Finals: Wings of Endymion v. Bloodrose

[Max Dirks]

The battle will begin Saturday November 28 at 12 AM CST. Good luck!

[Wings of Endymion]

Her contact in Underwood was a shifty, grizzled fellow, whose dull brown eyes were always roaming the vicinity in search of profit. He went by the alias "Polecat", and it wasn't difficult to see why: he held his small frame with a sneaky guile that bespoke of his criminal links, his pinched cheeks and five o'clock shadow hid a mind as sharp and cunning as any predator, and his finely tailored woollen suit and black bowler cap were musty with the scent of his underground lair. The first thing he had done upon seeing her again had been to blanch and duck behind his desk, and she had known then and there that he hadn’t been expecting her.

“Polecat,” she greeted him cordially, coolly ignoring the charged tension that crackled throughout the room. The last time she’d come to his offices, he’d ended up bounding and gagging her before dragging her halfway across the island to fulfil one of his ‘contracts’, which in turn had resulted in her fighting a close friend in gladiatorial combat. This time, however, the tables had turned… the antechamber outside was filled with the peacefully slumbering forms of Polecat’s henchmen, and the young mage had her staff pointed in her counterpart’s direction with words of power poised on the tip of her tongue. Not even his prized Alerian handgun would save him now, not at this distance with the element of surprise completely on her side.

“Yuka,” he replied hesitantly, emerging rather red-faced from his hiding position behind his desk, his hands held high in the air. “I didn’t… expect ya back… so soon. ‘a ‘re ya doin’?

“Fine,” the young woman chirped sweetly, her staff not wavering an inch from the centre of Polecat’s finely tailored suit. A gentle gesture with her free hand indicated that he should take a seat, and the businessman obeyed, his hands still demonstrating that he had no intention of causing any trouble. “With no thanks to you, of course.”

“Na, na, luv. We bof kna that was business. Strictly business.” There was a sickly glow to Polecat’s thin features, however, that betrayed the sweat on his palms and the twinges of guilt in his heart. “Nah ‘arm done, after aw, so ya won’t ‘old it against me, will ya?”

“Nope,” Yuka smiled, and Polecat’s heart sunk even further. He could see where this was going, especially since the dangerously looming tip of Yuka’s staff was held in stark contrast to the innocuous look on her face.

“I suppose I owe ya wahn, then,” he sighed reluctantly, counting the coin that this would most likely lose him. He would still make a profit from his payment for setting up Yuka’s battle with Cael Inkfinger, but Polecat was not somebody who relished the thought of any missed opportunities. But if I wanna keep on your and Thomas's good side… he reasoned bitterly in his mind, careful not to let too much of his lack of enthusiasm to show… the one thing that he certainly couldn’t afford to lose was the custom of Yuka’s old friend and patron.

Which meant that he would have to lead Yuka to the Haidian portal that lay deep within Concordia Forest, the location of which was known to only a select few. Polecat was one of these few, since a large proportion of his less-than-legal operations relied on the illicit smuggling of exotic underearth goods supplied by Thomas. The businessman had little idea of the cosmic forces that had spirited Yuka away into the Tournament of Champions before depositing her back, stripped of the majority of her powers, in Scara Brae. He had even less care for the troubles she had endured trying to journey back to her life in the daemon realm of Haidia, becoming embroiled in the gladiatorial battles known as the ‘Magus Cup’ in the process. But he was certainly regretting taking advantage of the opportunity that had presented itself when she’d approached him before, asking him for that exact favour.

“Fine,” he gave in, resigned and making sure to emphasise to his client that this was no small indulgence. “If it’s the bloody portal ya wanna get ter, I’ll take ya there. That is, if you’ve left me the chuffin’ resources...”

“Sure,” Yuka chirped once again, but her eyes weren’t smiling. In fact, they hadn’t smiled once during the entirety of their conversation. “They’re only sleeping out there. I wouldn’t want to do anything to permanently jeopardise our relationship, would I? What would Thomas say?”

