Round 1: The Girl and the Guardian v Unreasonable Gentlemen

[Kryos]

It took all of Kryos’ concentration to see through the hazy flurry of strikes and counterstrikes. He thought that he had secured victory at his initial rush until the troublesome wizard starting throwing in bolts of lightning here and there. From how the man used his abilities, Kryos knew that he had more experience at combat. Thanks to the unknown gods, as well as his physical ability, he had managed to remain mostly unscathed. The cool caress of evening wind upon his skin revealed cuts in his shirt over his left collarbone, as well as the back of his gloved hand. It came down to a race against time, and whether or not he could hold out until his gray eyes finished their shift to silver.

No matter how he attacked, no matter the speed or frequency, his swords only seemed to be met by the twisted daggers that danced in the drunkard’s hands. Something didn’t make sense. Never before had he been unable to even scratch his opponent. There must be another factor in play.

Another oscillating arc of light warned Kryos of the impending spell. He had no time to think, only to react. He dodged to the right, but not fast enough. Desperate to avoid the shock, he relinquished his grip on the sword in his left hand. Hysterical crackling enveloped the steel, light racing along its length as it soared over the darkened rooftop. The hairs on his arm stood on edge in its wake.

Both hands now wielding his elven sword, he deflected the quick succession of blows, but not without a line of icy fire streaking across his forearm. His breath hissed out between clenched teeth and he jumped back across the grooved metal roof, seeking a respite. None came as the glimmer of first blood intensified the assault. He needed to change the focus, and now.

Two can play at this game.

Midnight tendrils of fragmenting flame rose from his arms and sword as he called forth his magic. While harmless without direct contact, his show of power bought enough time to regain his footing.

The wind swept away the sound of their heavy breathing in a momentary pause. Blood traced down his arm and fell to the roof with an almost inaudible plink that reminded him that he needed to finish things quickly. At this rate, he didn’t know if he could last through the remainder of the sunset. He quickly glanced to the far horizon.

Soon, but not soon enough.

He sprung forward, steel once again seeking blood. As he expected, the blade magically went wide, altogether missing its mark. He pivoted and, ebony spirals of magic enveloping his fist, closed the distance in what he well knew to be a huge gamble. At this point, though, he didn’t have the luxury of many other options.

[Storm Veritas]

[OOC: Friendly reminder; bunnies have been approved]

The choreographed dance of twisting metal waltzed onward, the symphonic melody of the high-pitched percussion ringing out loudly to any that could observe the impromptu duel. Against a backdrop of deep red painted with fibrils of autumnal orange, the two shadows worked back and forth in shared forms of futility. As expected, Storm felt wildly overmatched in sheer skill with the blades, leaning heavily on his generation of magnetic fields to reroute the incoming sword arcs through safer pathways.

Still can’t hit the little sonofabitch. Need to get him tied down, get that sword stuck in a beam, a ballast, or brick.

The wizard’s assaults had found little purchase; a few glancing scratches and scrapes that would barely leave sufficient scars to serve as pick-up lines for his opponent’s future sexual conquests. Veritas himself had been virtually unscathed, however his magic was all but exhausted, and his lungs burned like some hot bricks in an active chimney flue. Yet another strike averted, he breathed deeply as he considered a novel angle from which to counter.

He lacked the time for such a breath.

The sweeping fist of his considerable foe came barreling overhead, and there was no metal available for him to manipulate. This realization came far too late; coupled with his own mild intoxication he had no chance of avoiding the punch. He rolled his head back, absorbing enough of the shot to retain consciousness.

It was more of an explosion than a punch; a wave of some black magic floating away in their own rapid helixes as two knuckles found their mark upon his cheek. His head rolled hard and body fell backwards into the parapet, propped up and caught firmly by the retaining wall. The impact upon the wall was considerable, albeit a far greater scenario than tumbling over the roof.

Stay with it. Shit, gods that f*cking hurt. Eyes up. He’s coming back for the kill. Bleed later.

His experience served him well as he raised his blades before him, a defensive posture that deflected a large sword strike. This follow-up attack was only partially deflected, as the blade tore not through his skull but rather a healthy dose of shoulder meat. Storm scrambled to his knees as the swordsman popped back against the corner of the retaining wall, poised like a boxer awaiting the counterpunch.

He’s too goddamned fast, and you’re wiped out. Turn the tables; what can’t he dodge?

All is fair in love and war, a mantra the electromancer had learned far too many times to count. Nobility and chivalry didn’t serve the dead. He ran once more at this mysterious fighter, flipping his dagger clear over the head of him. With the skillful grace of a falcon plucking a mouse from the field, Kryos deftly deflected the blade. In doing so, he had raised his elbows and blade high, even averting his eyes for a chance moment.

