Brighid had made the mistake of dropping her pen in the commotion. Now it was being held in a greedy beak that pecked her hand when she tried to snatch it back.

"Hey! Give that back!" she protested with a useless swat at the thief, who merely flapped off to merge with the cloud of terrorizing corvids.

She gave up on her lost treasure and instead snatched up the journal before it, too, became someone's nest fodder. Then she followed Gio's lead, ducking down behind the meager barrier of her pack and the stool she had been sitting on. She wondered momentarily at the strange coincidence between what she had imagined only minutes ago and what was happening now; it gave her a haunting sense -- not deja vu, but perhaps something adjacent.

A different crow landed on top of her pack, tilting its head as it observed her without malice. She wasn't sure how she knew the bird -- only that she did, and the process of this knowing had interrupted something, at least for this one creature.

The air around the young female crow resonated with something that the human couldn't quite categorize. She tried to focus on it among the surrounding cacophony, and the more she did, the more she caught something musical about it. A song wrote itself in Brighid's mind; a simple roundelay that built upon itself with each iteration.

The bird hopped from one leg to the other while staring at her, almost expectantly.

Brighid started to hum, at first so quietly that it was impossible to hear above the discordant screaming, cawing and noisy flapping of wings. Then she started to chant short phrases beneath her breath.

Though the phrases were utter nonsense to Brighid, they wove themselves in the gaps between hummed melody until she was singing them instead of saying them.

She became so focused on the effort for her -- creation? Or was it recitation? -- that she didn't notice how quiet the swarm of birds had become. As if listening.

@Caravagio
 
One by one, the darting bodies of ebon greens and duskborn purples spread their wings just the more. Tilt their feathers to the dive and turn. Skip hopped onto the bar. Onto the stools. Onto the packs and one little runtling even hoppedin onto Brighid's shoulder with a hiphip of its clutching little feet.

Gio just watched, wide eyed and halfway to the door, having slunk his way from one stool to the other as the commotion stirred and whipped and stormed over them. A few splatters of fresh waste ruining a couple servings of soup and a table where an old Tortugan peeped out from inside his shell.

Chance all tail tucked between his legs, curled and shivering aloft in Thrast's big arms with his head hung low.

Randal just gawked at the woman he had been so ready to chase after. "What in the fuck," he said all breathless.

"By what meaning under the Eight Moons?!" came the shout from a far back table. "Randal!"

"Huh?" he turned to face the ritualisticall scarred Cidiro, so hidden in the shadow of his grey hood.

"Fucking get them!" he pointed with knobby finger.

Randal blinked. Looked back at the woman with the bird on her shoulder, a shiny metal thing there in its mouth. Then over to Caravagio, bag slung across his body. Remebered. "Oh!" set himself after the felonin with his dusty gold coat.

A grab of barstool, an underhand heave that set it to sail and crack against the big bearded bastard. "Hey!" Randal protested.

Gio's eyes looked to Brighid, sly smile there on his lips. Eyes full of thank you as he hop skipped to go.

Cidiro pulled censer from his belt loop, and struck the flame with a snap of his fingers set to a spark ring. The perfume burner smoked swirls and clouds quick. Medley of bright bitter herbs made bouquets of breath.

One by one. The flock turned their eyes onto Gio. Squawked. Horked. Took flight.

But some raven eyes still gleemed full of the master of the shiny thing and the singer of the timeless song.
 
Brighid returned Gio's grin with a quick nod as the thrown stool struck its intended target. Go, get away, it implored.

She wasn't sure what these fellows were up to in all the sudden chaos, but a knot in her gut told her it was nothing good. Much to her own surprise, that intuition had led to a split-second decision to throw her former seat at the bearded thug to try to stop him. She had at least managed to annoy him, judging by the way he whirled around to face her.

Brighid drew her shortsword from her pack, holding it in front of her defensively as she continued to sing; even though she knew she was not trained in combat, even though she was in fact quite afraid of this muscle-bound creep. Still, she felt the song of the crows vibrate through her entire being, as effortless as something living. She knew in her bones that this was not like the notes she had written in her notebook. This was not a thing she was creating, but rather discovering.

