☆ Event Log: Snatched, Part Two

[faileas]

Event Log: January, Snatched - Part Two

I. A Great Escape (20th, Evening) It's been a miserable six days for the Mirrorbound and refugees kept locked away in a basement cell block, subject to all kinds of torment and experimentation. They're a resilient sort, though, and their efforts to organize and bolster each other are not in vain. As the time passes with no sign of the City Guard drawing close to their operations, the Rathmore family grows overconfident, and characters can hear them talking to each other about another mass-kidnapping in the works. The best opening comes late on the night of the 20th. A few of the family's numbers are out - notably, Thomas Rathmore, his wife, and his mother are attending an emergency meeting of Parliament, and Constance is making an appearance at the Coven. This leaves the more inexperienced cousins in charge, the lesser known Rathmores with no particular skill outside of cruelty. Changing of the guard begins as usual, a handful of Rathmores delivering some sparse rations and taking their time to choose a few prisoners to remove from their cells, but this time, the Mirrorbound bite back. Thanks to the collaborative efforts of Daenerys and Asura, along with the prisoners preparing an organized revolt, a fire started in the torture room provides chaos and cover - and one dead Rathmore cousin, whose body gives up some of the keys to a handful cells. Time to play the cards you've held close to your chest over days of torture, your held-back spells, your tricks, your items that weren't confiscated. A mass escape isn't likely, with so many people still present in the building and so many of the captives injured and tired, but with enough of a distraction in the form of a prison riot, which may be enough to overpower the three Rathmores initially left in the cell block, a handful of scrappy Mirrorbound may make it out to safety before reinforcements arrive. a. The Escape Attempt There is one door out of the cell block, the main, heavy, warded door that the Rathmores enter and exit from every few hours. It's locked down tight - but it's possible to power through it, pick the lock, or charm it open. On the other side of the door, in the greater basement area, they'll find themselves free of the Bond dampening. Witch magic make take some time to return, depending on whether they were drugged or only charmed, but it'll be important to move quickly. The Rathmores' basement area is large - the size of the mansion above and the grounds put together, and they'll find themselves on the lower of two levels. The cellblock turns out to be a room within an even bigger room, with the stairs at the opposite end. The dangers are numerous: magical and mechanical traps set in areas marked off-limits, illusions intended to confuse and turn people around. There is only one completely safe path from the cellblock door to the stairs, unless they take the time to disarm the traps and illusions with their returning magic and abilities. That safe path is faster but more exposed, with two or three Rathmores in pursuit, and also the other people that could occasionally be heard outside the door - young aristocrats in on the kidnapping, who thought the Mirrorbound would be sent home. They're just as surprised to see you as you are them. In fact, it's not difficult to overpower these non-Rathmore kidnappers; they're obviously shocked to see Mirrorbound still here, in such states, and some are quite angry, or scared to learn what they've inadvertently gotten themselves into. A good handful flee instead of fight, but some others follow through on the shouted orders to go after you. Use the chaos your appearance causes to your advantage. Once escapees reach the upper basement level, up the stairs and through a hidden door, a few more traps remain, but up here, it looks more like a normal basement; servants' quarters, empty for some time now, storage rooms full of antiques, and winding hallways connecting them. It's easier to hide in this dusty maze to escape any pursuers, and eventually, they find the servants' exit out onto the back grounds. From there, freedom is just a run and a decorative, wrought-iron fence away. b. The Chaos Back in the cells, everything descends into chaos. The Rathmores are furious; while two or three of the cousins go after the escapees, the rest begin to gather down in the cell block, put out the fire, and the interrogations begin. They don't bother taking prisoners out to torment them now - they can't, with their torture room charred and smokey. Their main focus is forcing prisoners back in, and locking everything down with magic and heavy chains, to ensure no one else gets out. They grow more vicious now, and they begin speaking directly to the captives - they want to know which ones got free, how they managed it, who helped them, where they're going, who they're going to tell. Those who refuse to talk will be gagged or muzzled or simply beaten without finesse, and they'll move on to the next captive. Preying on the Mirrorbound's camaraderie with each other is the tactic they quickly turn to, hurting one to try and make another talk. The talk outside the main door grows louder in these few hours, angrier. Occasionally one of the Rathmore cousins will go out to spin some lies, or simply shout down any protesting. Some of the enchantments were damaged in the riot, though - they can hear you, just as well as you can hear them, muffled but still mostly clear. The more they hear from within, the more the confusion outside grows; all the better for the escaped Mirrorbound. ..."What's going on? Those were Mirrorbound that got out-" "We thought you were sending them home!" "You told us there was no risk, that this would make them leave-" "You don't need to worry about that! Go back upstairs!" "Someone needs to get a message to our Uncle Thomas immediately-"... They're all panicking as their grand plans, flimsy as they may have been, start to crumble around them. It's just a matter of time, now. The OOC post for the escape plotting is here if anyone needs to refer back to it! Eight characters will be escaping first thanks to a joint effort. The rescue will be underway within two hours of their escape, but those two hours are likely to be unpleasant for characters who remain in captivity. Any NPC maimings or proposed deaths need to be reported on the City Tracker; please note that mass murder / killing NPCs will still have consequences and needs mod approval first, but we're happy to work with players however we can.

