be helped, because when you are a quaintly travel-sized Draconic amid a court of Ogres and Beasts of all kinds, it's a rare day when you're the biggest of the bunch. But this, of course, Fang cannot know—what she'll see, instead, is that his hesitations have been allayed (for better or for worse) between that fond recollection of home and her own nonchalant bearing.

What a big damn coincidence, that he's come across someone who seems just as dauntless as he is—someone who's thoroughly unfazed by the prospect of brushing up against a headspace that's the equivalent of a brick wall of anger, one that's cobbled together with the mortar of Asura's own will and refusal to squander this opportunity to bring about change in Dorchacht. And in knowing that, maybe Fang is some type of crazy. Just like Asura is in a way all his own, his head lolling to the side as his grin skews into some indiscernible expression, eyes falling to half-mast as his attention fixes upon some abstract point in the aether. ]

Let's go with preternatural eyestrain and a propensity for restlessness. [ Which translates into bar-fights in the Harbor District, back on Aefenglom's shores, if your name just so happens to be Asura. ] To be honest, I'm sure as hell that I'm going to hate it, but...

[ As much as it feels like both violation and trespass (being shoved right up against someone else's psyche, and having them right there in turn), and despite the dread coiling in the pit of his stomach at his own embrace of even a temporary, half-Bond, he reminds himself that he needs to trust; that all of them do, if they're going to liberate Dorchacht and finally set their sights on returning back to their respective realms, where they belong. ]

Even if I'm as thick-headed as any Monster, your pitch was smooth, and what you're doing, it's— [ With a great roll of his shoulders, he tries to shake the rest of that tension out of his body, his gaze shifting away from the Wilde's deep to settle upon the comrade at his side. ]

Noble, in its own way. Opening yourself up to perfect strangers, that takes guts, even if it's only for a day. [ And there's no death required. ] So...

You going to hit me up, or what?

[ With a potion, that is. ]

[belligerentwarrior]

[Her easy expression falls half towards irritation, half to exasperation at that one word. Ugh. Noble. Noble is what heroes and leaders did. What people like Lightning and Snow and Hope did.]

Don't even start on that 'noble' spiel. [Fang turns to face the Witch squarely, hands idly at her hips, meeting his gaze.] Some stressed Unbonded can make a right mess of things here—more than they already are. If I'm preempting that trouble in a way that happens to pay forward the chance someone took on me, that's just how it is.

[That aside, Fang held few personal boundaries. It was her distrust of the Coven, and the Bond process itself more than that of other people that'd initially held her back.]

[But her hand moves to her belt, digging out a little tin vial (she'd worried the glass might break) padded with a strip of leather around it, and flipped open the top. Her exasperation shifted into a smirk, gone as quickly as it appeared.]

And besides... maybe I'm not that brazen. Maybe everyone else is just shy. [Which was, plainly, bullshit. For her entire life, Fang acted true to what she felt and thought, and rarely felt any need to hide who she was. The turnskin tosses back her sip of the silver, tasteless liquid, and holds it out to Asura.]

[mirshikar]

[ Pssssh. The way her face pinches at that word—noble—it's sort of great, and Asura can't in good conscience say that he's the least bit apologetic for eliciting that particular reaction. What he knows from personal experience is that it's oftentimes the people who deem themselves the farthest away from being noble (in all its connotations) are those that exemplify the trait the most. But then, Fang seems awful determined to dissuade him from holding that particular notion when she pivots to face him (squaring up in a way that he returns, shoulders broad and stance tall) and professes that she's just paying forward her Bonded's goodwill.

He wonders: is she aware that she's just gone and done the exact opposite of what she'd intended? That no one's actually convinced here? ]

Unable to take a compliment and willing to throw the masses under the bus to prove a point, I see.

[ Not brazen, i n d e e d. Accepting the vial (and it's easier, in this moment, to pretend it's a tin flask of whiskey for the road rather than what it truly is), Asura sees it lifted in a silent toast to the Turnskin, offering her a nod of head before...! All that ceremony is tossed to the wind in the moment when he hastens to drink before he convinces himself that he shouldn't, and— ]

That's--... [ —nothing (and everything) like he thought it would be, the feel of the temporary Bond as it sets in, linking them in a way which is exhilarating and freeing, horrid and constraining, and a jumble of things which Asura can't even begin to reconcile so he opens his mouth to talk through it (or try): ]

So that's you, huh. [ Her emotional bearing, right there against his. ] Not up front and not that unabashed, just like you said.