Will and magic manipulated the mass of birds to turn claw, beak and feather on the fleeing felonin. They surely would have descended on him en masse, except that some of them seemed to be resisting. Or confused. Or listening to something else.

The crow on Brighid's shoulder refused to leave his new perch and join the flock. The other female who had first heard the song croaked and cawed as if trying to mimic it. Others in the dense cloud of their kin swooped and circled back, unsure how to respond to this contest of forces: the first a powerful call, practiced and commanding; the second soft and alluring, brimming with feelings of peace and kinship.

Herbal smoke billowed out from the thin, hooded man who had been lurking in the back of the tavern and crept across the tables and floor like an acrid fog. A particularly rebellious crow, who had been briefly freed of the moonseer's control, swept down and made at attempt to grab his hood in its claws.

@Caravagio
 
Randal's face twisted with the cruel delight of a man that got a laugh out of kicking dogs that come begging for scraps.

"Pull steel on me, will you, lass?" he drew his own blade, a long and well honed cutlass. "Don't go thinking I'll-" a face full of feathers and talons hork-cawed-scratched-and-flapped at him furiously. He squeezed his eyes shut, swiped clumsy with his blade with one motion. Bat with his hand with the other.

An unlucky crow had its wing clipped. Hollow bones and shimmering plumes, no armor against hard steel. The crow squarked and fell to the floor in a bloody ruin. Its pain. Its agony. Pulled more of the murder out of the moonseer's trance. Whirl and twirl his ball of smoke as he did. Little next to nothing could keep a corvid from the cacophonous pull of beak borne grudges.

One fell toward the moonseer. Pecking and clawing and ripping at the hood.

"Why you!" Cidiro shout. Swiping mad with one hand. Censor flailing, most unceremoniously and wild in the other.

It was upon Randal, the chopper, that most of the unbound corvids flocked. His clumsy swipes slaying one, two, three more of the black feathered fellows. Each loss, only fueling the flocks ire the more. Pulling more and more to the song's call. To their own motivations. To their own thoughts and likings.

Why follow the stink? The anger. The threat of knife and bind of blood? Shinies were to be had. Vengeance! And the singer had granted one. And they would take the other.

Gio clicked his teeth, half-step-hopped toward the door. Ducked under the dive of a rogue blackwing. All beak snatching and talon scratching. Made to go.

But for the glint of a steel edge caught in his eye. Swish snakt, whoop and shwing. His hands were on his knives before he could think. One, flung. End over end. Thunked in the meat of Randal's rump. Eyes to the singer.

"Let's go!" he called out. Eyes flicked to the hooded man, still swiping at the birds.

Scars glowing with purpled rage that showed the dark edges of his bones.
 
Brighid grabbed her bag, trying to keep its contents from falling out of the open top, and made haste for the door while the thug howled at the knife in his glutes. Served him right for his cruelty.

The crowsong came to an end as the open blue of a bright afternoon sky met them outside. She whirled around to glare out at the surrounding dirt street, shortsword still in hand, heart thumping within her chest. She expected that wretched -- Shroudweaver of some sort, must have been -- and his lackey to be in quick pursuit. From what she'd just seen, she half-expected them to meet a flying dagger for their trouble.

"What now?" she asked her roguish companion.

She thought she was looking for an easy escape route; an alley to duck into, perhaps. But what caught her eye was the sun glinting from balloons that lifted a vehicle the likes of which she'd never seen. How they shone...

She shook her head in bewilderment. Why the hell did that matter, especially right now?!

@Caravagio
 
Randal winced, howled. Pulled the knife out of his rump and let it fall to the floor with a clatter. Blood spattered and speckled about. A bird still swept at him. Flapping its wings as its little feet clawed and scratched. He growled and swat at it. Limped toward the door.

Cidiro, whose arms were lit by a purple light, raised both hands up into the air. Ancient words hissing out of his lips. Falling from his tongue. Fingers flared, and spine stretched back.

Outside, above the Long Dog, a storm cloud seemed to pool and gather. Forked lightning bolt down onto a weather vane. Winds kicked up.

Penelope swayed against the gusts. The next drop of lightning flashed just yards away.