Polecat saw through the implied threat and swallowed nervously. He hadn’t quite counted on Yuka having such backbone, in coming back single-handedly to find him and in wringing concessions from him. Part of him might have even admired her… had it not been his profits that she was eating into.

For the moment, however, Polecat decided to play along quietly. It wouldn’t do to worsen the situation, after all… and there was something in Yuka’s eyes that warned him it would not be worth his while to resist.

***

Winter was approaching rapidly by the time they’d travelled three days into the depths of the forest, far from any of the worn caravan trails that plied their trade across the breadth of Corone. A few stray leaves still clung for their lives to the branches above their heads, but for the most part the trees were naked and sombre as they reached longingly towards the wan skies. The weather could be described in one word as ‘brisk’: the frisky wind that sped through the woodland, the chill air that nipped at their cheeks, the pale frigid blue of the high heavens, and the crisp crunch of the hard earth beneath their feet.

Yuka wore her usual white robes over tunic and leggings, her long dark hair swaying with every breath of breeze. Polecat still wore the woollen suit and bowler cap in which Yuka had dragged him away from his lair, drastically worse for the wear after the days of hard travel. The three men they travelled with wore more utilitarian clothing, drab leather that doubled as light armour as well as protection from the elements. While she only had her staff and the ceremonial short sword she wore at her waist and Polecat seemed to only be armed with the pistol prominently displayed in its belt-holster, they were outfitted with swords, knives, and the massive crossbows that seemed to be their favoured instrument of combat. Their eyes ruthlessly scanned their surroundings with every step they took; they were trained, hard-bitten men, ex-soldiers brought along as much for their expertise in foresting as for their skill with their weapons and their loyalty to their paymaster.

It seemed, however, that only Polecat knew the way for sure, and that any map that he might have possessed was tucked away firmly in his head. Even Yuka’s keen mind was soon overwhelmed by the monotonous lack of features in the autumnal treescape, as their guide led them in seemingly aimless meanders through the depths of the forest.

At long last, however, the scenery began to change subtly. A faint taint in the air spoke tantalisingly of cinder and brimstone, of cloistered ash and claustrophobic fire. The land grew more undulating, casting pools of dark shadow where the bleak sunlight failed to penetrate. It was as if nature herself was trying to warn them of the dangers that lay ahead.

“Almost there na,” he pointed towards a sheltered dip in the land, and Yuka was struck by a sudden pulse of recognition.

She’d been here once before, under the cover of darkness, when Thomas had first led her from Nippon to Haidia. Although she didn’t recognise much of her surroundings, she realised that as soon as they closed the distance they would stumble upon a grand marble arch… and the shimmering purple haze between them that was her final goal.

Subconsciously, her stride picked up pace as she followed her escorts towards her destination.

[Bloodrose]

After securing hasty and unconventional (i.e. expensive) passage from Scara Brae, Teric had made landfall in Corone with as little pomp and fanfare as a fugitive could dream of. With only the clothing and equipment he carried on his person, the veteran had disembarked in waist high swells on an abandoned beach three leagues from the walls of Radasanth, opting to make the rest of his trip on foot. Wet, tired, and very much wanted, the mercenary had slunk into the city by means known only to blackguards and other unpleasant characters.

Once safely inside the city walls, a sellsword as fabled and renowned as Teric Barton could take solace in the fact that they would be sheltered under the dark, obscuring cloak of the city's underworld. Many were the streets that city guardsmen dared not tread after dark, and equally common were the establishments that any law-enforcing entity dared not enter ever. Large enough was the network of back alleys and side streets that connected 'friendly' taverns, blockhouses, and storefronts that one could justifiably call the nameless jumble of lawlessness a city within a city. Here the city's rogues abided by their own laws, had their own hierarchy, and dealt with their own problems; all free from under the watchful eyes of the Guard. It was truly the perfect place for a man accused of murdering a noble within the city limits to hide himself, but as was to be expected, the comforting security of the rogue city did not come cheaply.

