A bard in time saves...

[Lanya Caliope]

Gnomish machines infused with magic. She looked down at Greenfyre, wondering what these gnomes would make of such an instrument. Or if perhaps they could destroy it. She didn't spare more than a moment's hope for such a thought. She had once crushed the guitar into kindling and watched it burn for 2 long hours, stoking the fire until every last inch was charred and ash. The next morning the guitar had been lying directly next to her, warm and pulsing with life. She had never tried again.

She nodded in silent agreement to his assessment of magical influence in the world. As far as she had seen, he was entirely correct. It was a hard life, for an average human.

She banished those thoughts, as she could see the bitterness they would lead to. She didn't enjoy bitterness; it only brought pain and left a bad taste in her mouth. She focused instead on answering his question, moving at a comfortable pace. She was nearly of a height with the stranger, and while they walked she kept up her natural habit of maintaining eye contact as much as possible.

"She recently helped to heal me, and is letting me stay in her home."

She almost began to tell all of the information, but there was no need for this man to know any of the details. Partially because she saw no value in including him on all of the details in general, but mostly because a nagging voice in her head kept whispering that perhaps this was the next man who would die for her. She would have none of that. She decided to modify the subject a bit.

"Among other things, I had dislocated my knee. It hadn't been set for over a day, but she did well with the injury."

Already she could see Metarie's house coming back into view. She hadn't gone very far. At sight of the building she nearly stopped, bid the man a good day and turned around to resume her own personal mission. Surely he wouldn't be attacked in the distance it would take to reach the house itself...but her worry would not rest. She had decided to take care of him, and would fulfill this mission until he was well cared-for.

[Alibi of Tyrants]

Everett found the courtesy of maintaining eye contact with someone during a conversation rather...disconcerting, especially when coupled with the sort of naked tenderness and compassion that just kind of...bled from this woman's pores. Blarg. Call him young and maybe a bit shrewd, but he's quite used to people looking around at other things and being less focused on him (particularly when he's trying to illustrate a point). Lanya was not unpleasant to look at---far from it---but in his little corner of the world, honesty and earnestness like this was a rare and dangerous thing to be in possession of since it can get you in a lot of trouble. That kind of happens when you deal with the dregs of what this city has to offer. Hell, the guys'll even lie about the way they piss sitting down rather than standing up if given the chance.

"Dislocated your knee, huh?" Everett said, reaching up with his real hand and stroking his chin. A fine, coarse resistance abrasively rubbed against the underside of his fingertips; he definitely needed a nice shave. "Well, I could tell that there was something off about your gait---not so much a limp as it was a twinge of pain. I wanted to say "peg leg!," but I didn't hear you clomping along."

The gumshoe gave her a small little smile, much smaller than normal, throwing a little bit of bait out there to see if she would take that the wrong way or not. He looked back ahead and saw Metarie's little slice of verdant heaven. Personally, Everett found the elven doctor's pad to be a little bit on the tacky side. Let's face it, those zeldas (Everett didn't know what in the hell to call those damn plants with the long vines and the rubbery leaves; he just knows that his Mom gave 'em a tacky name growing up, and it is a tacky name that they're going to get) were just...hideous. He never understood just why it is that some of the elves' in this city felt the need to make some sort of overture to great, grand Mother Earth.

"Well, I can say that you're in good hands," Everett said. "Metarie's probably one of the best doctors around here."

[Lanya Caliope]

She chuckled at his joke, smiling faintly and looking down to watch her gait. She had ignored any sensations from her knee for a while now, content to remain in denial about the permanency of the twinge she could feel even now. It hadn't occurred to her that this twinge might affect her natural gait, and she found herself depressed by the burden of realizing she might never have a normal gait again.

She didn't care about not being pegged as injured; it would only serve as a reminder for the rest of her life of an injury she'd received, and the circumstances surrounding the injury. In essence, she could never forget what had happened over the past few days. And despite her unwillingness to try again herself, she still retained hope that one day she might be rid of Greenfyre, the living reminder of her crime against the little girl. The knee, however, would remain.

She pushed these thoughts away again with a slight shake of her head as she looked back up at the stranger. It didn't matter one way or another; she likely would not live beyond the week, so thinking in terms of a future was pointless dreaming.

"She's been very kind. I couldn't begin to repay her for what she's done for me."

