Borrowing Back Taken Magic

[Talion]

Without any other options available, Talion followed Yyan through the dark chamber into the light. For what was probably the first time that night for maybe since he had first come in contact with the other man, yes man, Talion took the time to really study the other man's face. A very normal, very human face. He was no demon, no Master. This man was really just that, just another man in a hood that he had been following around for the last day.

As he stepped into the light of the hallway, Talion felt as if a dense fog was being lifted from the corners of his eyes and the back of his mind. His vision was not completely clear, he still saw small shadows at the corners and within the edges of his peripheral vision, but it was much clearer than what it had been for as long as he could remember. There was something about this place that was...well he couldn't put his finger on it.

His eyes lost the gold coloring that had given him a very inhuman look. They turned back to their natural green coloring, and took in the sights of this building for the first time. It was clear to him that he had never been here before, that much his memory could tell him, but there was still something about this place that seemed almost comforting if not for the mysterious being that taunted them and seemed to be leading them off to some unknown destination.

It dawned on him then just how quiet the place was. He no longer heard the squawking of birds that wanted to peck him eyes out, the voices in the back of his mind who whispered to each other of his weaknesses or shortcomings. He didn't even hear the voice of Master or his lizard companion mocking him. They were quiet. But why?

He looked down to his feet to question the lizard for himself, but the thing was nowhere to be found. Always, always the thing followed him, tried to trip him, tried to get him lost in strange locations and mocked him the entire time, but within the lit hallway of this hall, the thing was nowhere to be seen. It was enough to frighten the one man. If there were something within the building that could scare away the demons, then he wasn't so sure that he really wanted to be there either.

Then a wall just appeared out of nowhere. Where the dark entrance way had once stood, now was a solid stone wall much like those that had lined the building. He was trapped. There was noway he could go back the way he went and he wasn't looking forward to going on without the aid of his demon companions. His head might have been clearer than it had been in a very long time, but it only made him realized all the more real danger that he was in at the moment.

[Yyan]

There was no doubt in Yyan’s mind that the voice had addressed him directly, but he chose not to respond. The thing possessed enough power to plough through his brain like a battering ram, but he wasn’t about to raise the portcullis for it.

He did cast a small glance behind at the others, wondering what they thought. He hadn’t exactly kept it a secret that he had been here before, but neither had he divulged the details of what landed him here to begin with. Not that he really needed to, either. Simply being who he was seemed enough to land him in trouble with the authorities.

Which made Yyan all the more curious about why he had been let go in the first place. Did the voice know the truth? Was it taunting him with its open questioning?

Was it even possible that something—someone?—else had set him free…

Then the torchlights flickered. Startled and expecting an attack, Yyan spun around to face a sealed hallway. He drew a sharp breath through his teeth in lieu of muttering curses.

The hall they had turned down seemed almost familiar. As he waited for his heartbeat to calm, Yyan stared down the line of doors. I…think those might be holding cells, he said. It wasn’t easy, but he managed to suppress a shudder. Let’s keep moving.

[Anther]

If Tsai's presence was a leash connected to Anther, then Anther was dragging along the very maximum length of that leash, one step ahead of pulling it. He had no time for many thoughts or otherwise, instead concentrating on not pissing his pants and to not hyperventilate, though he had a strong suspicion that even if he tried to die to get it over with Tsai would rob him of it and pull him back screaming as her slave or something equally horrifying.

Anther had faced down death and injury before, it wasn't like he was a piss yellow coward or none, but he found the powers to be overwhelming and terrifying, and it was not at all gratifying that the members of his party seemed to not be affected or out of place by a single hair. There he was, left to whimper and whine like a slinking dog in their presence. He didn't consider himself a coward, though, since his companions possessed illegal powers they weren't afraid to use, and he did not. Sagath was certifiably insane, and Anther was waiting down deep for the betrayal. Sagath was much too smug.

Anther was becoming less and less sure that they actually needed him for his nimble fingers and picks, and he remembered Rue's lot with a shudder. If she were caught by the guards. . .

And Yoger, would he be back at their den by now, confused and worried why none of them were there?

What would become of them?

