Who: Waver Velvet & whoever When: throughout September Where: Dorchacht (beginning to mid-Sept... ignore the headers) & Aefenglom (late Sept) What: trouble in Dorch, recovering in Aefenglom Warnings: drug use, auction and monster slavery stuff
The dreariness of this darkened, smoggy city with its invasive enchantments and empty-eyed Monsters is starting to weigh on Waver. Being out in the streets is dangerous, especially alone-- but having to listen to bland niceties while he's herded away from anything remotely interesting or relevant in the Coven has gotten rather old by now. They won't even let him observe spell classes, and he's summarily dismissed any time he tries to engage with the Dorchacht Witches, whose distaste and discomfort is never buried far beneath the surface.
After getting kicked out of the public library (for the third time!) due to his nature as a non-human, Waver decides he's not interested in going back to the Coven yet, either. He knows Iskandar is trying to look into this city's defenses and military forces, and Waver's presence around him is only likely to hurt those endeavors. No point in going back to lounge uselessly around and get shooed away from doors.
He finds himself at the market-- or, rather, one part of the sprawling, hodgepodge bazaar that constitutes the market or markets of the city, criers hawking their wares and a mass of people milling about with baskets and bags. Muscular Monsters pull carts through the narrow pathways, carry boxes full of food and wares, and guard some of the more expensive-looking shops as obvious deterrents to thieves. Drawn by dark curiosity regarding the crowd starting to form around it, Waver spots a booth openly selling Monster parts for potions and spells. Its proprietor is in the middle of a 'demonstration' showing how fresh their goods are; he's plucking scales from the tail of a merrow half-submerged in a metal bathtub. Waver recognizes the spellwork inscribed on the side. It activates an electric shock.
Stomach twisting nauseatingly, Waver hurries to turn away and back out of there before someone realizes he's not all human underneath the hooded cloak he wears. Before he can get far, though, there's a shout from behind him. Several more cries answer, though the words can't be made out, and then--
The blast of impossibly strong wind sends wood, metal and cloth scattering, goods clattering down from broken countertops and shattered jars. Customers scream and curse, reeling from the noise as a flash of fire and sparks bursts in the middle of the street, and then another and another all around, upending several nearby booths.
Waver finds himself shoved back, caught up in the crowd of humans trying to run, as the rising screams join up with the roars and snarls from the agitated Monsters tied up as 'supplies' for the potions booth. Someone or something snags his cloak, drags him along several feet, hood knocked aside to reveal canine ears and lengthening teeth. He goes down snarling, struggling to catch himself amid the swath of stifling cloth, when suddenly a hand reaches down to grab him by the back of the neck and yank him back upright.
"No!" Waver barks, instantly lashing out in his distress. "Don't touch me!"
With so many avenues already exhausted both by Ozymandias and the other mirrorbound, Ozymandias finds the market to be the next place worthy of assessment. Marketplaces really tend to be the heart of any city regardless of the era or location. Whether they are busy, barren, or somewhere in-between, it's always an excellent place to gauge what it is the city is feeling and predict its next actions.
He hasn't been surprised to find that the worst offenses of cruelty have been sequestered elsewhere from the main thrust of the bazaar. If one is not a local, it seems it requires at least a small amount of effort to find the auction block. At least when one is a Witch in any case. He would hazard a guess that information is far less forthcoming if one presents as a Monster with any notable features. Interesting that they do not entirely close it off from their prying eyes, but after a little further thought, the decision makes sense. It is not as though the mirrorbound are unaware of its existence. Hiding it would be pointless.
In any case, Ozymandias intends to go to that place again eventually, but not just yet. He is curious as to what exactly Dorchacht finds to be an acceptable face to present to their visitors. He doesn't imagine that it will take long before their anti-Monster sentiments begin to color the market and he's quite unfortunately proven right. Whether it's arrogance, propaganda, or a little bit of both, Dorchacht still lets it be known how they regard the Monster portion of their population with no sign of seeking change.
At least that is until the blast of wind strikes.
Initially, everyone in the crowd seems to move as one as they turn away from the potential shrapnel, shielding eyes and heads. Some shield bodies beside them as well while others seem to have no problem using those at the end of a leash as their shield. It's only when the flashes of fire start lining up the street that the panic sets in and whatever fragile sense of camaraderie dissipates. Almost immediately, Ozymandias finds himself jostled as people roughly push past and bump into him in their blind attempts at escaping the chaos and perceived attack. Occasionally, it's a struggle even for him to maintain his balance, but he tries to hold his ground as much as possible as he tries to find the source of all this.
His eyes settle on Waver just as he's grabbed and pulled along, and there is less thought and more instinct put into it when Ozymandias moves toward him. It's difficult to tell if there are others trying to take advantage of this chaos likely brought on by the resistance efforts or if panic has complete control over Waver's predicament, but Ozymandias isn't keen on the idea of using Waver as means of figuring it out. The press of the crowd hasn't quite yet solidified in any one direction, reducing the amount of impediment to his progress, but it's not enough to get there before Waver hits the ground. Ozymandias picks up the pace the best he can to yank Waver back up to his feet and keep him from being trampled.
But Waver lashes out and he has to let go. Though his lashing out is obviously blind, panic and turnskin strength is not a combination that one should take lightly. He moves back half a step for good measure before reaching out for him again, trying to prevent any further connection between the ground and Waver, or the crowd sweeping him away.
His name called in a familiar voice breaks through the threat of animal panic clouding his mind, giving Waver something to orient him. He stumbles a little, bumped by the fleeing crowd, but now that he sees Ozymandias, he quickly reaches out in return-- this time without trying to use his claws, thankfully.
His big cloak is an impediment. He tries to gather it closer around his body so it doesn't keep getting snagged, but the whole point of it was to hide, and it's not doing much anymore. Not that anyone is really stopping in the street for an uncollared turnskin in the middle of everything else going on.
Waver tries to grab Ozymandias's wrist to keep from getting separated.
"What- what happened? We should get out of--"
An otherworldly wail from the booth behind them drowns him out. The merrow is trapped, abandoned by her owner and unable to leave the water without being shocked. If whoever set the blasts meant to help these Monsters escape, they've either gotten detained or haven't gotten here yet.
The sound of the merrow's wails is painful to be sure, her own panic and pain becoming almost palpable with such a horrid sound. Ozymandias can't help but glance in her direction, to see if there's anyone helping her. Not yet. Or, at least, Ozymandias hopes it's yet. His brow furrows as his attention snaps back to Waver. Unfortunately, there's nothing he can do for her. Not right now when Waver is just within reach, but also close to being pulled away.