[ His own smirk? It's got dragon's teeth. ]

[belligerentwarrior]

[And just like last time, that phantom sensation of part of her soul being hastily tacked onto another's, like something carelessly stapled. And just like last time, now even more clearly juxtaposed against the true Bond she had with Ursula, Asura's mood muffled by the shaky Bond.]

[Muffled or not, she can feel the dense, lead-like weight of his anger, well suppressed beneath the surface of his casual demeanor by determination. It was an anger she suspected many of the Mirrorbound carried with them, in subtly different ways and temperaments. His amusement and unease floated there, too, just ot the side of her mind.]

[She rolls her eyes at his rebuffs, but lets it slide. The lady doth protest too much, or whatever. Fang grins in return, her turnskin's teeth not as impressive as a dragon's, but just as distinctly monstrous.]

That's me—and that's what you're stuck with for the next day.

[There was suppressed anger from her side, as well, like buried coals still burning, waiting to be stoked again; determination and caution held her own in check, lest she lose control of herself again like she did in the dream. Otherwise, her mood was just as relaxed as her bearing was, despite the danger of the Wilde and Dorchacht, vaguely entertained—even a little intrigued.]

[This was the part where most Bonded held each other's hands or cradled their faces; Fang lifts a fist, lightly tapping it against Asura's chest and holding it there. Gradually, unsteadily, stunted by the weak Bond, magic started to move between them.]

[mirshikar]

You're not so bad. [ To be stuck with. And he makes that discernment easily, despite the muted connection (which, truth be told, he doesn't have any standard for—there's no baseline for him to compare it to) of the half-Bond between them. She's breezy and devil-may-care with a solid as hell foundation in anger that lies in waiting, at the ready to be focused into the keenly-honed point of wrath. Pity, that she's a Turnskin; that he can only devour the wrath belonging to humans—he would have liked to taste that emotion, if he could've. ] And this part—

[ Where she's got her knuckles pressed to the center of his chest, his hand comes to clasp her shoulder, completing what he imagines to be a closed-looped circuit of sorts. Sure, formerly stagnant magic is always going to be sluggish before it begins its course, and while it's never going to flood the tactile channel they've established like water through a dam burst open, when it does pick up, it's... nice. Tension which he hadn't realized he'd been carrying is lifted from his shoulders in slow increments and degrees, and there's no way at all for Asura to hide that sentiment from her. Reprieve and relief are crisp, cool, and clean as they make their presence known through this cut-and-paste attachment between Turnskin and Witch.

Eyes lowered, a softer expression gentles Asura's features as his gaze falls upon Fang's outstretched arm, so readily extended to him. And no, what he's feeling is nothing at all akin to the mushy effusiveness of face-cradling or forehead-touching, but... it's weighty, all the same. She may not want him to be, but he's grateful for this. For her. With this, he can keep his promise. ] That isn't so bad, either.

The rest, though? [ The ball and chain of magic provided by the Coven; the fact that the Mirrorbound Witches and Monsters were all but dependent on it? ] It's heinous like no other.

[ And that's Asura's cue to hand the uncapped potion-flask back to it's owner, an action which...! Finds itself forestalled by the (sudden !!) appearance of another Monster on the scene, an Arachne which emerges from the thick line of trees blighted and ravening to high hell.

Guess someone should've always had their eyes turned toward the Wilde, out of precaution. And w o w—is that Asura's low whistle as the thing jumps, pitching itself into the air (and toward Fang and Asura both) with its many legs??

Yeah, it sure is. That's impressive as shit. ]

[belligerentwarrior]

[The gratitude itself she didn't mind—she could remember her own flood of gratitude for Ursula, when their temporary Bond had made Fang's mind her own again, just before her third full moons. Mushy face-cradling and forehead-touching had its place—and gods knew her real Bond was full of that—but it didn't suit this... easy camaraderie.]

[One corner of Fang's mouth quirks up after Asura says his piece and holds out the vial. Even if she weren't watching, her sharp hearing catches the whispering step of the running arachne shortly before it bursts out of the tree line.]