Thieves’ law dictated that Teric had to perform a service for any one of the guilds capable of secreting away a man of his infamy. The nature of the service to be provided was often determined by the size of the favor being asked, and so Teric was both surprised and perplexed when the generically named "Shadow Guild" asked for what only seemed like a small favor. The mercenary was offered a safe house and sizable purse if only the mercenary would go to Concordia and wrap up a small problem regarding one of their contractors...

------------------------------------------------------------

Teric rapped the flat of his blade against the portal a second time, absently interested in the surprisingly loud effect such a light blow created. The whole structure - a large, random arch of marble that seemed to grow right out of the forest floor - reverberated like a tuning fork, causing the very air in the surrounding area to vibrate for several seconds. At the center of the portal, the hazy purple mirror that served as the demarcation line between Corone and Haidia rippled like the surface of a disturbed pond.

I wonder just how easily it would break, if something as small as my knife can make it do that? Teric contemplated. He tried to think hard about it, because the mercenary would much rather ponder the destruction of the portal than think about his proximity to it. It brought back bad memories, this place. Twenty-odd years ago a campaign had given a younger, healthier Teric cause to pass through the portal before him now and enter the demon pseudo-world that was Haidia. Even after more years than the mercenary could count on his fingers and toes, Teric could still feel the damp, muggy sensation that had stuck to his skin after passing through the silvery reflective surface of the portal.

Why here, of all places? The veteran inquired silently, shaking his head as if to dispel any memories of that old, well in the past journey. What business would a merc-guild lackey have in a place like this? By the Goddess, I certainly hope I didn't get sent out here to fight demons...

If he paused to think about it, fighting demons made sense. The Guild hadn't been very forthcoming with much information other than the necessary "go here, wait for him" stuff, and a battle with demonic forces would explain why a mercenary of Teric's caliber was getting paid a safe haven and a cash bonus for something as simple as a fight.

[Wings of Endymion]

The lay of the land prevented them from setting eyes on the portal until they were nearly upon it; it was one of the features of the concealed location that ensured it was known to only a few. Yuka knew that some of the gates to Haidia were guarded with much pomp and presentation, but the Coronian one was an exception. The strength of its protection lay in the obscurity of its locality and the unseen eyes of the Rangers that watched over it… no doubt well-paid to look away for an hour or two. Either that or the recent civil war had turned their attention to more pressing matters, allowing petty crooks such as Polecat and his ilk to take full advantage.

Such was the reason why they also did not catch sight of the warrior waiting for them in the hollow by the portal until it was almost too late. He was an older man, his hair and beard silvery and neatly trimmed, dressed in well-worn black leather and vlince that nonetheless seemed to hint at a gentlemanly background. At first sight he seemed perfectly unremarkable, leaning against the marble frame of the portal with his weathered eyes closed in deep thought. But there was something about the way he wore the fencing sabre at his waist that screamed danger to Yuka’s mind. Polecat seemed to sense the same apprehension and slowed his pace, waving his men forward carefully to surround the stranger at a distance.

“Na, what’s an old codger loike that doin’ aahhht ‘ere on ‘is own…” the businessman mumbled to himself, his thin features pinched in troubled thought. Yuka edged closer to him with her staff held at the ready, reasoning that if worst came to worst Polecat would be the one giving the orders, which meant that at his side was the best place from where she could attempt to defuse any situation without any bloodshed.

“Don’t do anything hasty, please…” she murmured back in his ear, just a hint of steel there reminding him of the nature of the favour he was carrying out for her. Namely, that she wanted as little confrontation as possible.

Polecat simply gave her a droll look in return, rolling his pale brown eyes in wry understanding. Adjusting his crimson tie and fingering the edge of his bowler cap, he took one step forward over the hilly rise to address the senior swordsman. His reedy voice echoed crisply through the brisk winter air, forlornly amongst the empty branches, too loud as it shattered the tense silence.

