usir | Event #1: The Big One

Entry tags:

The Awakening

🜙 Awakening the Heart Warnings: Injury, Blood, Death

	You are awakened from death by a cloaked figure. The sky is thickly choked by dark storm clouds, but it's growing darker. Sunset is approaching and you know you are far from any of the kingdom cities. It is only once you find your feet that you notice your new tunic adorned with the colors of one of the three kingdoms. It might not be something you remember wearing, but you're about to be thankful for the extra fabric as the first drops of rain begin to fall, hitting you hard and heavy. You won't survive a night out on the marsh flats during a storm. The weather out here is violently unpredictable and it's freezing cold to boot. Your breath escapes in a cloud in front of your face and a shiver runs through you as your feet sink further in the muck of the marsh. You need to find somewhere to go while you sort out what has happened to you. Atrómitos is the closest city to where you are now. You know these marshlands are part of their kingdom. Whatever side you might have been on for the war a simple analysis of the circumstances and surroundings you find yourself in make one thing clear. If you want to survive the night, Atrómitos is your only hope. The chill in the air makes it very clear this is winter and the other kingdoms are much too far to make in so little time. You will have to sludge your way across the muddy, icy marshlands and avoid getting trapped in the thick, deadly mud pits to get there but survival instincts instill a sense of urgency in your movements. You can pillage rusty weapons from the partly to mostly mud-buried skeletons of fallen soldiers on your way, but you had better keep a brisk pace if you want to survive the night. Take care not to grab a living body if you are grave-robbing.
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🜙 X Marks the Spot

	Night falls as you approach the outskirts of what used to be Atrómitos. In the poor light of dusk you can make out just enough to know that something is off about the silhouette of the great city, but you shrug it off to the exhaustion crashing down on you. Your limbs are heavy, your clothing drenched and thick with mud that is hardening in the biting cold. You are finding it hard to keep your eyes open and your limbs moving. Just across a bridge over the river is a large inn. The building is enticing, alive with the sounds of music and life. Light is twinkling from lanterns and candles in its windows, reminding you of warmth. You give the vanishing city silhouette in the distance one more look before it fades from view, swallowed by the approaching darkness. You will never make it to the city before the heavy black of a densely-clouded night cloaks your vision and strands you to stumble blindly across the uneven land and broken paths. It's too risky. You turn for the inn, knowing you have no coin to pay your way, and enter. The portly halfling woman at the bar catches sight of your muddy tunic and drenched form and heaves a heavy sigh, setting aside the flagons she had been cleaning to cross the inn and meet you at the door. "Another one, eh? I don't suppose you have even a handful of silver either?" She clucks disapprovingly, but there is warmth in her expression as she reaches a hand up, offering you a clean, dry towel. It is small, barely enough to dry your face, but it is a gesture of kindness. "Strange times, this. The lot of you are going to run us dry at this rate. Go on then, get yourself over to the fire. Alphie will bring you a flagon of mead and a bite to eat." She points a finger accusingly, stopping any efforts to speak. "And don't you be causing any trouble now. We have rooms enough to spare but you'll be sharing. Beggars can't be choosers. I don't want to hear a word of complaint or excuses. Shoo. Off with you." She doesn't wait for a reply, gesturing toward the large fireplace where a few strangers in similar dress and state to your own are talking over large flagons and bowls of something warm and savory-scented. A teen halfling brings you a bowl and flagon of your own once you find a seat, the smell of a hot and hearty mushroom stew greeting your senses. He also hands you a key fished from his pockets once you've taken your food and drink. "Mum says she expects you to help with chores in the mornin'. Don't be fightin' or she'll sick Boris on you." With that he leaves, heading back toward a massive beast of a saint bernard that sits by the bar. It maintains eye contact for a period before snorting and walking off after the boy. The heavy brass key in your hand goes to a room on the upper floors of the inn, a tag with the room number attached to the ring of it. Chances are you won't be alone when you turn in for the night, but there will be clean linens, a towel, and a fresh tunic and pair of pants in something near your size atop them. It isn't perfect, but it's something. The skies are clear in the morning and the ground is covered in a thin layer of fresh snow. True to the boy's word, Gilly, the woman from the night before, gives you a task in the morning. There are a number of chores, from tending to the sheep or pigs, shifting hay in the barn, cooking breakfast, dishes, doing laundry, or cleaning up the inn. Whatever the task, when you finish it she gives you a bowl of something warm to eat and she thanks you for your help around the inn. You are given the offer to stay so long as you keep doing chores to pay your way.
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🜙 Awakening the Soul