II. The Cavalry (21st, Very Early Morning) The City Guard is closer than the Rathmores think. Thanks to Mirrorbound investigative help, not always strictly legal but still appreciated nonetheless, they've all followed the clues back and determined a possible address. By the evening of the 20th, several members of the Guard and Witches from the Coven, along with any Mirrorbound who followed the trail, are camped out at a manse nearby, the home of a wealthy widow eager to see her nasty neighbors knocked down a peg. Without solid evidence, the Guard can't get a warrant cleared to search the property owned by a Mr. Barclay, assistant to Thomas Rathmore, but solid evidence comes as soon as eight Mirrorbound manage to fight their way out of captivity, returning to friends and Bonded. They are the last piece of the puzzle, and now legal action can be taken. Theodore Rosethorne, leading a small group from the Coven, sends out a magical message to just the Mirrorbound - they've been found. Anyone who wishes to help bring their missing fellows home, anyone who can help with much-needed healing, or anyone who wishes to bring their captors to justice needs to show up now, because time is of the essence. The Guard can't mobilize more men quickly enough in the middle of the night to be useful and they need all the hands they can get, without a floor plan of the mansion or solid ideas of the captors' numbers. They can barely wait an hour for more hands to arrive before it begins. a. The Rescue Sowilo, Theodore's Bonded Fae and a skilled hand at illusions (and seeing through such), leads the rescue efforts, along with some of Theodore's Witches from the Coven. With information from the escapees, they plan to go through the back, take the servants' exit, and make their way down to the basement levels, while Theodore's assault team will go through the front doors, making as much noise as possible. Sowilo's illusions will keep their presence masked at least until they get into the house. The aim is to get through as quietly as possible, find the cellblock, and secure a safe route to take the prisoners out without them getting hurt any worse than they are. It's easier said than done. Magical and mechanical traps of various types litter both basement floors, and heavy illusion work has been placed to obscure the way. Splitting into smaller groups to disarm the traps and deal with the illusions will be necessary, as the entire group will make its way down to the cellblock as quickly as possible. Sowilo hopes they face little to no resistance, with Theodore's group doing their job, but a few, Rathmores and otherwise, are bound to try and stop them; in that case, they will have to fight. "Make sure you can argue a case for self-defense, if you have to hurt them," Sowilo will tell the rescuers and later the freed prisoners on the way out, wings fluttering agitatedly. "Let them be arrested and publicly humiliated in court - ruin their whole family line for generations to come." He's not happy about it either, and will overlook some of the captors getting a taste of what they deserve, but deaths are not permitted on his or the Witches' watch: anyone who takes things too far will find that the person they're attacking has simply vanished - a convincing illusion - before they're handily knocked out with a spell. They face less resistance than the assault team, but less is not none; a few of the Rathmores are determined to salvage their efforts, and some of their unwitting aristocratic cronies have sided with them. Once they reach the cellblock, dismantling the enchantments that keep the prisoners restrained and addled is the first order of business for some. Others can start unlocking cells and helping people out of their restraints. Protection for the escapees on their way out will also be necessary, as well as medical attention back at the temporary base camp. The main focus has to be on those lost friends and loved ones, bringing them back out to freedom and making sure they're tended to - not on revenge. b. The Assault Theodore Rosethorne, along with some members of the City Guard and some Witches from the Coven, leads the assault. While the rescue team goes around the back, they plan to go through the front door, as loudly and conspicuously as possible. The mansion is large and needs to be swept from top to bottom for perpetrators and evidence that can be used in court. Those joining up with this team are warned that it needs to remain legal - the Mirrorbound and the refugees, all of them, have a very shaky, uncertain legal status within the city, and a mass murder could severely harm what good will they have from the locals as well as their status here. After all, many are still neutral to positive on the Mirrorbound, but that could change in an instant. The Coven will take as much responsibility as they can, but they cannot accept the blame for a senseless slaughter. Splitting into smaller groups will be necessary in order to cover more ground quickly. The aim is to locate, subdue, and arrest as many of the culprits inside as they can. The Guard provides magic-suppressing cuffs, and the Coven a basic knock-out spell, but since many will not go so willingly, some degree of force may be unavoidable. If there's one thing the rich fear, it's a legal black mark on their family name and reputation - the Rathmores will fight back harder than their underlings, but they're also the ones they need alive to face the justice system. Those outside the family, those who only knew about the kidnapping portion, are a mixed bag - some might fight back, siding with the Rathmores, but some might give themselves up once the realization of what happened in that basement sinks in. Once they make their entrance, things move quickly. Several wealthy aristocrats either flee or fight, but their attention is thankfully pulled away from the basement and toward the upper levels. There are dozens of rooms to search, and many are cluttered with an old hoarding family's antiques, furniture piled against doors and windows blocking access to some areas, hundreds of nooks and crannies among the sheer amount of stuff provide cover for culprits to hide in. It's going to be work to ferret them all out and bring them in. Worse still, the Rathmores have collected dozens of cursed or enchanted objects that may be used as weapons against the forces of justice. Some degree of force is expected, but still if anyone tries to take things too far, they might find themselves slapped into cuffs or knocked out with a spell themselves. Any NPC maimings or proposed deaths need to be reported on the City Tracker; please note that mass murder / killing NPCs will still have consequences and needs mod approval first, but we're happy to work with players however we can.