“’o there, stranger. State your business or be on your way, we’ve nah quarrel wif ya.”

Yuka raised one eyebrow in surprise, briefly wondering why Polecat was being so polite. A moment later she realised that it must have had something to do with the fact that the stranger too knew of the portal and its location, which put him in an elite company including the Rangers of Corone and some of Polecat’s business associates… none of whom the businessman wished to antagonise on such short notice. She did, however, notice Polecat’s hand straying towards the handgun at his waist; grimly she willed both him and the warrior in the clearing below not to do anything hasty.

She wasn’t quite prepared, however, for the older man to completely ignore the challenge. In fact, not only did the warrior not reply, but he didn’t even open his eyes to acknowledge their presence. Polecat’s three henchmen were just as confused as she, exchanging glances with one another before looking to their paymaster for instruction. The businessman nodded once, slowly, and the leader amongst the thugs – a burly, dark-haired man with an unkemptly bristling beard – lowered his crossbow and approached the warrior under the covering gazes of his companions.

“Geezer, didn’t yer ‘ear waaat de boss said? Spake up or move on...”

Yuka certainly wasn’t prepared for what happened next.

[Bloodrose]

You really don't want to do that. The veteran warned silently, waiting patiently. Teric waited as the footfalls approached from in front of him, waiting until he felt the weight of the thug's heavy hand on his shoulder before moving. He waited until the man was at his most vulnerable...

CRACK!

Before he even knew what was happening, the mercenary had grabbed the man's wrist with his right hand, and then struck the thug's outstretched elbow with the open palm of his left. The force of the blow was such that the hapless lackey's arm hyper extended in the extreme, snapping his elbow at the joint leaving the limb useless. He fell to his knees screaming in pain even as Teric lunged for the second henchmen.

Eyes wide with surprise, the second henchman didn't fare much better than his cohort. He wasn't prepared for the preternatural speed with which Teric moved; speed that allowed him to cross the distance between them in little more than a heartbeat. Up came the thug's sword in a valiant attempt to defend himself, but Teric's expert blade skirted his fumbling defenses with practiced ease. The second man died with a gurgle as razor-sharp mythril slid through boiled leather, flesh, ribs, and heart like a hot blade through snow.

"Asshole!" Yelled the last henchman. With the time it took to incapacitate and slay his two fellows, the third not only had ample time to get over his surprise, but to even mount an offense. The man rushed Teric's back as the mercenary was slipping his blade from the corpse of the man in front of him, but his blade never fell.

Teric vanished into thin air, and the last remaining thug slowed to a confused, stumbling stop, his blade still poised above his head...

The thug couldn't see it, but the girl and the short man in the bowler cap both saw Teric materialize instantly a good dozen paces or so away, out of sight behind his attacker's peripheral vision. They watched in silence as the bearded mercenary stalked up behind the henchman and drove his sword into the back of the man's neck, killing him instantly.

And with that, and in the span of a handful of seconds, the grizzled old man had reduced his attackers to two cooling corpses and a man keeled over in debilitating pain. The comparatively lucky thug's whimpering sobs lent a grim sense of dread to the already creepy atmosphere around the portal. It was quiet aside from that whimpering, as in the still air there wasn't even the rustling of the leaves underfoot on the forest floor to listen to.

BOOM!

The quiet in the forest only amplified the thunderous discharge of the Aleran firearm the bowler-capped man held outstretched in Teric's direction. As if doubled-over by the sound, the mercenary staggered back a few paces, his arms instinctively encircling his gut where the explosion-propelled projectile struck him.

"At's wot ya get youse sod!" The firearm toting man taunted snidely, assured in his victory. Had Teric been the least bit amused by the change in the situation, he would have taken great pleasure in the shocked expression on the man's face when the mercenary simply stood up and fixed him with a lethal stare.

