“ Yeah, I don’t like that. “ Rolf blurted out, having barely finished the sentence when Zahra elbowed him into the side of his brigandine. Bonk. Jaakko paid them no mind, keeping his receptive disposition. It may have even appeared blasé.

See he would, then. Were that he made himself a fool in the process and the rest got a good laugh out of it, the day would be no worse. He hummed his acceptance and made to approach whom he’d been pointed to, all the while it dawned on him he didn’t know the name of even the young Huntsman. Should probably ask that too, later.

As he drew near, the stranger properly revealed from behind eclipsing figures, the warm flush of recognition blew through him. He realized he didn’t need to ask for this man’s name, for he already knew it. The face was familiar too, now, and though what the man wore wasn’t exactly the colours upon his own men, it wasn’t entirely unfounded of an assumption either. They had all entered on the same turn of the handle.

“ Jerome — “ He started in way of greeting, voice and face firm with mix of authority and confusion. “ I see you got held up. What for?” The lad smiled at him wearily, shrugging and scratching the side of his cropped hair.

“ I don’t rightly know, your Lordship. They keep asking me questions— “

Something rattled in the back of his skull, echoing like a shout from far away, urgent, a coin sent to spin on a tabletop. A hand landed upon it, acknowledging it, but not seeing what it said. The shape was cool, soothing against hot skin, melting into it. The palm was too heavy to lift, somehow.

“ Like what? “ He countered, humouring the claim, even as another recollection already shambled to view from mists of memory. Jerome tilted his head, coy, watching him sideways from beneath his brow. Suppose he looked rather cute, like that, persuasive where he was weak.

“ I already told you. Remember? “

He did.

“ Oh, yeah— “ Jaakko spoke aloof, apologetic smile creasing his face. “ Your sister never came to bail you out? “

“ She tried. “ There was real grief in that. The feeling wriggled in through his eyes like so many worms. “ You need to help me. “

“ I’m not in charge. There is very little for me to do, but— “ He lamented, glancing past his shoulder at the unnamed Huntsman and then his own. Every instinct was blaring, cacophonous. Why?

Zahra stood stock still, watching as his Lordship made conversation. Rolf cursed, a little too loud for it to be private betwixt just the the two of them. He’d staid back as she had, upon her unspoken insistence. Jaakko turned back to the matter at hand, seeming blissfully unbothered.

“ How were you thinking? “
 
They were wily, Olivier thought as he studied the - person - and whatever he really saw, he told no one. It concerned none that he was not particularly a weaver, only a little anyway, enough to pass the test and get feeling from big things. Current lord called it Breath, and big things of Shroud variety did feel like they were breathing. Some - down his neck from an uncomfortable distance, making his hackles raise all too quietly.

The mark on his neck didn't burn or itch, but it was a nervous habit, when he was the one marked, to touch skin around it, pull at it slightly with the fingertip. Make sure this shield was still there.

Part of my blood, wear it, do not disturb the mark, may the same reflect in you as I am, and what befalls you burden me instead.
Every few days, the lord would mark one man of his own that was attempting to resolve or investigate something that caused particular concern. He'd say the words - nothing breathed from them, it felt like those were more to calm himself down as he'd prick his finger or cut his palm and leave a smudge of blood somewhere it could be hid - under collars or cuffs - without getting rubbed off. Other than being strange, it felt... well, rather, it didn't. Things just didn't happen.

When the - person - looked at him, Olivier felt a feather brush over his mind. A sort of breeze through his thoughts that didn't touch, didn't land, and then - nothing at all. The Huntsman wondered if somewhere far away, whatever Lord Thornley was occupied with, he felt the full pressure suddenly land.

He shivered under the wind. There was no extending that protection to anyone else, and he watched the exchange. A side glance to Zahra. "Why don't you get the right one for this, boy, he should be at his or at the drake pens," he offered, avoiding names or titles, trying to sound friendly. Trying not to let his voice waver even a little, because he didn't know if this was a 'tag-along' sort of thing that would try to take the men one by one - or if this doppel was the one that preferred to gather a crowd of half-enchanted before rending them all in some manner of a ghastly rapid shift like some of these things did.

