EVENT ★ THE USUAL SUSPECTS

[futurologists]

THE BARRIER As promised, Arthur has the means to unlock that first, crucial step to saving the ALASTAIR recruits: unveiling the runes maintaining the barrier. He has sequestered himself in a rented room in the inn down the road from the prison; he’s at a good enough distance to keep his concentration unbroken, but near enough that he can reach the runes in question. The recruits are told to be ready, to wait for his signal before they take action. The signal comes just after the stroke of 5 on the town’s clocks, at what would be dawn in a world of less darkness. There’s a shimmer in the air around the brick building of the jail, like the surface of a bubble. Then suddenly the runes are there: glowing bright green, flaming into existence at various points along and within the barrier. There are at least 30 of them along the outside. They’re etched on walls, scribed into doors, carved into the very ground. These have to be destroyed first to make any progress, in any way the recruits are able to. Once these all have been broken, erased, or scattered (and some of them are cleverly hidden or out of reach -- have you checked the topmost brick in the clock tower of the jailhouse?), the first defense of the barrier has fallen. Then the jailhouse itself can be rushed, but magic is still hampered until every rune is destroyed. From there the runes can be found every few feet in the walls, ceilings, and floors of the jail, and only once each one is broken will the spell be completely lifted, magic and abilities restored to the area, and the inmates considerably easier to break out. The recruits aren’t the only ones that can see those runes, though. The jailers are quick to react, and some spring to the defense of the runes while others rush to sound the alarm, calling even more armed guards to the area. Even city guards start to show up in response to the alarm -- there’s definitely a time limit on this venture. Dispose of the runes, rescue your friends, and be out of the area quickly, or you might just be overrun with armed, angry opposition. THE ESCAPE By the time those in the cells are finally brought out, it’s pandemonium. The guards, jailers and city guards alike, might not have been able to stop ALASTAIR’s recruits from destroying the runes and bringing down the barrier, but they’re determined at least to stop dangerous criminals from escaping into the city. And these criminals were due to be hung, so they’re not looking to take anyone down peacefully. They’ll be going for the killing blows. The best chance will be to rely on numbers and scatter. In ones and twos and threes, people should be taking to shadowy alleys, slipping around corners, even dropping down into the sewers, if they have to. Anything to thin out and disappear. The most capable and destructive fighters are asked to stay as long as they can, giving the bulk of the rest of the escapees time to disappear into that unending night. THE COOLDOWN Those that helped free their friends probably won’t run into too many problems in the following days, unless you run into a guard with a few injuries and a long memory. The ex-prisoners, though, are another story. They were in there long enough that the men and women who guarded them know most of their faces quite well, and since they’re out of prisoners to guard, what else do they have to do but take to the streets and search? Ex-prisoners should play it carefully, then, if they don’t want to end up right back where they started. Guards are more than happy to cause an immediate fracas should they spot anyone that belongs in jail. That’s not to say you shouldn’t go out at all! Just, you know, take a disguise with you. As if anticipating the rising demand for them, all local merchant shops seem to be stocking up on scarves, shawls, and bulky clothing. Isn’t that nice? Most of them don’t really care what anyone did to end up in jail, they just want to share in on those ALASTAIR-paid wages. If spotted, townsfolk have varied opinions of the escapees. Some are mistrustful and bitter, and will immediately alert guards upon realizing who they’re dealing with. Some of them really don’t care. They’re tired of the darkness, tired of the conflicts, they just want to get on with life. One old man in particular seems to inexplicably love all ALASTAIR recruits, the ex-prisoners in particular, and will insist on buying a drink and playing a game of chess with any of them he runs into. The goblins, of course, have pretty good opinions of anyone on the wrong side of the king, and will be your best bet for finding lodging and food. Some of them might even think of you as a hero, or at least a roguishly charming vigilante. Spend your post-breakout time well, and try not to make any more enemies.

Comments

[respired]

I can only rely on my will.

[He glances at the glinting vial. Presumably it's a healing potion--or a salve of some kind? Its color is strange to him, but it's foolish to expect every world--any world--to deal with the same things in the same way. Eyes on the vial, as he wonders what it's made of and how it works, he adds--]

But sometimes it's not enough.

[winces]

[ her hands curl lightly around the glass. and it only take her a few seconds to decide— ]

Would you like some help practicing?

[respired]

[He arches an eyebrow.]

What do you mean?

[winces]

I mean... [ she takes in a breath. ] I mean it's just like any other skill, right? Practice makes perfect. If-If you want, you can practice on me.

[respired]

Are you asking me to--

[He pauses, because he isn't quite sure what she's suggesting--or if she even fully understands what door she might be opening.]

--to fight you?

[Or to hurt you?]