"Wot?..."

Was all the man could stammer, his hands fumbling to either reload to aim the gun once more. It didn't really matter was he was trying to do, however, as Teric snatched the firearm right out of his hands and brandished it by the barrel like a cudgel.

"You're lucky they want you alive, you prick." Teric replied icily, striking the man with the butt of his own weapon. The bowler cap tumbled off his head as the contractor - the man Teric's employer's wanted back in Radasanth - crumpled to the ground with a darkening welt quickly growing above his temple.

And I'm lucky I'm wearing my mythril chainmail. The mercenary added inside his head...

"As for you," Teric acknowledged the young woman who had been standing alongside the man since they'd arrive, "why don't you get lost? I don't have any business with you."

[Wings of Endymion]

He killed them.

Long moments after the pistol had been fired, the overly loud report of the shot still seemed to resonate deafeningly amongst the bare branches. The young woman gasped as Polecat crumpled pathetically amidst the gently wafting smoke of his weapon, the warrior who was left standing victoriously over the body unfazed in the slightest by the fact that he had just carved through four armed men with barely an afterthought. The rest of her world simply looked on in stunned stillness, shocked by the absolute and terrifying inevitability to what had just happened.

He killed them!

Part of her was still reeling from the fact that it had all been so quick. Part of her didn’t want to acknowledge that they were dead, that men – trained, skilled men – who had moments before been alive and confident now lay fallen and cooling in pools of their own blood. The whimpers of the sole conscious survivor trailed out into nothingness as blissfully he passed out from the pain, and all that was left in the wake of the sound was a stark, stony silence.

… why don’t you get lost?

His words echoed in her mind through the shimmering veil of faintness that obscured her from reality, harsh, sibilant, final. They only served to emphasise her helplessness in the situation, the fact that from start to finish she had been only a bystander in the entire confrontation. She who prided herself on her speed of thought and swiftness of action. She who had hoped to avoid the very bloodshed that had just played itself out before her very eyes.

… why don’t I?

The thought sped powerlessly through her mind as she focused again on the crumpled form of Polecat, his prized handgun held like a club in the older swordsman’s hands, his bowler cap forlornly abandoned upon the wintry mud three paces from where he had fallen. She felt instantly sick for the fact that it seemed such an attractive proposition.

Because, no matter what the circumstances, they were your companions.

And she could not abandon them, not out here to the mercy of whoever wanted Polecat alive, or to the elements that would certainly claim the unconscious thug if she gave up on him now, and certainly not to the Rangers that would not take too kindly to the situation should they return now. The Coronian businessman had risked a great deal to help her, even though she’d ensured that he had little choice in the matter. Yuka’s personal code of honour was uniquely Nipponese in that sense; she felt compelled, almost duty-bound, to help them.

Which meant dealing with the warrior who was now simply staring at her, his immensely powerful will almost pushing her away with every pulsating tic of the vein in his temple.

Brute force… won’t work.

Men far more skilled than her at hand-to-hand combat had fallen before him like playthings. Polecat’s firearm had barely even winded him. She couldn’t even be sure that she could move any faster than he could, so supernaturally swift had been his movement to avoid the last man’s blade.

That left only one course of action left to her, the finest and most dangerous line of all. Trickery.

“It doesn’t have to be this way,” Yuka spoke at long last, her gentle dark eyes never having wavered from his despite the flinty firmness of his glare. Her voice echoed low and soothing throughout the vicinity, barely even amplified by the crisp cold air. She dared not draw any attention to herself by making any overt signs of the arcane, which left her with only one plausible course of action. “You don’t have to do this.”