Nevertheless, unless the wizard was about to do something that could help, Olivier was about to stay put, at the ready with a throwing knife, not about to let it escalate past a scare. The lord marked him. He had to make that count.

"What's the holdup, exactly?" Olivier stepped forward, keeping behind the Joutsentierna, but in the creature's sights. Trying his damndest to sound warm, even though he wanted nothing more than to actually feel the hilt of the blade in his hand and put it through the thing this instant.

The creature didn't answer him, just glared him down - how rude, talking over his betters! In public, at that!

"Hey, lad, weren't we headed to the, y'know," one of the mercenaries nodded somewhere, towards the close, seeming rather disconcerted by the lord joining them - as if they'd been caught doing something they could get in trouble for, "er, training grounds?" Wasn't what he was going to say, but he was doing his best to move the pockmarked face in a conspiratorial manner.

Someone flicked finger at the side of the neck and clicked their tongue, a huff among the congregation, another low voice offering, 'we could cut the lord in if he'd like'. The crafty fellow had a booze stash big enough for the six of them, what's another couple people? So long as the Thornley fellow didn't know about it. They were fucked enough with those damned rations.
 
The right one. Zahra bit back the instinct to ask for extended clarity, for a strong enough hunch battered into her at the same beat. Yes, of course, who else — She merely nodded and turned on heel, swift and quiet as she could, bumping her shoulder against Rolf’s as if on accident on the way.

“ Hey, what— “ The man grunted, visibly offended by her lack of care. As he attempted to turn, take any step at all, he realized having lost the ability to do so. And he knew exactly who’d done it.

“ Release me, damn you! “ He shouted after the wizard’s distancing back. She pretended not to hear, accelerating towards the direction of the drakepens. The wrapped up square of wool holding the rest of their lunch she’d dropped at his feet, for that extra mooring.

“ Wizard!? “
“ Stop shouting. “

He perked to attention at the familiar voice, a raven’s croak, the First Scout’s tall figure sailing to view from the same street their lot had arrived down. The remaining five of the Joutsentierna retinue were in her company.

“ What in cavorting little devils is going on in here? “ Aino muttered, glare honing in on Jaakko and the Huntsman she’d seen earlier, both engaged with someone she couldn’t properly see, all the while a bunch of mercenaries milled around them. Too many people to her liking. And fuck going in there to see what it’s about — She’d heard enough about that shit in the past ten days.

Drawing a proper blank of a lifetime, Rolf just rose his hands up and puffed out a breath in lieu of words. Like I fucking know anything anymore. Unhappy with this, the First Scout released a deep sigh and dug in her satchel for her pipe. In record time, one of those stood alongside her noticed what lay in the bound man’s feet.

“ Is that lunch? “


*​


By the smell and the noise, it was the drakepens alright. And finally, at long last, she had a proper excuse to stray in. Through those open doors. Restraining her pace and the excitement fluttering through her, she traipsed on in, eyes searching.

“ My Lord? “ She called, not loudly, for she was a mere guest in someone else’s home. “ I was asked to fetch you. It’s— “

She glanced behind her, seeing nothing out of the ordinary.

“ About the one found at Brennt Close? “


*​


“ Hold up? “ Jaakko asked, perplexed, like he’d been rudely shaken awake. “ It’s a pleasant conversation — We’re catching up. “

He gestured at Jerome. The lad nodded, keeping his smile as the Lord Joutsentierna did, despite being affronted by what both of them figured was overstepping a line. It went unaddressed as one of the mercenaries butted in, with speak of—

“ Training grounds? “ Jaakko perked at that with genuine interest, blinking. Another voice from the midst confirmed his hunch that this wasn’t where they were really going, but that hardly made matters worse. Cut in, him?

Jerome seemed insistent to go, so Jaakko winked at the lad and rotated on heel to clap a hand on the Huntsman’s shoulder.

