What color is a mirror? (Open)

Inky bubbles popped and snapped beneath the slayer's feet, searing his toes, but the look on his face could only be described as a vague interest, eyes half-lidded, and a subtle frown creasing his thin lips. His companions were quite the opposite; a trio of young high elves clad in fine leather travel clothes and silvery mythril breastplates that flashed in the vicious wasteland sun, they were kicking and shouting in Raieran, their gemstone eyes threatening to bulge out of their sockets. The others, hanging behind him, he couldn't see, and the panic from the elves drowned out anything they may have been saying at the moment. They all hung from the sad looking husk of a dry, bleached tree from rough hewn, hardy desert grass-woven ropes over a boiling pit of tar that would burn the skin off their bones just as fast as it would suffocate them.

"<Where ya get this, fleshies? Why ya give a toss for ol' Saraelia?>" Dan's frown deepened at the raspy, tinged with a deep dialect that sounded like crackling flames, trying not to look he cared about the wrinkled parchment clutched between dark violet talons. Their interrogator was a towering, whip-thin, red scaled demon who had howled his name as V'rixis when the tribe had sprung on them, and he'd pointed himself out as leader twenty minutes ago when he'd begun this line of questioning. While he could understand the Infernal tongue, the elves couldn't something he imagined was an issue they'd never considered when they'd chartered their expedition to a ruin that predated even Haide. Dan had travelled all the way down to Corone from Salvar looking for any hope against Xem'zund's curse, and when he'd heard the word 'Saraelia', it was all it took to get the elves the watchful protection of the Red Beast.

Not much of a beast anymore though.

"<Lagh'ratham! Break your bonds and slay these savages! That's why we allowed you to come along on this noble expedition!>" The oldest of the three, Quarael, snapped his head towards the slayer, and he cast his gray and blue eyes out on the two dozen demons pacing about the tar pits, some dragging claws the size of daggers through the ashy sands, others flexing biceps three times the size of his head in displays of tribal intimidation. The demons occasionally crossed paths and hissed and swiped at one another, connecting every once in a while and splitting hide to spatter black ichor onto the wastes.

"<Yeah, I can't really do shit like that anymore.>" Dan's crude speech didn't fit the flowing eloquence of Raiaeran very well, but Quarael certainly understood, and he began spitting and sputtering, his face a comical mixture of disbelief, horror and rage, through fright was the only thing in his flashing amethyst eyes. Without his hands free, he couldn't even use his terramancy to hurl a rock down V'rixis' cavernous black throat as the demon continued to make demands in Infernal, his tone rapidly becoming more impatient. Soon enough, claws where going to sever the ropes and drop them into one of the most unpleasant deaths he could imagine.

"Hey! YO!" Dan kicked backwards, unapologetically hitting someone hanging behind him in the calf. "You fucking awake back there? These lizard-dicks wanna tar and feather our scrotums, so you got any ideas?"

Escape would be simple.

I could summon a swirling cloud of shrapnel, propelling the black death towards our gracious hosts at incredible speed. The ones that survived could pick up the bloodied, tattered scraps that remained of their comrades as they shambled away.

...No, that wouldn't work. Demon hide is notoriously thick, and there was always the risk that the obsidian spikes would just glance off them, or get stuck without actually penetrating into their tender flesh underneath. That big red motherfucker would probably just grumble a bit, and then sever the rope that suspended me over the bubbling muck below.

What if I called upon my eldritch ability to make those around me witness their worst fears in a series of hyper-realistic hallucinations? I'd get quite the kick out of watching these bastards shit their scales and claw their faces off trying to make it all go away.

What did the demons of the Tular Plains fear, anyway? Probably rainbows, ponies, and pastel colors. Clouds of cotton candy in the sky, a sun shining bright overhead with a big ol' anthropomorphic smile on it. A ditty in the key of D playing in the background.

...No, that wouldn't work either. Again, that big red asshole who was clearly the ringleader looked like he wouldn't be affected by my illusions, no matter how powerful they might be. The whole lot of us would be the final ingredients of a tar and travelers stew before I could spit out a final obscenity at him.

What to do, what to fucking do.

A sharp jolt and the crack of boot on shin brought me back to my senses. I grit my teeth as the pain throbbed up my leg, biting back some choice words as I swayed in the air. Dan Bananagram or whatever unpronounceable pile his name is was trying to get my attention.

He could have just asked.

"Keep your fucking pants on, I'm thinking," I grumbled. The fact was, I'm too busy thinking about what to do to actually do anything. All these wonderful plans keep popping up in my head, and each one of them colorfully putting to use the library of magic I have at my disposal--and each one of them getting shot down by my amazing tendency to logically reason.

"Well, would'yeh hurry the fuck up? This guy's bullshit is starting to piss me off."

I was also thinking about how much of a mistake it was to accompany this little party to the un-wiped ass crack of the world. I happened to hear talk about an expedition to some ancient ruins in The Plains, and the potential to recover some ancient books and scrolls that contained knowledge from long-dead civilizations. And if you know me, you know that's enough to pique my interest. If I couldn't find anything for my own collection, then I was sure to find something that Maladim, my "employer", wouldn't mind taking for himself.

Weaseling my way into the journey wasn't hard. As I shook each of the elves' hands and introduced myself, I slipped into their minds and wrote some positive feelings about my character and credentials into their memories. While inside, I caught a few whispers of the potential treasures they were after, but I didn't have the time to find out what, exactly.