Ignoring her own stride again, she finally gave his mechanical arm another glance, the first since she'd inspected it back in the road.

"Will she be able to help with that?"

[Alibi of Tyrants]

The gumshoe nodded a little bit.

"Yeah," he replied, casting a baleful look at the locked limb. His dark eyes looked like lacquered coals; at times, he really hated this damn thing. "She helped put this damn thing on my body---she probably learned a thing or two from the doctor that actually made this arm for me."

They soon arrived at the house. The first thing that Everett noted was the condition of the door and the doorframe. There were one too many dings evident in the frame; somebody really tall must've come by here at some point and carelessly grazed the wood with some sort of sharp (or hard) objects. The door looked like one of those oversized planks that had taken on so much moisture over time that it naturally curls inward; in this case, the door was bowed so far out that it was unable to close. Though he couldn't determine the age and inexact timeframe of the door's damage, he could guess that the nicks and scrapes in the frame were relatively fresh and made at least within the last twenty-four hours. Call it a detective's natural instinct, eidetic recall, or even paranoia but Everett knew damn well that people didn't come to this house very often and he sure as hell didn't see these little dings before.

Lanya was probably looking at him like he was crazy.

He swung the door open and looked around. Somewhere in the main room, furniture was upturned and a wall was missing some chunks of plaster. Yeah, definitely signs of a struggle. Shit.

He turned to Lanya. "Was the house like this before you left?" he asked, quickly.

[Lanya Caliope]

"Aye."

She eyed the door as well with clear sadness, fighting off the sense of responsibility that came with seeing the state of Metarie's home. She absolutely refused to take responsibility for the actions of a man such as Idonir. Blaming the captain was far easier.

She took a mental step back and observed the scene from his point of view, without the knowledge of Idonir's attack. The scene was terrifying, without that knowledge. It looked very clearly like the house had been broken into, and Metarie possibly attacked. She felt a pang for not thinking to mention the attack to him before they reached the home. He was clearly a friend of Metarie's, and such a sight would cause anyone worry.

"She was attacked by one of the guard. I am not sure if he is still present, but the captain was when I left. I doubt she is in more danger."

She stepped from behind him, musing that this was the second time today she'd brought a strange man to this very door, and moved into the main room. Her eyes couldn't help but fall upon the couple on the couch, both asleep. She scratched her cheek in silence, considering the two, then turned and raised a finger to her lips, indicating quiet to the stranger. Whether he would abide or not would be up to him, but she wouldn't order him silent.

She started moving back outside once more, to circle the house and enter through the backyard tunnel. Since she was back, there was no reason to leave the bedroom door locked from the inside, and she knew Flame would be inside of the room. She hoped he hadn't been too lonely.

[Metarie]

Footsteps sounded outside the door.

"She's been very kind. I couldn't begin to repay her for what she's done for me."

"Will she be able to help with that?"

Kona’s ears perked up and then he sat up and looked toward the door. Rising, his claws clicked once again across the hardwood floor.

"Yeah, she helped put this damn thing on my body---she probably learned a thing or two from the doctor that actually made this arm for me."

"Was the house like this before you left?"

The door awkwardly swung open at an angle and the bottom edge scraped slightly across the floorboards.

Standing in the middle of the first doorway, Kona stared at the two humans. In the second doorway, one of the kitchen chairs lay on its side. The dog’s ears lifted up and down, finally settling back in their natural position. The dog’s tail began to slowly wave back and forth in a wag. The dog made a noise as if to say hello, “Whuff-huff,” when Lanya stepped into the livingroom.

On the couch, Metarie had slipped slightly to the left, leaning against Camulous. Her head was resting on the high, soft back of the couch. Her left arm was laid across her stomach while her hand rested over the area where her ribs had been cracked. Her right had fallen to the seat of the couch when Kona had moved.

Kona followed Lanya and nosed at Metarie’s hand, lifting her hand to get it atop his head once more. The persistent move caused Metarie to stir a little.

[Falcon Bertille]

(OOC -- Jen gave me permission, so I'm posting this here. If that's not okay, or if there's anything anyone wants me to change, just let me know.)

What do birds dream of? Worms, twigs and eggs? The soaring freedom of flight? Or are their tiny minds too simple for any dreams at all?