Ozymandias pushes further into the ground and finally manages to get a hold of Waver's hand. Someone bumps into Ozymandias' back, pushing him further into the building stream of people trying to escape the chaos. Not exactly the direction he wanted to move in, but it at least closes some of the distance he has to pull Waver towards himself. Not all that far away, beneath the noise of the panic yells, is the solid thunk of someone hitting the ground and several people subsequently tripping.
"Even if you have to use your claws, don't let go!"
Waver shrinks from the noise, his sharper senses overwhelmed on all fronts, buffeted by the crowds and the shouting, the explosions and the smell of smoke and spilled food and potions-- and, increasingly, blood. The acrid scent of singed flesh.
A young woman carrying a toddler bowls past them, knocking Waver's hand aside momentarily, but he manages to grab onto Ozymandias's wrist right after with only a smarting bruise that won't become apparent until later. Behind him, the shrieking continues. There's smoke rising on the horizon.
His claws lengthen even as Ozymandias tries to shout over the chaos and panic all around them; Waver's grip tightens, fingers curling viciously, digging in as he drags himself closer. The smoke is in his lungs, the blood-scent in his nose, and that persistent, awful screaming--
Waver reaches up with his free hand, using his claws to slash the ties around his throat that keep dragging him back and choking him, letting the cloak fall where it will. It helps. With a solid grip on Ozymandias now and less to impede him, he closes the gap and grabs onto Ozymandias's shirt with his other hand, gripping the hem urgently.
"We have to do something!" The words are nearly garbled by the snarl with which they're delivered, visibly lengthening fangs filling Waver's mouth, his eyes so dark the whites are nearly gone.
He doesn't know what to do. He can't think. He wants to run, claw his way free of all these people, but--
He has too much of a conscience for a mage. Maybe it's part of why he was so bad at it.
Waver shoves his weight forward, pushing Ozymandias backward toward the booth where some monsters are still tied and trapped, and the merrow's screams are waning.
Waver's grip on him as he's trying to reel himself in closer is uncomfortable, to say the least, but Ozymandias grits his teeth and endures it without complaint. Before he can even suggest that Waver rid him of the cloak that's weighing him down, Waver is already in the process of clawing himself free of it. Good, Ozymandias thinks. It's a sensible thing to do.
What's less sensible is Waver giving in to compassion and wanting to save the other Monsters that find themselves still trapped within the booth. Ozymandias tries to dig his heels in to prevent being moved in that direction, but with Waver's turnskin strength in the moment, he can really only at most is maintaining balance as they come to a stop once more. Ozymandias looks over his shoulder at the poor creatures. Even in their own frenzied states of panic, they are sad to bear witness to; not a single one is whole and the malnourishment and mistreatment is marked all along their bodies. But there is little that Waver and Ozymandias can do for them. Looking down at Waver, he doesn't know if he's simply forgotten that or never knew it to begin with. It seems in some ways, the fanciful and romantic notions of childhood have not fully left him.
With the relative safety of the booth and proximity to the monsters diverting most of the crowd, Ozymandias separates himself some from Waver, turning his chin up to look at him instead of the trapped and restrained monsters. Leaning a little closer, Ozymandias scrutinizes Waver's face. Something in Ozymandias' own expression softens after a moment.
"Leave them," he concludes, speaking loud enough to be heard. His voice is not cold, but it is calm. He releases Waver's chin and straightens back up. How unfortunate is it that this boy continues to find himself trapped amid such ugliness that he is simply not meant to be part of? Were there a different sort of look in his eyes, Ozymandias might have pushed him to discover his own means of summoning up courage to truly release them from their suffering. But he hasn't the stomach for it and likely never will; Ozymandias neither faults nor pities him for it. It simply is not who he is meant to be.
But even so, Ozymandaias doesn't offer him false hope with a pretty promise that the Resistance will care for those restrained and trapped at this booth. There is no guarantee of that and looking out over the chaos in the pathways of the bazaar, it seems entirely unlikely. They will be more than likely forgotten by everyone until the chaos clears. And then their lives will be as they've ever been.
Ozymandias is perhaps lucky that Waver is small, and his turnskin abilities still not fully manifested. He's much stronger than he's ever been before, but unless he really puts his back -- and claws -- into it, he probably can't overpower Ozymandias when it comes down to it. Not that he's easy to hold back, though.
Waver bares his fangs when he's grabbed by the chin, ears pinned, trying to pull free. He's frantic, nearly feral, terrified and furious.
When Ozymandias starts pulling him away, the pharaoh is met with wordless snarling at first, then half-formed protestations.
"Stop! They're... they'll--"
Be killed? Be captured again? Or maybe they really will be rescued, maybe whoever set this awful commotion to begin with did it for a good reason, but--
There's a rising surge of yelling voices nearby, some sort of monstrous roar and a burst of magical flares above cutting through the crowds. The words are difficult to make out, but the gist of it is quickly becoming clear: the military is moving in to restore the peace, and even in his state, Waver understands enough about this place to know that won't be pretty.
The reality of the situation crashes down on Waver like a blow, brutal and inescapable: there's nothing they can do. Even if Ozymandias agrees to work with him and the two of them manage to free all the Monsters before the military arrives, many of them are injured or drugged, clearly traumatized, possibly violent. And it's not like it's as simple as cutting their bonds. All of them will need to be led somewhere safe, or they'll be even more likely to get hurt or killed when someone inevitably tries to capture them again. Unless some of them choose to do so first.
Whatever meager help Waver can try to provide now would serve little other purpose aside from assuaging his own pained conscience. And possibly getting himself hurt too.
Ozymandias is right. Gritting his teeth, Waver turns away, his hand still wrapped tight around Ozymandias's wrist trembling. His breathing is catching and uneven, every muscle tense to aching.
Ozymandias didn't expect that it would be easy to pull Waver away from the Monsters behind the booth, which is why he generally ignores all the initial protests both those that come in growls and snarls, and those that come in near-unintelligible speech. He simply keeps them moving as Waver slowly comes to his own conclusions and understanding finally breaks through whatever emotional turmoil is raging inside him. Were there more time, Ozymandias might use it to calm Waver down a little further, but it simply doesn't exist.
Wordlessly, Ozymandias leads them in the opposite direction of the military as it brutally begins restoring the peace. While freedom from the chaos most obviously exists behind their line, it would require crossing said line to get to it. Ozymandias doesn't know how much to trust Waver right now in his near-feral state (never mind how the military themselves might interpret the pair of them making their escape in their absolute response to this chaos), but that seems too high a risk to take right now.