	You leave the inn, but before you can make much progress toward the city a strange sensation overtakes you. It feels like the pull of a magical compass, persistent and steady. The vial you picked up from the battlefield grows cold. It feels like ice against your skin. As the warmth fades from it, it also fades from you. Nothing warms you, not fire, furs, or even the false warmth of alcohol. With the cold comes pain as old injuries begin to appear on your skin, slowly growing worse over time. Succumbing to the pull you stumble back to the battlefield you came from, back across the frozen marshlands. The spot you rose from is untouched by the ice of frozen rain, the grass there still a vibrant green. Something strange is happening. With your animas now close to you and a device in your hand or pocket, you realize the sky has turned menacing once more. The dark clouds of the previous day have choked out the blue skies again and thunder rumbles, approaching at a fast pace. The storm crashes above you. Lightning cracks across the sky and thunder follows it. The weather has warmed enough that rain is falling once more and the hair on the back of your arm stands on end from the electricity in the air. You should get going.
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🜙 A City Under Siege. Warnings: Warfare, Death

	As you return to the city that used to be Atrómitos you quickly realize something has changed. Fires burn around the outskirts of the city. A skirmish has broken out and bulky knights in golden tunics are clashing with a band of fur and leather-clad red orcs, their faces painted with black and white colors of war. The sound of battle is familiar, and the orcs are pushing the city's defense back. There are a number of options before you. You could take advantage of the chaos and join the attack or loot the market. You could assist the defenders in fighting off the orc pillagers. You could slip by into the city and help the people trying to get away from or stop the fires. Or you could just find a local tavern, get a drink, and wait out the battle while you try to make sense of the city's vastly different appearance. Eventually, the defenders manage to beat back the attack and the fires are all extinguished. A crew of volunteers helps to move the bodies out of the city to waiting pyres. Anyone who manages to insert themselves into the crew could easily pilfer some weapons, items, or coin from the bodies. Post-attack the city returns to normal surprisingly quick, these attacks are common for the wall-less city. As night approaches, fires are lit on the outskirts and the city defenders start their nightly patrol. The temperature drops and the rain and thunder turns to snow. Winter is finally here.
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🜙 Divided We Fall.

	In the aftermath of the orc attack the smoke clears and rumors spread faster than fire through the city's streets and taverns. The general consensus is the orcs were after something or someone, but what? That depends on the rumors you hear, and which ones you choose to believe. The city is alive with whispers and theories while attempts to strengthen defenses and repair the damages are underway. Several things become clear in the aftermath: The Skywhale, the airship meant to travel between the City of the Free Peoples and Didymos has been badly damaged, sabotaged and grounded in the orc attack. People in the know about these sorts of things are saying it looks like it will take at least a week or two to be repaired. Winter's first harsh breath has stopped Krimnos' airships as well. The sudden and severe temperature drop in the mountains and the high risk of avalanches has grounded their ships temporarily. As a result, the City of the Free Peoples has effectively been cut off from the other cities. No one seems certain for how long, only that assistance will not be coming soon. And perhaps of more concern than any of this: the orcs are still out there, not far from the city, and they seem to be preparing for a second assault.
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🜙 A Mysterious Message.

	Some time during the chaos a message arrived to your courier. After finding someone who knows what the device is or some tinkering and exploration of your own you discover how to view the thought message it holds and what you find only adds to your confusion. Your message differs depending on your allegiance: Yearning: Do not forget why you are here. It is within your grasp now. You need only to claim what is yours. Hold strong and show no fear. -Epithymetikon Devotion: Burn bright in the dawn where your suns set. Your sacrifices will not be forgotten. Your efforts will not be in vain. Your soul will follow where your heart leads it. -Thymoeides Reason: There is an answer for every question. The truth will not find you. You must seek it for yourself. Do not lose sight of what you seek. -Logistykon
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🜙 It bites, it burns, it yearns and yearns. Warnings: Warfare, Death, Suicidal Orcs

	Snow continues to fall thick and heavy, coating the land in layer after layer of dense, wet, white until a foot of snow coats the plains and lowlands. It seems winter has arrived eagerly on time this year. Small raiding parties of orcs continue attacking the city periodically from different directions. The raiding parties never contain more than a dozen orcs and the attacks rarely last more than an hour. Fires are set, lives are lost, and the orcs vanish once more, their tactics and chosen locations unpredictable. A bounty is issued against the orc tribe, city-wide and open to all. Gold and silver are offered for any information gathered on the orcs and a much larger purse for any who bring back one of the orcs responsible, alive. No simple task as these orcs would sooner die by their own blades than be taken captive. The city is on lockdown, the airships are not coming or going, and city defenses are on high alert. The city's guards are recruiting anyone who is willing and able to help put out fires, fight the orcs, repair damage, offer their weaponry, their magical aid, or their healing talents to the effort. It is made known across the city that all who can help will be compensated in coin, and possibly other rewards, by Captain Lykos himself.