[While Asura's busy appreciatively rubbernecking at the blighted monstrosity, Fang casually shoves him with the first against his chest, simultaneously pushing herself back and shoving the Witch away; the infected creature lands between them.]

You don't have to tell a Monster that, [the turnskin replies non-nonchalantly, as if their conversation hadn't been interrupted by the local wildlife. Her lance is suddenly in hand, and coming up at the arachne in a sweeping upward stroke.]

[mirshikar]

Yeah? [ Where she'd shoved him back, Asura bent to the current of her momentum, putting a swath of distance between them to accommodate for their woodland guest while ensuring that the remaining contents of the vial stayed within their container. ] You don't have to push a Witch out of the way, either.

[ Or, at least, this particular Witch. However taken he'd been by the Arachne's display of raw physical force (and Fang's own, in turn), his focus is dead set on two objectives: keep his comrade safe and cull the infected. So when Fang launches the first offensive, her twin-headed spear leveraged into a strong rising cut, by the time the Arachne rears back to avoid the strike, Asura impedes the retreat by driving an elbow into its bulbous abdomen from behind.

A brawler when he's bereft of his lance, Asura's quite aware that, however heavy his build might be, his preternatural strength is gone from him, and a human's forward-pitch is never going to be enough to unsettle a Monster. Not alone, that is. And that's why before surging into the fight, he'd decided to go full flame on, the whole of his arm (from shoulder-socket to the clawed tips of his fingers) coated in flames borne from the magic of evocation.

The newly-ignited gauntlet of fire eats away at the material of Asura's crimson coat, and though his flesh remains unburnt, the same cannot be said of the Arachne who isn't so lucky—the plague-bearing thing shrieks something awful, and as Asura withdraws (planning for a second strike if need be), he really does hope that the flames lapping up and down the bulk of his arm will be enough to keep the infection at bay.

Logic says yes, but he's never put that theory into practice before today. ]

Was planing to light up before greeting our guest head-on, but... [ Learning the rhythms of his comrade in a fight is satisfying, and the game of keeping that potion bottle from spilling in the heat of sudden combat is a game as good as any. ] This works just as well.

[belligerentwarrior]

[Even if the flames failed to keep the infection away, that was a problem for later. Unless the thing struck them in the heart or another major blood vessel, it would be slow-progressing.]

[The arachne wails horribly at the touch of the fire, an awfully distorted sound. A small part of Fang laments that there must still be a glimmer of life in the blighted creature, however lost it is. It's tragic—like a Cie'th.]

[And all the more reason to put it out of misery. It tries to spin on Asura and his flaming-coated arm, legs lashing wildly; Fang sweeps her spear downward this time, opening a gash across its back and abdomen as the infected creature struggles to divide its attention between the two.]

Listen to you, planning ahead—the other guy I know that's your size doesn't believe in plans.

[mirshikar]

Improvisation has its time and place, don't get me wrong— [ Largely like this moment where Asura can't pretend that he's able to predict each and every one of Fang's moves in this fight which came looking for them, rather than the other way around.

Sure, being a spear-wielder himself, he can gauge the range of her weapon and guess at the extent of her reach, but beyond that and the fact that she's got his back, the rest is all a (wild, enlivening) mystery. It's also something which has got him grinning fiercely, as Fang garners the majority of the Arachne's attention with the downswing of her lance, and Asura...! Takes the opportunity to seize the infected's head, avoiding pedipalps and fangs, the flat of his ignited hand coming into direct contact with the many sets of the Arachne's eyes. Beneath his palm, shadowed and shaded flesh crackles and sputters beneath the application of heat, and for the second time his withdraw is swift enough to avoid injury to his person, but...

This style of quick, disabling advances and deft retreats, is excruciating (for the Arachne) and its caterwauling in its newly-afflicted blindness might be enough to draw the city guard out, beyond the protection of their onyx wall, in investigation.

What to do, then? ]

—but a bit of strategy never hurt anyone. [ Save for, perhaps, the opponent which met with it. ]

If I can upend our bit of company [ by bashing clean into it, shoulder first, with the full weight of his person ] think you could finish it?

[ Cleanly, like he isn't able to.. Because the tragedy of those fallen to the Cwyld is not lost upon him; not Asura, who by title and by edict, delivers Changelings lost to madness into the lasting reprieve brought about by the grave.