Moving along behind the booths makes things a little simpler. There's at least some space between the front of the stalls and the wares for some semblance of a path, and fewer people attempting to make their way through. But it doesn't last long. Both Resistance's strike and the ensuing panic has destroyed much of the stalls that lay ahead. It would be difficult enough to clamber over by one's self, never mind trying for both of them. He doesn't turn them straight into the crowd, however, stopping at just the edge and looking at Waver.
"It's only one more block if the space between the stalls isn't blocked."
Having finally accepted the reality of the situation, Waver allows Ozymandias to pull him along, maintaining the rough grip on his wrist as they weave through the crowds and away from the sounds of the military Witches and their horrible weaponized Monsters taking over the street behind them. Undoubtedly, they're looking for signs of whoever is responsible for this too-- though of course the general knowledge that it's 'the Resistance' is inescapable. Catching them has clearly been the hard part, and each time something like this happens, it's a new chance for any of their members to be caught and taken care of.
Waver and Ozymandias are pseudo-dignitaries with the proper paperwork, sure, but it likely won't look great for them to be caught up in this. And more than that, Waver is painfully aware how close he is to losing control; that's the opposite of what they're supposed to be modeling here.
So he shuts up, puts up, and focuses inward. With Ozymandias leading, all he has to worry about is keeping enough of a check on his emotions to keep himself from slipping. It's alarmingly difficult, especially without either of his Bonded nearby. Maybe it's the many spells woven into the wall, something about Dorchacht itself or maybe just the distance, but his Bonds don't feel quite as firm and clear as they should. Or, quite possibly, he's just that upset.
Waver looks up when Ozymandias stops them, then out over the mess of broken stalls and spilled goods. He nods. They can make their way through. And, hopefully, they can make it out from that side without having to encounter any of the militarized Monsters stopping people in the street.
Despite his best efforts (not very effective efforts, apparently), a certain someone really does have a penchant for attracting trouble. And not making friends.
Maybe his mistake was being cocky enough to go back to the public library after getting chased out a handful of times already. Or maybe he was just unlucky. The librarian witch who had caught him the first time hadn't been around during Waver's later visits, most of which weren't even for research anymore but out of restless boredom. This time, though, Waver nearly runs smack into the sour-faced older man when rounding a tall bookshelf. With or without the glamour disguising his canine features, the librarian recognizes Waver instantly. And this time, Geralt isn't around to interfere.
Before he can duck away, the man grabs Waver by the back of the collar. By now, he knows better than to waste his breath trying to simply command him; he skips straight ahead to spells without relying on the compulsion. Before the little Monster can cry out, the witch is already weaving a complex binding spell around him as quickly as possible. No way he'll allow some other trumped-up tourist from that shameful city of Aefenglom to get up in his business and start threatening him again in his own place of work. Even the witches there are Monster-loving morons, he's learned.
No, this time, he plans to deal with the irritating turnskin himself. And maybe make a few coins in the process.
It might be frowned upon to mess with the delegation from Aefenglom for political reasons, but that doesn't mean there's no one who'd accept a Monster from an unknown source. Licenses can be forged; paperwork can be conveniently produced. There are people who pay well and don't ask too many questions for decent goods, and others for whom the taboo is an exciting point of pride. Either will do.
After only a few hours -- and a 'healthy' dose of nightshade mixed with mandrake root forced down the struggling whelp's throat -- it's all someone else's problem. The librarian has lined his pockets and gotten his supposed revenge.
And Waver is left collared, stripped down to his underwear and chained to one of the auction's many wooden posts. His vision swims, breath shallow and ragged, thoughts scattered, far-away. His legs won't hold him. His voice won't come out. The tattoo is still displayed on his bare chest, but it's useless against herbs and potions.
As prospective buyers browse the living wares displayed, Waver kneels on the cobblestone, glassy-eyed and weak. He's not for sale in the section for those seeking manual labor and strength. Behind him and the line of similarly subdued and meek-eyed Monsters dressed in scant, sometimes even sheer clothing, the seller mans a booth boasting jeweled collars and decorative accessories glinting in the low light. They are, a sign declares, generously discounted with purchase of a pet.
Berserker is not terribly pleased to be back in the marketplace -- not as a good this time, like he was in the dream, but as a rogue element. His role as a guard for the dignitaries is a good enough cover...an even better cover is the glamour disguising his draconic features. Normally, he's the one to create a distraction for a resistance member or one of the mirrorbound to free the monsters, though this time things are different.
His eyes settle on the lineup Waver's in and he stops dead in his tracks. They might not get along all the time, but he's important to Diarmuid therefore he's important to Berserker. If he let Waver sit here, he couldn't look his Bonded in the face again. Hell, he couldn't really live with himself if he knowingly left him here.
...What the hell did he get himself into this time? Outwardly, he's completely calm. Inwardly, there's a pit of boiling rage settled in his stomach. He doesn't know who got him into this situation, but they're going to die. First up is the seller. To take this one out, he'd have to be a bit more careful...All he has to do is get his hands around this one's throat. Snap his neck. Drop the body somewhere.
"How much for that turnskin, the one with the tattoo?"
For the cold death in his eyes, his voice maintains its normal cold apathy and his body language is neutral. He had to play his part to make sure Waver gets out safely.
Even muffled through the faint, persistent ringing in his ears, the familiar voice draws Waver's attention. He lifts his head, mouth opening-- but says nothing, merely blinking up at Berserker slowly, hands clasped loosely in his lap. He exhales a shaky breath. The panic is far away, just out of reach. For now, everything is just happening around him, and he can do nothing but kneel there, bound by the potion as much as by the thick iron chain.
The seller, meanwhile, smiles at his potential customer amiably and makes a sweeping gesture at the rather pathetic-looking turnskin at his feet.
"Good eye on this one, sir, rare stock! Just came in this morning. Not fully turned yet, see? Still young, no more than fifteen or sixteen and the perfect age for training up and keeping as a companion for a long time. So, you see, the price is fair, you understand--"
And no, it isn't cheap. Even though he's full of shit and clearly has no clue how old Waver could be or anything about him. It's more appealing marketing to draw customers who want to buy younger Monsters though, keep them in the family for a while as pets or workers if they grow stronger or, likely, uglier.
The seller holds up a collar inlaid with some sort of glinting green stone.
"But don't let anyone tell you I don't take care of my clients! I'll throw this in for half-price, and a strong leather leash for free. What d'you say, sir? Anything else catch your fancy, perhaps? Some earrings? A personalized grooming set? Cut ya a deal on those too, of course!"
The more the seller talks, the more the rage in him burns. It sharpens into a white-hot fury and sets him further on edge. It's not like the idea of slavery is something alien him to him -- he'd seen human lives traded for chariots in his lifetime -- but this is personal. This is one of his own, one he will protect with his life. He has to keep the facade up a little bit longer and take his chance when it presents itself.
