Hay fever has been utterly incapacitating me

Will try to get something up soon though  

Just look at it. 

One story, three+ lives interwoven by chance, fortune and misfortune...

And we've put it all together

It really has been a lovely experience, and both of you are amazing 

Mosic returns to Dravnor because he still feels he is needed there. 

Rest of the group shrugs at being down to three. 

"Well, easier to travel just the three of us."

Saina "Ooh! Road trip! Can I go can I go? Pleaaaaase?"

"Where in the seven hells did you come from?!" 

CC is in chase, and black-creature-thing is almost certain to get the attention of Samael in the air too...

Now to see if CC can convince Samael to let her have a bite so she can fly too... (I don't expect that to succeed )

“ Too many strange things have been happening at night this year. Did you hear about the witch they found?” A person remarked. 

Strange things? Night? It's 10:30pm... CC thought to herself, I guess I count as one

“ Stop it all of you”  a middle aged man spoke to the crowd “you are all a bunch of superstitious... GOSSIPERS!”... most of the crowd began to argue up until 

“ There is not such a thing as monsters, ghosts or ---” the man spoke as he was lifted into the air by something big, dark and fast. 

The crowd panicked , yelled, screamed and everyone started to run for cover. 

CC's ears would have twitched if they were cat-like in that moment, and her eyes narrowed as she looked upwards. But the shape was too quick, too sudden - she didn't get a good look.

"Take cover! Go together! Take shelter at station! Don't split up!" CC called out with the voice of one of the louder men, trying to help organize the crowd even as she slipped away from the crowd and into the side street. One jump later, and she was on the roof. She shed her disguise, her ears and tails reappearing as she sniffed the air and scanned the airway, trying to catch sight or scent of whatever it was that had taken the man.

(assuming she can track the creature by some means)

Shifting to have a cat mask, and a short grey cloak, CC took a breath and began chasing after the being. Her tails aided her as she lept from roof to roof, keeping her balance on even precarious jumps. There was no way to be stealthy in a chase like this, so she opted for speed, rushing onward to see what it is she saw - her current prey, as it might be said.

"Why isn't Ocyari in the Lovers or the Maidens?"

*flashback to Kithran convincing Ocyari to steal something from Serah's room*

"Bad decisions were made."

(Going to use [ and ] to denote speaking in Japanese)

[How long was I out?] CC rubbed her head as she looked out over the unfamiliar terrain, [Where... where am I?]

Taking stock of herself, she noted that she had nothing with her from the previous (was it previous? She didn't know) night. Leaning out over the edge of the roof, she looked around, taking glimpses at the passers by on the sidewalk below her. Copying their shapes, she let her ears and tails merge into her body, those non-human features disappearing from sight. She borrowed the curled blonde hair of one woman, the dress of another, and the skin tone of a third. It took far more effort to get her incisors to reduce to the appropriate size for a human mouth, [No, no no no, no biting. Don't need blood. I don't]

The weakness she could feel in her body told her otherwise, but she'd sooner find the prescription she needed than take blood from an innocent person...

If her ears were still showing, they'd quiver as she heard the sound of rapid footsteps from an alley nearby. Someone chasing another someone?

Blood from a not-innocent person... bit of a grey line there. Or at the very least, she reasoned that if she truly needed to, better that than an innocent.

Slinking along the rooftop line, she walked around until she was directly above them. A mugger taking the purse from a woman they had cornered. CC's lips curled back in a snarl, before she dropped down behind them. Landing on her feet, she punched the mugger in the stomach to wind them when they turned around in surprise, before taking the purse back from them and giving it to the woman.

"That way! Go quick! Call police!" CC shooed the woman out of the alley, before looking back to the mugger.

"You're going to pay for that, b*%#" the mugger swore, drawing a switchknife and lunging forward with it.

CC grabbed the extended hand, and went with the momentum, pulling the mugger off his feet, kicking him as she brought her feet up, and sending him into the wall behind her as she followed through with the reverse somersault, once more landing on her feet. Seeing the mugger completely dazed, CC looked around quickly, to make sure no one was looking. With a sigh she took hold of the mugger's arm, pulled back their sleeve, a disgusted look crossing her face before she bit.

It wasn't much beyond a sip, even as she felt as if she needed more. She quickly bandaged the mugger's wound.

If I had a phone, I could call police myself... but I don't have anything. What number even is police here? And where is here? CC wondered.

With no other option, she left the mugger where they were with a sigh. She had told the woman being mugged to call the police anyhow. Hopefully that would do it?

Not the most heroic things she could have done, but without knowing where she was, and with no resources available to her, CC's options were limited. She retreated further into the alley, before she changed her appearance again, borrowing the skin tone and shape of the woman she had hopefully rescued. When she stepped out on to the street, she walked up beside another there, "Hello," She offered with a fang-less smile, "I'm rather lost right now - could you tell me the time, and point me towards the nearest transit stop?"

All Kithran has to do is lie about what they're stealing... or make sure to pick up a cookie for Ocyari after a heist... or something... right?

Ocyari is not too hard to manipulate... maybe she's early practise for Kithran

Yep... that's Ocyari...

Dunno if she's actually a Lover or not but she definitely attracts and often hangs out with them. She is a good source to find and get cookies for snacks after all.

Now that you mention it... I haven't a clue. Talk of languages hadn't come up at all when I originally made CC

Let's see... Japanese is a certainty. Chinese is probably far less familiar - can get a vague understanding of it when it's spoken, can't speak it herself. Relatively fluent with English.

434 E.R. Calestra, Coria, Market Streets

It had been while running with the Lovers in Calestra that Kithran had met the girl called Ocyari. A half-syl, like herself, with braided locks of brown hair that danced behind her as she ran, and playful grass green eyes always on the move, looking for things to steal. Preferably cookies; Ocyari had an incredible sweet tooth. When she joined Kithran and the other Lovers in their adventures, she always suggested a route that took them near one of the many bakeries in Calastra.