Flame dreams. He’s perched in a tree, his small feet gripping one of its gold branches, while gold leaves rustle in the breeze around him. And he’s not alone. All the birds in all Pal Tahrenor are represented, their voices raised in song. But not the chirps, and tweets, and twitters of their various species, which they allow the entire world to hear. This is the single private song of their hearts, which unites them all. This is the song that humans will never know. And perhaps that’s just as well, because compared to it, every other sound in the world is nothing more than an ugly cacophony. Confidently, Flame raises his voice, and joins their singing.

Then, he sees a woman approaching him. Not his flightless sister, who he tries so hard to care for. But a woman of almost unearthly beauty, despite the blood that continually drips from two wounds slashed in her back. Smiling, she extends a hand to him, and Flame feels no hesitation as he leaves the tree and lands on her outstretched palm.

“Hello my brave little friend,” she greets him, her voice as soft as a chick’s first feathers. “You’ve chosen a rather unusual path for yourself, haven’t you?”

Flame starts to tell her about being created from a mixture of wood and magic, about the woman who claimed the staff that bound him, about dying and then being born again as flesh. But he realizes that she already knows. So, instead of speaking, he tilts his head and watches her with dark eyes.

“Do you know why your mistress left you? She went to face certain death, because she believed it was the only way to protect other lives. Thankfully, her sacrifice will not be required, but she was still fully prepared to make it. Such nobility should be rewarded.”

Gently, the woman lifts Flame’s left wing, and touches her finger to its underside. For a moment, Flame feels a brief tingling. Then, where there was once a normal feather, there is now a tiny one made of gold.

“I fear that your mistress still faces great danger. So I have spoken to another who owes me allegiance, and who shares your bond to this brave woman. I know you will do all you can. But if the need is ever great, if the peril is ever beyond what you can fight against, then pluck out the gold feather. The one I spoke to promises she will come.”

There are so many questions Flame wants to ask. What enemy threatens his sister? Who is this ally who can be summoned? But before he can voice any of them, the woman bows her head, and kisses his brow. “Sleep, my brave little friend. There is much work ahead of you. You will need your strength.”

And so, Flame’s dream dissolves into darkness, although even that void is still filled with the heart-song of a thousand birds.

[Alibi of Tyrants]

Everett's dark eyes seemed to flicker over to Kona. Of course, the big lummox gives him a half-assed greeting; that little "whuff-huff" was probably the doggy equivalent of a "harumph." Like its master, Kona probably didn't give two shits about the gumshoe's coming around. She probably viewed it with as much disdain as her master, if not more so.

Then Everett's eyes moved. Lanya was making her exit towards somewhere else in the house and Everett, being the red-blooded male that he was, couldn't help but size up the expanse of her backside. She wasn't exactly full-figured, but wasn't willowy either---which was fine with him, really, because a hearty balance between the two is always a good thing. Just enough cushion for the pushin' and just enough for him to wrap his hands around.

Of course, remembering the expression that Lanya a little bit ago made his sexist impressions feel a little more than awkward. Appalled by his own apprehensions, Everett moved on and looked towards the hilarity that was present on the couch.

Everett held a hand, his real hand, to his lips to suppress the slowly building laughter in his throat. Yes, yes, Lanya had told him to clam up and be mindful of their sleeping. But, gods, this was too good. Camulous Smithson, illustrious Captain of the Guard, finding creature comforts with someone--- especially an elf, no less. Now that was something that could be handed out to the Crier for great gossip.

"Oh, shit," Everett blurted, and he started laughing hysterically.

[Camulous Smithson]

Camulous slowly progressed into a deep sleep, days worth of work and worry pulling him under like a lead weight. He didn't snore, didn't move, and barely remained in a sitting position although his armor kept him up straighter than would normally be the case.

His mind touched the astral plane so detached from his conscious self that he didn't bother making sense of the dreams that came to him. Events of the last 48 hours rolled past him, and he saw the path he chose through fate's maze of choices and infinite possibility. He could see his current point in time, demarcated on a line that extended from the past to future.

He was standing on a dirt road with no trees or features anywhere around him; only light pink gravel beneath his feet and the familiar red, cloudy dome above. He walked forward on the road, carried along by a wind at his back that would not let him turn around. Somehow he knew that struggling against the wind was futile and he let himself be carried. There was not much to look at, and he was not afraid. Why he was walking the road didn't matter.