"The beast is enough. Let him out so I can see him walk. Or at least stand."
The moment the seller turns his back...That's when he'll strike. Let this subhuman filth live for a moment longer before ending his wretched existence with far more efficiency than he deserves.
Honestly, even the seller knows he shouldn't have put the new Monster up for sale still drugged, but he's greedy and he knows the source isn't exactly above board. The sooner he can offload the whelp and make some cash, the better. So he just smiles widely and sets the collar back down, grabbing the afore-mentioned leash from the table instead as he steps closer.
"Come now, don't be shy."
The leash clips onto a ring at the front of the iron collar first, and only then does the seller reach around Waver's back to undo the spelled clasp from the chain that connects him to the wooden pole stuck in the ground. He doesn't actually need to turn away from Monster to do it.
When he straightens, he pulls Waver with him, expecting him to stand on his own. When the turnskin doesn't (or, rather, can't), he yanks harder, dragging him up by the neck. Waver chokes, fingers curling around the collar to keep it from digging into his throat as he's pulled up bodily to wobble on unsteady legs.
"Get up, dog. Stand up. Stop embarrassing me, now."
To the customer, he offers an apologetic grin.
"Needs a little training, I'll admit, but between you an' me, all you need's a firm hand and a silver ring, and they learn fast."
Berserker has seen enough. The pure fury crystallizes into cold action. No need to snap his neck if he can hit him hard enough in the chest -- a single, sharp strike can disrupt the heart rhythm enough to stop it. His strength is comparable to when it was as a Servant, even, so it's something he can manage. The dragon takes a few steps forward as if to inspect Waver, then turns his attention to the seller.
"I'll keep that in mind."
He punches him hard in the chest, just once and with a significant amount of force. Commotio cordis can look like a heart attack and since there's no witnesses in this corner of the bazaar other than the monsters he's selling, it's plausible. Free the others along with Waver and gets them to the underground. He knows the way thanks to Geralt, but he needs to get them free first.
It's quick, efficient, and silent. The slaver doesn't even have time to cry out. He goes down hard, clutching his chest and twitching, open-mouthed like a beached fish. His seizing hand tightens on the leash, though-- and Waver goes down with him, arms clumsily bracing outward to catch himself before he goes face-first into the cobblestones below.
Thankfully, before that can happen, he finds himself intercepted by Berserker's arm across his chest buffering his fall. Waver gasps, still reeling, and struggles to regain his precarious balance.
"Y-yes. Yes. I--"
The world spins dangerously when he looks up to search Berserker's face.
Berserker's first act is to wrench the iron collar from Waver's neck. The twisted metal falls away as he gently urges the turnskin back towards the ground.
"Sit. I'll carry you, but I need to free the rest of them."
Acting because he wants to, not because he's been told to do it...How strange. He really has changed, though he's not going to dwell on those thoughts right now. As in everything, he's extremely efficient in breaking the chains and pulling the collars from the other monsters who'd been in the slaver's possession. Just like with those he freed with Geralt, they needed to be taken the the safety of the resistance.
Berserker's not keen on returning the the sewers, but somehow taking Waver back to the Coven doesn't seem like a great idea, either. The housing provided by the Coven is certainly cleaner, the problem of him being under glamour made it ... dicey to return without finding someone to dispel the effect first. Why was a dignitary walking around in disguise?
Once he's finished, he returns to Waver's side and picks him up.
He's safe. In a real bed finally, even if the Coven's temporary offerings are nothing opulent, just the two single beds to a room in this case. What matters more is that Geralt's clearing potion worked, he's warm and he's resting-- and, mostly, that his Bonded is nearby.
Iskandar probably felt it when they got closer, especially after the effects of whatever unsavory potions Waver had been given earlier were cleared up: Waver's panic and lingering horror, the realization crashing down as things calmed otherwise. It had been an alarmingly close call.
Waver reaches up for him when Iskandar is close. Berserker is gone now, and it's just the two of them.
"Rider... lie down with me?" he asks softly, like a child waking from a nightmare afraid to look under the bed.
Iskandar is not sure if he's more angry that the boy got himself in trouble and didn't tell him or more relieved that it's over.
The beds that Coven provided for their guests are barely enough for them both to fit into. Only after some shuffling Iskandar is able to find a position stable enough that he won't risk tumbling down to the floor and still can keep Waver nestled in his arms. He can feel the boy trembling.
"Shh... it's alright. You're safe. You're with me now." he says with a sigh. As if he could ever be angry with Waver for long. "You did give me one mighty scare, you know?"
It's a bit cramped and not that comfortable, but it is comforting. And that's enough. Waver curls against Iskandar, pressing himself so close it's as though he's trying to disappear into him. His ears are so far down they're almost flush against his hair, anxious and stressed.
He's still wearing only his underwear, apart from the blankets, and he could use a bath. For now, though, all he wants is this contact with his Bonded-- with Iskandar, rather. That is what is really calming him down finally.
"Y-yeah..." he mumbles in return, apologetic. Obviously, it had scared him pretty badly too.
With Iskandar's arms tight around him, at least the shivers are starting to fade.
A bath, yes. He could use one. Iskandar doesn't react, even if he notices it. There will be time for a bath later. More important is that Waver calm down. That he knows the horror is over. This city has it's way of interfering with the Bonds but when Waver was finally close enough, Iskandar got hit with full force. Memories of the panic still fresh in his memory.
By the Gods, what kind of conditions they kept you in?
He would have torn those people limb from limb if he found them. Diplomatic mission be damned, no one hurts his boy. Fortunately, Berserker did that part for him. Iskandar notes to find a way to thank the man later.
"That is some luck that Berserker showed up there but I don't want to risk anything of such sort happening to you again. We'll leave with the first group."
Iskandar had thought that coming as guests to this city they were pretty safe. Even the monsters. That he doesn't have to keep a close watch on Waver because the boy is capable enough to take care of himself. He would be safe if this was any Greek polis. Hospitability was sacred to his people and the thought anybody would have such blatant disregard for it never even crossed Iskandar's mind. An obvious mistake he's planning to correct now.
It scares him to think about how bad things could have been if Berserker hadn't happened by. Geralt, too. If things hadn't aligned so perfectly. It was just dumb luck-- and that's terrifying.
Maybe Iskandar would have found him quickly when he didn't come back, or felt something wrong in their Bond eventually. The misunderstanding would have been cleared up. Probably. But all those 'what ifs' still freak him out, and the close call has left Waver shaken and anxious for obvious reasons.
Iskandar's announcement doesn't surprise him. Waver only nods, exhaling shakily.