The moment proved enough time.

With tremendous speed, Storm crashed a shoulder into the chest of the would-be kidnapper, wrapping his arm around the man’s lifting and running, lifting, arching his back with all his might. The brick and mortar parapet of the warehouse roof was easily cleared, however the momentum of the strike was too much to cease. His own knees struck the hard stone firmly, and the two were over the wall, tumbling haphazardly.

[Taische]

Taische looked at Uncle Mal, an unimpressed glower stamped upon her face. She barely even flinched when a sword clattered loudly to the ground. Get through him and he'd believe that she could take care of herself? Was this a game to him, when Kryos and Uncle Storm still fought furiously above them? Was this a joke? A spar?

Meanwhile, she couldn't help but notice that despite her screams, no one had come. The people of Lounton weren't as concerned about the safety of a distressed child as they were about not getting caught by the wrath of magic users. That was fair enough, she supposed. She knew that at least Uncle Storm had no problems killing people if he had to, and she figured that Uncle Mal was the same. How could she blame strangers for not wanting to die?

Get through him. Fine.

She didn't know what he was playing at with the daggers on string, but she took out her yoyo and spun it a couple of times. The cold stone smacked hard into her hand, as ready to fight as it was to play. The wind around her stirred her hair and dress, reminding her that it would help her if she asked. The river mumbled in agreement. All she had to do was motion. Grasses and seeds in the cobblestone cracks whispered their eagerness to grow. Fire and lightning raged within her, all ready to be unleashed.

In Jalaan, ladies didn't use magic against non-magic users. That rule had spared a couple of people extra pain in the year since she'd been uprooted. But Uncle Mal had fire. The rule didn't apply against him. And she was fed up. She was fed up of running, she was fed up of getting chased, she was fed up of people fighting needless battles for dumb reasons. She just wanted to get some food and go to bed and not have to deal with adults acting like babies.

It was time for them to stop.

"Listen, Uncle Mal. I don't have time for playing games. There are lives at stake." Gold flooded out from around Taische's pupils to almost overwhelm their normal blue, though it was hardly noticeable in the dim lamplight. The air around the pyromancer's head shimmered, preventing fresh air from coming into his lungs after a breath or two.

"You're going to go to sleep in a little bit. It only works faster if you struggle. But before you pass out, tell me this: why do you even care?"

[Rayse Valentino]

Bunnies approved.

Looks like you know that you can't get through me with physical force. Good, I need you to show me something new. Show me something that can kill.

Sparks flew into the air from the fight above them, but Rayse had all but forgotten about the two up there. He raised a brow when she produced something that looked suspiciously like a yo-yo. He was reminded of himself for a moment, how he had weaponized a child's toy. Back then, he was more than eager to inflict pain, to humiliate, to torture. Since spending time in the other worlds, those desires washed away, and all that was left were questions about what he really wanted. Finding no answers, it drove him to drink more heavily than before, the alcohol fueling his fire-ridden body. Then one day, this girl was dumped into his lap. Her first impression was fear, confusion, but now the look in her eyes was something more sure. Anger, determination...

... Hate? Did she hate him for what he was doing? Did Karuka instill this hatred of him? Or did she learn it on her own?

"Games? Lives at stake?" He said, gritting his teeth. "What do you know about games? Who do you think Storm is up there fighting for? You're..." He swallowed. He was trouble getting the words out, and not for lack of desire, but they felt physically stuck in his throat. At the next attempt to speak, he realized that he was suffocating.

Either I just conveniently forgot how to breathe, or she did this! Think, Rayse! What do you know about their abilities? Fire, lightning, wind, earth, air... This is air manipulation! I just need to...

He jumped backwards and tried to take another breath, but to no avail. He was in some sort of bubble, although it felt like it was only around his head. The world became wave in front of him, and his vision was losing focus every few seconds. A creeping headache ran from the back of his ear to his neck. He stomped the ground and a flame ran up his legs, engulfing his body. In the next moment, he disappeared into countless wisps of flame. He was only gone for a second, as he reformed several meters from where he stood. Once again, breathing didn't work. She could move the bubble!

The question she asked nearly made him forget about his predicament. Cockiness aside, it was a damn good question. Unlike all her other uncles, Rayse wasn't friends with Karuka. His only interaction with her, as far as she knows, was returning her to her mother. At the risk of running out of breath, he started talking.

"Because..."

O'Sheean women don't need fathers. That was one of the first things she said to me. But then what about this cadre of uncles? Aren't they all replacement fathers to her? She's searching for something, even if she's not conscious of it. Karuka came to this world alone, without anyone to understand what life was like for her. But Taische has none of that. She was born in good company, she doesn't need Karuka's ideals. She can have her own. She doesn't have to be alone.