[Tsaikatlaua]

A wall sprang up and Tsaikatlaua halted, looking around. The... thing... talked to Yyan and then he spoke about the holding cells, and she was pleased to see that he didn't look too unnerved by the thing's words. Anther was enough nerves for the lot of them, and really... fear was more irritating than useful. There was no place for the useless.

Thinking like that was what had lost her her first thief, but Tsaikatlaua figured that now she had a spare, although she didn't trust either of them. One would run--had run--given half a chance and the other's eyes were shifty. Not that Tsaikatlaua was completely innocent and blameless either, but for the purposes of her endeavor, she really couldn't afford someone who would sell them out. Maybe the thing that controlled this place would be pleased by a blood sacrifice, as her own gods would. Of course, classifying this disgusting Easterner entity with her own pure gods was something akin to heresy, but there it was. Everyone had to be a little blasphemous every now and then.

Talion seemed to be pulling his brain back together, which was good. There was, of course, a spot in every quest and adventure for the raving lunatic, but right now Tsaikatlaua wasn't wanting to deal with one. She already had a potentially traitorous thief and another who was a coward, and a raving lunatic wasn't welcome. Talion seemed more resigned than eager, but Tsaikatlaua knew that she couldn't exactly blame him for that. She was the only one with any right to be eager for the rewards of this task--the others would be grateful for their lives.

"We go forward," she announced quietly, shoving Anther lightly, for her, in the back. "Down the stairs." Her feet found the first of the cool stone steps and she started the descent, jerking her head at Anther to make sure he was following. The others, even Sagath, she knew would come without urging. Or at least, urging of the forceful kind.

[The Porter]

Porter lit the way for those now trapped within his walls. Soon they would be prisoners within the hall much as he was, the only real difference would be that he would still be very much in control. So, the lights at the bottom of the dark stairs flickered on as the group made their way down, illuminating the same white stone found in the floor above.

At the base of the stairs, a long rectangular room opened before them. Unlike the floor above, these walls were not lined with doors that led off to unknown rooms, no these walls were lined with several holding cells both awaiting new prisoners and occupying several others. Each cell was identical to the next; none of the cells held any furnishings of any kind, no cots, no pot in which one might relieve themselves, no bench to sit on, nothing. The only thing that stood between them and the stone walls that made up the cells were the metal bars that could be opened up to throw in yet another prisoner.

Six lights had been turned on in this basement prison. Six lights embedded up into the ceiling atop six jail cells. One for each of the intruders.

"You are being given a choice." This time it wasn't the voice of Porter that spoke to the group. Well, it was the voice of The Porter, but he did not speak to them directly as he had done before. This time his voice was being spoken through the body of one of his child servants. His words came out of the child's mouth in a way that sounded clearly unnatural and inhuman, as if he was being used as some sort of puppet. "Turn yourselves in now and you shall receive a lessor punishment."

The doors to these six cells swung open as if they were agreeing with the child. They awaited those that knew better than venture further into that hall and get themselves in anymore trouble than they already were in.

From the dark corners of the other end of the room, one of Porter's mindless child puppets stepped out into the light and greeted the group with the blank expression that he always carried on his young face. His eyes were empty, his light blonde hair appeared to be faded and his simple colorless robe and sandals were made all the more eerie as they stood out against the blood-stained rag that he carried. "You are not advised to make any messes."

[Talion]

Talion followed gold-covered woman down the the stairs. yes, she too was very much a woman, but an intimidating woman at that. She was unlike any woman he had ever met and he wasn't yet sure how he felt about that. He was pretty sure that it wasn't any sort of attraction feeling that he felt for her, no it felt more like a mixture of fear and awe at the display of power that she had thus displayed in front of him, that is if it was real.

As he took the steps down the flight of stairs that led into the basement, he couldn't help but feel a weird sort of confused feeling as he tried to remember parts of the last day and night. Parts of it felt so real and yet at the same time, some of the shadows and demons, they felt distant and and... he couldn't explain how or what but parts of it it felt like he had recently woken up from some sort of dream-like state. Everything felt so jumbled together and he was having trouble distinguishing what had really happened and what was but a figment of his imagination. Had he really been tormented by killer birds out in the streets? Had he really helped this strange woman from across the world really kill another person? Had he initiated the incident? That thought almost sickened him.