It hadn't been his fault, but he still feels like a failure somehow.
"Did you want to stay?" he manages to ask after a moment, quietly. In truth, it's not like they were doing much good. They've been nothing but vaguely uncomfortable guests and a showcase for life in Aefenglom that nobody asked for or seems to care much about seeing. Nothing he's learned about this city is good, either. Or even that useful-- whatever 'useful' is supposed to mean in this context. What can they do to change things?
Morgana's iron hold over the city, the spells controlling Monsters and memories, the commonplace cruelties that make up the fabric of this whole society-- it's all awful, of course. But realistically, it's not like a bunch of trumped-up tourists from a city no one here even likes (if they care about it at all) will have the sort of influence that will actually matter in the long run.
Some of the Monsters that had been freed were too far gone to even want to leave, not without having another Witch to follow. It's not as simple as just setting them all loose, if that were theoretically even possible. The systematic dehumanization -- so to speak -- is too deep-seated.
It's utterly selfish, but Waver doesn't want to see any more of it.
Whatever plans Iskandar had before coming here he has forsaken the moment he realized how superficial is their very presence here. The people of this city were more than content with the existing situation to question it. They treated the guests were treated more like curiosity. Examples of how the silly, if not downright childish ways of the city of their origin. And recent events have clearly demonstrated he can't trust any assumption that they will behave in a civilized way.
"I think I've seen enough of this place."
Yes, there were those working in the shadows. The Resistance. Iskandar has learned to recognize their sign. He wished them and their mission success. Gods know, they deserve it. Were the circumstances different, he would have helped them without a second thought. Unfortunately, he's not in a position to do so. Not while being on a mission to lessen the tension between the cities and sadly deprived of a persuasive force of an entire Macedonian army behind his back.
He'd met with some Resistance members, seen some of the enchantments on the wall outside, but all in all, he's powerless. They all are, in this case. Change has to come from within, and even if some of the people from Aefenglom could help -- even if many wanted to help -- the situation is complicated and far-reaching.
It's like the riots in the market a few days ago. They'd meant to help the Monsters, probably-- but Waver had seen the damage, what happened to the unlucky ones, the way it only made the violence worse. He'd wanted to help then, too. Instead, he'd run away.
Now, he was basically doing the same thing. It's still the smartest choice for him to make, but it feels... bad.
"I had assumed we at least will have someone to talk to. That has not happened."
He can't call Dorchacht's Head Witch someone willing to talk. Nor any of her lackeys. The Resistance, on the other hand, is more than willing but Iskandar has his own issues with them. As much as he does pity the local Monsters, they are not his problem. The city he, Waver and the rest of the so-called diplomatic delegation came from, well, that one certainly is. And he will choose the safety of his own over that of strangers every single time.
"I hardly believe there's anything we can do here. Something that would really make a difference and not just make some of the more faint-hearted or self-righteous souls in our lot feel better about themselves."
Iskandar was called ruthless and cruel many times before and he almost expects that some from the pro-Resistance members of the delegation might call him that too. Still, he has a clear objective and he never hesitates in pursuit of it. That attitude has always served him well. That and one rule he always follows: never enter a battle you're not sure you'd win.
Here, they are on the losing position however he'd look. So there's one thing to do and one thing only. Leave.
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for ozymandias, mid-septeril.
After getting kicked out of the public library (for the third time!) due to his nature as a non-human, Waver decides he's not interested in going back to the Coven yet, either. He knows Iskandar is trying to look into this city's defenses and military forces, and Waver's presence around him is only likely to hurt those endeavors. No point in going back to lounge uselessly around and get shooed away from doors.
He finds himself at the market-- or, rather, one part of the sprawling, hodgepodge bazaar that constitutes the market or markets of the city, criers hawking their wares and a mass of people milling about with baskets and bags. Muscular Monsters pull carts through the narrow pathways, carry boxes full of food and wares, and guard some of the more expensive-looking shops as obvious deterrents to thieves. Drawn by dark curiosity regarding the crowd starting to form around it, Waver spots a booth openly selling Monster parts for potions and spells. Its proprietor is in the middle of a 'demonstration' showing how fresh their goods are; he's plucking scales from the tail of a merrow half-submerged in a metal bathtub. Waver recognizes the spellwork inscribed on the side. It activates an electric shock.
Stomach twisting nauseatingly, Waver hurries to turn away and back out of there before someone realizes he's not all human underneath the hooded cloak he wears. Before he can get far, though, there's a shout from behind him. Several more cries answer, though the words can't be made out, and then--
The blast of impossibly strong wind sends wood, metal and cloth scattering, goods clattering down from broken countertops and shattered jars. Customers scream and curse, reeling from the noise as a flash of fire and sparks bursts in the middle of the street, and then another and another all around, upending several nearby booths.
Waver finds himself shoved back, caught up in the crowd of humans trying to run, as the rising screams join up with the roars and snarls from the agitated Monsters tied up as 'supplies' for the potions booth. Someone or something snags his cloak, drags him along several feet, hood knocked aside to reveal canine ears and lengthening teeth. He goes down snarling, struggling to catch himself amid the swath of stifling cloth, when suddenly a hand reaches down to grab him by the back of the neck and yank him back upright.
"No!" Waver barks, instantly lashing out in his distress. "Don't touch me!"
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He hasn't been surprised to find that the worst offenses of cruelty have been sequestered elsewhere from the main thrust of the bazaar. If one is not a local, it seems it requires at least a small amount of effort to find the auction block. At least when one is a Witch in any case. He would hazard a guess that information is far less forthcoming if one presents as a Monster with any notable features. Interesting that they do not entirely close it off from their prying eyes, but after a little further thought, the decision makes sense. It is not as though the mirrorbound are unaware of its existence. Hiding it would be pointless.
In any case, Ozymandias intends to go to that place again eventually, but not just yet. He is curious as to what exactly Dorchacht finds to be an acceptable face to present to their visitors. He doesn't imagine that it will take long before their anti-Monster sentiments begin to color the market and he's quite unfortunately proven right. Whether it's arrogance, propaganda, or a little bit of both, Dorchacht still lets it be known how they regard the Monster portion of their population with no sign of seeking change.
At least that is until the blast of wind strikes.
Initially, everyone in the crowd seems to move as one as they turn away from the potential shrapnel, shielding eyes and heads. Some shield bodies beside them as well while others seem to have no problem using those at the end of a leash as their shield. It's only when the flashes of fire start lining up the street that the panic sets in and whatever fragile sense of camaraderie dissipates. Almost immediately, Ozymandias finds himself jostled as people roughly push past and bump into him in their blind attempts at escaping the chaos and perceived attack. Occasionally, it's a struggle even for him to maintain his balance, but he tries to hold his ground as much as possible as he tries to find the source of all this.