This was around the same time they contracted Dan Algorithm (or whatever) to be their muscle. I was familiar with him somewhat, having served as a Warrior in the defunct Dajas Pagoda at the same time he was in their ranks, but we never interacted much. I'd hear the occasional tale of his battles, with that huge-ass fucking sword of his. They'd speak in hushed tones of how he fought as if possessed by a demon--

--wait, shit--

I kicked at the back of the terramancer's leg to get his attention. "Hey, hang on tight, I got something," I hissed. Hang on to what, I don't know, and I felt stupid for saying it the moment the words left my mouth.

Before he could respond, I closed my eyes and fell into the dark abyss. An ancient incantation passed my lips. The dusty earth by the pool began to rumble and crack, and a chorus of befuddled demonic shrieks rose into the air. Their ringleader roared something in a tongue I did not recognize, but was soon drowned out by the distinct sound of the world breaking around him.

I opened my eyes in time to see the hand of Batibat erupt from the ground, his moss and rot-covered hand reaching for the branch we all hung from. With a quick motion, the demon snapped it free, and brought us to safety.

The tall crimson demon began barking orders at his underlings, who were either too scared or confused to do anything. He took a couple encouraging swings at them, which spurred them into motion. Batibat swept his arm wide across through the air, catching one or two who were too slow to duck and knocking them a good distance away.

The trio of elves were bitching about being rudely dropped on their asses. No, don't thank me, that's alright. I only just saved your lives and all.

There was still the matter of actually getting free of our bonds, of course. With a quick thought, I called forth a couple shards of obsidian and brought them across the thick cords that bound us, sawing them back and forth in a desperate attempt to get break out before the demons could organize and attack as a group.

"You're going to regret this."

The voice boomed with courage, a comical mismatch to the source's mousy frame. She gave a thrash for good measure, her body snapping like a whip through the dry desert air. But the pitiful attempt, made even more humorous by the way her boots dangled a full foot from the packed earth, brought only a rumbling chuckle from her captor. The sound infuriated her further, and the brunette glowered at him. "I mean it," she assured him, "you'll regret it. I'll wipe that smirk of your scaly-ass face, you oversized lizard."

There was no way of knowing whether or not the thing could understand her. Odds were likely that her shouting was complete nonsense, and the twisted smile he wore merely came from his pleasure at seeing her squirm. Still, it brought her comfort to continue harassing the man, and her verbal lashings had not ceased since she had been separated from John nearly half an hour ago.

Had it only been that long? Her arms already throbbed, her wrists knotted, and held over her head by a length of frayed rope. It would have been far easier to simply throw her over one shoulder, and transport her like a farmer might a hefty bag of grain. There was no reason why the creature had opted for such ridiculous tactics. And was his arm not getting tired from lugging her around? He stood a full three feet taller than her, so it was not as if he had to keep his hand elevated to keep her body off the ground. But even extending one's arm out straight for such a period of time had to be uncomfortable when toting a small woman on the end of a string. She willed herself to grow even heavier, to place even more strain on his arm, as she thanked the Gods for the extra food she had shoveled in that morning.

For only the briefest moment, she allowed herself to worry about John. The beast of a man could handle himself, which was precisely why it was laughable that she fret at all. Still, the pair had been painfully outnumbered when the reptilian bandits had jumped them. When she had left him, dragged off by the creature who now left her dangling like a toy on a string, John had still been throwing punches as a sea of crimson scales swamped him. He could take them, she assured herself for the umpteenth time. But if he could fight his way out, where was he? Why had he not come for her yet?

Matter of factly, she told him, "My friend is going to kick your ass too." If only to calm her own growing nerves.

Voice carried across the still of the desert, their surroundings more sprawling now than the narrow valley where they had been ambushed. The woman measured her breathing, straining to hear the words that drifted on the hot breeze. Her expression shifted from surprise to confusion, and then to faint hope as she detected the tradespeak.

"Who is it?" she demanded of her kidnapper as they drew nearer, and the sounds grew louder. "Who is talking?" She was still facing him, and the wrong direction if she hoped to locate the speaker. Though she threw her body one way, and then another, she could not spin herself around. Exasperated now, she barked, "Tell me or I'll kill you right now."

She expected more humor, but it was a look of horror that crossed over his sharp, scaled features. She thought, did I really scare him? before being tossed aside like a forgotten plaything.

With her hands still bound, the girl bounced roughly against the dusty path, the wind expelling from her lungs in a whoosh. The air she sucked back in was coated with the dry desert, and as it burned, she choked a cough that she assumed would draw attention back to her.

No one came, not her captor, or any of his cronies. Instead, the woman had to flop once, twice, to flip herself onto her side. Then, she precariously balanced her body on her elbows, and finally turned to take in the commotion she had only heard until that moment.

And the first thing she saw was Madison Freebird. It had been months since she had last seen the raven-haired Maddy, but she was not an easy one to forget. Even now, amidst the chaos, and the magic that hung as heavy as the dry heat, the brunette recognized her friend.

It was a bit like a scene from the Earth movies that Vincent shared with her. A bubbling pit of goo, the captured strung up above it in a picture of helplessness and vulnerability. What was their fascination with dangling people from ropes? Then there was also the bits of rock, sawing away at the bindings, without help of human hand. That, she admitted, was unusual.

Rayleigh's voice was still hoarse from the dust she had inhaled, but she still managed to shout, "Maddy!"