And today, Ocyari stumbled head first into the cart outside one of the bakeries.

“Owww” she toppled over, parcels spilling out of her hand as she landed unceremoniously on the ground beside the cart.

As passersby started to gather around her, Ocyari made a show of crying, the little girl staggering to her feet and pushing herself away through the crowd that had begun to gather. Quite a spectacle.

And a spectacle was what Ocyari was trying to be, as a distraction. No way to look to be certain if Kithran had taken the opportunity to snag them some pastries. Don’t give her away by looking for her, Ocyari knew, and so she ran away, down a side street, doubling around and about. Lose those eyes that are on me. After a few moments, she made her way towards their meeting spot, slinking skillfully from alley to alley until she hopped up along some stacked crates.

“Knock, knock,” Ocyari whispered, tapping her knuckles on one of the larger crates, “Do we have..." She paused a moment, letting the sound fade before she finally finished, "the cookies?”

“Mebbe,” the half-Syl replied, her mouth full, and the front of her new yellow dress cascading with crumbs from the cookies filling her skirts. She watched from where she sat cross-legged as the other half-Sylvari girl bounded from behind one of the crates. Kithran swallowed her prize, then leaned protectively over the treats in her lap, “Oh, did you want some of these?” she grinned up at Ocyari, “I may be able to part with one or two, for a price.”

Ocyari's eyes widened, and it looked as if she really might cry, "But I let you handle all of them," she protested, "And I simply can't survive without cookies," she reached forward, and dramatically fell flat on the ground in front of Kithran.

Kithran continued chewing, watching amusedly as the other half-Syl’s back slowly rose and fell with each of her small breaths. Finally, she unfurled a leg and tapped her friend on the shoulder with her foot.

“Alright, come back from the dead!” She tossed a cookie at Ocyari’s head, “I don’t usually accept anything less than two lives for cookie payment, but I will make an exception this one time.” Kithran held her yellow skirt out like a platter, “If you don’t come back to life, I'll have to eat these at your funeral. Also, that cookie on your head is about to fall off!”

Ocyari stirred once more, one hand deftly catching the cookie that was falling off from the top of her head as she looked upward at Kithran. Her eyes glimmered with mischief, and she had a small, innocent, smile around the cookie she was nibbling. She sat up and shifted beside Kithran, giving a playful smirk as she revealed the additional cookies she had snatched from the youngest Lover, hidden in her left sleeve. 

“Can’t keep cookies from me,” Ocyari smirked, curling up to also get comfortable and savouring the taste of her ill-gotten gains, "Also you miiight want to stitch up that hole in your skirt pocket. Just saying. You've left that as is for weeks."

Kithran narrowed her eyes, “I bet I could,” she grumbled and shoved another cookie into her mouth. She picked up another from her skirts and tossed it like a frisbee at her friend, who caught it easily, her fingers drawn to the treat like a magnet.

“We’re a good team,” Kithran grinned, “I bet we could steal all kinds of things if we wanted to!” And her eyes drifted off with her thoughts, thinking of how much easier it would be to get her hands on some of the glittering trinkets she had had her eyes on with a partner like Ocyari.

Ocyari's eyes widened, and she looked back to Kithran, a look on her face as if she had the best idea ever, "Are you thinking… we could steal… tarts!" Ocyari's sweet tooth struck again… 

“Ah….”

Seeing the disbelief on Kithran's face, Ocyari tilted her head, "What? Tarts are expensive and they are like…" she held out her hands as if measuring, squinting at the space between them, "bigger cookies."

"Or was there something you had eyes on?" Ocyari asked, "You seem to like shiny things, like this," Ocyari held up the red jewelled pin she had swiped off of Kithran in the moment when Kithran was distracted by disbelief. 

“Hey! Give that back!” Kithran lunged for the pin Tara had given her, all of the cookies in her lap spilling out from her dress.

"Ahhh!" Ocyari dove forward as Kithran did, her eyes widening as she saw the cookies falling. She slipped one leg from beneath herself in order to land on the ground first, catching at least some of the cookies on top of her dress, even if the majority did fall on the ground. She still held up Kithran's pin in her left hand, letting Kithran take it back as she pouted, "The cookies…"

Kithran rubbed the jeweled stars with the hem of her dress, making sure the cookie thief hadn’t smudged her gift, “We can find you more cookies, Ocyari, there’s always more cookies.” She put the trinket in her pocket, out of the sight of her friend, and hopefully out of mind.

The trick effectively worked on her as well, as the sight of the other young half-Syl stuffing her face full of cookies made her giggle, “Will you have room for a tart?”

Ocyari smirked as she looked up at Kithran, “I thought you knew by now - I always have room, Kithran.”

Bittersweet was really hard to write... oof

It was well past midnight. Davnor was behind them, and the group had made camp sheltered off the road for safety. As the four began to settle and relax, Aranwen took her own leave first. Still unsteady on her feet, she curled up in her bedroll, but it was no use; she tossed and turned, unable to relax. 

You should rest; I can feel how exhausted you are.

I can't. I just don't understand how this can be. How is this possible, why did this happen, how do we explain-

Shh, Ara, relax. Just let your mind still. Don't worry about tomorrow. Everything will be okay.

I can't help it. I put it out of my mind in Adedre's keep, but this-

Here… let me help you relax… 

… It’s been… A long time… 

… Yes… it has… 

It was later, just when Mosic was about to sleep, when Aranwen approached him and laid a hand on his shoulder, "Mosic?" 

"Lady Galandel? Aren't you tired? You should be resting, especially after that battle, and… Well," Mosic averted his gaze and coughed, "You should be resting," he repeated. 

"She fell asleep," Aranwen's voice replied, soft and soothing, "I'm just here to ask a request."

Mosic blinked, shifting upright to get a better look at Aranwen. Though her eyes were open, they were unfocused and distant. He frowned, "What is going on, then?" 

Aranwen shook her head, "I don’t know, and I haven't the knowledge to explain it. But please, when you have rested, and after your morning prayer, you must dispel any magical effect on us." 