Then there was the shocking realization of the situation that he had gotten himself into. Even now he was facing off at a row of prison cells awaiting his companionship. And there was that child, no not a child, if anything he had encountered thus far in this city were to be considered a demon it would be this thing. Even in the dark, it was clear that the thing before them was anything but the child that it appeared to be at first glance, it made no attempt to hide its lack of humanity.

[Yyan]

“You are being given a choice,” the voice spoke. “Turn yourselves in now and you shall receive a lesser punishment.”

Hearing it aloud wasn’t the same as the whispered, poisonous darkness in their minds, but that toneless sound was laced with the same barbs. Six cell doors opened as if to receive them, and involuntarily Yyan stepped back, almost bumping into Anther and Talion. It was an act of will to keep his gaze fixed forward and not look around blindly for a means of escape. Drawing a breath through a tight chest, he looked back at his companions. It speaks lies, he warned them. There is no lesser punishment in this place. He gave a slightly greater emphasis to Anther, who looked like he might vomit with fear any moment.

Then the child appeared. Yyan was struck by a memory… when he was young, one of the slave children had fallen into a well and drowned. They had pulled her out, and the sight of her white, limp body and staring eyes had haunted his dreams for months. Looking at this thing in a faded robe that clutched a bloody cloth, he recognized the same expression. A separate presence occupied this hollow body.

“You are not advised to make any messes.” The mouth moved, and words issued forth, but the expression never changed.

Yyan stared back at it. He saw and felt no weapons, nothing to indicate that it posed a direct threat. It seemed more like a warning, a tactic to frighten them into obeying. He took a step forward, then another, not looking back to see if the others followed, hoping they did not in case he was wrong. So far the thing didn’t move. Yyan shifted and prepared to step to the right.

[Anther]

Power. Control. Poise. Direction. Importance.

Everything Sagath had ever wanted for himself, embodied within the man-child who stood before them with eyes saturated in his own drunken ability, as though it left no room for anything else. Sagath found his own greed rise up, as he watched this new event play out like some sort of street show; two sides facing off for some kind of greater good, like that ever existed. The building, the scene, it was all impressive. Kept clean, obsessively so almost, it seemed greater to him than his childhood haunts ever might be, greater than anything the adults might have put together.

It was perfect. Guarded by these men-children, who had cast off their earthly desires for their god, the god who reigned the place with absolute control, and spun it out in spades. The god who threatened them in their minds. It did not frighten Sagath particularly much, for he felt an instant of kinship, of destiny, and it thrilled through him with a shiver. Delicious foreboding, as he looked at his companions, at the woman who thought she could simply wrest what she wanted out of the building through force alone. Foolish woman, with her earthly disguise and borrowed guises.

Sagath knew what real power was. He could taste it with his eyes and ears and mouth, as he soaked in the fate that gleamed out from the cells and the pure-dressed acolytes.

His mind moved.

___________________

Anther couldn't leave. He eyed the direction they had come from. Tsai blocked it with more than a physical presence, and he shuddered at imagined punishments. He couldn't go into the cell. A cell was the same anywhere, and he didn't need to know much to know that being caught and caged was no business of any sane man. Anther was not insane. His companions were, but he was not. He could not rightfully go forward, past the creature that stared at them with dead eyes and spoke words with dead rubber lips.

He could not faint for fear of death from any angle. He could not refuse, he could not assent.

Impotence did funny things to his head, when it was backed with a hefty amount of fear. "Kill it." He said, and his voice broke. "Kill it, kill it, kill it."

If, that was, it was in any way alive.

[Tsaikatlaua]

There was another thing. The child seemed strange, even though Tsaikatlaua hadn't had much to do with children in her home. Children were the province of their mothers and Tsaikatlaua had not been married, nor had she had children. She regarded most children as small beings who made lots of noise, and so there was something vaguely unsettling about this little person. It made scarcely any noise at all, and it had just... appeared.

It seemed to be unnerving her small group as well, and not only the child. The cells that had slunk into existence had a dark appearance, but this entity must be stark raving mad to think that Tsaikatlaua, daughter of the steamy continent and the one who was blessed, would step willingly into a cell. It wouldn't hold her if she did. She would slink out the bars in her snake form, or, if it was magically sealed, she would throw all her gods-given power against them until they broke. Physical or magical power, she'd use both until she broke out. Then at the end, if even that was impossible, she would take her own life rather than bear the shame of having failed. Or her gods would just kill her if she didn't commit suicide.