III. The After (21st On) Activity continues all through the night and late into the morning at the former Rathmore estate. All the Rathmores and a couple dozen other wealthy aristocrats are brought out in cuffs over the course of several hours, while all the prisoners are liberated to receive medical attention and reunite with their loved ones. The Guard take statements from everyone who will give one - what they witnessed, what happened to them, what they know - and all who were affected are told they will be invited to testify at trial. A gathering crowd forms at the end of the street, wealthy neighbors aghast at the horrors they're learning had occurred right in their District. Most are disgusted with the once-prominent family. On the steps of the Parliament building, Thomas Rathmore, his wife, and his mother, all sitting members of Parliament themselves, are publicly arrested in front of colleagues and on-lookers early in the morning. Constance Rathmore is taken out of the Coven roughly in magic-suppressing cuffs, surrounded by a small group of furious Witches, students of the Coven who spent the week trying to find the missing Mirrorbound and refugees with Divination. They escort her to the prison themselves. All who are arrested are transported to holding cells of their own within the City Guard - all except those requiring urgent medical attention, who will remain cuffed to their hospital beds until trial. Nessie and Mhairi make an appearance at one point to give the Mirrorbound their sincerest apologies for what happened, and Mhairi delivers the news that they're pushing for an expedited trial in Parliament, in order to keep Thomas Rathmore from bribing any contacts. They, along with Theodore and Sowilo, and the Guard, are all open and forthright with what will happen next: public trial and a certain conviction, followed by sentencing. They don't expect that the Rathmores will get away lightly; what they did is too public and too horrific for even the anti-Mirrorbound wealthy to stomach. Those others who were involved, who weren't aware of what was going on behind that metal door, they'll still face justice themselves, no doubt. In the meanwhile, those kept hostage will need all the help they can get to reach something resembling normal again. Hug your loved ones, nourish your Bonds with each other, and begin trying to heal together.

Welcome to Part Two of January's event log, Snatched! An aftermath summary of the trial and sentencing will go up on Feb. 4, the day after the City Tracker deadline, so get your submissions in if you have them! More politically-oriented characters may find an opening in the near future to enact change within Parliament and provide their own representation within the city...

And as a general reminder, please make sure to use content warnings where necessary in your headers!

Comments

waver velvet | turnskin | escaping

[tryhard]

a. no chains can hold them - closed to fellow escapees

It's been so many days. The most difficult part of how impossible it is to track time down here -- between the drugs and punishments and pain -- is how hard that makes it to organize. Waver passes messages and words of encouragement whenever and wherever possible, trying to push actionable details over platitudes, but the when has always been the most difficult to gauge. They have to wait, bide their time. Take their first and only chance.

And when it finally comes, there can be no hesitation.

i. break free

Adrenaline is a hell of a thing. All around, the shouting and snarling and screaming form a consistent backdrop to the impromptu riot, the imprisoned Mirrorbounds' desperate push back. It sets Waver's nerves alight, crashes over him with the urgency of what they have to do. What he has to do.

Run.

The moment he sees an opening, however it's made, he bolts for it. Asura has helped Waver break his chains, but the enchanted silver collar around his throat still keeps him from shifting without considerable agony and risk of passing out. As such, he's not as fast as he could be, nor as agile with his injuries, but desperation has a knack for erasing caution and pain.

His claws slam with full force into the door that stands between the prison cells and what they can only hope is a way out. It makes a horrible noise, wood creaking, metal squealing, Waver's wordless snarls and bared teeth gnashing as he tries to tear the lock out of the wood by force; it's uncharacteristic and unrefined, but for now, it's the only thing he can manage.

"Help me!" he shouts at the nearest escaped prisoner, in a voice raw with panic and urgency.

Whether it's possible to brute-force the door or employ a more magical method, it'll probably take more than one person to accomplish the task. For this door and the others in their way.


ii. desperate times, desperate measures (closed to Caster Cú).

Beyond the door, amidst the chaos of the traps and the guards trying to grab anyone who managed to escape, Waver spots a familiar face. The stench of blood and fire is too thick in the air, and he's been kept on a steady diet of no food and too much nightshade, but even so, Waver knows this scent.

"Ca-Caster?" he staggers forward with a heavy limp, gasping raggedly with every breath, but though he's clearly badly injured, Waver doesn't stop. He grabs Caster's arm, claws accidentally digging in a little in his over-enthusiastic shock. It's really him. He's alive. He's out here.

But they're not out of the woods yet.

"Hurry, we need to-- Shit!"

They've been spotted. A shout, a crackle of magical energy nearby. Two of the lesser Rathmores or people sympathetic to their cause are coming right at them, one with a long, electrified prod and the other a sword. Waver drops down to avoid the swing of the blade, propelling himself in the same motion forward to knock into the attacker's legs claws-first.


iii. don't get caught

Watch out!

[ Waver shouts to stop someone from walking into a trap he'd glimpsed up ahead -- something that falls from above? spikes that jut out of the wall? a paralyzing spell or poison gas, perhaps?