"This is Morgana's doing then?" Mosic's eyes widened. 

Aranwen nodded, "Yes. You must break any lingering magic on us. Ara, that is, Aranwen… she will object, but I will hold her still so you can do so. Please, will you do this for us?" 

Mosic frowned. If the request asked anything else of him, he might have had more questions. But he was tired, he knew Aranwen had to be likewise tired, and the request seemed harmless enough. The Cidal nodded, "Yes, I will."

"Thank you, from both of us," Aranwen smiled, "Rest well," she offered. 

As she moved back to where she had set her bed roll, she paused a moment as she walked by Kithran. The way the half-Syl's brow furrowed in her sleep, and the way she quivered, Aranwen could only guess that her dreams may be haunted. Aranwen knelt beside Kithran, careful not to touch, and closed her eyes as she began to hum. A gentle melody, simple but soothing. It was a lullaby she had heard and hummed many times before. Aranwen smiled as she saw Kithran's face relax, and she stood up to move on. 

She paused by the large form of Ch'dau, unsurprised to find that he was already set to take the first watch of the night. Aranwen swallowed nervously, remembering how his eyes looked inquisitively at her and, carefully, she attempted to walk past. Then she heard his voice. 

"Who are you?" Ch'dau's voice rumbled, quiet in the night. 

Aranwen froze, taking an unsteady breath, "How could you tell?" Aranwen's voice returned. 

"Your footsteps are different, and the way you move, the way you speak, even the expressions on your face, they are different than Aranwen’s," Ch'dau replied, his voice gentle as he looked towards the Sylvari, "Now answer, rrow’ka."

Aranwen sighed, "You wouldn't believe me if I told you, Ch’dau,” She replied, holding a hand to her chest, “I know you have no reason to trust me, nor would I ask it, but please, be assured that things will be back to normal tomorrow morning. Mosic and I will see to that."

Ch’dau gave a soft chuff, “I do have reason to trust you; you fought by our side through our last battle, didn’t you?” he asked.

Aranwen’s eyes widened, and she looked back towards Ch’dau with uncertainty in her violet-tinted eyes, “You… truly saw me?” Like a child caught in a lie, the Syl faltered in her step, before finally she sighed and walked over to sit beside Ch’dau, looking upwards towards the starry sky, “If you really want to know… my name is Saeriel.”

“Hm,” the kazari rumbled, his eyes ticking to the body of the woman beside him, briefly wondering where her mind was, before following her gaze to the stars, “You were her wife, yes?”

The Sylvari’s golden eyes flicked in his direction, a bit of violet glimmering in the clouds of gold as she did, and offered a simple nod.

Ch’dau nodded in response, sighing softly as he rested his elbows on his knees and, again, turned his own gaze skyward. “She mourns you, still,” he offered quietly, “loves you, still. Does she know you are with her, now?”

"She does, and I've missed her so deeply, as well. That's why it's so hard to do what I must. This… It simply can't last," A sigh came from Aranwen, "You saw us after the battle, the fatigue and clumsiness. After that battle… we are even more entangled. We stumble over each other with how we must move as one, when we are used to moving as two. Even beyond that, it is still Morgana's magic…"

The Silver Cat nodded, again. “I do not understand the ways of magic,” he quietly confessed, “nor, after what I have seen of it, lately, do I think that I want to. I do know, though, rrow’ka, that whatever magic brought you to us… to Aranwen… turned in our favor whatever its intent.” He turned to look at her, again, and, almost tentatively, reached out a paw to rest on her shoulder. “Should we not speak again, Saeriel, know that I am honored to have met you, today, and, when you have gone, I will care for Aranwen as you have until I am called to the Hunt.” 

Aranwen leaned back with the paw, until she was leaning against Ch’dau’s warm fur, her head resting at his side, “Thank you, Ch’dau. That means… more to me than I can express. Ara is at her best when she has someone beside her…”

The next morning, Aranwen looked even more disoriented than she had looked the previous evening, after Kithran had struck Morgana. Her right eye was golden, and her left violet. She pushed herself upright with her right arm, even as her left combed the unruly hair from her face.

Morning… forest… no road… where are we? South West of Dravnor, remember? Trying to; it's hard to think. One body was never meant for two. I don't care, Sae. We can make this work, somehow. It won't work. It will. Ara… It has to… 

Aranwen staggered over to the firepit, collapsing onto the ground nearby. Her movements were awkward, as if her right side and her left were not moving in complete unison. She ate slowly, measuring each bite carefully.

We can’t keep going like this, Ara. We were fine while we sang together. That’s… You know I’m right, Sae. We could make it work. We just have to learn. Ara… 

Before long, Mosic approached the assembled trio, and laid a hand on Aranwen's shoulder. As she looked over curiously, he nodded to her, "I will do as you asked, now," he spoke. 

"Mosic, what are you doing? Go ahead, Mosic. Wait, what is he-" 

Aranwen's left hand lifted to her cheek as Mosic began to pray. 

Relax. What is going on? The right thing. Wait, no! You mean-?! This is Morgana's work. Her magic is dangerous. You know that. I do know that! But still-! It wouldn't work. It can! Look at yourself, Ara, you know what state you're in. You have to let go. But-! I don’t… I don’t want to be alone… Look around you… you aren’t alone. Let more people into your life. Let them kindle the fire in your heart. Live. For me.

Aranwen lifted her right hand to meet her left, her golden eyes beginning to mist over with tears. 

I love you. 

As the spell completed, Aranwen's left hand fell away, limp for a moment before she closed and opened her fingers, as if re-adjusting to them. Her mind, which had been overwhelmed by two thoughts at once since the previous night, felt quiet and lonely. 

"We could have made it work," Aranwen whispered, burying her face in her hands.

"That was weird. Care to explain yourself?" Kithran asked, staring pointedly at the bladesinger. 

"There were two in her mind, just as she had wielded two blades last night," Ch'dau's voice rumbled, his ears flattening, "But who the other was…"

Kithran’s gaze wandered for moment, remembering the change in Aranwen’s song the night before, “Is that who you were singing with?”