[winces]

[ she seems to crumble a little at his question, cheeks growing a shade darker as her embarrassment triples. ]

I-I'm not the best fighter, and I know I'm not the most intimidating, either... [ or. at all. ] But I'm a performer — it'll just be another performance. We'll make a situation where you feel like you might lose control and — and we'll work to help you maintain it.

[ no, she has absolutely no idea what she's doing. ]

[respired]

[His first impulse is to dismiss the idea out of hand. Not because he finds her weak--he's not so arrogant as to presume that of someone he hasn't seen in actual combat--but because he doesn't want to hurt her. (Though he does.) (But also not.) (but still yes.)

But what she's proposing--a performance. Something that could be stopped. Something he would have to stop. His eyes narrow--an expression of thought.]

You could suffer, if we do this.

[winces]

If we don't, you will.

[ she shrugs her shoulders. an uncertainty over a surety? the answer seems pretty simple, to her. ]

[respired]

You would go to such lengths for a man you've just met?

[He shifts his weight, presses his palm to the wound on his chest. He can feel the blood coagulating, slowly, agonzing.]

[winces]

Better that than someone I've never met, right?

[ heh heh... a weak attempt at lightening the mood, for sure, but once she sees him shift, she comes closer with the vial, pulling out the cork stop and lifting it to his lips. ]

[respired]

[Automatically, he covers her hand with his, just to steady the vial. He's taken off his gauntlets, and his bare skin is remarkably cool to the touch--as leeched of heat as the evening breeze.

He drinks dutifully, and feels the effect instantly. It's not the searing pain of the Light, nor the horrible unmaking of nature magic, but it's not exactly pleasant, either. No healing ever is, for him. His body is an abomination, and it resists repair.

Koltira's free hand clutches at the dirt; his nails dig deep into the soil as he grits his teeth. But the wounds mend. The flesh stitches together; the bleeding stops.

He speaks through a clenched jaw.]

Thank you.

[winces]

[ she keeps her eyes on his face the entire time — not necessarily because she's squeamish, though admittedly there is no joy for her in watching skin heal itself, but more because she finds it easier to gauge the success of the concoction through the expressions on his face. he looks pained, and yet he thanks her, but she can see now how his breathing is starting to even out and settle.

letting out a breath of relief, olivia rocks back on her heels, shoulders slumping somewhat as a bit of the tension leaves her. ]

It's nothing, [ she insists. ]

[respired]

It is not nothing.

[He examines the vial as he hands it back to her.]

I assume your supply of this is limited.

[winces]

[ her smile is faint, sheepish, but rather than admit it is the only one she's got, she just sort of. blatantly moves on. ]

Can you stand, now? We probably shouldn't linger...

[respired]

[Hmm. Well, he'll let it go, especially because he asked the question while already being sure of the answer.]

Yes. Let's move on.

[He gathers his armor as he gets to his feet. Before he takes a step, though, he pauses.]

Are you serious? About your offer.

[winces]

[ it takes her a moment to recall what he's referring to, mind distracted by her careful observation of him. ]

Yes, of course, [ she says, suddenly looking quite serious again. ] I wouldn't offer if I wasn't.

[respired]

[He's fairly sure that they'll both come to regret this, but given his circumstances here, he's willing to try. He needs to keep his discipline sharp if he means to survive. If he means for those around him to survive.]

Then I'll call on you soon.

[He pauses, realizing that he doesn't have her name--and she doesn't have his, either.]

I'm Koltira, by the way. Koltira Deathweaver.

[winces]

[ it's a strange feeling, when he agrees. a surge of relief and pleasure — a selfish realization that she'll be of use, somehow — and a flickering of dread. the cold knowledge that she is already in way over her head.

still, she smiles, somewhat bravely. ]

Olivia... It's — nice to meet you, Koltira.

[ a pause. and then— ]

You can trust me.

[respired]

Hm. Perhaps I can, Olivia.

[He turns from her, still thinking over her proposal, still wondering if she knows the truth of what she's in for. He murmurs.]

But you might be more wary of me.

[winces]

[ her answer comes delayed, and her voice when she responds is small, quiet. ]

...I may not trust you completely yet, [ though offering herself as she is — isn't that already more than enough in a situation like this? ]

But I want to.

[ or perhaps that is what's more than enough. ]

[respired]

[It's a naive sentiment, in his estimation. He just shakes his head.]

You may yet change your opinion on that, Olivia.

[He lifts one hand as he turns to go.]

Thank you, again, for your help. I will call on you very soon.

[He does his best to make that statement not sound like a threat.]

[winces]

[ she watches him go, and though he tried, there's no disputing how intimidation runs all through her body at his words. instinct has her shoulders hunching once more, but after a second, she forces her spine to straighten, and her voice not to waver when she calls out at his back: ]

I look forward to it.