“ You should come too. If you can keep a secret, my good — “ He started, the smile upon him fading just the tad as he realized the man’s name didn’t just magically occur to him.

“ What was your name, again? “
 
There was no growl or low rumble, only a a swift rush forward that almost brought Geist out of the half-closed stall. Immediately, the drake keeper Inri, wide-eyed, tried to block the beast's path with his scrawny arm. But the beast was unbridled, and its teeth snapped quite sharply as it advanced, the reptilian clicking in its throat ending in a serpentine hiss.
"Geist! Halt!" Came the voice from inside the stall. It had a slightly cracked edge, the owner not fond of shouting. All the same, familiar, as the rest of the drakes drifted to watch, the rumbles and clicking rattles emanating in an underlying hum.

The beast seemed to only slow because its master commanded, the low vibration from it sending shivers down spines as it conveyed a threat of something that could, would and wanted to predate on an unknown threat. And yet, the muscles of its clawed legs locked, and Geist balked instead of lunging.

Almost pushed Walter back as the baron's hand rested on the sleek fur.
The drake horse's coat shone like polished silver, metallic, interspersed with ashen-white spots and darker silver oval and half-moon splotches. The long, triangular head that ended up close to Zahra's face leaned its long head to the side, allowing its master to hold it by the narrow muzzle and the base of the neck, pinching under one of the pale grey keratinous plates that spotted the body. Silver rings and small trinkets jingled quietly on the freshly braided wire-coarse streaks of white mane, the long tail whipped, the brush at the tip of it swiping the next stall over.

The lord inhaled swiftly, and puffed an exhale through the flared nostrils, an unspoken 'are you out of your mind?' never leaving his tongue.

Instead, he eyed the witch, turned his back, maneuvering himself between her and his mount, and gently stroked up the scale mail-like ridge that ran the top of Geist's head, shushing, "Bi sàmhach a-nis, bi socair, mo bheathach... ther-r-re," his tongue rolled somewhat of a thrill, like a purr, "don't we fend off all strangers when not under saddle, hm?" Fingers found the fur around the ears, more angular than a horse's. "Sàmhach a-nis... good boy, such a good boy..."

With a bit of cutting off the line of sight, and a bit of force to move the drake's broad, powerful body, and even a few commands uttered in short, one-word bursts, as firmly as before but quieter, Walter managed Geist into the stall and closed it, before turning to Zahra. A sigh escaped through his mouth as he adjusted the collar of his wool vest.

Inri unfroze, eyes round as coins, short red hair seeming to stand on end and freckles bright against the deathly pallor.
"Is everyone- oh gods, my lord, it happened so swift, I-"

"Not your fault," he cut off. Violet eyes turned to Zahra, and a curt nod was offered - out. "Brennt Close. Don't ever do that again. Please. Inri, cloak! Wizard, talk and walk, have you anything more to say?"

*

"Of course I can keep a secret," Olivier smiled, "but would the man say where are we going, exactly? Only ruins around here, and empty houses, some burnt not two months ago. No training grounds that I know of."

"He doesn't mean-"
"Maybe the lad's an idiot," someone muttered.

It was trying to pull all of them further away from people. The young man only hoped that he could stall for long enough, and then, once he could not anymore, they'd walk for long enough.

"I'm just a man of the house, is my name that important? Uh, I think you might want to talk to the people out, Your Lordship."
Maybe he could pull at least the fat man out of this. Far enough away, to...

"No need, they don't look like they're coming!" The - person - offered, in counterpoint. "We should come quick, or we'll get more attention, don't you think?"
 
It all happened rather fast. Zahra froze in place, watching the thing rush out at her, snapping at air where she would have been had she dared take one more step. It seemed an ordeal to get it under control, as though words could halt it, physical pressure was required to push it back from whence it came. She would merely watch, dark eyes hard beneath the shadow of her hood.

Ugly thing. Something caught in the dark swirl betwixt horse and a dragon, though in its spirit it reminded her more of those badly trained hounds at the village. The ones who were allowed their bark and their bite until one day, they ripped apart a child and got promptly put down. If not by their master, then someone else, on the sly.