- - - -

Rayse perused the collection of reports. She met who? She did what? Including being routinely separated from her mother, she continually got into trouble. Aside from that, it didn't look like she made the connection yet. Karuka hasn't told her anything yet, either. Rayse told himself that this was the best outcome, since if he was the father, wouldn't Karuka say something about it? Now he could forget about her. He didn't need the reports anymore.

- - - -

"I'm your..."

What am I after here? Is it enough for me if she's safe? Or is there something more? Maybe... Maybe it's not too late. To start over. To continue where I left off, way back when. I fell into the abyss and climbed back out, and since then the world has looked so small. All the things I thought were important, money and power, were inconsequential. None of it brought me happiness. Doiteain as Cothromaicht... Maybe now I could...

- - - -

Despite that, he kept reading the ones that came in. One of particular note was a Citadel battle. Ignoring the obvious parental negligence that would lead to a child entering a such a place, he discovered that her opponent was none other than Madison Freebird, one of The Five involved in the Red Forest Incident. What's more, Taische... won? He didn't know the details, but the result was clear. It had to have been a fluke, right? How could someone get so powerful in such a short time?

He couldn't help the growing smirk across his face.

- - - -

"I... I just do, alright? I don't need a reason."

Then again, maybe not.

He reached down and pulled up his pant leg, revealing the strap that held his knife Kapteyn. Creation magic was difficult to deal with, since manipulating the environment around oneself did not result in any magical objects. He couldn't absorb a rock that was thrown at him, or water being splashed at him. However, this bubble was being maintained somehow. It must have been actively supplied with magic. With only seconds to spare, he retrieved it and tried to shove it into the bubble, but the air being pushed out was also keeping his weapon out. He had to stab into it with force.

With only seconds left, his was starting to lose his balance. He stabbed as hard as he could into the bubble, his head turning to flames as the blade passed through. Like a whirlpool, the sword sucked in the surrounding magic, creating a swirling torrent of wind around him. It only took a moment, and then the blade was burning red hot, steam rising from it. His head reformed, and he took the biggest breath of his life, following by a series of hacking coughs.

Between coughs, he managed to stammer out, "Nice trick, kid." He didn't have much time to recover, because a pair of swordsmen flew so far over his head that they crashed into the nearby river. "Oh shit." He looked at Taische. "I guess it wasn't a fluke. Move it!" He dropped his knife and ran towards the water. He had no idea if either of the men could swim, and letting Taische go right after a couple of people she cared about drowned wouldn't look very good on his permanent record.

[Kryos]

As I have not explicitly stated it yet, bunnies have been approved, for the record.

The air that had just filled his lungs escaped with such velocity that it left Kryos gasping. He felt as if he had just been swatted by a Raiaeran Redspined Wyvern’s broad tail by how hard and fast the man collided with him. Eyes widening with fear, he felt the top row of the parapet’s stonework give way as their legs crashed against it, crushed mortar digging into his calves. Then, they were sailing through the air.

Still locked in the crushing bear hug, unable to breathe, Kryos swung his open palm and against his pursuer’s head. The grip released and their tangled bodies began to separate. Against his command, his lungs would still not expand. Flailing wilding in a panicked attempt to locate what must be the fast approaching ground, he prepared himself for the hard impact and following pain. Just as the world replaced the dark, pastel-colored sky, blurred edges and smeared hues finally came back into focus. With remarkable clarity he saw the row of maples, leaves darkened by the horizon’s shadow, pass under his falling frame. Directly ahead, the smooth surface of the roadside river rushed up to greet him. Shielding his head, his arms punched through the surface of the serene water.

Air! I need air!

His lungs burned as the speed of his flight carried him into the river’s warm depths. Surprisingly, he did not reach the bottom. His limbs fanned out in the darkness and he frantically began pulling himself toward the surface.

He uses lightning.

As if his thirst for oxygen wasn’t enough, the thought of his current situation did nothing to calm his heart nor aid his ascent. If the mage beat him to the shore . . .

Commanding his body to move contrary to the demands of his primitive needs, he angled toward the riverbank. He clenched his jaws shut to prevent the instinct to breathe. His hands clawed through the water in desperation. Just as he thought he could hold out no more, he felt the river heave. Like a wave of the ocean building in height before crashing on sand beaches, the river spat him out upon the grassy bank. Air mixed with equal part water rushed into his lungs, causing a violent bout of coughing.

As he recovered, he realized just how exhausted he had become. From their impromptu escape, to the duel on the warehouse roof, to the subsequent fall and near drowning. His chest ached and lungs still burned. He could feel a painful throbbing in the back of his head. The cut on his arm stung as river water ran across it. His arms and legs felt heavier than lead.