Randal's gruff voice called out, as he shoved out the doorway. "Oy, Cidiro!" he called out, yelped as he stepped back from a fresh fallen tongue of blinding white. "Yer gonna go and fry me if you keep this up!"

"Shut up! And get THEM!" the censor bearer cried out. Thunder rippled across the grey-woven sky.

"What now?"

"We get the hells out of here!" Gio said, hopping onto the mono-wheel's long leatherwrapped saddle. "Hop on!" he cried out. Foot on the kicklever nestled on the side of the main body of the craft. He worked the stroke lever down with a push kick. Gearwork within its copper housing click clicked. Growled. Jammed it again as Brighid hopped on.

The striker hammers clicked to life. The crystal heart of the vehicle hummed to life, and the whole craft seemed to want to take off. Gio grinned, looked over his shoulder to Brighid. "Hold on tight," voice all tease.

Randal hobbled toward them. Crows still pecking at him. The wind howled. Lighnting fell, as the smoke of the censers poured out.

Penelope was singing. A push of a pedal down by his feet, and the monowheel craft zipped forward. Wooden wheel tearing up the earth beneath them. Rattling and shaking. Another lance of lightning struck down. Just shy of the craft and its riders.

The sizzle of the air still in his ears. His fur coat all standing on end as static electricity spidered across his surface. Another bolt gathered above them. The weaver's voice carried like terrible canticle on the wind. Its horrid tones, bending the fabric of the heavens above them. Its twisted song, stitching together the storm.
 
Brighid held on mostly in terror as the machine roared through the supernatural storm. She could barely hear Gio's voice in the tremendous pandemonium. She could hardly hear her own fragmented thoughts in it. Somewhere deep down she felt a faint wrongness in the very air, like water running upwards or fire burning cold.

Her hair stood on end. A moment later, she gasped as a stroke of lightning crashed down next to them with a deafening crack. She closed her blind eyes, but she could still only see the brilliant white on the insides of her eyelids. Her ears were ringing.

Inside the Long Dog, a small crow bristled its feathers as a peal of thunder shook the building. The crow-friend had departed - her tune of kinship and of remembrance for the great Mother of Crows - ripped asunder by an older, crueler magick.

Still, it was enough to bring forth memories older than even her great-grandmother's egg; such ancient memories were powerful magick in and of themselves, drivers of instinct. In these, a whisper as old as time...

The scent of blood rose in the air around the bird, followed by vague images of battlefields, their carcasses offering up their soft delicacies to the scavengers. A deep hunger settled in its stomach.

Several beady eyes turned in the direction of the moonseer, standing prone in the midst of his spellwork, his body alight in unnatural fire. Fear was eclipsed by hunger as a murder of wings fluttered towards his eyes.


White spots continued to dance in Brighid's vision as she opened her eyes to look behind, but among them she saw the lumbering form of one of the thugs in pursuit. He was no match for the speedy craft they were on, and looked as much in fear for his life as she was.

@Caravagio
 
Storm song turned to worried pleas on the wind. Cries for nos, and not the eyes, be gones and backs arced across the ill gathered stormclouds that went on unfulfilling above them like wicked blankets.

Dark fabrics above turned bare as the monowheel spun up with its dirt munching turn. Tearing through the soil as the lift bladders kept the sleek wasplike shape of the craft nimble to the whirring hum and whine of the magitech engine striking and ringing at the crystals that glowed hot beneath the saddle.

Gio's eyes blind to the world around them. Ears full of the crystalline ring still humming there between each drum of his hearing. Blinked blinked as he let off on the shroud throttle. The wheel spun slower. The craft's body rattled more violently beneath them.

Randal, kept his legs pumping, half afraid of the lightning falling from the sky, and half worried what would happen to him if he missed on grabbing the two. Watched as the mono-wheel went on rattling over the road.

Swayed one way, then the other, yards and yards ahead of them.

As the world's colors bled back through the haze, Gio could see Penelope's nose was pointed right at the heart of a sprawled out oak.

"Ghanga's tits!" he cried out, jerked the handlebars to have the nose cut left. The monowheel craft fishtailed and whipped. Another quick push and pull of the bars, and lean of weight that had him almost hanging off the seat saw them speed past bough and bark close enough to reach out and touch the moss.