Aranwen blinked, “Was it… that obvious?” She asked sheepishly, fidgeting with her right hand clasped around her left wrist. She took a deep breath, doing her utmost to regain her composure.

“I am a Corian,” Kithran pointed out, “Song is in our culture, and yours was like a duet that was missing the other singer. It started after we were separated, and it was kind of becoming distracting...” 

“Tempted you to jump in?” Aranwen asked with a weak chuckle, before shaking her head, “Yes… when you broke me out of that trance Morgana had me in, I wasn’t completely myself,” She explained, “My thoughts were crowded, and I could hear another voice in my head. At the time, all I thought to do was to push it aside. I could only assume it was some manner of trickery and witchcraft. But that voice… it was Saeriel’s voice. She pleaded to prove that it was really her, so I asked her to sing with me, as we used to,”

Aranwen’s golden eyes grew distant as she sighed, her voice nearly cracking as she pushed herself to continue, “In the past… When we were together, our individual bladesongs wove into a duet. Through it, we lent strength to each other in spirit as well as our steel. And when we sang, again, even if none of you could hear her…” Aranwen held her left hand to her chest, “I stopped caring if it was an illusion or a trick.”

“She helped you when you rushed to my defense, did she not?” Ch’dau pointed out, “And I know I spoke with her. I do not know magic, but it seemed far too real to be a mere trick.”

Mosic nodded towards Ch’dau, "I did as well; she was the one who asked me to break the spell. I don't think Morgana would have done either of these things, nor allow some illusion of hers do so. I can't claim to know what witchcraft she did, but based on that alone… I, too, think it was real."

“Yes, but if-” Kith stopped herself, seeing the bladesinger struggling to keep herself together. She couldn’t help but wonder though at the strength of the decades, possibly centuries of memories Aranwen had of her wife. If Morgana could twist those thoughts and memories into doing her bidding... just more ghosts.

Aranwen trembled as she held her face in her hands once more, tears flowing freely from her eyes, “We could have made it work, surely? Why did she do that?”

Mosic shook his head, “I do not know, but the strain upon your body was clearly visible. You were more fatigued and clumsy than any of us after the battle…”

"Just remember this, no matter what witchcraft she possesses, Morgana surely cannot revive the dead.”

"The thread's been cut," the human woman observed, her head tilting as her gaze lingered on the dancing felt doll of Saeriel's likeness.

Morgana nodded, "I didn't expect it would stay for so long. Long enough to widen the holes in her psyche that the needle made in passing."

"Then last night wasn't so terrible, now was it?" Spiderlily asked, wrapping her arms around Morgana's sides. 

Morgana smiled, looking back towards Spiderlily, "I suppose not. And now…" 

"Now, we need only wait…" 

Beside Spiderlily, the red haired Sylvari lay in bed, her violet eyes slowly opening. Though she said nothing, she could not stop the tears that welled in her eyes. 

Morgana approached, reaching up with a cloth to dry Saeriel’s tears, “Do not worry,” She spoke softly, “She will come. And then…”

“... You can be together, forever.”

You know how tempted I am for young Tara to meet a Saina?

If it wasn't interrupted, that would have been very bad... 

Morgana was weaving several spells together in that moment, part of why she didn't bring much magic to bear later on. 

• Modify Memory (hence Aranwen not remembering anything that just happened) 


• Charm (stopping Aranwen from attacking) 


• Sending (conduit for Saeriel as Morgana's proof of her wellbeing to Aranwen) 


• Bestow Curse (targeting Aranwen's wisdom with the intent to leave her vulnerable to her spells later) 


• Suggestion (???) 

When they were disrupted, Aranwen and Saeriel latched on to Sending, the spell that was connecting them. The others were abruptly broken, and the residual magic energy went into the 'thread' of Sending, which magnified and altered its effects to what I listed above

It wasn't even the intent of the original enchantment, either. This effect only happened as a side effect of Kithran breaking Morgana's concentration, but the spell continuing to be effectively held by the affected, changing its effects in a way that wasn't supposed to happen. 

It's probably clear now, but in summary

• Initially, Aranwen was rejecting the connection on assumption that it was a trick of some sort. At this point, Saeriel had minimal control of Aranwen's left hand


• As Aranwen came to accept the connection with Saeriel's song being the main thing to change her mind, Saeriel could take more control of Aranwen's left arm, and Aranwen allowed it, encouraged it even


• In that moment when Saeriel borrowed Ch'dau's falcata to aid in the fight, she and Aranwen moved in unison, joined by blade and song


• Afterwards, Saeriel could not relinquish the control she had gained over the left side of Aranwen's body. She had become too embedded, so to speak

Hope that makes sense  

In Adedre's den... 

Aranwen winced from the volley of bone shards that were hurled against them. Once again, she found her left arm raised, having pulled her closer to cover to avoid the worst of the impact. She smiled appreciatively, and began to sing as she rushed forward to help Ch'dau engage the front line of Adedre’s guard. 

Ara? Yes, Sae? Why is it that I can sing? I thought my blade was broken. Maybe you're sharing mine. Either way, I don't care. I've missed this so much... Me too...

And yet, as they advanced, she saw Ch'dau suddenly stop in his movement. 

Ara, something's wrong. Morgana? No, Adedre's spell... She has Ch'dau! Adaron take these damned creatures!

Aranwen rushed forward, stepping beside Ch'dau. 

Ara, wait! Huh? Give me a moment. 

Aranwen's eyes widened as she felt her left hand go for the sheathed falcata, and heard her voice, "Sorry, I need to borrow this!"

Together? Together

In spite of the danger they were all in, the battle that could turn at any step taken by Haren'selkia in her dance, it faded away for Aranwen and Saeriel. In that moment, they shared the same dance, the same song in duet, and once again they swung their blades together. This was good. They could defend Ch'dau until he could move again.

