[ooc]Closed to Amari.[/ooc]

No matter how many times I promise myself that I'd never be back, I always find myself here.

So much of who I am is because of the Seventh Sanctum. All the memories of my years spent in the frigid depths of the Skavian Wilds, the skills I acquired, the friendships forged and enemies made. The plagues and lifeforms and potions and poisons I created and experimented with (or on), many of those were tied up with the needs of the Crimson Hand and whoever it sold its services to.

As much as I hate to admit it, my life is tied up with Lichensith Ulroke and his empire of jerks.

I always tell myself that I'll never come back. This is the last time I'm leaving the Sanctum. I'll turn around, wash my hands clean of the master assassin's crumbling dreams, and move on with my life.

It's like they know I'll return someday. They never bother to erase the bits of blood and soul I gave up to their security system for identification purposes.

That, and because my last departure was on relatively good terms, was the only reason I was confronted by a single guard at the gate to the greater compound as opposed to the misshapen beasts that generally keep trespassers out--in one piece or many.

“State your business, Briarheart.” The guard--I could never remember his name--held me at spear's length.

“I'm here to collect some of my research and strike a little deal with Ulroke,” I said matter-of-factly. “Let me through.”

I pinched the sharp, cold steel tip of his weapon and tried to guide it to the side, but the man tensed his arms and the spear refused to budge.

“Ulroke is out,” he grumbled. No surprise there.

“Okay,” I said with a shrug. “I'll just hang around in my lab and clean up a bit before he comes back.”

I took a single step before the guardsman jabbed the edge of his spear into my chest. Not enough to pierce the fabric of my shirt, but enough for me to feel it.

“You will do no such thing.”

My fists involuntarily clenched. Anger simmered in the pit of my stomach. Who did this little tattered-leather-and-rusted-mail-wearing fuck think he is, denying me--me!--entry?

Amber light flashed threateningly from my eyes. “You know who I am.”

“Sure do.”

“You know I can force my way in.”

The guard braced himself, his muscles wound and ready for a fight. “Of course.”

“Or I could just blink past you and pop up in my lab.”

“And yet you haven't already.”

I tilted my head back slightly. “I'd rather not trespass and ruin my chances of walking away with what I need.”

The guard said nothing and simply doubled down on his resolve to keep out the plant lady.

This was really starting to annoy the shit out of me. I should have been packing up my research notes, my laboratory supplies, and a pile of mostly-intact and mostly-dead bodies by now. And here I stood, stonewalled by some greasy shit stain who must have drank a little too much of the fruit punch in the mess hall.

“Let me in,” I tried again between clenched teeth.

The leather of the guard's gloves protested in the chill of the air as he gripped the shaft of his weapon tighter. “With Master Ulroke away, we cannot let anyone enter the Sanctum without clearance from the Right Hand.”

Right Hand. Right. Okay. Aurelianus fucked off ages, so... “And who's that, now?”

“That you have to ask shows that you are no longer one of us,” the little fuckwit sniped, a sneer plastered across his pocked face that I wanted nothing more than to rip off and nail to his taint. “The Right Hand is Scarlet, Briarheart.”

Scarlet? Who the fuck is--

--Oh. Oh.

Red upgraded her name to sound more intimidating, I see.

Last I knew, we were still on good terms. I threw my arms wide. “Then go and get my clearance from her! Tell her I wish to discuss an exchange of materials and knowledge that might prove very useful to her, knowledge that won't be found in my lab!”