Something broke the flat horizon ahead. A dark shape, changing and morphing with curved edges reaching for the sky. It was too far away to make out clearly, but he knew it was something evil, corrupt, and magical.

Suddenly his eyes snapped open and he jerked up in his chair. Not because of the dream, which had still not instilled any fear in the hardened captain, but because someone was making a lot of noise... Laughing?

He looked at Everett and immediately reached for the pistol at his side. Its familiar, reassuring grip was still there. It gave him enough pause to try and figure out what was going on, and why this man was standing in the room laughing like a brazen adolescent. He looked left and right, assessed the situation and tried to see what was so funny but did not remove his hand from the grip of the pistol.

All he saw was Metarie beside him, trying to get some rest the same as he was. Quickly he tried to understand why that might be funny to a stranger. Was Metarie married? Was this her husband? As far as he knew she lived alone. It made no sense.

Dark rimmed eyes glared at Everett again, clearly upset at the rude intrusion. It would still be a few seconds before the exhausted captain could gather himself enough to actually get violent. He bit his tongue and didn't bother asking anything. The fool had better have a good reason to wake him up like this.

[Lanya Caliope]

She paused outside the house, staring at the gate she'd exited no more than a half-hour before. It suddenly occurred to her that her mission was complete. Metarie and the captain would likely wake soon, and the stranger had been delivered into their care. He would be looked after by the healer.

She realized he'd never provided his name, and wondered if she should take this as a sign. He remained a stranger to her, someone she had helped to serve as a detour to her mission. But now that detour was complete, and she still held Greenfyre in her hands. She had no reason to return to the house; the man would be safe now.

She didn't hesitate; instead of veering towards the gate, she continued in a straight line, following her earlier directions. Assuming no one else needed help on her voyage, she didn't anticipate any more delays. The longer she walked, the happier she became that she'd never learned the stranger's name. It meant he would remain distant and safe. The nagging voice from earlier silenced as she continued forward; if she didn't know him, there was no further danger to him. He would not be the next casualty.

A hint of a smile graced her lips as she moved further away. Now she was where she had found him, moving beyond. Each step brought her closer to the emotional numbness she'd felt before. Steady in her pace, she waited for this sensation to overcome her completely. Doubting her decision was not helping in the least.

* * *

Flame opened his tiny eyes and stretched his wings wide, extending the little muscles until satisfied. He stood on the bed, looking around the room and pondering the dream he'd had. A lift of his left wing verified that it had been real. He twittered and whistled quietly, muttering to himself as he remembered. There had been something important, beyond the promise the beautiful lady had made. Something she'd said about his sister.

That she had left to sacrifice herself.

He saw the nightmares she had each time she tried to rest. He knew how the deaths around her plagued her, his own most of all. He'd felt the joy rising from her when he'd opened his living eyes in the forest, the utter gratefulness she'd felt towards whatever had given her back the robin. And he knew she was depressed and tired, wished nothing more than for this story to come to a close.

He felt annoyed. Sure, it was painful, and yes, others had died. But like the robin, they'd died for her. Why would she let herself die if others were willing to protect her life to the death? It was stupid, and selfish, and he fluffed his feathers and shook himself, hopping along the bed and twittering loudly. It was a good thing that he couldn't speak, for little brothers could be quite judgmental of sibling idiocy.

Fool! Idiot! What is she thinking?!

The bird flapped his wings, then tilted his head back and began calling out to the others in the house. The distinct voice of a whippoorwill emerged from his throat, a gentle noise on its own. But Flame was angry and annoyed, and used these emotions to increase the volume of his cries several fold.

Whippoorwill! Foolish...

Whippoorwill! Dimwitted...

Whippoorwill! Girl!...

[Metarie]

If Metarie dreamt, the time was too short for remembering the dream. She stirred as Kona nosed persistently at her hand.

“Kona, not …”

Hysterical laughter broke the tranquility of the moment. Camulous sat up straight, moving the sturdy support of his shoulder. Metarie’s eyes opened wide as she reached out as quickly as possible to stop herself from falling over. The most convenient spot was Camulous’ armored thigh, but that didn’t matter as she pushed herself upright.