If they're close enough, he reaches out to grab them, yanking the fellow escapee roughly away from the danger and stumbling back, off-balance on his badly injured leg. ]

Shit-- sorry, y-you okay? We need to go!

That way's clear, I think...

[ He turns, leading the way quickly down another corridor and scenting the air as they go. He reaches out every few paces, claws scraping along the wall or doors or even the floor in places, scratching into each the runic signs Caster taught him to mark out the safest path. ]

b. fight back - open to rescue team, investigators, etc.

[ Injured as he is, running on the last scraps of adrenaline and anger, Waver can't do much to help with the actual, physical rescue efforts. But he can inform.

Knowing firsthand the horrors that his fellow prisoners are still enduring -- and the fact that they're sure to be ramping up the punishments after what happened -- Waver will insist with stubborn urgency that they need to go now. He refuses to rest until he's sure the Rathmores are being stopped as soon as possible, no matter what.

He has a good memory; he can draw rough maps, give directions, and inform whoever he can before they go in that he's left marks to get around traps in the basement on the way. Hopefully, the traps don't change too much. ]

Is there... anything else?

[ His voice is quiet, raw and catching in his sore throat. But he'll help. He'll do anything he can. ]


(( ooc: Waver is escaping! He'll be doing his best to get fellow escapees out and through traps, and I'm also down to play out fights if anyone gets in their way. He can shift into a small dog at some point, even though it'll hurt him, so if anyone needs to get out of small spaces?? idk! Oh and he definitely needs healing so any rescuers out there pls help ty!!

prose or brackets both okay; I'll match you. hmu on PM or PP @ gunsandchocolate if you want to hash things out. I'm flexible and open to wildcard ideas too!! ))

closed to flat & iskandar.

[tryhard]

[ So close. He's so close he can smell the fresh air through the windows upstairs, the overwhelmingly welcome breeze from outside carrying the scent of cold and plants and streets and people. It's so familiar, so different from the stench of blood and bile that clings to him, Waver's eyes sting with tears.

The last door is just up ahead. The moment he'd left the basement, Waver could feel the uncomfortably hushed, muted sensation of his two Bonds lifting. He can feel Iskandar again. And Diarmuid.

Close. So close.

But relief makes him weak-kneed. It distracts him.

With the shouts of some pursuer behind him, Waver staggers toward the door that leads out of the upper basement, perhaps left half-open by some other fleeing soul-- and screams, nearly falling as a crossbow bolt sings past his cheek, a hairs' breadth from his face before it buries itself in the wood with a heavy thunk.

He isn't fast enough. Not like this. Even after Caster numbed the pain, his badly bitten leg just won't move quickly enough, muscles too torn and knee buckling.

No.

Waver scrambles to get the door open even as he falls, panting hard, swearing and gasping and sobbing as the fresh night air hits his face when he tumbles out the doorway clumsily. Another crossbow bolt clips his shoulder. His pursuer has terrible aim or Waver has incredible luck, it seems-- but it won't last. He's on the ground, heart pounding, throat seizing up, limbs heavy and weak and blood screaming in his veins and goddammit, he's so close, so close--

He can't be caught now.

The enchantments etched into the silver of his collar and cuffs glow red, searing and hot, burning the already torn-up flesh beneath. Waver screams again, rolling over just in time to avoid another bolt, forcing every scrap of remaining energy into doing what should have been impossible, something he's never even done willingly before but that he's been fighting back for days and days while he'd been trapped below: he shifts.

The enchanted collar and manacles change shape with him, and they hurt, blinding pain that crackles through even the pain-numbing spell Caster put on him, but it doesn't matter anymore. He's too close to care.

Despite his other injuries, three mostly-functioning legs are easier to run on than one. And a small black dog bolting across the lawn is much more difficult to aim at than a grounded man. The pursuer swears, but his aim only gets worse as Waver dashes farther away, zig-zagging and weaving as he sprints as fast as his little legs and his desperation can carry him on this last surge of adrenaline. His small body squeezes easily through one of the gaps in the wrought-iron fence, barely even slowing down, and--

Just like that, Waver is free.

The breeze ruffles his bloodstained fur. The waning moons above light his way. Waver has no idea where exactly he is yet, but as he runs, he tries to remember. He tries to run home, following his instincts and the heart-wrenching feeling of his Bonds finally snapping back into place, weaving around his fear and anger and echoing back to him with shock, confusion, relief.

A familiar scent in the wind catches Waver's attention, and another wave of relief crashes over him so suddenly, the whole world seems to wobble.

With a final push, Waver reorients himself toward it. Toward Flat. ]

[escardos]

[ to call what he was doing "patrolling" would be an insult to the people that were actually patrolling.

even though he had, at first, looked high and low for any clues that might have led him to the whereabouts of waver and/or cu, everything had become too much. he hadn't resigned himself, exactly, but he was more...letting himself get led by the others. he knew that the others would find where they--and the other mirrorbound and refugees--were.

he had just been sitting around, staring at the waning moon, when he heard the hurried steps and the rough panting coming towards his direction. flat turns, and can't help but look puzzled when he sees a dog running to him. ]

A dog? [ but the collar and manacles on it...those are silver, aren't they? ] Are you a turnskin?