At any rate, a cage was not for her. Tossing her hair emphatically, she glanced around with hooded eyes. She wouldn't make a mess... she would make an offering. An ungodly thing did not deserve to live. She leaped forward and shifted form mid-bound, adopting her sleek, spotted jaguar form. With a silent roar she opened her mouth, fangs glinting in the low light and locked them around the child's throat, knocking it backwards. It didn't fight back. She got a noseful of blood and it splashed down her throat as well, and across the white floor, but she thought a prayer as she picked up her head.

My gods of rain and fury, take this anomaly against your natural works as the start of the cleansing of this forsaken place, far from jungles and the true way of life. Bless our endeavors and enable us to victory, that I may use the powers you gave me to wash away the stain on your fair earth. The priests said it was always proper to thank the gods, and of course she would do so. She stepped backwards and shifted back human again, clothing reappearing bloodstained and her face covered in the same. She swiped at it irritably and then strode away, ignoring the bloody mess left on the floor behind her. "I will not be caged."

Looking around, Tsaikatlaua saw that the only way forward was to go back. Deciding that there must have been a passage they missed, she led the way back up the stairs, wiping her hands on her dress.

[The Porter]

Of all the time that Porter had spent watching over the many prisoners that frequented the basement prison of the Justice Hall, he had never seen one so willingly comply without being prompted to do so by the pain of torture. Usually it took the fine-tuned hand of one of the Judges or a well seasoned Battlemage to get such a response out of a criminal, but not this one. This one was willing to do as he was told. Or so it seemed.

The cell bars that had swung open to welcome the entry of the intruders, stood open for the thief. The light above his cell glowed brightly against the darkness of the rest of the room. It welcomed him in, but the man remained firmly planted where he was. He wasn't giving in that easily. Porter could be done with the boy and the others for that matter, but he knew that that was not the desired punishment for those that were trying to commit a crime far worse than any he had ever witnessed. Nobody broke into his hall.

That was when the woman turned on his attendant. She displayed her power in taking down the child in a gruesomely messy manner. Porter had gone out of his way to tell them to keep the place clean and she simply ignored his simple request. Such blatant disrespect would not be taken lightly, her actions were only going to amount in harsher punishment once the Battlemages arrived.

While the over members of the group took this chance to escape back up the flight of stairs that had led them to the prison, Porter sent out his request for backup. He informed the Battlemage more commonly known simple as Machete or just Chet that his aid was needed at the hall. Intruders needed to be dealt with and Porter believed that the Judges as well as Lord Belatucadrus would prefer a punishment that didn't come in the form of a wall instantly crushing these criminals.

As for the hallway that had been upstairs when the group descended the stairs, well that had been replaced with a smaller hallway that opened up into a circular chamber at the center of the building. Within the room stood a single stone slab with shackles hanging from the corners. Many a victim had been tortured and slain within this room, but with Porter's insistence on cleanliness the room had been completely scrubbed of any sign of of the last person to occupy the alter. In fact, the room gave off the harsh smell of cleaning supplies.

[Gachety's Boys]

"So . . ." Chet adjusted the fingers of his gloves as he ticked off the pertinent information. "At least one shifter, and using her abilities recklessly in a manner inconsistent with the generous allowances given that sort--sounds like it's a female, at least . . ." He paused to sort in his head the information Porter was volleying his way, then continued.

"A few others pestering Porter . . . a male gave the orders for one of the ushers to be taken down, so . . . maybe the leader of the group, that one. And three others . . . males?--maybe females--aiding in the trespassing."

Lemboysas trotted to keep up with Chet's efficient stride. His gloves were were on already, as they were most of the time. These gloves made a statement, so he liked for people to see them. The fingertips of Lemboysas's left glove had been cut off. In his right hand, he held an 18-inch strap of leather, nailed to which was a vertical row of small steel plates. The bottom edge of each plate overlapped the top edge and the nail of the next. Periodically he would snap the length of leather in the air, near his hip, and the overlapping steel plates would slap against each other in succession.

Chet finally waved his hand at the sound of the rattling steel. "Time to cut that out, son," he said.