His eyes settle on Waver just as he's grabbed and pulled along, and there is less thought and more instinct put into it when Ozymandias moves toward him. It's difficult to tell if there are others trying to take advantage of this chaos likely brought on by the resistance efforts or if panic has complete control over Waver's predicament, but Ozymandias isn't keen on the idea of using Waver as means of figuring it out. The press of the crowd hasn't quite yet solidified in any one direction, reducing the amount of impediment to his progress, but it's not enough to get there before Waver hits the ground. Ozymandias picks up the pace the best he can to yank Waver back up to his feet and keep him from being trampled.
But Waver lashes out and he has to let go. Though his lashing out is obviously blind, panic and turnskin strength is not a combination that one should take lightly. He moves back half a step for good measure before reaching out for him again, trying to prevent any further connection between the ground and Waver, or the crowd sweeping him away.
"Waver, it's me! Stop!"
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His big cloak is an impediment. He tries to gather it closer around his body so it doesn't keep getting snagged, but the whole point of it was to hide, and it's not doing much anymore. Not that anyone is really stopping in the street for an uncollared turnskin in the middle of everything else going on.
Waver tries to grab Ozymandias's wrist to keep from getting separated.
"What- what happened? We should get out of--"
An otherworldly wail from the booth behind them drowns him out. The merrow is trapped, abandoned by her owner and unable to leave the water without being shocked. If whoever set the blasts meant to help these Monsters escape, they've either gotten detained or haven't gotten here yet.
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Ozymandias pushes further into the ground and finally manages to get a hold of Waver's hand. Someone bumps into Ozymandias' back, pushing him further into the building stream of people trying to escape the chaos. Not exactly the direction he wanted to move in, but it at least closes some of the distance he has to pull Waver towards himself. Not all that far away, beneath the noise of the panic yells, is the solid thunk of someone hitting the ground and several people subsequently tripping.
"Even if you have to use your claws, don't let go!"
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A young woman carrying a toddler bowls past them, knocking Waver's hand aside momentarily, but he manages to grab onto Ozymandias's wrist right after with only a smarting bruise that won't become apparent until later. Behind him, the shrieking continues. There's smoke rising on the horizon.
His claws lengthen even as Ozymandias tries to shout over the chaos and panic all around them; Waver's grip tightens, fingers curling viciously, digging in as he drags himself closer. The smoke is in his lungs, the blood-scent in his nose, and that persistent, awful screaming--
Waver reaches up with his free hand, using his claws to slash the ties around his throat that keep dragging him back and choking him, letting the cloak fall where it will. It helps. With a solid grip on Ozymandias now and less to impede him, he closes the gap and grabs onto Ozymandias's shirt with his other hand, gripping the hem urgently.
"We have to do something!" The words are nearly garbled by the snarl with which they're delivered, visibly lengthening fangs filling Waver's mouth, his eyes so dark the whites are nearly gone.
He doesn't know what to do. He can't think. He wants to run, claw his way free of all these people, but--
He has too much of a conscience for a mage. Maybe it's part of why he was so bad at it.
Waver shoves his weight forward, pushing Ozymandias backward toward the booth where some monsters are still tied and trapped, and the merrow's screams are waning.
What the hell is the Resistance doing?
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What's less sensible is Waver giving in to compassion and wanting to save the other Monsters that find themselves still trapped within the booth. Ozymandias tries to dig his heels in to prevent being moved in that direction, but with Waver's turnskin strength in the moment, he can really only at most is maintaining balance as they come to a stop once more. Ozymandias looks over his shoulder at the poor creatures. Even in their own frenzied states of panic, they are sad to bear witness to; not a single one is whole and the malnourishment and mistreatment is marked all along their bodies. But there is little that Waver and Ozymandias can do for them. Looking down at Waver, he doesn't know if he's simply forgotten that or never knew it to begin with. It seems in some ways, the fanciful and romantic notions of childhood have not fully left him.
With the relative safety of the booth and proximity to the monsters diverting most of the crowd, Ozymandias separates himself some from Waver, turning his chin up to look at him instead of the trapped and restrained monsters. Leaning a little closer, Ozymandias scrutinizes Waver's face. Something in Ozymandias' own expression softens after a moment.
"Leave them," he concludes, speaking loud enough to be heard. His voice is not cold, but it is calm. He releases Waver's chin and straightens back up. How unfortunate is it that this boy continues to find himself trapped amid such ugliness that he is simply not meant to be part of? Were there a different sort of look in his eyes, Ozymandias might have pushed him to discover his own means of summoning up courage to truly release them from their suffering. But he hasn't the stomach for it and likely never will; Ozymandias neither faults nor pities him for it. It simply is not who he is meant to be.
But even so, Ozymandaias doesn't offer him false hope with a pretty promise that the Resistance will care for those restrained and trapped at this booth. There is no guarantee of that and looking out over the chaos in the pathways of the bazaar, it seems entirely unlikely. They will be more than likely forgotten by everyone until the chaos clears. And then their lives will be as they've ever been.
He begins pulling Waver away.
"We need to go!"
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Waver bares his fangs when he's grabbed by the chin, ears pinned, trying to pull free. He's frantic, nearly feral, terrified and furious.
When Ozymandias starts pulling him away, the pharaoh is met with wordless snarling at first, then half-formed protestations.
"Stop! They're... they'll--"
Be killed? Be captured again? Or maybe they really will be rescued, maybe whoever set this awful commotion to begin with did it for a good reason, but--
There's a rising surge of yelling voices nearby, some sort of monstrous roar and a burst of magical flares above cutting through the crowds. The words are difficult to make out, but the gist of it is quickly becoming clear: the military is moving in to restore the peace, and even in his state, Waver understands enough about this place to know that won't be pretty.
The reality of the situation crashes down on Waver like a blow, brutal and inescapable: there's nothing they can do. Even if Ozymandias agrees to work with him and the two of them manage to free all the Monsters before the military arrives, many of them are injured or drugged, clearly traumatized, possibly violent. And it's not like it's as simple as cutting their bonds. All of them will need to be led somewhere safe, or they'll be even more likely to get hurt or killed when someone inevitably tries to capture them again. Unless some of them choose to do so first.
Whatever meager help Waver can try to provide now would serve little other purpose aside from assuaging his own pained conscience. And possibly getting himself hurt too.
Ozymandias is right. Gritting his teeth, Waver turns away, his hand still wrapped tight around Ozymandias's wrist trembling. His breathing is catching and uneven, every muscle tense to aching.
"...fine."
It's time to leave. And fast.