Metarie recognized the source of the laughter and her brows drew together in annoyance.
“Everett DeLacey Young, you had best have a good… what is wrong with your arm?” Metarie winced and sat up as well. She looked worn-down and washed-out.

“Will you cease that annoying laughter?!” Metarie scooted to the edge of the couch and pushed off with the hand on Camulous’ leg. She paused for a moment with a wince, but turned her attention quickly to Everett.

Metarie opened her mouth to speak. Instead of words, there was:

Whippoorwill!

Metarie winced in further pain, the sound was a cacophony of noise, which emanated from her bedroom. Alarmed, Metarie moved to the mantel and picked up her keys. Nimble fingers flicked over the set and singled out a tiny, slim key. Hopefully, Lanya had not put the additional precautions in place. The song continued.

Whippoorwill!

Metarie reached up to unlock the first bolt, paused and then stretched fully. The lock’s click was not audible. She repeated the motion at the bottom of the door as well. Finally, another key was used on the central lock. Metarie opened the door.

Whippoorwill!

Flame sat upon the bed - a red robin singing the song of a whipporwill. This was no usual bird.

“Go to her… she should return.”

[Alibi of Tyrants]

He stopped laughing right away.

If Everett were a slightly lesser man, steaming loads of excrement and maybe a dollop of urinary fluid would've settled at the seat of his pants when Camulous pulled out his Gnomish piece. Fortunately, he was a little better than that. Not much better, mind you, but a little better. Reflexively, Everett threw his right arm up in the air and completed the universal "I mean no harm" gesture that his malfunctioning left arm had unwittingly began just a few minutes ago.

"WHOA, WHOA!" Everett pleaded. "Easy there, Ramrodulous. I'm not a burglar. I'm a friend of hers." Not wanting to make any real sudden moves for fear of getting a bullet between the eyes, the gumshoe indicated the newly roused Metarie with just the slightest of nods. When there was indication that Camulous would ease off of his firearm, Everett lowered the only arm of his that could be lowered at the moment.

Of course, she acknowledges him by his full name---a strong indicator that was highly irate. Not just fucking "Everett," but "Everett DeLacey Young." He heard enough of it growing up. Before he joined the Skullduggery Kids, he was quite the little victim. Let's face it, none of the neighborhood toughs liked a kid with such a girlie last name. It was a bitter reminder and it was one that Metarie liked to throw back in his face, especially when they were at the hospital. Most of the staff got a good laugh out of it, even after all of these years. Everett's face reddened a bit and his brows drew together.

"Hate to break up a scene ripped straight from a romance novel," Everett snapped. "But my arm? It's kinda on the fritz right now. And I have no way of----"

Whipporwill!

Everett stopped talking for a moment, totally startled by the obnoxious and highly unnatural noise. His head sank back down between his shoulders and he looked down the hall. It was coming from...thataway. No sooner had he deduced this, the elf was off in a quick stride. He followed after Metarie, jogging along with one arm swinging on the right and one arm jutting straight up towards the ceiling. When they got closer to the bird, Everett's face was nothing but one big "cringe."

"That gods-damn thing's got some lungs on it," Everett remarked, staring bleaky at the little red robin through slitted eyes. Judging from the racket, the gumshoe could immediately tell that it was either magical or inherently magical. This wasn't an ordinary bird, in the least.

[Camulous Smithson]

Easy there, Ramrodulous. I'm not a burglar. I'm a friend of hers.

The captain's expression didn't change. If the man was trying to smooth over the situation, he was failing to do so and furthermore did not provide any satisfactory explanation for his silence-shattering laughter. He recognized the arm then, strange piece of prosthetics that it was, but had never spoken to the man sporting it.

If Camulous was a growling type of man, he would have growled. Instead, he took his anger with a quiet pill and let go of the pistol. Metarie obviously knew the man, and being irritating was not a capital offense in Marn. Not unless one did it to a Judge or Battlmeage, at any rate.

The sudden sound of the girl's bird chirping like crazy made him clench his jaw. The sound rattled in his brain like a bell and forced him a few more notches away from the sleep he was enjoying.

It was the final straw. He needed sleep because he needed to get back to work as soon as possible, and the sudden party was making that impossible.

Pushing himself up from the couch, he strode over to the hallway, around Everett and paused at the exit. He could see Metarie from where he was but failed to force a smile.