Who she assumed to be the stablehand was positively blabbering, but she paid them no mind, catching herself glaring at the stall as it closed. For her own sake, she wiped that spirit off her face and hid it, covered under so much undisturbed midnight soil. When the Lord berated her, she could hear her mother cackling at how meek she forced herself to be, actively biting back a retort as she turned her back to move back outside.

Do what ever again? Walk in through an open door? Whatever happened to men keeping their damn beasts in check, My Lord? If this is how you run this stable, no wonder this damn town is such a mess—

She knew it was all too far, more venom than truth, but her mother would’ve said it all and then some. Cursed everyone involved from the stablehand to what remained of the good Lord’s family. You don’t tell a witch what to do—

But talk and walk she would. She was a wizard and she could keep her head down as that position commanded her. A plaything for her betters.

“ The Huntsman come to our door at the coinhouse claimed there was an eleventh of our retinue, held up. “ She explained, calmly as she could, glancing at the man’s boots idly as they went. “ He took Lord Joutsentierna to meet the lad. It was very— “

She paused to figure out how to describe it. There wasn’t really a word for how she’d felt, watching from far enough away. Fucking bizarre.

“ Strange. I imagine your man came to that conclusion as well, sending for you. “


*​


“ Good man! “ Jaakko smiled wider, squeezing the Huntsman’s shoulder like he meant to tether himself to it. He wouldn’t let go, cozy as he was making buddy buddy even as the man evaded the question. It didn’t bother him, this time.

“ Man of the house it is then. “ He nodded and winked, attention bouncing betwixt all who piped up around them to the end of concluding the exchange. Time to go?

It dawned on him he didn’t really want to. What was that the young man had said just now, about those other people. Firmly planted by the Huntsman, he glanced past their shoulders at the curious crowd, held up at a distance. Oh yeah, them, he knew these people.

He waved, hollering a bright little hey in greeting. Aino just about dropped her pipe, glaring at the sight of it.

“ What the fuck. “

The men having dug out their share of the rations perked to attention, one of them waving back at his Lord.

“ My Lord! “ His arms rose up, each hand holding a separate food item.“ Bread and cheese! “

That sounded great, actually. Jaakko yelled back.

“ Wine? “
“ Yeah! “

Shit. It was settled then. The last time they’d eaten or drunk anything had been at the buttcrack of dawn. His face feigned lament as he addressed Jerome and the mercenaries again — it would’ve been so fun at the training grounds, for sure.

“ Actually, I’ve a lunch to catch, presently. “ He announced, stroking a lock of hair behind a pointed ear. “ We’ll talk later, Jerome — “

The lad radiated disappointment, despite the smile. Even him being held up here wasn’t really his trouble, now was it? The devils was he supposed to do about it, anyway?

" We'll talk later. And good luck. " The second son Joutsentierna turned, pulling on the Huntsman’s shoulder so he might turn as he did.

“ Might I interest you in some winter apples, man of the house? They're quite crispy. “
 
Walter broke into a light jog, in a way that would still allow Zahra to keep up.
"Pits," he swore softly, affixing the cloak as he moved, "Understood. Sorry for the scare, there, drakes are like guarding dogs writ large. Bond only to their raiser and their rider, don't take kindly to strangers in the stable,... I should have closed the stall when I heard you outside." His hand migrated beneath the treated wool, keeping closer to the karambit.
Wasn't like the drakes ever behaved like that on the street. In their own spaces, though, they were fairly territorial. How did Inti let the little one pass? He wasn't going to risk an incident - nor hide it should it have occurred.
She should not have traipsed in - but he absolutely lacked the reaction to move faster. Sleep needed to become more of a presence in his life.

"Do you have dust in your pouch? Any would do, as we're lacking for sand underfoot," he asked Zahra, the backs of Aino and the four men coming into view. "You might want to try blinding it if it shakes me."
He did not call out, even shifted a little to come into the sights of what was in the close as late as possible, putting a finger to his lips should any of the men at the entrance, or the First Scout, turn around.
And then he took off running - along the dirt patches that were drier, where his footsteps would land softer, avoiding cobbles that were slippery or puddles that would make noise.