And then they heard her. Aranwen turned to look, and her breath caught as she saw the creature bearing down on Kithran. 

That is...! 

Bliss gave away to fear, and the blades trembled in both her hands. Ch'dau was the first to act, his roar bolstering Aranwen even as he moved to intercept the mannequin. She stood ready, and as she saw the mannequin fall before her, she didn't hesitate, bringing both blades to bear as she tried to land any impactful strike against the magical construct.

Is there a second one? I hope not but keep looking, just in case. We won't let you win.

Blades met claws, and Aranwen grit her teeth in frustration and pain as, just as before, Morgana wielded her mannequin with deadly precision, slashing through her defenses.

In her periphery she saw Ch'dau go after Adedre, nodding to herself. Without her employer, Morgana would surely cease her efforts. Indeed, once Morgana turned the mannequin's head to look, it stopped moving entirely. Aranwen's hands steadier in her relief, and she moved on to return the borrowed blade.

Ara, do you think he saw me? I don't know... 

As the others moved to the hidden passage, Aranwen turned to look at the puppet burning. She could only look on with satisfaction. 

If only it hurt Morgana too. It does, in a way. She gets very disappointed when she loses a doll. They are far more involved in their creation than mere skeletons or zombies. How do you know that, Sae?  ... 

Aranwen blinked, repeating the question in thought, to no answer. Just a feeling of melancholy. Shrugging her right shoulder, Aranwen went to move, and stumbled into the stairwell wall. Her eyes widened with shock and fear. 

Sae!

What's wrong, Ara? 

I can't feel my left side

I... I can... oh no...

As the two women traversed the back streets of Calestra, Serena was not without many, many questions. She was very patient with Aranwen's responses, slow as they were by her careful recollection. 

"From the sounds of it, she certainly seemed even more sticky-fingered than when she was with the Maidens," Sara mused, "Even stole from the cleric we were trying to have help us, one time," she chuckled. 

"That does sound like her," Serena smiled, "I am glad. With how quickly she departed…" 

Sara paused a moment, "She kept her heart steeled for quite some time. But, gradually, she began to open to us," a light smile flickered along Sara's lips, "She seemed to feel safe," and then she sighed, "Would that I truly kept her safe."

Serena reached over to poke Sara in the side, "Enough of that, now. You know Kithran. She has often acted with no thought to safety. That is not your fault."

Sara sighed, and nodded, "Thank you," she paused once more, this time her eyes lingering on the stalls and other features of the street they were coming upon, "I can find my way from here," she turned to Serena with a warm smile, "Thank you for accompanying me." 

Serena frowned, "Will you truly be okay from here? You're unarmed, aren't you?" 

Sara nodded, "Yes," she admitted, "But, if it really comes down to it, there is one thing all bladesingers are taught for this eventuality. The bladeless stance."

Serena tilted her head, "Show me," she asked Aranwen, "I want to be certain before I let you go on alone."

“Have you a blade?” Sara asked, “The purpose of the bladeless stance is singular - to take a blade by force when unarmed.”

Serena raised a brow, but nodded. The two women returned back into the side street, where Serena drew a short sword from its hiding place within her robes. Sara set aside the robe she had borrowed, and returned to the centre of the path. As she did so, Sara widened her stance, holding her hands outward and ready. Serena swung slowly, so as not to actually harm Sara, but she need not have worried; Sara stepped aside the swing, before immediately pressing in to close her hands around Serena’s on the blade’s hilt. A firm twist and unarmed strike at Serena’s wrists, and the blade exchanged hands, with Sara moving back and holding the blade at the ready. The tip wavered as her hand still trembled, but it was still nowhere near as bad as her hands had been.

Serena blinked with surprise, “That was fast,” She commented, before smiling at Sara with a curious gaze, “Would you sing with any blade you take? Such as my blade?” She asked.

Sara frowned a bit, “I’m not sure,” She replied, “I haven’t sung since…”

“All the more reason for you to try,” Serena pressed, drawing a second blade, “If you are able to defend yourself, I would see it.”

Serena brought her blade forward, once again moving slower than she normally would, and Sara took a breath, parrying the blow. The notes she began to vocalize were off-key, faltering and unsteady, in the beginning. Hearing this, Serena pushed Sara a bit faster. As she was made to focus more on parrying each of Serena’s practise blows with her own, as well as returning them, Sara’s voice strengthened. Though it was far from the bladesong she used to wield, it was a song. 

“That doesn’t sound quite right,” Serena observed, sheathing her blade, “But at the very least, you are still capable with a blade, when you’re focused.”

Sara nodded, offering Serena a smile, “Thank you for this, Serena,” She returned Serena’s blade to her. She was about to speak more, but another woman’s voice broke the air.

“Found you!” 

Serena immediately moved her hand to one of her hidden blades, but Sara held one hand over hers to stay it, "She is someone I mentored at Megilindor Nost some time ago. Let me talk to her, first."

Sara approached until she was several paces from her once-pupil, "So you have, Nioniel. What do you intend to do, then?" she asked. At her side, her hands quivered, but she held her calm. 

The other bladesinger fell silent a moment, "I am not sure," Nioniel answered, "By rights I should bring you in, but you walk with no weapon, and your song… It did not seem anything like the twisted and lawless song that we are told oathbreakers use. Yours was… broken, yes, but there was more to it."

Serena scowled, "If her oaths are broken, it is by no fault of her own. Even if she feels otherwise."

Nioniel nodded, "That is… what I had hoped," she admitted, drawing a wooden curved blade from underneath her cloak, "I couldn't bear the thought that the mentor who bequeathed me her blade had turned oathbreaker."

Sara blinked, "It wasn't a real ceremony, nor a real blade," she began. 

Nioniel smiled, "I know, but it meant a lot to me," the smile faded from her lips as she sheathed the wooden blade, and instead drew a steel one, pointing it towards Sara. 

Serena stepped forward, but once again, Sara held out her hand to give her pause, "You aren't going to kill me. Not like this, with me unarmed and clearly not a threat to you or the order," Sara pointed out. 