"Thank you for your hospitality Metarie."

Before she could do anything like insist he stay and wait for the pick me up drink she had prepared, he walked away, heading south for the headquarters on the same path as Lanya.

[Lucian]

Focus did not come easily.

And when it did, Lucian vomited hard, bile and burning surging up his throat and out his mouth where it splattered on the floor in front of his face. There was no face to put on this agony, and it suffocated out of his brain all thought, all feeling. He had been hurt, they had hurt him badly. That was all he knew with any certainty. Burning and tearing and a droning voice, asking questions that did not have answers.

Someone had been screaming. It was strange, because he had not heard it. But someone had been screaming, and it was raw and horrid, gurgling when it was drowned in vomit.

He knew it had been his own scream.

When the darkness came back, it was a sweet, welcoming oblivion.

------

He was standing in the grove. He knew what it was supposed to feel like, what he had done there in the presence of the Forest Patriarchs- the life that had joined with his, the blessing that had been given him there.

But all of that- it was gone. He could not feel the life of the forest. He could not see the colors. It was all gray and dark, shroud and shadow. Turning in a circle, he came to face where the eldest of the Patriarchs, the father of the Fathers, had stood. All that remained was a massive pillar of ashen timber.

Lucian began weeping, and could not stop. He wanted to scream, but there was no voice for the sorrow. No air for the rage to be carried on. It was entirely empty, this place, and it was profane and vile in a way that did not translate into human language.

Then he felt it, stepping into his sphere of awareness, and he turned around again.

The Lady of the Wood. The dryad, the animation of grove, the Mother who had guarded and slept in its sanctity for seasons and times that were not counted in the concept of years. Her hair was burnt and singed, her robe a smoldering ruin, and her skin scarred and blemished. But it was the heartbreak and anguish on her face and in her eyes that crushed the very core of Lucian, and he could not bear to look at her, look at any of this. Collapsing to his knees, his mouth opened and he tried and tried to scream it out, this black and poisonous thing that filled his lungs and his whole being with its suffocating presence.

But he could not. All of this was empty, all of it was gone. The thing that had been more beautiful than anything else he had ever seen or known, the thing that had imparted to and changed him more than any other in his lifetime, it was destroyed. And he was to blame. All fell on his shoulders.

No.

The word formed in his thoughts, but it was not his thought. He looked up, anger and sorrow streaming into his mouth and off of his face as he wept without sound.

The dryad; his lover, his sister, his mother- she looked at him, water pooling but not escaping her eyes, and shook her head.

No.

She was not angry at him. Nor did she blame him. Standing in the ruin, she merely looked at him and cried, and did not let him shoulder the blame. She did not regret what she had given him, and did not want it back. It was his. Now he must live, and honor what she gave him.

Lucian did not understand, could not understand.

Then he was aware of something else. Something foreign, something lurking. He could not see it, but only knew it was there. He did not like it, it was not his. Or it had not been his.

He looked at the dryad. She only looked back, and he understood. Not everything was purely good and evil. The fight for dominance in the wolf pack is a brutal thing, but makes the whole clan stronger. To the outside, it appears unnecessary. But the ugly and broken is not always evil.

The thing, in his awareness- there was a darkness in it, a heavy, loathing darkness. But something else as well. Something... something that belonged to him, somehow.

He looked back at the dryad again. This time, she shook her head. No more answers. He needed to find out for himself.

Now wake up, and be fearless again.

-----

It was hurting, it was hurting in a manner that did not bear processing or analysis. Lucian had experienced many kinds of pain in his life, but this this type of pain was purely agony, engineered and designed to cause the highest manner of suffering.

His stomach churned again and he burned all over, his body fighting off fever, but he fought the blackness this time and struggled for any kind of clarity or focus.

They had made it better. He was aware that there was a wrapping around his torso, where they had- yes, they had burned him. He could remember the smell of his own flesh cooking and charring, and then he did vomit again, which induced all of the spasms of agony all over.

Twenty minutes later, when it had subsided and his thoughts returned to a state where he could manipulate and process them, Lucian felt vibrations through the stone floor and tried to open his eyes, but only saw an indistinct blur in the dark.

Movement, above him-

A rough hand reached down and grabbed him by the hair, forcing him to sit up, which in turn caused a scream to tear from his throat that was raw and he felt blood coming up in his mouth from it.