[tryhard]

[ With everything else on his mind, Waver hadn't even considered the fact that Flat has never seen him in this form. He doesn't realize.

Waver staggers up to him, slowing as he nears, out of breath and out of energy. He's free. He's free. It's most of what he can think at the moment, thoughts spinning and buzzing and ears ringing and legs hurting. The shift had dislodged the shoddy bandage they'd put over his thigh where Berserker had bitten him, and now there's a visible wound on his back leg, oozing new blood from being torn open again as he ran. Blood runs down his front too from the fresh gash on his shoulder. There's no fur, only raw, burned skin under the collar and the cuffs.

Flat doesn't recognize him, but Waver doesn't know how to change back so easily at will, especially not with the enchantments and the silver still binding him. So he presses his muzzle against Flat's leg where he sits, rubs his face against him with soft, pitiful whines, crying as he jerks his head up and down as well as he can in a nod. Yes. Yes, a Turnskin. Yes, why can't Flat tell?

He tries to concentrate on changing forms again, as if it could be that easy. The collar glows and grows hot, and Waver collapses at Flat's feet with a high-pitched shriek. He doesn't stop trying. ]

[escardos]

You—stop!? That must hurt!

[ flat takes a hold of the dog, his expression somewhat bewildered as the turnskin continues putting itself through hell for his sake. is it because he’s supposed to recognize him? is he supposed to know a turnsk...i...n...

as he begins to come to the realization, his expression turns into one of blank shock. ]

Wa...ver?

[tryhard]

[ The dog whimpers when grabbed, but despite the clear discomfort pushes himself desperately into Flat's hands.

He lifts his head at his name with a whine. Though his eyes look a little different now, they're the same unusual color.

Weakly, Waver manages to wag his tail and nod his head again, licking at Flat helplessly. ]

[escardos]

Waver...

[ flat giggles softly when waver licks his face. he feels the tears building in his eyes as he sets him down on his lap, his hand hovering over the collar, analyzing the magic.

now, if he could reverse it—

he takes a deep breath hovering his hand over the dog’s neck. it takes about a minute of mumbling nonsense, but both the collar and manacles snap off from waver. ]

I hope that’s a little better.

Break free

[showsnopiety]

"Is this- nevermind, doesn't matter."

Caren had been down the hall let loose by- someone. She hadn't been paying as much attention as she had been to listening- but when she saw it was a mirrorbound and not one of those people, she had bolted.

And now the door needed to open. Well then.

Caren rolled her shoulders, took in a deep breath, and took a few steps backwards.

"Kick with me, or get out of the way. Just above the lock. Your choice."

[tryhard]

Kick? Not likely, with one leg badly bitten and a limp.

So Waver immediately steps away, not wasting time trying to argue or ask questions. She walked up so confidently, Waver's going to trust this person knows what she's doing. They both have the same goal.

"I'll watch your back," he promises, leaving the door to her.

[showsnopiety]

"Thank you."

She was polite even when it came to moving to kick open a door. Or at least with Waver getting out of the way.

Back a few strides, a moment to breathe and then-she rushed the door, slamming just above the door jam with her foot. It might have been funny- she had toe beans- but she hit the door enough to make it rattle.

"This," slam, "Would have been," slam "Easier with" blam, "My nails."

b

[fulgency]

[Despite the desperation with which everyone wants to bring those taken back, they do not crowd or threaten to overwhelm the escapees with their questions. Those that are willing and able to talk, they ask their questions with only a couple of people at most at a time. The pace of the questions also is kept carefully within whatever can be tolerated.]

[In the end, Ozymandias is not surprised to see Waver among those willing to answer questions, setting aside their own injuries and exhaustion to prioritize the safety of those they had to leave behind. He does not ask any questions of Waver himself, listening instead for a time until it seems there's little more that Waver could possibly say or do short of leading everyone back through. Ozymandias waves off the city guards from asking anything else before crouching down beside Waver's chair.]

You've done enough, Waver. This part is difficult, but you need to wait now. [He would suggest rest in the interim if he thought Waver would actually listen, but he has a feeling there's not much chance that Waver will follow through.] We'll be leaving shortly for the rest.

[tryhard]

[ Waver understands the importance of planning-- logically, at least. He knows they have to get organized with this new information. He knows it can't happen instantly.

But knowing what the others are suffering through right now and how cruel their captors are, how likely it is that things will get worse or even that the Rathmores might start trying to get rid of evidence -- and his friends alongside it -- makes Waver much less tolerant of the idea of waiting even an extraneous moment. ]

What does shortly mean?

[ He's happy to see Ozymandias, really. But he's running on empty, on panic and shock, and this one single-minded goal. Waver clutches his cup of water in his lap, shoulders hunched beneath the thick blanket someone's put over him and his borrowed clothes.

There are angry rings of burned, raw skin in circles around his throat and both wrists, where the silver has made it difficult to promote healing and he hasn't let anyone bandage him thoroughly enough yet. Some other deeper cuts and bites are bandaged, though the needle tracks and bruises remain. He doesn't even try to stand. ]

What are you waiting for? Those monsters to have time to cover their tracks? To slaughter the extras?

Don't let bureaucracy hold this up, Ozymandias. Please.