Jerome was busy for a split second, torn between finding words for the baron and keeping the story straight as Olivier's gaze traveled to him. It wouldn't be any risk, everyone was rather so agreeable.

And then it saw Lord Thornley, turning the corner sharply, barreling down, eyes not reflecting light as a hunting predator would, but having their own prickles of light into... horror.
The doppel's pupils didn't dilute - their blackness flooded the entire eyes. The pleasant mien of false memories and suggestibility hardened like glue, no longer binding but trying to keep in place.

Walter saw the eyes of the Shieldbearers widen and ran as fast as human limits allowed, past lord Joutsentierna holding Olivier by the shoulder, almost slamming his own against the side of the fat man with all the gathered inertia.

"We're just friends here," the creature's elbows bent more upward than human hinged joints should have allowed, looping over the two nearest men so that its fingertips would fold naturally towards their tracheas, "all-"

There was no slowing down, no negotiation, no human should have moved that fast. The shroud shuffled, chirped and whispered like a whirlwind in a glass, the last step turned into a long leap and Walter's hand emerged from under the cloak, the black claw of the karambit soot-black save for the silver-layered edge.

The force of impact alone threw them both back, ramming the creature against the wall. Its arms, mid-wrapping around the two hostages to-be, fingers growing longer and sharper as a threat, grazed the shoulders with deep slashes, but did not part any limbs.
Clothes were melting into a grey-brown mess. Face was all mouth, teeth from where the nose melted flat to the tiny triangular chin, eyes - big almond pearls of grey. Jerome wasn't looking good, anymore. Only a fraction of a heartbeat before the sharp implements of its hunt would fall onto a single self-designated take, instead.

In that fraction of a beat, the claw-knife swiped across its hand, precisely at the ligaments of the wrist, went down by the blow's vector, and pointed the awl-sharp tip towards the hinge of that nightmarish jaw. Walter was silent, from the moment he stepped in as a hunter. Not a growl of frustration, not even a yelp of pain as the doppel's other hand ripped into his back with a vengeance. He stayed on top of it, though its true size was almost half-time larger, with all the determination and violent intent of a herding dog.
 
Zahra said nothing to the apology, but she’d remember it. Etch it on bone by the parts that flared red with easy anger and vindictive retaliation. She almost felt silly then, for the insults she’d conjured at a speed to make her bogwitch of a mother proud. Would she be proud, seeing all this?

Probably not. She welcomed the chance to barrel on, fingers pulling on the drawstring of her reagent pouch, grateful for the business.

“ No sand, but I’ve learned a mix of ash and salt can run in its stead. “ Expensive, but they’d never had access to good sand where they lived and soil in the bogs was unruly, too wild, too saturated with death and diverging wills of nature. Mud, dried up and ground to fine powder, from a freshly tilled field or a riverbed was best, but she’d not had access to either for a while now. She’d tried to forage on yards and gardens, but that earth was weaker, dry, trodden over and riddled with pebbles. And people hated the sight of her in there, generally.

As they went, accelerating down the small incline, she mixed the grey and white reagents together in the bowl of her palm, sheltering the ash against the grip of moving air. As they rounded the corner to the clear before Brennt Close, she closed her first and consummated the union with a whisper. Snakes and Suns. Ash and Dust.

She filed to follow closely behind Lord Thornley as they blew past Aino and her scouts. Stepping where he did, paying attention, trying not to slip. As they closed in on the eleventh and what it’d successfully preyed on, she grit her teeth. There was no keeping up with him, but she’d do her best regardless. Catch up. Trust.

Jaakko’s eyebrows shot up as a thunderbolt of movement erupted past him. Only felt, not heard, sowing the escalation he had least expected. Men collided like two beasts and he simply couldn’t look away, the sight of it possessing him.