However, he had been through worse and he didn’t have time to lie around waiting for the two mages to finish him off. His hand found the hilt of his sword once more and he opened his eyes. They shone with the light of liquid mercury in the deepening dusk.

A silhouette stood before him. He pushed himself up, ready to summon the remaining dredges of his strength despite his protesting muscles. Then Kryos noticed the long dark hair, disheveled dress, and furious blue eyes glaring down at him.

“No more fighting,” the child commanded. She’d strategically placed herself between him and his rooftop assailant, and was keeping an eye on the one who had grabbed her. “From anyone. And if everyone agrees not to fight, I will explain everything. If someone still wants to fight, he can go back into the river. No more fighting.”

[Storm Veritas]

The clap of the open hand against the side of his head sent him reeling; only moments later his body hit the surface of the water with the force of a bat against his shoulder blades. He had contorted in desperation the best way he felt available, but the smashing impact sent him hard against the river bed, less than six feet from the surface of the smoothly-flowing waters. The collective shots didn’t concuss him, but they hurt incredibly, and the terrible forces wretched his liquid lunch up from his stomach. His vomit coupled well with the blood in his mouth and the plentiful water, rapidly dissipating and flowing away. Underwater, in the low light of early evening, it was as discreet as his purge could hope to be.

Storm resurfaced after ten seconds or so, knowing the water would likely grant him some element of sanctuary. Screwing with a lightning user in open waters was generally an awful idea, and his fast-paddling opponent seemed to understand this. Exhausted, frustrated and badly beaten, the aging mage took a few moments to rest his battered body, gently pulling water beneath him as he lazily drifted to the shoreline.

They’re both there! Both standing, and she’s got her little yo-yo. So much for the helpless cries. Looks like melodrama runs in the family, since she seems pretty f*cking fine to me.

His blood began to boil as he eyed Taische. He held no hatred for the one he’d eventually know as Kryos; he needed to get information from him, and lacked the time for diplomacy. Taische, on the other hand, left developed the habit of leaving blood, disappointment, and broken relationships in her wake. As Storm stood gingerly rose upon the shoreline, the worldly nine year old popped between the adults and proceeded to make demands.

Beautiful. F*cking beautiful. I should throw you in the goddamned river, you little shit.

The energy flowed through Storm commensurate with his growing rage, and would be as easy to sense as the color of his hair or his height. Upon his exposed forearms, visible droplets of water shook and popped off his skin, driven away by the rapid ionization of the air about him. His mandible pulsed as he clenched his teeth violently, fingers twitching absently as veins danced a rapid rumba down his forearm. He tried to bite his tongue and avoid interrupting the innocent looking little girl.

He tried, and he failed terribly.

“HOW ABOUT BEFORE YOU START TALKING, YOU SHUT THE F*CK UP!?!”

Stack blown, Veritas paced the shoreline as the other three sized him up. It was logical; he was acting like an absolute lunatic after his landing upon the river’s edge. The look on his opponent’s eyes seemed to meld the familiar theme of exhaustion and confusion; he certainly didn’t want to fight. Somehow Storm had sheathed his daggers during his crash to the waters; he absent mindedly cast them into the muddy shore, hearing them dig deeply to the wet soil with a squelch. Still fuming, he turned his gaze to the girl with little doe eyes and an unprecedented ability for carnage.

“Let’s recap, shall we? Your mom kicks me out, just like she appears to have kicked out your ‘other uncle’ here. Unceremonious, unwarranted, undeserved.”

A deep breath; he still hadn’t fully caught his breath and could feel a shortness to his ability to speak at length.

“So in to town you prance, with random asshole number three in tow, scurrying suspiciously into the local pub, fresh with a bar you can’t see over. Has he kidnapped you? Was he holding a weapon to you? Threatening you or your mom? Who the holy F*CK knows, Taische, because you dodge the two of us like we have the goddamned plague?!

“You then proceed to sprint through the city like your ass is on fire, leaving us demolish half of this happy little hamlet in our rush to ‘save’ you. Rather than talk immediately, you pitch an absolute shit-fit when Rayse… you know… ‘Uncle Mal’, has the audacity to hug you.”

He stopped his manic pacing, putting his hands on his hips and staring a hole through the face of his would-be niece. She was stunned, and he was fairly certain on the verge of a pre-pubescent meltdown.

“So now it appears I nearly killed another magic user – few as we may be – over your attention seeking. So no, you DON’T set the rules, but YES, you are going to explain everything.”

He glanced behind him in a quick aside, listening briefly to the soft whisper of the river carry jetsam into the evening.

“And try another dash and SO HELP ME F*CKING GODS you’re going in the goddamned drink.”