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⤛ Sources: 1 2 3 4 & 5 6 7

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[ It's a surprisingly well made jumper, color aside. James picks it up and checks it for holes before he offers it to a shivering older woman, who eyes it with some skepticism before taking it gingerly from his hands. He gives her an encouraging smile, then glances back first at Kylo and casts about for a new source of knitting materials.

He's shared a room with the man and not found himself hexed nor cursed in his sleep—as far as he can tell, anyway—but there's a decent amount in his look that reminds James of another face, and that face is one of which he'd rather not be reminded. Only a good few years of practice actively quashing his worst instincts have prevented James from being overtly rude for no good reason, though it isn't without effort. Of all the people James would rather not have to think about after being dead for a century, his old schoolboy rival is certainly at the top of the list.

Which isn't Kylo's fault. Mostly. Which he keeps trying to remind himself, with varying success. ]

At an old school. [ Once sharing his home city with a stranger would have been a dangerous decision to make; now it matters less to James, though he can't help the hesitation he still every time he gives it. ] In Krimnos.

[ He pretends to frown in concentration as he kicks snow over an abandoned, still-faintly-smoldering fire pit. James kneels and pokes his wand at it. He prefers the focus to his magic the wand provides. The answer he's already given doesn't necessarily need more information, but James can't help but add with a hint of pride in his voice: ]

The oldest school of magic in Krimnos, in fact. My family have all been wizards and mages for generations. I learned almost as much at home as I did in school.

"I seem to have taken little damage to the muscle, from my own judgment." Her fingers twitched, unhelpful given the circumstances, but she's only human. Though wide and deep where it must have started, the would hadn't done much internal damage at all. Bleeding and infection were the main concerns -- that and her hand being useless for battle until it healed, which she considered far worse than any other consequence. "And yes, I was forced to rely on weapons scrounged from the battlefield. As that primarily meant orc ones, I did not find any as suited for me as I would like."

[Ellie manages to find a throw blanket. It's made up of a strange, fine material she can't identify, but it'll do for their purposes. It's a little dirty in spots, but it's colorful enough she can enjoy it.

She doesn't know how to answer the first comment, and the question brings her up short.

Who did her final rights?

Her first thought is Joel, and she has to slam a hand over her mouth to keep... something in.

Maybe the remains of her sanity. Maybe tears. Bile. She doesn't feel connected to her body.]

The town burned, if he--if he found me, if he didn't die--he would have hung himself or gone after Krimnos until he did. [Ellie's voice is rough and fast. She's not crying, but her face is blotchy. She can feel her heart pounding.]

Fuck. [She has things to do, she can't freak out right now. She can't.] Can't.

[Why is she holding onto this blanket? What did she need it for? Ellie stares down at it, her fingers white with suppressed tremors, before she catches the figure with the tiny body in his arms.

Right, they're burying Sam. He looks so small in death, did the poison make his skin shrink?

No. No, that's not it, that's not Joel and Sam, that's James and a tiny child.

If James said anything in the time Ellie was freaking out, she didn't hear it. Instead, she steps forward to drape the blanket over the corpse in his arms.]

I didn't [David trails off as he runs his hands through his hair. He's still staring at the impaled orc with the same wide eyes. After a moment he turns his startled gaze toward the woman he had been trying to warn, and with his focus gone the body slides off the spear, falling with a sickening thud to the ground in front of the building a few feet away. The sound makes David jump but he focuses on Lauralae instead.]

He was charging and I just- [He lifts his hands in a slow mimicry of what he had done. His magic is unfocused and raw, reactionary rather than practiced, and he's still not used to the idea or the power of it any more than he knows how to control it.] -I was trying to get your attention or his, just, do something.

[And then the orc was gone, and David had felt the rush of power go through him in the moment it happened but it's gone again, like a passing gust of wind. He reaches out toward her, his hand open, Waffles close by at her feet.]