In any case, if Fang gives the go-ahead, Asura's going to barrel forward in three, two, one...! ]

[belligerentwarrior]

[As reluctant as those of Dorchach were to leave their walls, the last thing they needed was to get caught on the outside with the guard and their collared war Monsters. Fang leaps to the side as the arache flails blindly—also granting Asura a clean path forward, should he want to bowl into the thing.]

Give it your best shot. I'll take it down, don't you worry. [He isn't the only one grinning fiercely.]

[mirshikar]

[ 'Should he want to', pssssh, does he ever!!

Tossing his weight around used to be (and still is) a favorite pastime of Asura's, and though this is nowhere near a rollicking contest of strength and sport held in one of Summer's great halls, he'll just have to make do somehow.

(Apologies, Fang, there's suddenly a whole lot of hype stemming from Asura's end of that half-Bond thing.)

And it speaks to his confidence in both Fang and himself, how he pitches forward without hesitation once the Turnskin's cleared the area, his golden horns and scales glinting something striking in the light cast off by his gauntlet of fire, before...! Imminent impact sounds an awful lot like a/the leg(s)? of the Arachne breaking (something which had been necessary to do, if Asura were to get his shoulder underneath its abdomen, granting him leverage enough to flip the blighted creature over) and—

—well, turns out that he did build up just enough momentum to upend the Arachne (and himself).

His recovery afterward is messy (he quite nearly eats dirt, some of the Arachne's legs did manage to catch him, knocking the wind clean from his lungs), but...! In his hand (raised high over head), the potion bottle remains intact, its remaining contents safe and sound, capped by the flat of Asura's thumb.

He also makes damn well certain to look up in time to watch Fang drive the whole thing home. ]

[belligerentwarrior]

[Excitement which feeds into excitement. Fang found from her Bonded experience, it was much harder to keep emotions from bleeding into each other when they were experiencing the same thing.]

[She'd already started moving before Asura finished flipping the creature, and it's not nearly as impressive of a stunt as it would've been when she was l'Cie; still, a turnskin's strength is nothing to scoff at, and her twisting high jump achieves significant air. Between gravity and her built up momentum, the lance crashes through the arachne's chest with a sickeningly wet crunching sound, Fang's feet pinning the clawed arms in case death didn't find it immediately.]

[It doesn't—but the arachne's dying struggles are feeble and short-lived. As its thrashing fades to twitching, and twitching to stillness, she murmurs to it.]

You find peace, now.

[These things were too much like Cie'th.]

[mirshikar]

[ Fang sticks her landing (literally), her spear piercing the underside of the Arachne's chest, and if Asura had been worried at all, it had only been because he didn't want to miss it—the height of what the Turnskin is capable of, and he wonders if, like him (and so many others), she wrests with the fact that her abilities no longer match what they were once, in a realm far away from Geardagas.

And as he shakes the flame out from the length of his arm (cutting off the outpour of magic needed to keep it alight), he finds he doesn't need to be close to Fang to know what she's murmured to the blighted husk of the creature—what he feels from her (and the solemn air he mirrors in turn) is telling enough.

(Funny, isn't it, how the smaller things needn't be communicated when everything that you are has been fastened by way of potion to someone else.)

Risen to his feet, when he bridges the distance between himself and Fang, it's only after a moment of silence given to calming himself down from their shared battle-thrill and high. ]

We should move on, from this segment of wall. [ Go vandalize somewhere else, maybe, in the name of liberating others. ] Though...

I see I was right to be jealous of that lance. [ Tossing his hair back, he rolls his shoulder (the one that had borne the brunt of his own landing), finding it sore but no worse for wear. ] You wield it well.

[ Here, he extends the tin potion-flask for a second time, a lazy half-smile playing upon his lips. ]

[belligerentwarrior]

[They should move on. They've caused far more commotion than they should have, still relatively close to one of the Resistance's way through the wall.]

[Fang yanks her weapon from the corpse, mirroring Asura's half-smile. ]

Thanks. Not so bad yourself, big guy. Fire or not, goin' hand-to-hand with infected is gutsy.

[The turnskin hops off the corpse, taking the potion without delay. They needed to move quickly.]

Cheers. [And she tosses it back, completeling the connection in the same jarring way as before.]

[It was odd, having another set of feelings in her head that wasn't Ursula's.]