Pale slender hands quavered faintly with the effort required to lower her staff and keep her fingers away from the comforting solidity of the steel short sword at her side. Her heart was palpitating wildly within her breast, a trapped songbird struggling all aflutter to be set free. It was the icy cold grip of fear clenching her stomach that she focused on to maintain her exterior façade of strength, willing her leather-bound feet to take tentative steps towards the fallen Polecat. Tremblingly they obeyed, the soft moccasins making no sound whatsoever upon the hard dirt, bringing her quietly almost within touching distance of the unconscious businessman and his captor.

“You’ve enough blood on your hands today. Please… let these other men go.”

She certainly didn’t fancy her chances trudging through the winter forest whilst shouldering two unconscious forms. And though it wasn’t much of a better choice to grab them both and dart for the portal, hoping that the daemonic gatekeepers on the other side would remember her face and her connections with Thomas before hacking her to pieces…

She wasn’t about to give up just yet.

[Bloodrose]

Enough blood on my hands... today? Teric might have smiled under different circumstances, perhaps laughed even. After more than thirty years of killing - even if inadvertently - for a living, the concept of "blood" on his hands incited only humor in the old veteran. To Teric, that sort of line meant only one thing: this girl was trying to play on a guilty conscious. Unfortunately for her, Teric had not even the slightest bit of remorse for the dead men in his wake. They were hired thugs - mercenaries like himself in a loose sense - and should have known the risks of their chosen profession.

"I'm not interested in him." The mercenary spoke gruffly, jerking a thumb over his shoulder to indicate the man with the broken arm behind him. "Feel free to aid him if it pleases you, but I have business with this one." At that, Teric motioned towards the once bowler-capped man prone before him. "He's mine."

The old swordsman made sure to stress that last part, hoping to impress upon the young woman that this was not a subject open for discussion. Harboring no ill will towards her, Teric was of a mind to simply let her walk out of here - but only insofar as she allowed him to do his job without interference. Should she attempt to get in the way of his delivering bowler-cap back to those who wanted him in Radasanth, well...

And wouldn't that just be a shame. Teric found himself thinking as he held his ground. Sword still in hand, the veteran toyed with the weapon absently as he let his gaze wander over the young woman; admiring her physically even if he didn't admire her as a person. While perhaps not attractive in a classical sense, the woman wasn't an old shoe either. She possessed the sort of plain, unassuming physical charms that mothers are always telling sons to keep an eye open for - as opposed to chasing after the stereotypical females of adolescent male fantasies. Plus, it didn't hurt that Teric had always been a sucker for the raven-black hair and almond shaped eyes of Akashiman women. A real shame...

The grim, deathmask-like expression Teric wore on his face, accented and half-hidden by the bushy grey of his eyebrows and beard, did nothing to betray the less serious, more lewd thoughts running through his head while waiting to see what the girl would do. Outwardly, the mercenary was all business, and he idly began tapping his foot so as to feign impatience. The young woman was hardly a threat, even if she wanted to be, and so the veteran tried to be as intimidating as possibly so as to dispel any foolish notions that might run through her head.

[Wings of Endymion]

He wore a demeanour so forbiddingly dour, so frighteningly grim, that she could not help the delicate shiver that ran up her spine and then back down again. Adrenaline continued to pump through her system as she flinched from his steely gaze, trying to force herself to concentrate upon the eyes that were so coldly calm despite the circumstances. Gruffly polite as he was, the mercenary was a trained killer, and appealing to his conscience was not going to work. She sensed that he only had so much patience for her, and that even what little he had was quickly running out.

But her words had bought her the time to approach him to within mere metres. Not close enough for a sword stroke, but close enough for the gambit she was attempting to employ.

Subconsciously, she could feel her body resisting. Her instincts seemed to be screaming alarm bells into her mind, warning her against the suicidal recklessness that challenging her opponent would entail. The mere glance of his glare was enough to nearly root her legs to the spot; it took every last shred of steely nerve she could muster to keep her fear quelled and her feet slowly circling him amongst the barren forest floor. Only one thought was left in Yuka’s mind now, a solitary life-belt that she clung to amidst the raging storm of emotion that threatened to swallow her whole… she could not leave Polecat behind.