Are you okay?

[ Prongs deliberates not a second too long before he finally does join them up on their perch. James, however, doesn't pay him any attention: instead he jumps with surprise when the hare nearly lands on them, and then looks her over with great interest until the hand begins its busy journey.

He gives a low whistle at Strange's confirmation of the amount of magic required—though it's only at his reminder of James' responsibility for the fires does James remember he ought to be doing more than marveling. Quickly James repeats his spell— ] Aguamenti— [ and takes careful aim with the water that jettisons once more from his wand. ]

Talk with the earth. Sounds like something that could have plenty to share. Keep up with the latest worm drama.

[ His story was certainly one that was filled with far more detail than she expected. Elizabeth did want the truth, she wanted it more than anything. More than a bed, a stomach full of food — the satyr knew what the world was withholding from her and this man... he was kind enough to lift the veil.

Intently, she listens, eyes not daring to pry away. ]

Your creations... they're unlike anything I've seen in my entire life. Even on my travels, they look — my word, they're brilliant.

[ If his creations could do all he insists, she best damn compliment them for her own good. He flips the script on her, a bit of bashfulness creeps upon her face. ]

Only if needed. While my heart bleeds for those affected, there's only so much an unarmed satyr can do, you see. [ She's a bit naive, selfish to think she's best suited staying out of this mess. ] I've no medical training either... and now is not the time to teach.

[Mòrag starts to reply, then stops -- because she'd been about to introduce herself by rank, a rank she surely no longer has. Not that it would be stripped from her posthumously, but she is pretty sure that nowhere in the military code did it cover the emergence of dead people back into the fold. Besides, she had been given the rank and struggled to earn it, rather than earning it first, so she isn't even certain she deserves it in the first place.]

Mòrag Ladair. [But always the family name. That is vital.]

[A small, bemused smile touches her lips.] A pleasure to meet you, Rey. Circumstances aside.

[A voice comes, not from the dog but from someone else in the room behind him, and David turns to look at whatever new specter of fiction the warlock is addressing him through. Only Strange's words hold none of the meticulous manipulation and sharpness of his personal demon. There's no familiarity in the tone or the choice of words, and it only takes David a moment to piece together that this man isn't in his head.]

No, [He holds up a hand, one finger raised and shaking slightly along with his head.] No, no, sorry I wasn't talking to you. [Which he realizes as he says it just makes him sound like he's raving mad. Good first impression as far as things go and David tosses his borrowed towel over the dog he doesn't think is really there, turning to face his roommate fully.

Waffles rolls around on the bed kicking at and tossing the towel while David does his best to ignore the canine, his head tilting to one side slightly in a restrained tic. David's eyes briefly cross over the hare before he meets and then promptly breaks eye contact with Jonathan.]

She did mention sharing rooms, didn't she? [She being Gilly, the kindly halfling who had given him a key.]

Sorry, hello, hi, I'm David. [He waves very briefly with one hand, making eye contact again, this time to avoid looking at either of the animals in the room, unsure of what is really there and what isn't. He uncurls a couple fingers to reveal a key identical to Jonathan's.] I think we might be roommates.

Mòrag unfolded one hand from behind her back, spreading it in front of her as if offering the point. "The greatest argument is that it cannot be undone." Which was why she held to secrecy even though it went so greatly against her grain. "Yet we may not have the choice, if this attack was connected to us in any way. I've seen no evidence of that, but if it is not that, it is either an unlikely coincidence or so common that we ought to despair."

Writing off coincidence, as she had already done, left two very unpalatable possibilities.

"Well-put." If overly optimistic. Mòrag believed change in a person could only go so far -- much in the way a sword cannot cut the hand that holds it, for a blade cannot bend that far without breaking.

By now the tabletop practically glowed, bright and brilliant as the day it had been first made. Mòrag straightened up with a twinge in her back from bending over that she refused to acknowledge openly.

"We need information. Ideally I would return to Thalassa and explain these circumstances, but there is so much potential for disaster in that course that knowing what has happened in our... absence, is vital."

Rocket eyes her with all the patience of a lion whose tail is being roughly tugged on. He scowls and crosses his arms, sizing her up with blatant irritation.

"It's a yes or no question. Don't waste my time with rhetoricals." Lylla, his otter animas is standing at almost half his height beside him, dressed in ridiculous tiny shoulder armor. On hearing Rocket's response, she chitters at Shura as well, waving a paw in a mimicry of Rocket's frustration. It makes his scowl crack into a grin.