Too much speed bled off, Gio fed the strikers with a twist of the throttle. Penelope bucked forward. Wheel clipped a rock that splintered its wooden frame, set the craft to swivel. Dip, and bail with a hard slip and slide across the dirt and leaf litter off the road and into a wreck.

Shroudengine still whirring and whining sweet, if not disappointed. Wheel click clicking as it when in spinning, and some broken wooden bit, clack clunk clanked against the rest of the beams of copper and brass.

Really, the whole craft looked almost a tuba, tied to musical heart. Its lift bladders, already trying to right it off the pair of rider's beneath it.

Gio groaned. Shook his head. "Ho, are you alright, Brighid?" he asked Looking over his shoulder. Could already feel the sting of crash rash already itching up his side. He paused a moment. Dust still settling about them. "Nothing broken?" he asked, as he slipped out from the wreck. Striker pins, still ringing true enough. "Damn, wheel is cracked," he said through grit teeth.

Moved the monowheel off her. Looked over the way they had zipped over. "Wouldn't happen to be able to talk to wood, would you?" he said with a laugh. Offered her a hand up.
 
Brighid's trepidation gave way to a sense of unfettered momentum and freedom for but the briefest moment before she realized their mortal peril. She screamed as a mass of living oak came flying at them far too fast; then they hit a bump that made her stomach lurch into her throat. The world became a mottled blur as they careened off of the road and into the underbrush.

She braced herself against Gio's back before the machine came down on them, knocking the wind out of her and pinning her uncomfortably against something sharp and angular.

At first she could only respond in a sort of deflated grunt until he managed to lift the vehicle off of her. She nodded weakly as she took in a welcome breath, feeling a burning in her arms and torso where branches had scraped skin and stabbed through her clothing. She was certain she was going to have a few bruises -- first of which from whatever she had landed on.

She took his offered hand gratefully.

"I imagine dead trees don't have much to say," she said in a slight daze. Looking down, a wave of panic washed over her as she realized what she'd bruised her side on.

She rifled through her crushed pack, checking that everything was intact. Her heart sank when she unwrapped her cracked flute with a muttered curse. It may not have been the agent of their escape, but it was still damned depressing.

"Shit."

Unfortunately, she didn't have time to dwell on her loss; while she couldn't see past the remainning foliage of a slightly shredded elderberry bush, she could hear the approach of heavy footsteps. She traded the ruined flute for her shortsword and looked to Gio to see if he was readying himself to fight or to flee.

@Caravagio
 
"No, can't imagine they do," he muttered in reply. A step already between them as he grabbed Penelope's handles, and started to walk the damaged craft down the path.

No mind for the crunch of its wooden wheel against the littered earth, or the blood slowly oozed from where his leathers and fur had failed to keep so much from scratching through his skin. The mono-wheel stuck to stubborn brambles that had snaked through its spokes.

Gio grunt, growled, tried to force it free.

Snap of distant branches. Grunts and curses from a voice he already felt was far too familiar.

"Randal," he hissed, hairs at the back of his neck bristling, as his swishing tail puffed.

The glint of naked steel had his muderblown pupils twitch to track the movement. A knife already in his hand, and his whole posture bent to spring.

Somehow, he remembered to breath. Let go of the bike, and motioned to Brighid for hush. Pits of his eyes dark as an eclipse.

"Gods damned, fucking birds! And Scoundrels! And I better be getting at least, and I mean at least a bloody thirty cut from this here score, or Cidiro is going to hear it, Dragger help me," broke through the brush like a man who never needed to learn how to hide. Eyes saw Penelope first. Cut to the steel. Grinned, with mostly straight teeth. "Well, if it is isn't the little bird singer," laughed. Jut a chin toward the abandoned craft. "I see the cat has gone and scared away," A step closer. Drew his own chopper. "Well no matter," gave it a lop and whirl to loose his wrist as he closed the measure between them. "I'll enjoy teachin you what it means to draw,"

Struck with a whoop, followed with a slap of the blade's flat aimed for her side.
 