Lord Thornley? His grip on the Huntsman’s shoulder never gave up, holding on like he was to float away if he let go. Plaster shook off a whitewashed wall and strikes of a knife were swift, no breath wasted on cries of battle or pain. No warning, efficient, a raptor in the night.

Man, it was kind of hot. And precious seconds behind the man something much smaller rushed in, hem of a grey robe flapping, hood flared wide. Wizard? Where the balls did she think she was going?

Zahra kept her taut glare on the creature as it revealed itself, despite the fact she knew the sight would haunt her dreams later. The first one had, for how it had felt to see it. This was what they wanted, baleful twists of Shroud, but she kept moving against every instinct to run. Kissed the ash and salt for good luck on her way to the horrible thing while Lord Thornley kept it’s attention. He was hurting, it looked like.

She had to act. Her hood blew back with the momentum of her last couple leaps, knees bending as she dropped closer to ground at the creature’s flank, lest it swipe her head off. Without thinking anymore, she tossed the binding dust at it.
 
Olivier let the wizard pass, eyed the two men that caught underclaw. Throats intact, shoulders torn deeply.
"Healer!" The young man cried out, and realized he had to get the Joutsentierna lord away from the erupting carnage just as the men who were trying to get off the ground. The rest had the good sense to scatter. "Keep out! Lordship, come. Go. Now. We've got to make distance." And he tried to shoulder the fat man in the direction away from danger and unbuckle his folded crossbow from the thigh holster at the same time, wondering if that shoulder held onto so tightly would get bruised.

The dust flew up in a dispersing cloud the moment that the creature got enough purchase to use three of its limbs to toss Walter off of itself, keeping the last one to make sure he'd twirled in the air before landing by virtue of the claws dragging on cloth and flesh of its opponent's back the same time the rest of its body shoved outward and away.

But the tip of the dagger connected, too. Ash and salt went into the carved open maw of teeth, dribbling black ichorous slime onto its chest. It shrieked, a loud, instinctively alarming noise, like a fox scream ending in a shrieking elk bugle, trembling and fracturing off into a lower vibrating undertone. Ash and salt went into its eyes, and it swiped wildly, hunching over as it rolled to its feet, claws striking without a target.

Walter found purchase with his feet. It was uncanny how he did not lose focus, or take pause, despite his back torn up and bleeding. He pushed himself off the ground, blade in hand, eyes tracking the thing that screamed, again. He moved heavier, but still, his legs were perfectly intact for the purpose of bringing him right back into the fray.

Didn't make it in time - to one of the scattering Shieldbearers who got trapped between a blind rampage and a trip on the building corner. Claws caught onto the mercenary's lower jaw, went through clean, emerging through the top of the skull, and it tossed its catch against the ground, hammered until that head popped like a broken melon.

The next moment, the blade reached it again, and sliced open the flesh under the arm, all the way around the back. Strings of tissue, liquefied, tried to reconnect... failed, dripped down the doppel's side. It struck out, head shaking, eyes blinking with briny tears wetting the grotesquery that was its face now. Walter removed himself half a step, just beyond reach, so it could feel the air sliced by the claws almost finding him. Another swipe cost the thing the tip of the finger. Walter retreated again.

A quick glance towards the wizard - did she make it out of the whirlwind?

A wheezing hiss. Almost... laughter in a cough, as the creature stopped moving, all of a sudden. Instead of screaming, it grew perfectly still. Because it could still move faster than any little fleshbag trying to make it away from here. Especially those on the other side from where the last strike caught it.
It was going to make them pay.
 
Had it not worked? For all that shrieking, the thing was still moving. It swiped and Zahra kept her scream muffled behind pressed lips, scampering off the way on all fours. From its red and blue leather sheath at her belt, she pulled her knife and kept it underarm, ready to return cut for cut. When another went under in a violent tear, she made sure to keep looking away, locked in on the promise of shelter in a narrow betwixt buildings.

People were shouting, in pain and alarm. The cobbles dotted with red in Lord Thornley’ wake.