[Again, Mòrag inwardly curses her poor performance. Allowing the girl and her hound (that is a hound, is it not?) to be injured is unacceptable, shameful to her. She'll have to find a way to set this right and make amends.]

[Later. For now, with the girl getting out of the way, Mòrag can safely sidestep without fear of letting the brute past to cause greater harm. Her blade licks out to slash it as she takes advantage of its commitment, though it isn't the battle-ending dispatch she'd wished it to be. This, at least, falls back to inferior weapons.]

[A gyrfalcon circles ever lower from above, a misplaced predator that has no cause to be here. Mòrag barely knows Brighid, yet already she feels she can trust the bird to aid where she cannot.]

"Yeah, he should be around here somewhere. He's pretty hard to miss. Sticks out like a tree in a building." Rocket hops up on the table to get a better vantage point, scanning the inn for his arboreon pal. When he catches sight of Groot he picks up a piece of bread and tosses it across the inn at Groot, lifting his voice. For such a small creature, Rocket's voice is loud and clear.

"Hey, big guy. Over here." Anyone other than Groot and Rocket would have a fight on his hands but he knows Groot will respond to his call. His tail flicks behind him when he catches a few people staring and he grins at them, teeth bared and none too friendly an expression.

"What're you lookin' at pal? Mind your own business."

"Don't think you could shake it if you wanted to." Rocket reassures the arboreon as he ties off Lylla's bandage. Once she's all good he turns his attention to the mouse on his bag, lowering one fur-covered hand palm down to the area beside the bag. He didn't know much when it came to lore, but he knew magic when he saw it and Lylla was magic. Only made sense the mouse would be too.

"Don't go chewing on Groot's vines, fuzzy little sapling." Or Rocket's stuff, but he's less concerned with that at the moment, trying to draw his tough facade back up.

"I can tell I'm gonna end up babysitting all three of you so don't do anything stupid like going charging after orcs." Even though he directs his comment toward the mouse in front of him he gives Lylla a sharp and pointed look when he finishes.

"You're gonna have to keep it fed if you want it to stick around. Here, give it some of this." Rocket snaps a chunk of stale bread off one of his stolen loaves and holds it over to Groot. He's not feeding the mouse for him, but he'll share his food for the cause. If this mouse was anything to Groot like Lylla was for Rocket he didn't want the tiny animal getting hurt. His head still smarted from Lylla's own hard-headed foolishness.

[ The moment James had made the decision to try to buy time for Lily's escape, he'd known he was already a dead man. There had been no hesitation. At the time, he hadn't thought about what would happen after his death save the chance that Lily and Harry might have been able to flee with their lives. If they had escaped—and James tries very hard not to think about the alternative—would Lily have been the one to come back and find him lying in the dirt, unseeing, just like the human boy? Or would another one of their friends and allies have been the one to pull him from the wreckage and give her the news?

He doesn't know. He doesn't know any of it. ]

That's right. [ There's a thickness in his voice, and it sounds distant to his own ears. ] You had a fire.

[ Like so many of the houses in this city around them. Like this one. James looks down at the child, then over to Ellie, who straightens upright with cloth in her hands. She's clearly shaken, too—he'd forgotten, how could he have forgotten, and she's speaking of someone he doesn't know—and through his tear-blurred vision, the brightly-colored blanket in her hands and the red in her hair all crash together to grip James with a sudden storm.

Thank you, he tries to say in between the sobs that wrack his body, and I'm sorry, but he doesn't know whether he's successful in making out the words. ]

This shouldn't be happening.

Edited 2018-12-10 17:46 (UTC)

[She wishes she could say yes, but that would be a lie. But just saying no might be wrong, and would be a cruelty. In either case, though... she doesn't think that is what he's asking.]

[Mòrag bows her head.]

I've no words of comfort to offer you.

[She's done this, on occasion. Back in her days, when she'd had to tell the families of soldiers that their sons or daughters or spouses had not come home. It is never pleasant.]

You have magic. You can use it to help others. However many deaths might come from this, you can make that number fewer, if you've the strength and the desire.

No shit, [Ellie mumbles as she tucks the blanket around the child, but it's not angry. She's not angry, they're just... a pair of fucked up people lost in their own heads, in their own tragedies, in their own lives.

He's crying, and Ellie kind of wants to, but it gives her direction. Not to stop the crying, but... watching James sob reminds her of where she is and what she's doing. She's never seen a man cry like that before...