But then a flask was shoved through his lips and a bitter, vile liquid was poured down his throat. The gypsy tried to close his mouth, not swallow- anything. But his attacker poured and poured while he coughed and choked and spewed and swallowed until the flask was removed and he was allowed to collapse back to the floor, nearly insensible.

But whatever was in that drought, after an amount of time that did not bear measurement, Lucian felt strength start to seep into his limbs, and a numbing effect begin trickling through his body.

And he opened his crusted, burning eyes.

He was in a cell in the dungeon.

He shirt was gone. He was wearing his trousers. His left hand, the three leftmost fingers were wrapped, and he briefly flashed to the disjointed memory of fingernails being ripped out of his hand- he shuddered and blocked that memory from manifesting further.

Of course. And he remembered, in flashes and fragments, what had happened after... after Lanya in the trial room. But he could not bear to go there now. To relive it now would be to die again. And he needed to focus.

A long, interminable time passed where he just lay, letting his body take in the effects of the drought. Then he felt the vibrations through the floor again and this time, he sat halfway up and saw the jailer followed by a large, fully armored guard. The jailer unlocked the cell door and the guard stepped in, his face an implacable mask.

His lips moved and Lucian read them.

"On your feet."

He had no reason to disobey. To the contrary, disobedience would likely have resulted in further damage, and he need to conserve his strength. So the gypsy made every effort to find his footing and stand, insufficient as it was. The guard, however, found his efforts too slow, and proceeded to grab him by the arm and half lift, half-drag him to his feet and out of the cell.

Had it not been for the powerful narcotics in that drink, Lucian would undoubtedly have collapsed immediately. As it was, he simply stumbled forward in a feverish haze that worsened the further he walked, up a set of stairs, down hallways, around corners. The guard was talking, saying something strange. He couldn't focus on the man's mouth, so he couldn't get most of it.

But he understood he was being released. They did not deem him a threat. He was free to go. Someone had draped a shabby cloak over him.

Even in his stupor, he felt the beginnings of rage. They had almost killed him. Had they killed Lanya? What had they done to him? They were responsible for the grove. They produced creatures like Ryxa-

That ember of rage flared to life. Before he left this place, he would kill her. He swore it. If it cost him his life, he would kill her.

The doors ahead of them were opened to a courtyard at night. And the next that Lucian knew, he stood in the street, leaning against a building opposite the imposing white structure of Justice Hall. And he hated it. Far deeper than he ever thought his hatred could reach, he hated that building, and those within it, and the city that it sat in dominion over. He wanted to see it burn, all of it, burn to the ground.

The lantern that hung above the doorway near to him flared a little brighter, but he didn't notice it.

But even in the midst of his hatred, thought pushed through. He needed to find shelter. Something. Anything. He needed to find Lanya, to find out what happened to her-

He stumbled forward, leaning against the buildings as he went, the stone street cold on his bare feet.

[Lanya Caliope]

Flame stopped his cries the moment the door began to swing open. The elf stood on the other side, staring at him and clearly starting to realize things - and so did some human. The little robin fluffed his feathers out in an annoyed huff, clearly saying Took you long enough!

The elf's command earned an annoyed crow's screech as Flame extended his wings again, glaring at her. He was mostly annoyed with Lanya directly, but since Lanya was not physically present, this elf with hair as red as Lanya's would serve as a fine substitute. His fussing changed from a crow's voice to a finch's, twittering and twirping and fluttering his wings. What did you think I was going to do?!

It took him a full minute to calm down, and once he had he hopped from the bed to begin flapping through the air. He circled both the elf and the human twice before gliding into the main room.

He hovered and paused here - his gliding was off and he needed a moment to understand why. His weight was different in some way...ah, right. The golden feather. With the mystery solved and adjusted for, he flapped through the door, still left ajar from Everett's entry.

He wasn't moving slowly or trying to communicate that he needed to be followed. He didn't care if he was followed by the others; he could not sense Lanya's location, and wasn't interested in leading them about randomly, waiting on their slow legs to catch up to his flight. It was much more efficient to simply raise his altitude and look for her from up high.

As he rose higher, he decided that he hated Lanya's differently-colored hair. It would make finding her more difficult. But she'd taken the guitar, which was as distinctive as the hair. Flame knew the guitar very well - another magical being forged from wood. Not as intelligent or loved as the robin, but still, there was a connection there.