Jaakko came to in a jolt, a man awakened to the midst of a battlefield. Ally and stranger alike torn up, creature making its inhuman noises. And he hadn’t got his sword or axe, just a lousy little dagger, more accessory than it was actual use against— whatever in the curses that was. Yeah, better heed that. Get some distance.

“ First Scout! “ He called upon his heel-turn, hauling for his own without actually running.

“ On it. “ The pipe dangling off the side of Aino’s mouth bobbed as she brought the heavy crossbow to aim. Two more bows were knocked, her scouts fast on the string and draw. One of them still chewing on the rest of his bread, mouth full.

Aino exhaled smoke on the beat of Jaakko’s shape leaving her field of vision. Steady now, don’t hit the good baronet Thornley. She loosed first at the creature, the rest taking her cue within the next second. Bowstring sung, bolt and arrow whistling through thick air. Rolf appeared about ready to rip the hair beneath his cap out, a grotesque grimace twisting his face. He could move again, but at what cost?

Jaakko caught his distancing shape only at the sound of sword being pulled out of scabbard. He was going for the fray, which pleased his Lord none at all.

“ Get back here, soldier! “ Jaakko shouted, mustering all authority he could possibly have within this unruly group.

“ The wizard is in there! “ The man-at-arms yelled back, unstopping, undeterred.

She sure was. As was Lord Thornley and that damn beast. Had this town drained everyone of their senses?

“ You’ll both get killed! “
 
You needed a who to bind them to the earth. Else, you needed right-drawn lines of the right matter. At least, that was the spur of the moment's guess as to why the improvised pocket ashes and salt did not hook into the thing and earthbind it there and then. It didn't have a who. Who required some consistency.

Olivier fired from his hip, in the same beat with the other arrows and bolts, and yanked his own sword out.
"The lord's got this, it can hear you! Hold the line!"

It moved. Quickly, like a sprinting centipede, to the space between the steel-yanking man and the place it left, where the cloud was. One good hand swiped at the cloud space, where it must have come from, where the heartbeat came off rapid and the steel must have been as small as the flesh bag form. Easy to-

The very same instant, it didn't feel anything in that hand anymore. The force of the strike brought the wrist onto a crescent-shaped blade. Walter Thornley had moved again, so fast that he was hard to track in a single lunge, the air erupting into shuffling noise that sounded strangely like whispers, almost distinguishable as they faded - and held the knife in the way of the claws, bracing its other side against a leather armguard. It came down hard. The jaw unhinged, four bolts stuck in the thigh, torso, ...neck.

Gurgle.

Blood came up and out the teeth-filled mouth.
Walter's grip closed around the half-severed hand. He put his whole weight into lugging it through a trip and onto the ground.
It resisted. Jaw hinged open close to Zahra, swirls of brown in its pearlescent eyes where the ash and salt had struck it, still trying to reach, to bite, to taste...

It snapped and sank the rows of teeth atop the ever-gloved forearm, through the leather, freshly cut neck not enough force to rip it right open. Lord Thornley bared his teeth. Those strange canines. Eyes burning like ghost lights. No words came out. No whine. Breathing fast and shallow.
His bare palm connected to the creatures gaunt ribcage, and the Shroud shuddered.
To Order.

Zahra's binding took, that very moment, locking the lord and the creature into place, against each other.
 
The ground was atremor. For two thundering heartbeats, Rolf stared at death in the face, the sight of the creature come to reap almost making him drop his sword. He hadn’t thought this through. He couldn’t feel his feet, of a sudden.

A hand yanked at his shoulder and he almost fell back at the force of it, numb with fear from chest to the soles of his feet. He heard a whisper with his name on it, but nothing more. Give me that. The deathgrip on the sword hilt was pried loose, while that palm on his shoulder kept him steady.

Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck. The thing was right behind her, that sharp twist of limbs, Zahra's entire body bracing for claw and sharp teeth. The empty space at her back billowed with change in pressure, moist air expanding like sails on a frigate, and she turned on instinct to face it, so fast she nigh flattened herself on her back to the ground. It’d have to meet her knife first, witches' honour, the little blade pointed directly at that part that reached out. Until it didn’t, end of a limb cut off.