[Taische]

Sorry for the massive post. ;_;

Taische’s eyes widened at Storm’s verbal assault. The last person to direct such vicious abuse at her had been someone she was actively fighting against. She’d never expected it from her uncle. Both hands gripped her yoyo, squeezing so hard that her knuckles went pale. Her boots crunched in the wet, slick gravel as she backed away, until an unseen root tripped her and landed her on her butt.

She’d reflexively reached out with her magic when he and Kryos fell in, grabbing hold of the water and making it heave them onto the bank. She regretted it a little now; maybe another few seconds in the river would have made him too tired to be angry. She just hadn’t wanted anyone to die.

She waited until the echoes of Storm’s wrath had died down before pocketing her war-toy and getting back to her feet.

“U-uncle Storm, you’re not making a lot of sense. Rayse is Uncle Mal’s nephew, and he left him behind in Ettermire when he got me out. I only met him once before, when his people grabbed me when I was out exploring and brought me back to Knife’s Edge. I don’t remember getting there, I just woke up in a big safe and couldn’t get out. One of the things in there - it looked like a gross eyeball, I think - sent me to Ettermire, and then I got thrown in jail, and then his nephew came with soldiers to take me to Salvar. And then we got chased a lot by elves. I told you, remember? I know you don’t believe me, but it’s true. And mom doesn’t even like Uncle Mal, so I don’t know what you mean by she kicked him out.”

The child took a couple of deep breaths before continuing. “And...and mom told me that she’d told you that you could come back if you wanted to be part of our family. But you didn’t come back.” She blinked rapidly. “So I thought you didn’t like us anymore because I was difficult with you in Radasanth. I’m still in trouble for that day. And we’re both really sad that you don’t want to be part of the family.”

Her voice cracked a little, and she cleared her throat. She’d addressed Storm’s rant, so now it was time for introductions. “Kryos, this is my Uncle Storm and my Uncle Mal. They aren’t really my uncles, but that’s what it’s easy to call them. Uncle Storm, Uncle Mal, this is Kryos. I met him earlier this afternoon.”

Kryos glared silver anger down at her. “You told me they-”

“They are,” she interrupted earnestly. “They’re just… also my uncles.”

Taische fidgeted her hands, trying to figure out exactly where to start her story. “Okay. Yesterday, my mom found some friends in a town just outside of Radasanth. She needed to go deal with a camp of goblin slavers in Concordia, so her friends agreed to watch me for a few days while she did that. They have a son who just turned twelve, and a lot of animals, so they thought I’d maybe make a friend and be helpful. Mom told me to stay there, and I was really, really going to. I didn’t want to be in even more trouble, and besides, I got to feed the chickens and the bunnies and the goats. But not the pigs or the donkey.”

The little girl rubbed the back of her skull, less at a memory and more at a still swollen goose egg. “But the boy was really mean. He hit me over the head with a shovel when we were cleaning poop out of the barn, and he punched me a couple of times when his parents weren’t looking. I told him to stop and that’s not how girls make friends, but he didn’t stop. When I told his parents, they said farm kids just play rough and he didn’t mean it. So the next day, I did chores on the other side of the farm from him and since we were done with before lunch chores almost an hour before lunch, I started playing with a puppy in a field.”

She looked up at the three men. “I wasn’t doing anything to bother the boy, I was just playing with the puppy. But he came over, and he looked mad, and so I picked the puppy up, and he kicked me and the puppy. And then I got really, really mad, and I started punching him. He punched back a little bit, but he was never really taught to fight like my mom taught me, so after a little while he started crying and ran off to his mother. She called me a nasty little child and locked me in the guest room, and told me not to come out until my mom came back. Then she made all sorts of fuss over her ‘innocent little angel,’ and didn’t punish him at all.”

Taische scowled, folding her arms over her still slightly tender ribs. “He started it, and I tried to handle it peacefully, and then that happened. If his mom had told him to stay in his room too, then I would have just taken the punishment, even if I wasn’t happy about it. But it wasn’t fair, not at all, so I packed my stuff and left out the window. I’d rather be in trouble with Mom for a good reason than in trouble with a stranger for a bad reason. I even got a lunch box in town so that I could keep walking until it was too dark, and then eat, so I could get to her faster.”

She motioned back to her companion. “I met Kryos on the road. He was walking toward Underwood, and I’m walking toward Underwood, so we were walking toward Underwood at the same time. I shared a cookie, and we started walking together. It’s safer to travel in groups, because most of the people who pick on little girls on their own are too scared if they’re with a man - some people even picked on me and my mom who wouldn’t have done it if Uncle Storm was with us,” she explained to Kryos. “That didn’t go very well for them, because my mom is really strong. And some of the people who pick on grown men on their own would feel bad if they tried to pick on a little girl, too. And of course, some people just don’t care who they pick on.”