[fulgency]

[Waver's concerns are not unfounded. Even knowing where the kidnapped victims were with near-perfect certainty, Aefenglom's officials were unwilling to move or act instead of doing what needed to be done. Normally under such circumstances, Ozymandias would insist that the Mirrorbound do what needed to be done with or without Aefeglom's support, but they are in too weak of a position to take matters so fiercely into their own hands.]

[But it will not be that way for much longer. This cannot be allowed to happen again, and the Mirrorbound can no longer rely upon whatever good graces this city and its people might pretend to afford them. He has to push aside such thoughts for now though, drawing a steadying breath to quell the rage that has been growing since the fires. It's not an easy thing to do looking at the blatant signs of injury on Waver.]

We cannot simply rush in with sheer brute force or we risk casualties of those who have been taken. We need to be sure that everyone involved in this knows what is to come and what is expected of them in their roles.

[The way Ozymandias sees it, if the Rathmores have any sense, they will see the remaining kidnapped as their leverage. Their lives still have value to them as a bargaining chip. It's entirely possible that's not the case, but he doubts they have been pushed to the brink of desperation just yet. They are so keen on sending a message that they would have displayed evidence of their desperation by now, trying to intimidate the people gathered here into backing off and putting the power back into their hands. But they're not there yet.]

It will not be much longer before we recover the others. I will not allow it to be otherwise when among their numbers are those I've come to care for. [And chief among those still captive is a woman that he loves, though he does not say as much.] You have my word.

[tryhard]

[ The pharaoh's answer is a logical one, and one that Waver naturally expected-- though he doesn't seem particularly satisfied to hear it said aloud. The only thing that would have comforted him, though, is impossible. He just wants his friends out of there immediately, their torturers brought to justice, and he wishes it could happen now.

But 'not much longer' is as close as they can get to 'now' until it's time, and so Waver swallows his protests with only some difficult and finally returns Ozymandias's steady gaze with a small nod. ]

...all right. [ Voice a whisper, shoulders slumping, Waver seems to shrivel in his chair beneath the large blanket, looking even smaller than his already petite stature.

A pharaoh's word is more than any common promise, surely. Waver knows he'll do everything he can. ]

As soon as possible, then.

As soon as you can...

[fulgency]

[Ozymandias nods a little in a quiet, solemn cementing of his promise. When he speaks again, Ozymandias' voice is low and quiet.]

Let them treat your wounds in the meantime.

[He doesn't bother with elaborating that he means properly treating them more than what he's already allowed. He assumes Waver will understand the meaning without wasting his time on such words as it's fairly obvious the more difficult to treat wounds -- like the raw skin around his wrists and neck -- have been neglected. Likely through his insistence that it could wait until after he shared everything he knew that might be of value in rescuing the others.]

[Ozymandias doesn't anticipate that Waver will argue with him about it directly like that. He seems too tired to put up much of a verbal argument about anything other than the urgency in which others need to be saved. Gently, he brushes back some of Waver's hair that's fallen in his face. Even though he doesn't anticipate fussing like that, he still expects passivity where so long as no one bothers him, he won't go looking for treatment. So, he continues,]

I'm not commanding you to do this as Pharaoh. I'm asking you as a friend. It would put my mind at ease.

b

[ua_duibhne]

["Sir, you can't just-"

"This is a highly important-"

Another chorus of objection and then the door flies open- although who the interloper is might not come as an enormous surprise to Waver. Standing in the doorway, cheeks lightly flushed and chest rising and falling with each ragged breath is Diarmuid. The message was a good call to arms for sure but it was the revelation of Waver's presence, the sudden reconnection of their Bond, that had him pounding pavement. His hair's a mess, half scraped back and half falling into his face and he clearly hasn't slept for days but it doesn't slow his steps any.

Behind him, a guard reaches out to try and tug him back- "I get it, you must be relieved to see him-"- but he seems completely deaf to it.]

Waver-

[Diarmuid throws off the hand on his arm and rushes forward. In one swift movement, he pulls Waver close and buries his face in his hair- lifting him clean off of his feet in the process. For all the strength in his grip and the careful consideration in his voice, the turnskin alone will be able to feel that beneath it all he's shaking just slightly.]

[tryhard]

Please, it's okay--

[ He'd felt Diarmuid nearing. He knows his Bonded won't wait-- and Waver doesn't want to, either.

He tries to protest against the guard's arguments, pushing himself up to his feet with a little effort. The worst of his injuries have been healed and the pain numbed, but he's still only running on adrenaline and spite at this point. He's been bandaged and somewhat cleaned up, though Waver had insisted on talking to the City Guard and the Coven before receiving more thorough treatment. There are still rings of rubbed-raw, burnt skin around his throat and wrists. The bite on his thigh especially will take a few sessions; Waver winces when he stands to wave the guard back, favoring his left leg heavily. ]

I'm fine. Let him through.

Diarmuid--

[ Waver staggers forward to meet him, arms wrapping around Diarmuid in return, squeezing weakly. Embarrassingly, he can already feel fresh tears pricking his eyes, the way his throat closes up tightly. Feeling Diarmuid trembling, Waver hugs him harder, breath catching and quick. His voice hitches when he's lifted up, but he doesn't protest. It feels good, even through the pain, like the threads of their Bond are finally healing and knitting back together after being muted for so long. ]

I-I'm sorry...