Now he flew high as his little wings could manage, staring at the city beneath him and searching the nearby streets first in a large, arching circle that widened as his eyes scanned the roads below.

* * *

Each step echoed vaguely against the road as she moved. The boots were so worn and perfectly molded to her feet from traveling that she hardly noticed the leather pressing against her skin. She was silent and musing, and the guitar swung like a disjointed pendulum at her side as she moved ever forward. Again, she felt the odd sensation that she would lift from the ground and float forward. She'd made the decision thinking that fear would plague her the closer she came to where she'd started, but she found instead that fear had deserted her. Doubt and worry, the closest friends she had, abandoned her in the face of certainty over this course. She could not help but try to search within herself for the reason she might feel such assurance at such a difficult decision.

Within moments, she realized. All that had happened, all that had been done to her - these had been beyond her control. The little girl had died an agonizing death despite her begging the guitar to stop; the assassin's contract and attack, Lucian killing the horse in the woods, Wolfhound and Lucian's executions, the trial, even being taken to Metarie...all of these things were only linked by her presence, but her decision, her ability to choose - this lay absent from each event. Her life had spiraled beyond her control, to the point that decisions had been made on her behalf without any input from her, from begging for someone's life to be spared to a nod of approval for being helped.

In deciding to sacrifice herself to stop any further pain in her name, she had taken control of her own fate once more. If she died tonight, it would not be directly or indirectly because of the assassin's contract or even the little girl's death. It would be because this was the choice she had made.

For a moment, she wished that she had someone to share the irony with. The longing for company drew her thoughts to Flame, still locked within Metarie's bedroom. She hoped he would not suffer too much once he realized she wasn't coming back. She knew he was intelligent, but it was hard to tell where his intelligence ended and her imagining his responses began. Like a pet owner reading too much into the actions and reactions of a beloved cat or dog, some part of her understood that he might not be as aware of things as she thought, that perhaps his motions and sounds didn't mean what she thought they did.

Still, he was her friend, her dearest companion. She missed him already, but he needed to stay away. She would not risk his life, and she suspected that if they saw how much he meant to her, they would threaten or even kill him. Even more, he could not be allowed to see what might happen to her. He'd died for her once; she would never let him -

Screeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeech!

The hawk's cry pulled her eyes from the road before her, wide and searching for the robin. She already knew it was him; there was only one bird who could possibly sound that annoyed with her.

Flame dove into view and began circling her head, darting in and out enough to force her to fend him off with her free hand. She stumbled back a few steps, off the path she had chosen, and started trying to bat him away.

"Flame, stop! Stop!"

He didn't stop. He only swerved closer, so that she was completely out of the road. Once he was satisfied that she was thoroughly distracted from her idiotic notion of self-sacrifice and instead focused entirely on being annoyed with him, he landed in the road and began a very loud speech. Among the words she thankfully couldn't hear were several colorful curses learned from the sailors she'd met along the coastline. The woman found herself torn between trying to get in a word edgewise and being amused at the sight she must make, standing at the side of the road with a tiny robin scolding her.

She immediately decided that trying to argue her case would be fruitless, and instead lost herself to the hilarity of the scene. She began laughing- a sound which silenced Flame - and knelt in the road, lying Greenfyre to her side as she reached forward with both hands cupped. Flame hopped in with another angry twitter, actually raising one wing to shake at her. She only shook her head with an amused smile and lifted him to kiss the top of his head.

"I am sorry."

She lowered her hands to reveal a very smug looking little robin.

"I only left you behind for your safety. You can't come with me."

Screeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeech!

The hawk's voice rose again, and Lanya widened her eyes and shook her head.

"No, no! Stop that! You must trust me, you don't understand - "

He began whistling now, a song about a highwayman and his beautiful lover. To save her love from certain death, the woman gave her own life. The song was long, and as he whistled on and on, he glared at her. Lanya raised one finger to her lips to indicate silence; the robin complied, but continued glaring. His message was clear enough that she sighed. She wondered how he'd found out her intentions, but didn't want to focus on this question yet. The more pressing matter was trying to think of how to convince an extremely biased friend that her decision was sound.

She found herself drawing a blank.