"You are an oathbreaker," Nioniel repeated, "Do you think I won't? I will take trial of you, Aranwen." 

Nioniel’s swing was far faster than Serena’s had been, and Sara recoiled away, barely avoiding the deadly arc of the blade. Sara took several paces back, even as Serena advanced, sword drawn as advanced on Nioniel. The bladesinger smirked, “This does not concern the followers of Haren’selkia,” she pointed her blade at Serena, “You would defend a deserter and oathbreaker?” She asked.

“I am defending an unarmed woman who has yet to heal,” Serena spat in return, “I would hope you’d have done the same, if you didn’t label her so.”

Nioniel smirked, and from her lips began to sing. As she fought Serena, blade clashing against blade, it became readily apparent that neither were seeking a lethal blow - that would not serve either side. It was a battle of stamina and endurance, both of which both women had in abundance. But as Nioniel led Serena about with her footwork, she suddenly turned to rush at Sara, her blade coming down...

Sara evaded the strike even as she rushed in to grab the hilt, twisting the blade from Nioniel’s grasp just as she had done with Serena earlier, before stepping back. The blade was unsteady in her hands, but she held it ready in front of her, her breathing quick and measured. She didn’t even notice Ch’dau entering the side alley, having followed the sound of battle and bladesong.

The kazari’s eyes narrowed as they fell upon three figures in the alleyways shadows, only one of them the familiar shape of his wife. Another, clad in scarlet and seemingly standing in defense of Sara, was recognizable only by description that he managed to pull from memories of Kithran’s tales. He couldn’t put a name to her, just yet, but she seemed to have the bearing of one of his kibibi’s Laughing Maidens. It was the third figure that gave Ch’dau cause for concern; a younger Sylvari clad in some facsimile of what he had come to recognize as the prefered armor of bladesingers. She stood face to face with Sara who, surprisingly enough, held their blade in hand.

“Huj’mbo,” Ch’dau barked, a paw disappearing beneath his cloak to find the hilt of his own sword as he stalked closer to the three women, “What happens here?”

Nioniel's attention turned to the Kazari, her eyes widening at seeing his approach, “That's what I'd like to know," she turned her viridian gaze towards Sara, "What will you do now, then?” Nioniel asked, looking directly into Sara’s golden eyes.

Sara looked towards Ch'dau, relief coming to her eyes, before took a deep breath, “I am not your enemy, Nioniel,” she told her former-pupil as she lowered the blade, “Even if my resolve and my oaths were broken, I will make it right, somehow. Or die trying.”

She reversed the grip on the stolen blade, and offered it to Nioniel, “I do not act against the order. But I need time. I’m still not yet in any state to truly fight. Would you still come after me, knowing this?”

Nioniel gave a deep sigh, her shoulders relaxing as she smiled, “There’s the mentor who I looked up to,” She took her blade back, and returned it to its sheath, “I was worried we had lost you, Aranwen. I know what I will report to the blademaster, now.”

"What will you say?" 

"You haven't given up, nor lost your way," Nioniel replied simply, reaching beneath her cloak to unfasten the sheath with the wooden blade, before offering it to Sara, "Here, I think you need this more than me right now."

Sara accepted the practice blade, before leaning back against Ch'dau, sighing in relief before she looked up into his eyes, "M'une, this is Nioniel. She was very dedicated to finding me, but, I think, we need no longer fear discovery from the other bladesingers." 

Ch’dau’s hand came away from the hilt of his blade and his arm wrapped, instead, around Sara, holding her closer as his gaze fixed on Nionel. “I did not fear them before now, m’penzi,” the kazari chuffed softly, eyeing Aranwen’s former pupil, “but it is good to know this one has seen the truth of things.”

He nodded curtly to the other bladesinger then, and rumbled; “Well met, m’wan’ake. And thank you.”

Nioniel looked up towards Ch'dau, taking a breath, "I am thankful I didn't have to fight through you," she murmured, before offering a nod and a wave, "Take care."

“As am I,” Ch’dau returned, tipping his head in guarded respect to the young Sylvari, “May your feet find you home.”

Sara trembled slightly in Ch'dau's arms, "This has been quite a day," she sighed, before pausing, her eyes looking to where she could see red amongst the silver fur, lifting her left hand towards the visible wound, though not touching, "Looks like the same for you; what happened, m'une?" 

The kazari let loose a purring sigh, his other arm moving, now, to embrace his wife along with the first. “It is nothing, m’ke,” he assured her, “a misunderstanding with some v’tun’gu Vidarak too stupid to know friend from foe. It has been dealt with.” His head dipped down, then, and, still purring softly, he pressed his lips to her head before his forehead followed; “You are alright, yes?”

Sara tilted her head inquisitively, at first, before she leaned back against Ch'dau, giving a nod, "Better than when I began the day, even," she smiled, "My hands still shake, but… I did hold steel in hand, finally."

“N’zuri,” Ch’dau rumbled, the purring in his chest increasing in volume at her smile and her statement, “This is good, melamin. I am glad for you, though I never doubted steel would find your hand again.” Almost reluctantly, the Kazari’s eyes let go of his wife, then, and turned to the crimson cloaked woman who still stood with them in the alley; “Who is this one?”

"This one is Serena," the maiden replied, stowing her blade, "And you must be Ch'dau? Randel mentioned Kithran had been traveling with both a bladesinger and a…" her voice became deeper and more jaunty, replicating Randel's ever-present enthusiasm, "giant tiger-like cat man Kazari warrior." She held out her hand to him, "I'm glad to know he hasn't gone entirely mad yet."

Ch’dau’s eyes widened a bit when the Maiden introduced herself and something of a smile flitted across his features as his massive paw closed over the tiny proffered hand. “Serena,” he purred, softly, “I have heard your name in many of the Little Kitten’s tales. It is good to finally put a face to the name. N’ku’ona.” 