[ He doesn't know where to start. The relief was a rush at first, overwhelming but painfully brief; the shame and disgust and horror crashes in just moments after. The tears won't stop. ]

S-sorry, I- I couldn't-- I'm sorry, Diarmuid, please--

We have to g-go... everyone, Ciarán and--

[ He can't breathe. The guards hover anxiously, one of them calling for a Coven Witch to come help calm the Turnskin down before he hurts himself or someone else. ]

[ua_duibhne]

[Waver. His name is the only sound to escape him at first, a soft, exhausted little murmur of relief half lost in his hair as he holds him. Like the seams of a torn, familiar shirt, he feels their Bond pulling itself back together in small but pronounced stitches. It's comforting beyond words- but the feeling doesn't last. Almost as soon as he sets him down, the reality of Waver's imprisonment becomes painfully clear too. Though the only visible signs of his torture are telltale bands of red, raw skin and his limp, even a glance will tell that they're likely only the prologue to a novel of indignities and injuries written across his mind and body. Diarmuid's grip tightens as he looks him over, heart pounding faster with every passing moment.

It was the Rathmore family who did this, yes, but he allowed it to happen with his failure, just like he always has. If he'd found him sooner- if he'd only protected him in the first place, maybe he could have prevented it. What did he have to show for his vows to grow stronger? To keep his loved ones safe as he's duty bound to do? He-

Enough. This is no time to get carried away; even without the reawakening of their Bond and the tidal wave of emotions it brings, his distress only exacerbates Waver's. But that's fine. Repressing his feelings is a particular talent of his and, after a few unsteady breaths, Diarmuid manages to lift his head without fear of tears blurring his vision. Swallow it all down, each ache and anxiety, every pang of grief and guilt, the burning anger in his chest- all of it is blotted out until only the determination to make things right remains. The tremble fades. Worthless as he feels, there's even less of a place for a knight who lets his emotions get the better of him.

That isn't to say he's ready to relinquish their contact just yet. Though Diarmuid is quick to usher Waver back into his chair, he stays kneeling beside him with both hands held in his, as if silently daring any of the guards to try and separate them.]

Listen to me. I'll bring him back. [And then, with greater resolve still-] I swear a geis to you now, Waver Velvet, that I'll bring him back even if it kills me.

[Even if it kills the bastards who took them in the first place. He's wise enough not to say as much out loud but, for just a moment, there's an uncharacteristic chill to his voice.]

[tryhard]

[ Waver collapses into his chair without letting go of Diarmuid, and would have protested if Diarmuid tried to move away; but he doesn't, and Waver tugs the fallen blanket haphazardly back over himself with one hand while gripping his Bonded tightly with the other, his breath fast and ragged as he tries to stem the sobs still catching in his throat. ]

No--

[ His other hand joins it, squeezing tight around Diarmuid's fingers. Even severely weakened, he's stronger than he looks. ]

Don't you dare. You're not dying. No one's dying!

[ Why does everyone keep saying that so glibly? He won't accept it. ]

B-but... you have to hurry. They're probably already in the process of tightening security or even moving. And those are the... optimistic guesses.

[ Waver takes a heavy, shaky breath. The tears threaten to start up again; he swallows roughly. ]

He's- he's hurt... very badly.

[ Waver drops his head, eyes closing. A few tears splash onto their entwined hands in his lap.

They made me do it. They made me hurt him. I'm sorry.

What can he possibly say? ]

It's been a- a couple... days? I think... since I saw him. It's probably even worse. I just--

[ He can't say it. Diarmuid deserves to know, but he can't say it. Not right now.

Waver leans closer, lifting Diarmuid's hand to his face, pressing it to his forehead like a prayer. His voice is a rough whisper. ]

I can draw more maps. Give directions. I left signs to follow, runes-- I can tell you how to activate them if they haven't been scrubbed yet. If there's anything else you need to know--

[ua_duibhne]

[As much as he'd like to take it back or make promises of his survival, Diarmuid can't- but neither can he bring himself to meet Waver's eyes and lie. All he does is listen closely and hold onto him, grip tightening to hold him firmly in place, as though it might somehow make their tattered bond heal faster. With his head bowed, Waver won't see the hope in his eyes when he mentions Berserker, but he won't he catch the hitch of his breath, that flicker of pure fear, as he goes on either.

Diarmuid holds on, lacing his fingers through Waver's as a more physical anchor.]

Have faith in me, Waver. [He speaks gently, voice low enough so as to be meant only for the two of them.] I won't fail you any more than I already have.

[He lifts his head, brow knitted into a deep frown of concern as he forces himself to be direct. He doesn't want to know the details, all of the things he could have prevented, but he has to- he needs to know what to expect.]

Tell me about him first. I know it's hard but I need to know.

desperate times, desperate measures [general cw: for violent fight and injuries]

[futhark]

Outside the area of Bond and magic dampening Mirrorbounds gain a bit of advantage. But magic takes time to return, and Bond— they're both muted now, no feelings, no flashes of pain. Another reminder of what had to be done.