Taische took a deep breath, shoving her hair out of her face again. “I didn’t even know I had uncles anywhere near here. I didn’t even know you were friends. And when we saw you, I didn’t want to get in MORE trouble even before I got back to Mom, so we tried to sneak away. I didn’t think you would chase us because Uncle Mal never liked us and I thought you don’t like us anymore either, Uncle Storm.”

“But then you did chase us, and all of a sudden the tree exploded and I got really scared, because the last time I got chased, Vincent got killed.” Taische blinked rapidly again, fighting through a tight throat. “So I thought that I could get Kryos to safety and maybe you’d just yell at me, because you didn’t have a reason to be mad at Kryos. And then Uncle Mal grabbed me from out of nowhere and I got even more scared and you went after Kryos, and I thought we were both going to die. And I just didn’t want anyone to die.”

The little girl looked at the three men through the night’s gloom. She was tired. She was hungry. She was hurting, and one of the main adult influences in her life hated her now. “I just… I just want my mom.”

[Rayse Valentino]

Goddess almighty... she just keeps going and going...

Every time it looked like she was about to stop, another torrent of words erupted from her thin frame. It was enough to drive men mad, and Storm looked like he was ready to burst. His face was turning red, and it looked like every ounce of willpower in his body was keeping him from yelling at her. Rayse didn't know exactly what happened between Karuka and Storm, but it's clear that one, or perhaps both of them, had some misconceptions. No matter what they did, it always lead back to Karuka. In her attempts to protect Taische, she was hurting other people. Even now, this story about some farm? It was like Karuka was trying to pick up the life she left off, going off to be miss vigilante. But it wasn't that easy. Rayse was getting a headache thinking about this.

"Alright, alright, we get it," Rayse said. "No more fighting." Storm was now glaring at him, probably because of that peculiar story about a nephew named Rayse. Storm obviously didn't buy it for a minute, and if Rayse didn't clear the air here and now, he was going to lose the magician's trust.

Rayse put his hands into his pockets again, and glanced at Kryos. He wanted to punch his face until it resembled a sun-dried tomato. He couldn't hide the enmity he held for the man, but for now he was putting it aside.

"Kryos, was it? Hold your tongue for a bit. I need to sort something out." He then looked at Storm. "I want to explain something, before we move on here." He walked between all of them like a mediator, then turned and looked at Storm. "Do you believe in time travel?"

Storm blinked. "What?"

"This is an important question for what I'm about to say."

"As a mage, I'm not going to discount it outside the realm of possibility, but you better be going somewhere with this."

"I am, don't worry. I'm going to go through chronologically what exactly happened between me and Taische. Why I know her." He glanced at Taische. "Keep quiet until I'm done. I'll be brief." It occurred to him that he lost his cigarette at some point. Maybe it was during that bubble fiasco. Either way, he pulled out another one, stuck it into his mouth, and lit it with a flame on the tip of his thumb.

"Over ten years ago, I was on a mission in Ettermire, but we got ambushed and fled into the city. We ran for a while, a friend of mine got killed, and then Taische got whisked away by some fiery, teleporting asshole. I didn't see her again until a little while ago, when she was unceremoniously dumped in my lap."

The speaker took a drag off the cigarette. He gave each of his audience a glare that warned them not to interrupt before continuing. "You see, at the time I was having a... business dispute with a woman named Karuka, and my agents thought it would be a good idea to kidnap the kid and hold her as collateral for a deal. I would never do such a thing, so I wanted to return her as fast as possible.”

He talked about the artifact, and how it sent Taische back into the past. Storm looked unconvinced, but he could feel the strain in Rayse’s words, the sound of a man who didn’t want to talk about something.

Rayse continued, “I followed her using the same artifact and eventually found her, becoming said fiery asshole. I didn't realize where or when I was until I got back. Then, I returned her to her mother, and that was the end of it. At the time, I didn't think the kid would believe what actually happened, in fact..."

He looked at Taische. "Maybe you still don't? Look at me, I'm the same person as back then. My name is Rayse. I remember everything: the elf in the dark, the tenement, the courthouse, my friend's dying words. I said you would slow us down, and I was right. But I don't blame you. Because it was Vincent's call, and I respect it. Do you want to know why I care? Because Vincent considered you his friend, and that makes you my friend as well, even if you don't feel the same way."

Following a deep, smoky exhale, he looked at Storm once more. "Satisfied?"

The magician paused for a moment, his rage subsiding. It was an incredibly implausible story, but it was an earnest attempt to keep what they had. What did they have, anyway? Friendship? Either way, it was still a half-truth. He wanted to ask if that was all Rayse wanted to reveal, but given his word choice, the answer was obvious. For whatever reason, Rayse considered his fatherhood to be a problem. Maybe in his own way, he was doing it to protect Taische.