Brighid held back her panic as she clumsily attempted to block the oncoming blade with her own. She stifled a cry as sharp pain spread up her left side, making her stagger her feet to keep her balance. She dared not glance away from Randal for even a moment for fear of letting on that she wasn't as alone as he believed.

Instead she backed away, prodding ineffectually with her blade to try to keep him at a distance. She needed to distract him enough to maneuver him closer to Gio's position in the bushes; to that end, she would either have to take some abuse or manage to avoid it in the meantime. The fire already spreading through her torso told her she couldn't take much more of it.

Luckily, Randal's boot caught on an exposed root as he moved closer, and his second swing swiped empty air. Brighid used the opportunity to dart around to the far side of the fallen speeder. Gio was close on her right now -- she only had to get the brute to follow without spotting the hidden felonin. To this end, she had an idea from an unlikely source: her father.

"Look at you, you lowly worm! Have you no purpose in this life except to be someone else's pissant? You wouldn't know how to walk without a yoke around your neck, would you, you annoying little prick?" She jeered with every ounce of disgust she could muster, mostly recalling how her father spoke about poor workers. She was not proud of repeating any of this, but the insults seemed to have their intended effect.

"You sorry little bitch! I'm gonna tear your pretty tongue out of your mouth!" Randal tore across the ground, his face twisted into something as murderous as it was lecherous and his attention directed solely on the object of his wrath.

"And then I'm gonna..."

Brighid tensed and held her breath as the butt end of his sword hilt came down, aimed at her head. Randal's back and the left side of his neck were left vulnerable in his wild swing.

@Caravagio
 
From the rushes and brambles the felonin did spring. Clawed digits found purchase along soft parts. Beneath the throat. Under the neck. Pinpoint tips dug in about throat as long dagger's blade sank up through the armpit. Jammed into bone.

Could feel all the air rush out of Randal, cold. His eyes wide as breath came choked in his throat.

Long light legs wrapped and hooked about the man's hips. Knife lodged in deep. Clawed grip still there on the weapon's hilt as blood gushed out. Strength, slow to sap with each pump of horrid bleed.

"I pull it out, and you are as good as dead, Randal," Caravagio hissed into the big man's ear. Whiskers bobbed up with his wide eyed cat's smile.

Randal fell to a knee with a hard thump against the earth. Sword fell from his hand. Clattered to the ground. "Gods damned, fucking, cat," each word rasped out more labored than the last.

Gio slunk off him, like snow come loose off a mountain side. Foot pads spread light against the earth as claws came free of throat, and let go of dagger last. Another blade pulled and pointed with the promise of another puncture. "You stay right there, Randal,"

Fell to his good side. "And where the fuck-" coughed. "Would I go, you fuzzy git?" wheezed.

Gio moved to grab Penelope. His eyes looked to Brighid. "Can you move?" he asked tense.
 
While Brighid had anticipated the violence, seeing it play out still put her in such a state of shock that at first she could only nod in reply.

In fact, she wanted nothing more than to move away from this scene that wrenched her stomach until she felt nauseated. Perhaps she felt some empathy for the wounded man, just a hint of compassion that quickly dissolved in the instinctual certainty that violence was the only language he would ever understand. Still, she was reluctant to look upon Randal's bleeding state any longer than she had to.

So she backed away, shaking her head, her grip a vice on her shortsword's hilt as she watched for any potential last-ditch efforts from their attacker.

"I don't think that machine is going to be of help," she said to Gio, noting the bent metal and splintered wood of its front wheel. If anything, it would be a liability if this goon's tattooed-faced Shroudweaver friend decided to show up. Considering his eagerness to detain the felonin back in the tavern, that struck her as a likely scenario.

@Caravagio
 
A tart laugh fell from Gio's muzzle like a sneeze. "No, suppose it won't," he admitted. Hands still on Penelope's handles. "But I sure as a crow's talon am not leaving it here," he flicked his head toward the still bleeding Randal.

The bloodied man wheezed a wet laugh. "He'll throw you out for he leaves that fucking thing behind, fool lass,"

Gio pushed the stalled mono-wheel, ruined felloe and spoke stuck against the earth. A grunt, a growl. another hard shove. Loose went the wheel for another turn, and then he heard it. The steady hiss of a punctured lift bag

"Don't have to move it far," he fought on with the thing.