Waver is here, he's alive, he's— he's not fine, but he's fine just enough. It's good to see you, still in one piece, partner

Now all that is left is to move along with the plan. Escape, get help. Create a conduit to their advantage. But of course, there is no time to catch a breath, but of course— Waver reacts faster than he does, his turnskin nature giving him a great advantage on the man who thought he met an easy prey. Combined with a sharp mind and quick reaction, that's a formidable weapon.

The second assailant with the electrified prod, that's going to be his focus, Cú decides. A risky move, fueled by adrenaline and rage like everything tonight, Cú grabs the prod mid-swing.

———...what do you know about pain?

Cushy security job, changed into prisoner guard, maybe tormenter. They couldn't trust just any people with this job, they must have chosen you carefully. Either a coward who won't let out a breath about the nightmares witnessed, or someone reveling in it. Disgusting either way. And far more used to dishing out pain safely than receiving it.———

All muscles in Cú's hand simultaneously lock and go numb, and a faint stink of burnt skin can be smelled. It's as shocking to him, as it is to the attacker, though both of them in a different sense. The travel of electricity along the nerves up the arm, the shoulder feels agonizingly slow, and it's only one second. That second he uses to push the prod back onto the owner, straight into his face, levering his whole body to succeed. It's already broken anyway.

The unnamed gods must have smiled on them today, it works and the man falls down on the ground twitching uncontrollably. Cú kicks out the weapon out of his hand, but leaning down and grabbing it might be outside of his limits for at least few seconds.

"Waver— weapon..!" he hisses through gritted teeth, as it turns out it's not easy to unlock the jaw. But now his attention is full on Waver, it's two versus one, and if one of them manages to get that stun stick.

[tryhard]

The sword is a problem. The bigger problem, unfortunately, is Waver's leg. Fresh blood has started spotting through the dirty bandage wrapped around his right thigh, and the muscles are too torn and weak to let him move as fast as he needs to. He ducked because he couldn't jump, and now Waver knows his best bet is to try to topple his opponent and somehow either get him to drop the sword or take it from him.

He'll have to thank Geralt later. The swordfighting lessons have actually paid off in a significant way.

Waver lashes out at the man's leg, hooking claws into calf muscle and ripping, eliciting a scream and a string of curses. The man stumbles, off balance as Waver digs his claws in and tries to pull his leg out from under him. It doesn't quite work as intended, but it distracts him and ruins the trajectory of the blade enough. Waver's lucky; this is clearly not a very experienced or battle-trained swordsman. Probably just some noble kid with a decorative collection and a mean streak-- but despite his lack of skill, he reacts quickly too.

There's a sharp yelp in response to Caster's hiss about the weapon. Waver's opponent kicks out with his trapped leg, hitting Waver in the face. They separate with a fresh burst of blood as Waver's claws tear free from his leg, and the Turnskin rolls away, clumsy but fast, in the direction of the dropped electrified prod. Mouth bleeding, fingers outstretched, reaching--

Waver grabs it just in time to swing the metal rod up and knock aside the sword coming down on top of him. The bad angle and hard hit jars his arm unpleasantly.

"Caster!" he cries out again, struggling to figure out how to activate the electricity without magic. "Do something!"

[futhark]

[ Fuck— the hiss came first before he got a clear look at how the fight fares. His movement feels sluggish, but he ignores all of that. Dropping low, trying to circle the fighters to find an opening.

—trying to find the paths of magic once again, the connection to this world that has been smothered.

It might be impossible to draw a full flame, not to mention dangerous as Waver is too close. But while the rod not working without magic is a terrible oversight, it's still an opening to use. Waver doesn't have to ask twice, Cú gets behind the man, putting both hands on his head. ]

—tintreach! [ Electricity crackles between his hands, while without its usual force it could be just enough to stun the guard. ]

[tryhard]

[ Rolling over onto his back, Waver prepares to parry with the metal rod whether it can actually zap anyone in his hands or not. Another jarring clang of steel on steel, and then Caster is there.

The attacker lets out a choked cry, body shaking and stiffening before he collapses. Waver rolls quickly to the side to avoid the falling weapon and snatches it up as he scrambles to his feet, wobbling dangerously for a moment before finding his balance.

His blood is pounding in his veins, adrenaline coursing through his body like fire. It makes him careless in his desperation, perhaps-- but decisive and quick, and more confident holding a sword than he's ever been before.

Panting to catch his breath, Waver turns to Caster. ]

We do make a good team, don't we?

[ The rush feels good. He even chances a fleeting, sharp-toothed grin, but they don't have time to banter. ]

Are you okay? Can you walk? It's so good to see you-- But we need to keep moving.

[futhark]

[ Caster nods, and offers a smile, sharp points of his incisors on display. Finally, the tension unlocks and he's able to speak almost normally. ]

They won't even know we hit them. [ Morale boosting boasts have their place even in the darkest times. Maybe especially in the darkest times. That spark if nourished can make or break a raid, battle, or escape. ]

First things first— [ He offers to Waver his open hand, palm up. ] The runes I showed you. Do it.

[ Now. Sure, cutting it on hand is going to hurt like a bitch, but his arms are in tatters and having it on his hand will make channeling the spell onto other people way easier. With how starved, and abused they all are, with how even simplest spell is an effort, "easier" is important. Besides, once the spell is done pain is not going to be a problem ]