"Good," said Rayse. Apparently, being mouthy ran in the family. "Before I'm done, I just have something to say to you, Tash." He walked over to her. If he had been her father for the past nine years, he would of slapped her for what she had done today. But he didn't believe he had the right anymore. The least he could do was give her a lecture.

"Kid, you need to stop running from your problems. Your mother trusted you to stay in one place, and you ran. Then when you saw us, you ran again. You put Kryos and Storm in danger. You need to take responsibility, not wait until you're cornered. And stop making assumptions about people. You need to look beyond the surface of someone, that's the only way you'll know whether or not you can trust them."

The fiery asshole considered whether or not to say the last part, but he didn't want to have any regrets. "You've left behind the world where you can be just a kid.” Fateless. It was a term Rayse used for those that could shape the world to their will. They were people with great abilities, whether they be physical or magical, and that power made them targets. “For the rest of your life, you need to look over your shoulder as you walk. If you can do that, then maybe I won't have anything to worry about."

[Kryos]

Bunnies discussed and approved for their fluffiness!

The anger, annoyance and impatience that lined the fair features of Kryos’ face became more and more evident as he listened. They had gone from the present, to story-time explanation, to incredibly thick and convoluted backstory in the space of a few minutes. Now, the man identified as Rayse, cigarette between his fingers, came back full circle and hopefully ended with a lecture to wrap up this giant mess. He closed his eyes in irritation; the heated discussion, if it could even be called a discussion, did nothing to alleviate the throbbing in his head. The cut on his forearm still burned as blood oozed from the wound, and his muscles persistently reminded him of their fatigue. He shook his head.

All this over a family squabble. Unbelievable.

The muddied glint of his sword caught his eye, and he proceeded to wipe the edge clean with his pant leg. Both would need cleaning before the night’s ends. Sheathing his weapon, he stepped forward.

“I am glad you all could get this overdue family reunion out of the way,” he said, voice laced with sarcasm as cold as his gaze. “But if you all have finished now, I recommend we be on our way.” Over the course of the conversation, small groups of Lounton’s residents had begun to mill about, voices whispering and eyes filled with caution, fear and wonder. Kryos expected the local authorities to arrive any time, what with the show of magic that had been screaming for attention.

Taische mumbled something. “What was that?” he growled, glaring at her downcast head.

“I’m sorry.” Her voice seemed to be on the verge of breaking. “I’m sorry for almost getting you killed.” Her hands fidgeted as she turned toward her prior guardians. “I’m sorry for making you worry about me, Uncle Mal.” Her veiled gaze settled on the soaking boots of the lightning mage. “And I’m sorry for being so bad in Radasanth.”

“Being sorry is a nice thought, but that’s all.” Kryos folded his arms, taking care for the stinging wound that would become the record of this fated evening. “True sorrow brings about action and change. Your words are not enough to make up for what has happened.”

The Dwiilar thought he could see the weight of his words settle upon the small, exhausted frame of the young girl. She stood motionless for a moment.

“... I gotta go find my mom. I’ll be alright on my own.” Her eyes remained hidden by hair and shadow, and she turned and slipped out from between the triangle of men. Her shoulders hunched into her body and she didn’t look back.

The three mages silently watched her depart. Kryos’ sigh broke the silence as he set aside his own contempt. “I’m heading the same way, and will make sure she doesn’t cause any more trouble. Don’t worry,” he cut off the protest he knew would be at the tip of Rayse’s tongue. “I’m not going to do, whatever it is you think I’m going to do.” He could tell the man despised him from the obvious expression earlier. Regardless, Kryos faced the two once more as shouting heralded the arrival of the Coronian Rangers.

“Gentlemen, I would have liked to have met under different circumstances. As it is, perhaps fate will bring us together again in the future.” He nodded his head once, which Storm returned in kind. The pyromancer’s expression, however, appeared conflicted. After a long pull from his cigarette and an equally lengthy exhale, he reluctantly dipped his head.

Without pause, Kryos spun on his heels and set to quickly recovering his equipment. Silver eyes shining with magical power, he sensed the souls of all those who gathered in the aftermath of their encounter. He dismissed most of them and instead locked in on Taische, who made her way down the riverside road. He found his small sword just as she crossed the halfway point out of his detection range. With only his pack waiting to be reclaimed from the confines of the warehouse, his thoughts drifted.