Except for Henry, right before he discharged a bolt of magic into his own head to kill himself. Henry was Sam's older brother, and the only guardian Sam had. He, too, had been trying to get to the resistance group from Krimnos. They only spent a few days together, but Sam and Henry were good people. Sam shouldn't have died from that poison, the one no one realized was circulating through his body until he was delirious, trying to attack Ellie.

Hesitantly, Ellie takes James' elbow to guide him away from the rubble. Her grasp is light, like she's afraid to touch him. In a way, she is--Ellie doesn't do touch easily. She didn't grow up being touched much, and she's only used to a few people ever touching her. She doesn't really initiate with other people, except to shove them.

There's small shack in the back yard, left standing - a carpenter's work space. Aware of the tremors in her hands, she pulls James to it and then lets him go to push tools off the table.]

We... we can leave him here. Come back in a day to make sure someone...recovered him. It's dry enough.

[Ellie looks down at her hands, rough and bloodied.]

...We'll go crazy if we think about what might have happened to everyone. Or I will. [Ellie still wants to scream, and part of her wants to go looking for the town and try to dig it up with her bare hands, to see if Joel's there. If her adopted family is there.]

"In distinguishing tunics, no less." That commonality might be the best identifier of all. If she hadn't been felled wearing such a tunic, odds are no one else had been either. "I presume you too found this to be the first bastion of civilization you could find, then?"

There are others, but I think your course of action the wisest. For my own part, I can bring a soldier's skills to the table. Will that be useful to you?

[She can't imagine they would, but perhaps his plan calls for stealth and flight and he'd prefer a more slippery comrade.]

I'll do more than that.

[She half-turns, even as a blue glow surrounds her -- flames, which rush out to form a wall of brilliant blue fire to shield half the approach to them in a semicircle. Not a thorough shield, as she wishes the orcs to engage and fall to the two of them, but enough to keep their attention on quarters instead of halves. She is called the Flamebringer for a reason.]

[The orcs are not intimidated. Perhaps worse, the unsubtle display is attracting more of them. Murdering a wielder of magics is far more glorious than clubbing innocents, after all, even if it isn't safer. But Mòrag is ready for them, swiftly sidestepping an incoming blow to slash at the axe's wielder, while parrying a sword with one of her own.]

Are there any weapons laying around in this chaos? [ The inn, specifically. ] I doubt you or anyone has the time to play escort... and against my better judgment, arming myself may be my only option.

[ If anything, the satyr tried to push that fear away and do what she knows is best: keep moving.. ]

Then there's nothing left. It was abandoned as quickly as it was taken.

[ Billie succeeds in twisting Elizabeth's inquisitive expression into one of disgust and shock. The bluntness, while she knows was not a kindness to her, still... hits home. The poor and unfortunate ones who were caught into this damn brawl.

Elizabeth steps outside of the kitchen storeroom, her eyes adjusting to the dim light and ears cluing in on the sudden crash of glass coming from upstairs riiiiight when Billie confirms otherwise. ]

What was that?

[ Of course, Elizabeth stops from her gaze towards the stairs leading up, focusing on the seabird.

It seems she had one to deal with as well... She keeps that little bit quiet, for now. ]

And just like that, two polar opposites met.

Mòrag twitched slightly at the unexpected touch, a sign of the adrenaline coursing through her veins in the middle of all this. At the same time she reversed the sword in her left hand so that it lay flat against her forearm, the safest precaution to avoid accidental wounds.

"I have no skill in healing magic, but I know first aid," she said, businesslike and calm. "Let me see."

Davina guesses that she wants to jump into the fray again, which is why she keeps her wound firmly bandaged to keep it from opening again.

"I know someone who might be able to help you." It's just that she doesn't know where she is. Probably everywhere, considering the damage and devastation the attack has brought. "Her name is Christine. Blond, blue hair. You'll probably find her helping someone."

[Alucard's sure that there are many more questions. Rhetorical, perhaps, others less so. But this is not a thing to be spoken of so openly, not only for fear of reprisal but for knowledge that no matter who it is who has entered this strange band of returned from the dead, it is personal. Fiercely so in many cases.]

Mm.

[Because "you're welcome" or "don't mention it" are inappropriate responses.]

Unless yours talks, I don't think they will be of much direct help.

[The wolf with her paws all over the floor just wags her tail smugly.]

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Page 16 of 39

Event #1: The Big One

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It's okay!

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Under Siege a

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