"What happened to the guards?" Lemboysas's upper lip quivered with a hesitant smile.

"Beats me. Who ever knows. . ."

"It should be us posted guard at these places," said the younger man. A line of sour, anxious sweat clung to his upper lip. He got ahead of Chet as they neared the entrance of the Hall.

"The shifter is foreign, newly arrived." Chet recited the information plainly as he sorted the useful bits from the pieces of Porter's instructions he couldn't make sense of. " . . . Or . . . okay, the shifter is one of the, ahem, foreigners."

"Sssh-sssh-sssh." Lemboysas's laugh hissed through his teeth. "Should post us at the roads into town, too."

Chet put a gloved hand on the young man's shoulder and pulled him to a halt as they reached the steps up to the Hall's entrance. His chin, stubbled with salt and pepper, flattened, and his nostrils widened. He could smell the astringent from where he stood.

"Porter's opened up the round room," he said flatly. "Didn't tell me that . . ."

Chet climbed the steps and looked back at Lemboysas with one final piece of information. "And he says there's a mess to clean up. Get Tatha, would you?" He flexed the fist of his right hand and stretched his pinky finger.

* * *

Things inside the Hall were never exactly the same, so Chet simply followed the architectural cues Porter was giving. Where there were usually several arches along the antechamber leading to various corridors, now there was only one. The scent of sterilizing chemicals was preternaturally strong, as if Porter had amplified it for additional assistance in finding his way. It seemed to Chet that Porter's grasp of the human sensory experience was sometimes a little misinformed.

He took slow steps on the balls of his feet down the corridor. He was an ambush man, and his steady, careful variety of stealth hadn't yet abandoned him in his age. As for his scent--sometimes rogue shifters had a way of scenting things out--it would be masked by the same astringent vapor that was beginning to sting his nostrils. And Porter seemed to have a way of scrambling any projections of magical energy his mages were giving off, so Chet felt he should be able to avoid detection that way, too. Until they saw him, he'd be able to keep his approaching presence unknown.

He heard the echo of a woman's voice ahead. Distorted by the round room's vaulted ceiling, her words were unintelligible by the time they reached him, further down the corridor. Something in the timbre of the muffled voice, the cadence, led him to believe the speaker was not native to the language. This was one of the foreigners, at least.

Chet came up on the doorway to the round room. He put his back against the wall of the corridor just outside the room and took a deep breath of the cold, caustic air. He held his breath and closed his eyes.

He could see her coming up the stairs--not visually, for his eyes were turned the other way, and shut. He saw that the dome of her mind was swimming with broad strokes, too quick and cloudy for him to make out; he needed to bring one thing to the surface. Behind his eyelids, Chet's eyeballs darted back and forth as if in dream state. The picture of her mind was ephemeral, and he had to work quickly.

In the elusive image, the web of Tsaikatlaua's magics emerged. Chet's brow furrowed as he worked in a manner similar to skimming a long list. Several items stood out, and he had to pick one.

Finally, Chet exhaled, and pivoted on one foot to spin around and stand in the doorway of the round room. Just where he had pictured it, Tsaikatlaua's head was rising from the steps on the opposite side of the room, and just where he had selected, he aimed his outstretched pinky finger. He squeezed his right eye shut to steady his aim, and in a tiny, swift motion, twisted his wrist ever so slightly. The minuscule scalpel projected by his pinky finger lopped precisely at the spot in Tsaikatlaua's conscious mind where she remembered her ability to turn into a jaguar. She wouldn't remember she could do that anymore.

* * *

Lemboysas strolled down the hall behind Tatha, whose sense of urgency was better developed, and whose pace was quicker. The elf was visibly nervous, walking with stiff steps and stroking the pale skin of his overbitten upper lip.

They caught up to their mentor just a moment after he performed his trick on Tsaikatlaua. Lemboysas, who had been muttering excitedly to himself under his breath, nudged Tatha with his elbow and half-snorted, "He snipped her!"

Tatha, for his part, stifled a yelp and nodded, but shuffled away from Lemboysas to stand next to Chet in the doorway as Lemboysas started to rattle his strip of steel plates.