He had been right after all. For whatever reason, this small, unassuming girl who seemed to attract trouble wherever she went had the latent ability to recover his lost memories. He had pieced together that he had known another child, similar to Taische, while he fought to survive the horrors of Raiaera. The girl from his nightmares had become an important piece to his past, now that he knew she hadn’t been conjured up by his subconscious. While these revelations only brought forth more questions, the unexpected turn of events filled him with new determination.

As he strode onto the lamp-lit street, pack resting upon his back, a grin broke across his face. With any luck, the rest of their journey would be as interesting as the first day.

His aching muscles reminded him of the need for rest and recovery.

Right, he thought. Sleep first, memories second.

He jogged under the light of the town and rising moon to catch up with the young girl who stumbled under the soothing sound of swaying trees.

[Storm Veritas]

Apologies were never of any value to Storm Veritas. His travels in diplomacy lent him to offering plenty of them; and none of them carried more than a silvery song along a puff of air. Taische did appear to be contrite, but still understood none of the far-reaching effects of her actions, as children are wont to do. People ruined themselves in droves to protect the girl, who seemed to stagger through life without concern or thought regarding the welfare of those around her.

Today’s actions would cost Storm dearly. He was likely no closer to squaring up the grievance he held with Karuka, and couldn’t follow Taische and Kryos any further. Worse, he couldn’t stay, as his impulsive actions had led him to kill. The surrounding mob began to grow more bold, although no law enforcement had managed to muster the courage to apprehend him. He’d have to stay ahead. He lifted, cleaned, and sheathed the daggers once more, cognizant that tone likely had the blood of the dead still on it.

“Nothing here for me now, just bars and shackles. Going to move back north, get hidden in the masses.” Storm looked with an openness to Rayse, whom he had grown to trust in an abnormally quick cadence. He wouldn't wait long for a response.

“I’m going to be there soon, if you know the Wagon. They can find me. Maybe more important, that miserable redhead won’t.”

He referred of course to Radasanth as he spoke to Rayse, knowing that he needn’t formally elaborate in front of the tuned ears of strangers. Rayse’s own allusion to the “Whiskey Wagon” made clear there was more work to be performed. The tandem had found a fondness at the bottom of bottles, so the meet point should have come as no surprise. Not one for sentiment, Rayse quickly broke away. The fire mage moved with a smoothness into the crowd. He had broken no laws and wouldn’t be slowed by those that sought to question him. Valentino may have been headed north, but first the electromancer had business in the southern part of town.

Storm walked back towards the stables, feeling eyes slowly tapering closer, approaching him as he separated from the other gifted few. The night had fallen in full force, the moon lighting his walk as the air had grown cold, the discomfort magnified by his wet clothes. It was miserable, being cold, wet, and wanted. His foot had begun to ache more now; with the adrenaline washed from his veins more trivial wounds began to talk in louder voices. The left side of his face was also warm with an increased flow of blood; he ran his fingers over it and felt a new set of dimensions forming.

Yep, that’s going to bruise like a son of a bitch. Stay tall, don’t limp, and look scary. Need to get clear of towns before I hit the city, let the heat die down a bit and heal this pretty face.

He reached the stables and found four townspeople standing by the door. The oil lights suspended over their heads cast light upon furious faces, intent on bringing a form of justice that the police had yet to administer. An axe, a sledgehammer, a pitchfork and machete were held with some finite degree of menace. They had come for blood; bold townsfolk seeking vengeance for the lost life of a stranger. He had been identified, tagged by his horse.

Stopping, Storm slowly raised his outstretched and empty palms, a gesture of peace as the angry few glowered at him. He whispered in the air of the angry farmer, moving with enough deliberation to ensure he wasn't going to seem threatening.

“I am sorry for your friend; I thought the girl’s life was in danger. It was senseless, and tragic, but enough blood has been spilled today.”

The four men at the stable’s door were thoroughly unconvinced, however their metal weapons betrayed them. Turning his palms down, Storm expressed a gentle wave of energy downward, forcing the metal components down as though they had become impossibly heavy in the hands of the corn-fed farmers who had flipped such instruments about as often as a fat man wields a spoon. They were collectively stunned, bending away like long-grown grasses in the wind. As he stepped by, Storm made a point of kneeling by one of the men, pressing a dense leather coin purse into his hand. There were over one hundred gold crowns in there – half a summer’s yield. The magician didn’t say a word; he knew the small stipend wouldn’t return the fallen.

Moments later, the graying mage strode from the stables atop his massive black horse. Attila was ready to run, but was only met with the angry, frustrated glares of men that wouldn’t get their pound of flesh.

I know. I’ve fought enough of these to know that battles are necessary evils, but evils nonetheless. If it makes you feel better, I lost, too. We all did.

The dead quiet of night following a furious day was broken only by echoing clip-clops of hooves upon cobblestones and angry whispers.

THE END