Chunk of flesh hit the ground in a sickening thud and she held her shallow breath in her chest. Eyes wide, teeth bare in a wolfish snarl. It had become hideously still. She struggled up from where she’d lain on her arse, hearing heavy footsteps through the haze of her relief. Lord Joutsentierna was approaching fast at a march, someone else’s sword in hand.

It had not escaped him either that the battle had come to an abrupt halt. But a predicament yet persisted, battlepair locked to something resembling a stalemate — teeth to arm, the former attached to a petrified jaw. Too good of a chance to pass up. Zahra met Jaakkos’ look in passing, his eyes inquiring her for what he couldn’t see. She nod her head, as many times as it took to urge him on.

Joutsentierna said nothing, rounding by Thornley and bringing the sword up to an overhead strike. For the creature’s neck.
 
  • Satisfying
Reactions: Ray
The Pull came on the obscurata's fingertips and the shadows fell darker, sharper outlined. The magic that released in the flowing black blood - sank through him, instead of around him. Cleansing of everything but the measure of strength absorbed, unnaming, unravelling to the pure primal form. It was his take. His harvest. That force, stolen through the unweaving Aspects of a wound, the dying desperation of a creature now prey, would be of use very soon.

Lord Thornley breathed through the parting mouth, and braced against the impact, his good hand retreating from the path of the blade. Once the weight of the blow landed downward, and the creature's head separated, the lord stood firmly planted against the ground.

A pulse - under the closed sleeves, the tall collar - veins filling with darker purple to the palpitations of the heart that was only now beginning to pick up pace. Blood staunching. Wounds knitting. The take's defaced strength now his, calling to the force that moved him to repair. When a take died, he always had more than enough. Fingers lay around the separated monstrous skull, almost cradling it for a moment. Then, gathered strength, grabbed around the bristling upper jaw, and pulled the teeth out of his arm.

Blood came up, spilled on the ground. Walter staggered, vision briefly overtaken. Righted himself. Blood stopped soaking what remained of his sleeve and armband, though it still dripped from the overflow.

He eyed Jakko, met his eyes. Nodded slowly, parted lips closing, eyes falling onto the sword for a moment, with a few shallower nods to follow. The battle trance was fading, he could feel it by the tremors in his fingers, shaking up his spine. Still, he staggered to the witch. The light in those eyes dimmed until they were dark wells lined with violets. A cloak departed the shoulder, and though bloodied, he offered it to her, for some reason, baring the deep gashes in his back that were still weeping red, but less with every beat of the heart.

And then, he stomped heavily into the nearest house that stood empty and closed the door with a slam. It half opened by its own, a moment later. Like a beast retreating into a burrow, not wanting anything of anyone while it was wounded. He never did let go of the karambit.

The Huntsmen seemed to know that manner well. Olivier posted himself before that door in a few brisk steps, waiting for the attendant proper, Reginald, to take his place.
Someone sent for him, too, because Reggie came running. Must have been Inri, or maybe even Ophelia, who was rounding the corner, too.

"Everyone in one pie- oh shit," She blurted, staring at the red mess that was one of the Shieldbearers. "Captain Agatha is going to hate that."

"Lord inside?" Reginald asked, pointing at the correct door. "Alright, get the healers to the rest. Lord Joutsentierna, you or the rest of your host in any need?" His tone conveyed urgency. Given his lord was there, and the monstrosity lay dead, Reginald seemed to correctly and routinely assume that his lord fought. And there were protocols for the aftermath, especially given the lord's own aftermath. The Hunt would have to be the voice of House Thornley, until the heir's own returned.

Ophelia draped a tarp over the monstrous body on the ground - save it for the late night dissection. Another glum look to the fellow with the crushed head at the freshly plastered wall. They'd have to scrape him off somewhat before they'd be able to cover him fully.
"Now we know there's ten, and has ever only been ten," she murmured. "For sure."
 
Last edited:
You must log in or register to reply here.
Back
Top Bottom