“I will admit that I’d rather not challenge you,” she replied, her voice barely audible as a whisper amongst the breeze. Her eyes, however, were steady; enforced calm framed within pale alabaster skin. “But I hope you understand…”

Her voice trailed off as she lunged with all her might, hoping to catch him off guard with the sudden movement. Tendrils of paralytic static played about her fingertips, their translucent trails embodying the hope that they would buy her the time she needed.

I won’t abandon any of my companions. No matter what the circumstances.

[Bloodrose]

Bunnying was Wings idea.

Really. Don't... Teric was thinking as he watched the girl. While it was obvious that she was trying to be subtle - stealthy even - in her attempt to sidle closer to him, the veteran mercenary could read the girl's body language like an open book. The tense way she held herself, the careful manner in which she kept placing her feet in an effort to circle him, and the singular, tenacious resolve in her eyes all betrayed one reckless act; she was going to try and jump him.

I understand. Teric didn't even bother to reply as the girl spoke, he was too busy waiting for the telegraphed motion that sprang like clockwork into action. The Akashiman girl pounced like a cat, her hand outstretched and empty, and Teric easily caught her wrist and turned her arm painfully.

"What exactly were you hoping to-" He was about halfway into a gruffly toned rebuke of the girl's stupid attempt to strike him when Teric realized his lone remaining obstacle wasn't trying to slap him. About the same time that he grabbed her arm, the girl closed her grip around the mercenary's wrist as well, and the light, soft touch of her fingers sent cold lightning up the old man's arm. Magic was the veteran's proverbial Achilles heel, and even though history and experience would dictate that Teric be able to see it coming, the mercenary had a truly atrocious track-record when it came to spotting the ethereal.

Fuck! Was the only thought Teric could muster as he became exceptionally aware of the paralysis that now bound him. Had he not been busily trying to force his limbs into action while every nerve and synapses in his body tingled, the veteran might have amended his previous metaphor. The girl was no pouncing cat - she was a poisonous serpent...

She girl gave Teric one surprised glance, almost as if she couldn't believe that her ploy had actually worked, and then she was off like a shot. Hurriedly she rushed for the fallen man with the bowler cap, grabbing him roughly by the shoulder of his coat and dragging him bodily for the portal. On her way, she stopped long enough to try and rouse the fallen thug who had thankfully passed out shortly after having his arm snapped in half. The man groaned and turned his head, but did not come to. The girl shook him harder, perhaps mumbling a plea to him (Teric was too preoccupied with trying to wiggle his fingers to pay attention), but she should have been running for the portal alone.

Come'on! Teric commanded his body angrily. While first - naturally - concerned that he might be frozen in place forever, it became clear very quickly that whatever magic the girl had worked on him was weak at best. The paralysis, while jarring, wore quickly, and by the time the girl was tugging on Bowler-cap's jacket, Teric was trying to dispel the tingly sensation one gets in their limbs when an arm or a leg falls asleep. He dared not take a step, lest his wobbly, tingly limbs give out under his own weight as his balance shifted, but the mercenary was quickly shrugging off the effects of the girl's spell.

She should have run for it while she had the chance, but by the time the fallen thug came slowly and painfully back into awareness, Teric was shaking his body like a dog trying to rid itself of water. He stomped his feet a couple of times as if willing circulation to return, and then he disappeared - reappearing a dozen paces away to stand between the girl, her charges, and the portal.

"Like I said," Teric growled, outwardly dismissing the girl's paralytic attack as if it was little more than a mosquito bite. "The man with the hat is mine."

[Wings of Endymion]

Bunnying done with Bloodrose's permission

For a moment, Yuka’s face betrayed her emotions perfectly; shock, disappointment, regret. She’d done what she could, taken her chances while she had them, but in the end she’d failed. Her wrist still throbbed where the mercenary’s vice-like grip had nearly cut off the circulation to her hand, but it hurt her more to witness his business-like expression even after she’d thoroughly betrayed his trust.