Randal laughed through the horrid wound that still bled him.

A hiss from Gio. Teeth bared, ears flattened back against his skull. He let the mono wheel go. Shook his head. Looked to Brighid.

"Right," he grabbed up his pack, and moved toward the singer. "It's not helping," a nervous titter as he moved on with short darting paces through the shrubs. "I know someone who will though,"

Blue was minding his own about his wagon. A thing of straight lines, and solid structure. Even better suspension. Hardly felt a bump on the Road. Numerous as those were. So, imagine his surprise when he could feel the knock, knock, knock of knuckles come rap across his door.
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Urgent, and too heavy for anything he cared to deal with when he had just sat down to read the latest play penned by Grönroos. An adjustment to the spectacles which sat balanced upon his nose.

"Well, what is it now, then," he muttered as he put the copy down. Stood up to his dwarfish stature -bout four heads and a half, given the horns- and made for the door with no rush or hurry to his step.

He did however, make sure to pack his wand up his sleeve. Griffon talon for the handle.

Creaked open the door. "Gio," he said flatly. Stared down his nose, and tilt his head, just so. "And a friend," Looked about the woods. Opened the door just the wider. Motioned them in with a point of the nose. "Come in then, I'll put on some tea," he turned and moved toward the kitchenet.

Gio smiled sly toward Brighid. "It's roomier than it looks," his sharp teeth poked out, and he slunk on in.

Inside Blue's wagon, things were a tidy sort of chaotic. Plants vined about one panel, while silver point schematics of a Twin Wheel Shroud Engine hung neatly beside the greenery and a stack of books that shared the shelf.

Shroud lamps hummed. A shroudring sparked, and a kettle was set unto its heated coil. The talonclaw wand fell from its hiding spot, and Blue laid it flat onto the counter.

"Did you make the delivery?" he asked. Set the cups there beside the kettle.

Gio tensed a step. Eased himself forward all the same. "Ran into some trouble,"

A hum. Hardly there. Just the action of scales beginning to balance. "Don't tell me," he stopped the last cup onto the counter. Picked up the iron kettle, and set it aside. Lifted its lid. Poured in the tea leaves. Closed the lid. "Far as I know, I handed you the crate and saw you off your merry way to make the drop off,"

Gio laughed, a crackle of nerves come out of him. "Right, right, this meeting ain't happening,"

Blue's eyes turned to Brighid. "Square on that?"
 
Brighid attempted to help Gio push his wrecked vehicle, but the task seemed destined for ruin even with their combined effort. She felt a guilty sense of relief when they continued on without it.

She said very little as she followed Gio to his supposed ally. Partly it was due to a growing sense of gloom as she realized she would have no bath, no supper, nor the room she had paid for out of her dwindling purse. Partly it was due to a gnawing worry that she had gotten herself into some nasty bit of business that she really shouldn't have. She knew she'd ask about it despite her better judgment, and probably get herself into even worse trouble for it. She supposed she might as well get it out of the way now.

"That brigand and his associate really had it out for you. I take it you all know each other?" she ventured once she was sure they were alone.

There you go again! Why don't you just leave before you get hurt? the logical part of her mind tried to reason as her tired and bruised legs kept striding on. She couldn't answer that question. Maybe it was curiosity. Maybe it was fear of what would happen if she did. Maybe she was too busy trying to piece together what exactly had happened back in that tavern.

Because Trouble and I are getting rather well acquainted of late, she thought with a biting sarcasm she often reserved for herself.

Whatever the reason, she kept with her cohort until they stopped at a very nice wagon.

"Thank you," she said politely to the diminutive man who let them in. She noted that he didn't seem all that pleased to see the felonin at his door.

She listened distractedly to their conversation as she looked around the well-appointed living space. It was cozier than many true buildings she had been in. She cleared her throat nervously when the conversation turned to her.

"Yes. absolutely," she said quickly, hoping to bite back her natural tendency to ask questions before it got the better of her.

She utterly failed.

"I'm sorry... what delivery are we about?"

@Caravagio
 
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