The wan light of the city gleamed back from his eyes as they danced between the Maiden and the Bladesinger and his smile widened a bit, ears flicking faintly against the fabric of the hood that covered his head. “Had I known your plan was to visit the Long Gamble, m’penzi,” he said, arms folding back around Sara, “I might have been inclined to let Garion and Evin drink alone, hm?”

"It was not exactly a planned visit," Sara chuckled with a shake of her head, "I was being pursued by Nioniel, and decided to try losing her by entering Haren'selkia's temple," she explained, "By chance, or fortune, there I met Serena, and their Serah. It was with their Serah's aid that I found that I could hold steel again," she looked back towards Serena with gratitude in her golden eyes. 

Ch’dau’s eyes followed suit and he nodded his appreciation to the Maiden called Serena...

“The Long Gamble will welcome you If you’re ever feeling lucky, or are ever in need of some,” Serena offered, wandering back to where Sara had dropped Esme’s cloak, “I should return this before our mage lights my room on fire again.” She nodded to them both, “I hope to see you two again soon, and be sure to send word of any sign of the little peach. We will do the same for you. Good night.” And the maiden turned to begin her journey back home.

…”We will do just that,” the kazari replied from behind a gentle grin, “Though it seems your luck has found us without our seeking it. Be well, Serena.”

While trapped within himself, forced to stare at Adedre while the battle raged around him, Ch’dau felt as if he were reliving each moment he’d seen the witch’s face over the past weeks and, even though there were no bars or guards between her and him, now, he felt no less trapped and no less angry about it. The desire to take his vengeance on her burned like a fire within him but, still, locked in his own body, he could do nothing to quench it. Instead, all he could do was watch the twisted glee play on her features and listen as his friends fought on around him. In that strained stillness, though, he heard things he might not have had he still been able to move…

Aranwen’s song, he noted first, was different than he had heard it before; as if it were being sung by two voices rather than one. While, to his ears, it was still a beautiful sound, there was something wrong about it. Something not quite natural.

Next, he heard more from Mosic than just the little cleric’s chanted prayers to his god. While those still filtered through the sounds of the fight, so, too did the Cid’s grunts and growls of effort as he laid about with his mace and the shouts and groans of those whom were felled by it.

Finally, he heard Kithran’s voice, quick-tongued and snarky as usual but, interestingly enough, also hard and commanding, at times. She barked orders and warnings as she leapt about the room, fighting as fiercely as any warrior he’d ever known despite her professed vocation as a thief.

…Then, at last, he was free! The damnable paralysis melted from his bones and he roared out every bit of rage that had been welling in him since he had been struck still. It seemed as if the witch and her masked acolyte recoiled at the sound…

As well they should! They are about to breathe their last! He thought, set to pounce on the both of them.

…but, then, he heard another sound; a voice unlike any of the others, yet, still unsettlingly familiar.

Well, dear Kithran? Morgana’s voice slithered silkily through the cacophony of the fray; What will it be?

At the sound of the puppet-witch’s disembodied speech, Ch’dau forgot Adedre for the moment… I thought she wanted Aranwen. Why does she taunt… and turned to see another mannequin, much like the one they had confronted at the apothecary, with the thief pinned beneath it; it’s steel clawed fingers raised to deliver a devastating blow to the scrappy half-syl. “Kithran!” The kazari roared, turning his back on Adedre, now, to leap across the room.

“Them,” Kithran grinned from beneath the puppet as Ch’dau landed heavily behind it, catching the wooden wrist in the vice-like grip of his paw.

“Off of her, creature!” the cat-man snarled, wrenching the mannequin’s arm behind it while driving his falcata through it’s timberous torso. A grunt of effort followed and, even as the puppet-monster laughed, Ch’dau hoisted the thing off of his friend and, spinning around, hurled the thing further into the room.

The bladesinger seemed to have been prepared for Ch’dau to have done exactly that. Even before the thing could right itself, Aranwen was there, her elven blade in one hand and his spare falcata in the other; a whirlwind of steel and song ahead of her as she set upon the puppet that still, yet, struggled to its feet.

 “Aranwen,” he called as the chittering construct clattered against the floor, “how do we destroy this thing?”

Aranwen shook her head, fear visible in her golden eyes as both her hands trembled between strikes, "We don't know!" she called back, "We couldn't find victory against the last one like this."

Nor should you expect to find victory here, my dears, Morgana spoke as the puppet twitched upright, as if hauled up by a puppeteer's hands, You lost to me once already. You will lose again; it's just a matter of time…  

As Aranwen engaged the mystic marionette, both blades used to attack and defend against the monster's claws, Ch’dau reached out a paw to haul Kithran to her feet. It was then, beyond where the Syl woman’s skilled strikes rained down on the thing, that Ch’dau noticed a bleeding Adedre struggling to her feet and flames licking at the floor around her. The masked girl was nowhere to be seen but a bookcase near where he’d last seen her stood curiously askew and the witch, too, seemed to be trying to drag herself toward it…

“Uj’nga,” Ch’dau spat, in response to both Ara’s answer and the witch’s attempt to flee. He glanced at Kithran, then, turned his eyes back to where Aranwen still held the puppet at bay, and, finally, growled in fury and frustration at the choices he was left with.

The snarl still on his lips, the kazari stormed across the room. “Kibibi, Mosic,” he growled, “To Aranwen!” As his feet pounded across the floor, he found an opening as he came within feet of where the bladesinger slashed away at Morgana’s puppet and, seeing no better option, drew back his arm and, in mid-stride, hurled his remaining falcata at the marionette but continued on toward where the necromancer clawed her way toward the bookcase, not bothering to see if his thrown blade had landed true.

When he reached Adedre, she gawked up at him, her eyes disbelieving and defiant all at once. “You do not get to walk away this time, bitch,” he growled, his foot coming down on her back, “where is your god, now?”

The witch’s mouth opened as if to speak or, perhaps, call another spell into the air, but the only thing to pass her blood-blacked lips was a pathetic squeal as the claws in the kazari’s foot extended and dug into the flesh and bone of her back. Then there was an agonized scream as the cat-beast reached down, took hold of her bleeding leg by the cold flesh of it’s ankle, and with a savage growl, Ch’dau ripped the leg from her body.