Then her features darkened in determination, as she realised that there was only one thing left to do.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered once more in her gentle voice, letting the scruff of Polecat’s neck slip from her hand so that she could better grip her staff. Her feet tensed even further upon the slippery earth, her tongue poised for battle. “But over my dead body.”

She knew as soon as she’d spoken the words that they were a mistake; that the mercenary would not hesitate to do exactly that. She knew as soon as she glanced again into the eyes of unforgiving steel that the courtesy of his trade only extended so far. She could almost admire him for both these traits, his lack of doubt and his unwavering professionalism.

Her mind, however, was fully occupied with the knowledge of exactly how their confrontation would turn out. It did not matter what ploy she considered, or how fast she could move, or what words of power she had ready on her lips. She realised that she was frightened almost out of her wits, but for one time in her life she felt almost justified; there was no chance that she could stand against his ruthless strength and his supernatural ability to simply be where he had to be when he had to be, especially in her current weakened state.

If I had all my powers… the brief thought scampered through the back of her mind, but she paid it no heed. Even if she did there was no guarantee of her survival, and at the moment it was simply wishful thinking. I wonder if this was how Ingwe felt before he faced down the daemon, or if Thomas felt this way when…

“The choice is yours,” the warrior spoke, seemingly tiring of her recalcitrance and taking a warning step towards her position. To him, she supposed, she was simply a disobedient child, one who could mischievously impede his progress but not somebody who could seriously challenge him from reaching his goal. The thin yew staff held against her chest suddenly seemed exceedingly weak and pathetic.

Whether it was fear or courage that caused her to stand her ground, she didn’t quite know. Certainly she could not reply to the mercenary’s warning, or to the second step that he took in her direction when she failed to acknowledge him. But she did not falter from where she stood, guarding over Polecat’s unconscious form and the barely-coherent whimpers of the last of the henchmen.

Perhaps she would have simply stood there as her opponent approached, sweating profusely as if attempting to force her body into action, but unable to dislodge the terror that rooted her to the spot. Perhaps she would have been able to urge her terrified limbs into one last act of resistance, and perhaps the mercenary would have let her live for it. Thankfully for Yuka, she never had to find out which of the darkened paths of destiny fate had in store for her.

“That will be quite enough.”

A third voice intruded upon the scene, sudden and shattering, unseen and unexpected. The mirror-like sheen of the portal behind the mercenary rippled and tore, arcs of purple energy briefly reaching out into the material plane as if longing to grasp hold of something real. From the depths of their confines, into the winter-touched glade, stepped a figure robed in Nipponese garb with his arms folded peacefully in front of him. His blue eyes, nestled charismatically beneath his tousled brown hair, scanned his new surroundings with swift efficiency: reassuring Yuka with just a touch, dismissing the unconscious Polecat at her feet, before settling at last upon the warrior who stood between them.

“Teric Barton, I presume. It is a pleasure to meet you,” he addressed the stranger, oozing just enough honey-thick charm to put the soldier on edge. “My name is Thomas Motokaji. You may not know me, but rest assured that the Shadow Guild do… and they were most regretful of the fact that they set themselves against myself and my associates, however inadvertently.”

Thomas smiled, although there was something deep in that smile that made Yuka’s blood turn momentarily cold… colder still than it had been whilst confronting Teric.

“I have something for you,” the newcomer continued, reaching into his robes and tossing something at Teric’s feet with one smooth flick of his fingers. In the brief instant it was airborne, Yuka’s keen eyes marked it as an important document of sorts, perhaps a contract or a missive; the thick ribbon-bound parchment and the important-looking wax seal were dead giveaways. Then it disappeared from her sight, lodged in the mud at the mercenary’s feet.

The young woman was left to pray that whatever it was, it could defuse the situation without any further bloodshed… if only so she could start to breathe one again.