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Wordlessly, Ozymandias leads them in the opposite direction of the military as it brutally begins restoring the peace. While freedom from the chaos most obviously exists behind their line, it would require crossing said line to get to it. Ozymandias doesn't know how much to trust Waver right now in his near-feral state (never mind how the military themselves might interpret the pair of them making their escape in their absolute response to this chaos), but that seems too high a risk to take right now.
Moving along behind the booths makes things a little simpler. There's at least some space between the front of the stalls and the wares for some semblance of a path, and fewer people attempting to make their way through. But it doesn't last long. Both Resistance's strike and the ensuing panic has destroyed much of the stalls that lay ahead. It would be difficult enough to clamber over by one's self, never mind trying for both of them. He doesn't turn them straight into the crowd, however, stopping at just the edge and looking at Waver.
"It's only one more block if the space between the stalls isn't blocked."
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Waver and Ozymandias are pseudo-dignitaries with the proper paperwork, sure, but it likely won't look great for them to be caught up in this. And more than that, Waver is painfully aware how close he is to losing control; that's the opposite of what they're supposed to be modeling here.
So he shuts up, puts up, and focuses inward. With Ozymandias leading, all he has to worry about is keeping enough of a check on his emotions to keep himself from slipping. It's alarmingly difficult, especially without either of his Bonded nearby. Maybe it's the many spells woven into the wall, something about Dorchacht itself or maybe just the distance, but his Bonds don't feel quite as firm and clear as they should. Or, quite possibly, he's just that upset.
Waver looks up when Ozymandias stops them, then out over the mess of broken stalls and spilled goods. He nods. They can make their way through. And, hopefully, they can make it out from that side without having to encounter any of the militarized Monsters stopping people in the street.
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for berserker, late septeril.
Maybe his mistake was being cocky enough to go back to the public library after getting chased out a handful of times already. Or maybe he was just unlucky. The librarian witch who had caught him the first time hadn't been around during Waver's later visits, most of which weren't even for research anymore but out of restless boredom. This time, though, Waver nearly runs smack into the sour-faced older man when rounding a tall bookshelf. With or without the glamour disguising his canine features, the librarian recognizes Waver instantly. And this time, Geralt isn't around to interfere.
Before he can duck away, the man grabs Waver by the back of the collar. By now, he knows better than to waste his breath trying to simply command him; he skips straight ahead to spells without relying on the compulsion. Before the little Monster can cry out, the witch is already weaving a complex binding spell around him as quickly as possible. No way he'll allow some other trumped-up tourist from that shameful city of Aefenglom to get up in his business and start threatening him again in his own place of work. Even the witches there are Monster-loving morons, he's learned.
No, this time, he plans to deal with the irritating turnskin himself. And maybe make a few coins in the process.
It might be frowned upon to mess with the delegation from Aefenglom for political reasons, but that doesn't mean there's no one who'd accept a Monster from an unknown source. Licenses can be forged; paperwork can be conveniently produced. There are people who pay well and don't ask too many questions for decent goods, and others for whom the taboo is an exciting point of pride. Either will do.
After only a few hours -- and a 'healthy' dose of nightshade mixed with mandrake root forced down the struggling whelp's throat -- it's all someone else's problem. The librarian has lined his pockets and gotten his supposed revenge.
And Waver is left collared, stripped down to his underwear and chained to one of the auction's many wooden posts. His vision swims, breath shallow and ragged, thoughts scattered, far-away. His legs won't hold him. His voice won't come out. The tattoo is still displayed on his bare chest, but it's useless against herbs and potions.
As prospective buyers browse the living wares displayed, Waver kneels on the cobblestone, glassy-eyed and weak. He's not for sale in the section for those seeking manual labor and strength. Behind him and the line of similarly subdued and meek-eyed Monsters dressed in scant, sometimes even sheer clothing, the seller mans a booth boasting jeweled collars and decorative accessories glinting in the low light. They are, a sign declares, generously discounted with purchase of a pet.
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His eyes settle on the lineup Waver's in and he stops dead in his tracks. They might not get along all the time, but he's important to Diarmuid therefore he's important to Berserker. If he let Waver sit here, he couldn't look his Bonded in the face again. Hell, he couldn't really live with himself if he knowingly left him here.
...What the hell did he get himself into this time? Outwardly, he's completely calm. Inwardly, there's a pit of boiling rage settled in his stomach. He doesn't know who got him into this situation, but they're going to die. First up is the seller. To take this one out, he'd have to be a bit more careful...All he has to do is get his hands around this one's throat. Snap his neck. Drop the body somewhere.
"How much for that turnskin, the one with the tattoo?"
For the cold death in his eyes, his voice maintains its normal cold apathy and his body language is neutral. He had to play his part to make sure Waver gets out safely.
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The seller, meanwhile, smiles at his potential customer amiably and makes a sweeping gesture at the rather pathetic-looking turnskin at his feet.
"Good eye on this one, sir, rare stock! Just came in this morning. Not fully turned yet, see? Still young, no more than fifteen or sixteen and the perfect age for training up and keeping as a companion for a long time. So, you see, the price is fair, you understand--"
And no, it isn't cheap. Even though he's full of shit and clearly has no clue how old Waver could be or anything about him. It's more appealing marketing to draw customers who want to buy younger Monsters though, keep them in the family for a while as pets or workers if they grow stronger or, likely, uglier.
The seller holds up a collar inlaid with some sort of glinting green stone.
"But don't let anyone tell you I don't take care of my clients! I'll throw this in for half-price, and a strong leather leash for free. What d'you say, sir? Anything else catch your fancy, perhaps? Some earrings? A personalized grooming set? Cut ya a deal on those too, of course!"
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"The beast is enough. Let him out so I can see him walk. Or at least stand."
The moment the seller turns his back...That's when he'll strike. Let this subhuman filth live for a moment longer before ending his wretched existence with far more efficiency than he deserves.
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"Come now, don't be shy."
The leash clips onto a ring at the front of the iron collar first, and only then does the seller reach around Waver's back to undo the spelled clasp from the chain that connects him to the wooden pole stuck in the ground. He doesn't actually need to turn away from Monster to do it.
When he straightens, he pulls Waver with him, expecting him to stand on his own. When the turnskin doesn't (or, rather, can't), he yanks harder, dragging him up by the neck. Waver chokes, fingers curling around the collar to keep it from digging into his throat as he's pulled up bodily to wobble on unsteady legs.
"Get up, dog. Stand up. Stop embarrassing me, now."
To the customer, he offers an apologetic grin.
"Needs a little training, I'll admit, but between you an' me, all you need's a firm hand and a silver ring, and they learn fast."
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"I'll keep that in mind."