“You do not get to walk away from anything,” the kazari roared, kicking the shrieking witch over onto her back as he brought her dismembered leg above his head, “ever again!” 

Before another sound could escape her, the cat-man she had hoped to sacrifice to her god in exchange for power brought her own leg smashing down into her face. If the beast said anything else, it was all in his own snarling tongue and, even had it been otherwise, the words would have been lost to her as, over and over, the fetid meat and bone of the Ungoulid appendage hammered into her skull. Soon enough, Adedre’s head came apart under the impact of the blows just as the stolen leg was left in tatters from the force of it. 

Another feral roar escaped the Silver Cat as he tossed the improvised weapon aside and reached down to snatch up the mangled remains of what had been Adedre Undolithe. Fury still burning in his feline eyes, he turned his gaze, next, on Morgana’s minion and his mouth split wide to fully display his teeth as he carried the broken witch’s carcass toward it. 

The puppet’s head swivelled at an unnatural angle to see Ch’dau’s fury bear down upon the witch, her employer, and it stopped moving for a moment. It made no reaction to the steel striking ineffectually against its body. Chips in the wood revealed glowing, deep burgundy threads that seemed to pulse as if with a heartbeat, and a long, drawn out sigh was heard as Morgana’s tone all at once shifted from taunting to exasperation.

How inconvenient, she spoke, her voice betraying her irritation.

Whatever else she might have said was drowned out by the roar Ch’dau gave to her, his muscles tensing as he hefted the corpse he held at the mannequin with all his strength. The puppet-monster flew through the air from the force of impact, as if batted out of a fragile web that kept it upright, and it fell into the flames that had been started by Adedre’s fall.

A snort of what might have been satisfaction escaped Ch’dau just then, but it was quickly followed by an expectant series of chuffing noises as the raging kazari paced, his eyes darting back and forth, seeking out anything else he might kill, a low, steady growl rumbling beneath it all. His ears remained pinned flat and his tail lashed angrily at the air behind him...

Aranwen panted with fatigue, both her arms weary and bleeding from the assault she weathered in facing the monster from her past. Her golden gaze looked to where the mannequin fell into the fire, but saw no movement. Whether the fire worked, or Morgana had simply given up with the death of her employer, she had no way of knowing. Her hands quivered with anticipation, but, finally, she sheathed her steel blade, and reached down to pick up the falcata that Ch’dau had thrown at the mannequin. 

“Kithran,” The bladesinger looked to the thief, weariness showing in her golden eyes, “Better find your book,” She suggested, before she approached Ch’dau, “The battle is over,” She spoke softly, offering back to him the blades she carried.

Kithran tore her gaze from the burning puppet at Aranwen’s words, and sprinted to the bookshelf to search for her tome.

At Aranwen’s approach, the kazari’s pacing slowed and, after a moment, stopped altogether. His ears pricked up and the lashing of his tail abated. “Hmm,” he nodded, reaching out to accept the blades she offered, “It would seem.” He slid one of the falcata back into its scabbard but, before the other followed suit, Ch’dau seemed to regard it and then her curiously for an instant. “You handled this well,” he chuffed softly, finally returning the thing to its place, “I am happy it was of use.”

A soft smile graced Aranwen’s lips, “It’s very different from the blade I used, but in that moment, it felt as if any blade would do. Yours felt… right though. A fierce blade, for a fierce battle, and the powerful song that accompanies both,” Aranwen’s voice replied.

The curious expression played across Ch’dau’s face again as his turquoise eyes seemed to peer deeply into her golden ones. After a moment, he rested a bloody paw on the woman’s shoulder, offered a somewhat curt nod and, then, leaned forward to press his forehead to hers. “You honor me, rrow’ka,” he murmured, “and my khatun.” He let her go, then, and stepping away turned his gaze to Kithran.

“Kibibi,” he rumbled, prowling toward the oddly angled bookcase, “if you do not find your book in this room…” he gripped the bookshelf and pulled it wider, revealing the foot of a winding stairway beyond “...perhaps there is one more place to look. Either way, I suggest you hurry. I do not intend on quenching these flames.”

“Nor we, truth be told,” Aranwen chuckled, but she shivered as she looked once more towards the fire the mannequin had fallen into, “Could you describe it to us, Kithran? More eyes looking should make finding it much faster.”

“Ah,” Kith said, unable to look away from the shelf as she skimmed book spines, “It’s a book, probably old, called Tome of Whispers.” She crouched as she scanned the books on the lower shelves, feeling the heat of the fire growing at her back, “See anything?”

Ch’dau offered a shake of his head and, then, in an almost shamed tone, admitted; “I cannot read any of these tongues. I am afraid I am of little use in this search.”

Mosic, too, offered a shake of his head from his own perusal of the shelves along his line of sight, “I do not see it, Kithran.”

Aranwen also began to scan the volumes she could see, independent of Kithran and Mosic, “We’re not seeing any book with that title.”

In her frustration, and perhaps in part due to the time she had spent with the Kazari, Kithran growled and punched the shelf, then shook her hand from the pain and walked to the passageway Ch’dau had opened for her. “Alright, fine,” and without another word she sprinted inside.

Aranwen is going to see it burned...

I think that's poetic - she chooses to think for herself when her mask is removed.

If she weren't utterly terrified and fled (for good reason), Saeranwen would have probably tried to talk to her... 

Also, I see a fire's been lit

If I didn't know that was set up for the rook, it looks so natural to happen that I wouldn't have suspected a thing

You still brought it all together, Breebles 

I only added a bit of Morgana and a bit of Sae  

Speaking of which, does Kithran like Morgana's undivided attention?

Personally I've always viewed stats as an 'average'. If you're a 15 cha you can still have 8 cha moments, etc. 

No one person is one way all the time. 

Just how I feel about it anyway