[Talion]

Talion had stood watch as the woman-turned jaguar had pounced on the small child and ripped its throat open. He had just stood there. He hadn't made the slightest move to try to stop her or help the child, he just stood there. In the blink of any eye, the fragile life that had stood before them, now lay in a puddle on the floor. And what had it asked them. Don't make a mess. Was that really worth killing the child over.

The others seemed to think so. The thief had ordered the kill. The woman had carried it out and the other, the one he had been so blindly following all day, well he seemed to act as if there was no other choice to the action. How did he even get involved with these people?

The drugs, the drugs that sat in the small pouch at his belt, they had been the cause of this. For the first time in a long time, his mind felt clear of their influence without the nagging need to partake in more of the herb. He could think straight, and the only thing he could think of was to curse himself, to curse the drugs and to curse the situation that he had let himself get dragged into.

Stupid. This time it wasn't Master that sought to insult him, it was of his own doing. He knew that he wasn't using his brain and he knew it was going to lead to trouble, how much so, well that was yet unclear to him. Stupid.

The man he had called Master had crashed into him in trying to flee the scene before them. The others looked to do the same in following the woman back up the stairs, but Talion remained behind for a moment. He felt for the poor child crumpled on the floor. He was so tiny, so fragile, and he had been broken in mere moment. What if that had been the result of his own attack all those years ago, what if nobody had come to his aid? Would he too have met his untimely end in a puddle of his own blood? He was sure of it.

With his pale blonde hair and noticeably human features, the child looked noting like Talion. Yet, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was looking down on a younger version of himself. He had been regarded in a similarly frightened way when he was younger. The villagers had treated him as if he were some ungodly freak of nature or unnatural anomaly that had been allowed to walk the land. What if the child had been just as scared and frightened as he had been when he was taken out into the woods and beaten?

The voices and sounds within his head had been dulled some time after entering the building. He had been free from their normal torment only to trouble himself with the thoughts he associated with the dead child and the fear he had of what would become of him if he remained within his present company. He knew he had to get away from them before he ended up like the child. The cells still remained open for him to enter, but as the one in the dark cloak advised, that didn't mean that he would be punished any less for his crimes if he turned himself in. Could this man be trusted?

What he really wanted to do was to wrap his cloak around him, followed by the shadows left by the minimal light that was used to light up the room, and simple disappear. He might be able to sneak away from the others and find a new way back to the entrance without them knowing, but first he would have to leave this prison before he found himself stuck behind the bars like the moaning and whimpering voices that called out from the unlit portion of the room.

As he scaled the stairs leading up to the floor above, he began to pull the dark of the room with him and sink into wall, fading from sight.

[Yyan]

Yyan had been startled, and faintly sickened, by the sound of Anther’s panicked demand for the puppet-child’s death, but in the next instant that turned into horror. Tsaikatlaua, cloaked in the form of her great cat, had bounded past him to knock the pale figure brutally to the marble floor. It was over in a blink of an eye. The little creature couldn’t defend itself, not against a ruthless, primal force designed to kill. She stood back up as a woman, not even sparing a glance at the mess she had made. “I will not be caged,” she informed the world at large. For a moment Yyan could only stare after her with dread and disgust.

The sight of the blood pooling beneath the crumpled body made his stomach roll. That this little creature, dead even before it was killed, could bleed…

He turned away and followed Tsaikatlaua, positioning himself as close to the middle of the rest of them as he could, studying their reaction to what had just happened. Sagath’s eyes burned with an unnatural hunger. Anther looked stricken, his nerves stretched to the point where Yyan feared at any moment something was going to break in him. Talion… Yyan’s eyes lingered on Talion. The dark aura that normally suffused his presence had faded, and for the first time his eyes reflected his thoughts. He was disturbed, troubled, angry, frightened. He met Yyan’s gaze once, his look almost accusatory, before he turned away again.

Yyan knew the futility of trying to keep his own thoughts secret. He wore his revulsion and confusion openly. This place was wrong. The whole idea of it made him want to scream, and yet… and yet a small part of him felt in tune with it, as though there was some purpose for him here that had nothing to do with Tsaikatlaua’s mission. He hunted for that part of himself, wanting to understand what he could possibly have to do with this place, but it eluded him like a thief in a dark, crowded street.

Unconsciously he shuddered. This place was tainting him.