He punches him hard in the chest, just once and with a significant amount of force. Commotio cordis can look like a heart attack and since there's no witnesses in this corner of the bazaar other than the monsters he's selling, it's plausible. Free the others along with Waver and gets them to the underground. He knows the way thanks to Geralt, but he needs to get them free first.
"Waver. Can you hear me?"
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Thankfully, before that can happen, he finds himself intercepted by Berserker's arm across his chest buffering his fall. Waver gasps, still reeling, and struggles to regain his precarious balance.
"Y-yes. Yes. I--"
The world spins dangerously when he looks up to search Berserker's face.
"Th-tha... nks..."
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"Sit. I'll carry you, but I need to free the rest of them."
Acting because he wants to, not because he's been told to do it...How strange. He really has changed, though he's not going to dwell on those thoughts right now. As in everything, he's extremely efficient in breaking the chains and pulling the collars from the other monsters who'd been in the slaver's possession. Just like with those he freed with Geralt, they needed to be taken the the safety of the resistance.
Berserker's not keen on returning the the sewers, but somehow taking Waver back to the Coven doesn't seem like a great idea, either. The housing provided by the Coven is certainly cleaner, the problem of him being under glamour made it ... dicey to return without finding someone to dispel the effect first. Why was a dignitary walking around in disguise?
Once he's finished, he returns to Waver's side and picks him up.
"Do you feel safe returning to the Coven?"
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for iskandar, the aftermath.
Iskandar probably felt it when they got closer, especially after the effects of whatever unsavory potions Waver had been given earlier were cleared up: Waver's panic and lingering horror, the realization crashing down as things calmed otherwise. It had been an alarmingly close call.
Waver reaches up for him when Iskandar is close. Berserker is gone now, and it's just the two of them.
"Rider... lie down with me?" he asks softly, like a child waking from a nightmare afraid to look under the bed.
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The beds that Coven provided for their guests are barely enough for them both to fit into. Only after some shuffling Iskandar is able to find a position stable enough that he won't risk tumbling down to the floor and still can keep Waver nestled in his arms. He can feel the boy trembling.
"Shh... it's alright. You're safe. You're with me now." he says with a sigh. As if he could ever be angry with Waver for long. "You did give me one mighty scare, you know?"
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He's still wearing only his underwear, apart from the blankets, and he could use a bath. For now, though, all he wants is this contact with his Bonded-- with Iskandar, rather. That is what is really calming him down finally.
"Y-yeah..." he mumbles in return, apologetic. Obviously, it had scared him pretty badly too.
With Iskandar's arms tight around him, at least the shivers are starting to fade.
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By the Gods, what kind of conditions they kept you in?
He would have torn those people limb from limb if he found them. Diplomatic mission be damned, no one hurts his boy. Fortunately, Berserker did that part for him. Iskandar notes to find a way to thank the man later.
"That is some luck that Berserker showed up there but I don't want to risk anything of such sort happening to you again. We'll leave with the first group."
Iskandar had thought that coming as guests to this city they were pretty safe. Even the monsters. That he doesn't have to keep a close watch on Waver because the boy is capable enough to take care of himself. He would be safe if this was any Greek polis. Hospitability was sacred to his people and the thought anybody would have such blatant disregard for it never even crossed Iskandar's mind. An obvious mistake he's planning to correct now.
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It scares him to think about how bad things could have been if Berserker hadn't happened by. Geralt, too. If things hadn't aligned so perfectly. It was just dumb luck-- and that's terrifying.
Maybe Iskandar would have found him quickly when he didn't come back, or felt something wrong in their Bond eventually. The misunderstanding would have been cleared up. Probably. But all those 'what ifs' still freak him out, and the close call has left Waver shaken and anxious for obvious reasons.
Iskandar's announcement doesn't surprise him. Waver only nods, exhaling shakily.
It hadn't been his fault, but he still feels like a failure somehow.
"Did you want to stay?" he manages to ask after a moment, quietly. In truth, it's not like they were doing much good. They've been nothing but vaguely uncomfortable guests and a showcase for life in Aefenglom that nobody asked for or seems to care much about seeing. Nothing he's learned about this city is good, either. Or even that useful-- whatever 'useful' is supposed to mean in this context. What can they do to change things?
Morgana's iron hold over the city, the spells controlling Monsters and memories, the commonplace cruelties that make up the fabric of this whole society-- it's all awful, of course. But realistically, it's not like a bunch of trumped-up tourists from a city no one here even likes (if they care about it at all) will have the sort of influence that will actually matter in the long run.
Some of the Monsters that had been freed were too far gone to even want to leave, not without having another Witch to follow. It's not as simple as just setting them all loose, if that were theoretically even possible. The systematic dehumanization -- so to speak -- is too deep-seated.
It's utterly selfish, but Waver doesn't want to see any more of it.
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"I think I've seen enough of this place."
Yes, there were those working in the shadows. The Resistance. Iskandar has learned to recognize their sign. He wished them and their mission success. Gods know, they deserve it. Were the circumstances different, he would have helped them without a second thought. Unfortunately, he's not in a position to do so. Not while being on a mission to lessen the tension between the cities and sadly deprived of a persuasive force of an entire Macedonian army behind his back.
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Even before this happened, he would have agreed.
He'd met with some Resistance members, seen some of the enchantments on the wall outside, but all in all, he's powerless. They all are, in this case. Change has to come from within, and even if some of the people from Aefenglom could help -- even if many wanted to help -- the situation is complicated and far-reaching.
It's like the riots in the market a few days ago. They'd meant to help the Monsters, probably-- but Waver had seen the damage, what happened to the unlucky ones, the way it only made the violence worse. He'd wanted to help then, too. Instead, he'd run away.
Now, he was basically doing the same thing. It's still the smartest choice for him to make, but it feels... bad.
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He can't call Dorchacht's Head Witch someone willing to talk. Nor any of her lackeys. The Resistance, on the other hand, is more than willing but Iskandar has his own issues with them. As much as he does pity the local Monsters, they are not his problem. The city he, Waver and the rest of the so-called diplomatic delegation came from, well, that one certainly is. And he will choose the safety of his own over that of strangers every single time.
"I hardly believe there's anything we can do here. Something that would really make a difference and not just make some of the more faint-hearted or self-righteous souls in our lot feel better about themselves."
Iskandar was called ruthless and cruel many times before and he almost expects that some from the pro-Resistance members of the delegation might call him that too. Still, he has a clear objective and he never hesitates in pursuit of it. That attitude has always served him well. That and one rule he always follows: never enter a battle you're not sure you'd win.
Here, they are on the losing position however he'd look. So there's one thing to do and one thing only. Leave.
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