As their group mounted the steps, something tickled Yyan’s mind. It was faint and muffled, as though that strange sense had been wrapped in thick wool, but it came rushing toward them so fast that he stumbled back a step. It was gone now… he couldn’t tell where it had gone, but it had come straight at them. Something’s wrong, he told them. He vaulted up to the top of the steps without thinking, breathing hard and wildly searching for whatever had attacked. Something else is here!

[Anther]

The smell of death suffused the room in a heartbeat, mixing with the scent of the chemicals to produce a queasy mixture. Anther had seen death before, had been an accomplice to it, and had not been sorry when it had happened. Death was a thing inseperable from street life. It happened, and there really was nothing to do about it but keep trudging on.

But he had never been a part of a death when his nerves felt so taut that he quivered at a suggestion of shadows, and against his will his stomach rolled. He controlled it for a moment, as the others turned to move back up the stairs, but then his stomach was cramping. He turned to the wall, damp palms slapping up against it, and heat assaulted his throat and mouth. It hurt. There wasn't much in him to bring back up, so what did come up was all the more gut wrenching. And the smell of it made him spit and sputter, and his muscles contracted again.

Yyan's warning, unspoken and mind-loud, was a disruption that wheeled him around. Anther was past his limits, and he bolted away from the stairs without looking. His foot slipped in rapidly spreading blood, and he fell heavily on the body of the mauled child-thing. He was not long on it, as he immediately started scrambling to get away from it, screaming his fool head off like he was being tortured.

The metallic tang of blood filled his head, and he started sobbing as he crawled away blindly, seeking the rather dismal comfort of the others. He was afraid of being left alone in the stone tomb. Who wouldn't be? He slipped as he headed, with certain apprehension, towards the stairs. He left behind a smeared trail of blood.

Sagath had turned at the sound of screams so close behind Yyan's dire warning, but at the sight of Anther he only sneered and turned away again. It was clear the younger boy had already forsaken his companion.

"Who's here? I don't hear anything. Tch. You're all flapping at ghosts and shadows." Sagath said, pushing past Yyan.

Lifetimes away, Rue escaped the guards and kept going, seeking out the remains of the sane and predictable life they'd had before Tsai.

[Tsaikatlaua]

Tsaikatlaua smelled someone, lurking around and undoubtedly up to no good. Of course, if she looked at this whole... mess... from a point of view that could see it all, she would be the one up to no good. Then again, she didn't care. The eastern heathens, the cold-weather-loving pale people, had stolen something that belonged to those who had yet to fall from grace. That this city had ended up as the stopping point for her book simply designated it as the city for her to wreak destruction on.

Her tongue flicked out, adopting a snake-like fork as she tasted the air. Magic. She could taste it, smell it, even though it was different from the terrifying and comforting scents from her home. There, magic was like thick honey on the air, invading every crevasse with its potent, heady smells. Moss, old trees, dark water and the ever-present sense that thunder was coming made up the air in Tzalxochitl, and it made her long for home. Here, the magic was more airy and light, drifting on the air more like feathers than honey. Tsaikatlaua much preferred her homeland.

Her ears would have twitched if they could, at the scrape of metal on metal. Her thieves were jostling each other, and Yyan shot past her, and suddenly everything seemed to move too quickly. But her eagle-eyes followed it, and she whipped her head to the spot where she had heard the metallic noises, where she could smell the origin of the magic. This would not be tolerated. She had a job, she had a duty to rescue something precious. It was obvious that the pale-skinned people didn't know the value of what they had. It was something she would have to thank them for... after they were removed from her path.

Suddenly, she tired of waiting for things to happen. She shot forward like an arrow from a bow, tearing her modest dress apart at the hem so she could move more freely. With the scream of an eagle, she hurled herself around the corner, fingers digging into the wall as she turned. Part of the wall crumbled in her hands, the sturdy mortar pulled apart by the strength lying in deceptively demure hands. The gods-blessed woman latched those hands onto the shoulders of another, then one she had first sensed the magic radiating from. She turned her hands to talons, piercing clothing and flesh alike. She could feel the warm blood across her skin, but it was no different than it had been. The gods always liked magic-users, and it would please her to give them this one.

"Attack them!" She shrieked at her small group of followers, voice keening high, still pitched like that of an eagle.