Witch Hunt

The rock-hewn walls of the dungeon snake into dark corridors, twisting on themselves like the stone intestines of a giant. Alcoves locked with grated iron gates lay mostly dormant, though we do pass a scant few cells with skeletal remains chained to the wall, bony arms hanging loosely from the manacles.

Fascinating, that such a thing lay just beneath the home of one so prominent. Was this some sort of bastion or guard's office before it was the Councilman's home... or did he have this made? The latter seems so farfetched it is nakedly ridiculous, and yet, here this place stands. It's clearly in use, if the detective is truly to be found here... I clutch at my forehead. It hardly matters, baseless speculation brings me no closer to being through with this saga.

Still blanketed in shadow from Faylie's spell, we move swift and silent behind Tegan, who stays ahead of the pack and watches for trouble. "The fuck is this place", she mumbles.

"Not the fun kinda dungeon, I'd wager...", Alabastra says. Tegan comes to a sudden stop. "... Poor taste?"

The knight turns, finger held up in a shushing motion. From around the next corner, clattering armor and conversation bounces through the tunnels. Tegan motions us to move flat against the wall, and wait.

One voice from around the corner says, "I heard you got screamed at yesterday." His voice is old and gruff.

Another responds, naive and inarticulate, "Yeah... that wife of Mr. Serrone's is a shrewd one."

A clanging sound rings down the hall, like someone smacked a cauldron pot. "Watch your tone, boy. She's Heavens-sent. Blessed by the Gods." And the voice grumbles, "And she signs your paystubs."

Tegan looks to us, and motions to a nearby cell, devoid of prisoners alive or dead. As silently as possible, she unlocks the cell door with the keychain she purloined, handing them off to Alabastra after she does. "I'll distract them... go get Natey." She motions us inside.

Alabastra looks down at the keyring, then back at the covered helmet of the knight. Her emerald eyes, the only things visible from under her own mask, swell with concern. "Stay safe, Dusty."

"You too." Tegan closes the cell door, as we're left in the cave-carved cell, too cramped for the three of us. She turns on one heel, and marches around the corner. "Hey! We've, uh, got a problem!", she announces.

A pause. "... Well, what is it?", asks the first voice.

She sputters. "Pfft. It's... so bad!" Without elaborating, she woodenly marches back around the corner, and starts running down the hall the opposite direction from us.

For a moment, nobody follows, and I quickly start to suspect Tegan's foolproof plan didn't succeed... Until the Sable Guard eventually clatter behind, two men alerted and running after the faux-warden. As they spring off into the distance, Alabastra reaches back around the cell door, unlocking it deftly, and lets us out again. Down our escort, we slip unseen around the corner to another row of cells.

And there, in the dead-center cage of this affluent oubliette, the first living prisoner we've encountered sits and stares into the distance. He is a man in his late 40's, salt and pepper hair run through with grease and grime. The messy beginnings of a beard stick out of his chin like a five-o'clock pincushion. A dirty, old tan trench coat sits tied around his waist, his white button-down is ripped and torn and yellowed with stains, and an undone tie sits loose around his shoulders.

I can only assume this is our disappeared detective. As we approach, he lifts his head up, weakly, eyes sunken and tired. "The fuck is this supposed to be...?" His voice is scratchy and raw, and he heaves a dry cough after speaking that rips through the lines of his throat.

Alabastra kneels down on one knee to meet his eye level, and removes her mask, locks of platinum sheen cascading down her back. "Hey-a, Natey."

Nathaniel Latchet looks into the rogue's eyes, and then starts to laugh, which turns into another fit of dust-choked hacking. "Ahh... is that... Alabastra Camin?" He shakes his head. "Not sure if that means I'm in the Heavens or Hells..."

"Given the circumstances, I'll let that one slide." She stands, spinning the keyring once around her index. "Not dead yet. We're bustin' ya out."

Despite his sorry state, the detective cracks an ironic smile, lazily throwing his head backwards. "And why would you go and do a thing like that?"

Faylie speaks up, "It's a super long story."

The detective stands, wobbling on his feet. "That must be the little doe-eyes, then", he says in Faylie's direction. Her posture shifts defensively. Then he turns, and scans me once, up and down. "But this one ain't got half-enough meat on her to be Tegan..." I narrow my eyes at him, and feel the muscles of my torso squeeze. There's something exceedingly violating about his stare. What the hells is his problem...?

With a quick motion, Alabastra stands in front of me. "Let's get one thing straight, Nate. You got your freebie... but that was strike one." She pulls the mask back over her head, blonde strands sticking out of the eye hole. "You hit three - I'm leavin' you here to rot."

He scoffs. "What is it with bossy dames this week...", he mutters under his breath.

"Two..." She stares through the bars of the cage door.

Nathaniel rolls his neck, and sighs. "... Fine, fine. How'd ya find me, anyhow?"

She taps her foot, arms crossed. "We were lookin' into the same thing that got ya snatched up. At least... we think. We pull ya out, you dish your info free a' charge. Fair trade?" I raise a brow. How highly does this man value information that his life and freedom are an equivalent exchange?

Stranger yet... he doesn't agree right away. Instead, he seems to mull it over, chewing on the thought, considering us all. Finally, he says, "Ya got a deal, Camin. Where are we goin'?"

"Anywhere but here." Alabastra unlocks the door, then steps backwards, giving him enough leeway to finally walk free of his cell. He moves from the pen like a newborn deer, wide-eyed and world-weary.

Faylie whispers, "But, wait! What about-"

A clanging commotion sounds ahead of us, heralding Tegan's return at the opposite end of the hallway, with the two other Sable Guard in tow. All three stop, and everyone stares wide-eyed at everyone else. For a brief moment, no-one makes a move or sound.

"Intruders!", the less-sharp sounding of the wardens shouts. They both draw their swords, and rush past Tegan.

Tegan grabs one from behind, pulling him into a chokehold. Alabastra slides forward, ducking low under a swing from the other that clatters against the dungeon wall in a shock of sparks. She pulls a dagger from her belt and jams it into the guard's underarm, with a crinkly-crunching sound as she pierces the chainmail. He drops his sword in pain. Tegan wrestles the man she has grappled, pressing him into the wall. The man elbows her in the side. She winces in pain, and throws him away from her, his own sword clattering to the ground as he's knocked off his feet. Alabastra maneuvers away from the other man, joining Tegan's side. The two men stand back-to-back, looking to each other, sandwiched between their two assailants, and the rest of us.

"VENTULUS", Faylie chants. A massive gust of wind surges sideways, buffeting the two Sable Guard into the open cell, and slams the door behind them.

Alabastra darts forward, turning the lock. The two stand, grabbing at the bars of the cage, reaching at the rogue. They look down towards their belts, patting and finding empty space at their sides.

"Lookin' for these?", she says, holding two more stolen sets of keyrings in a triplet set in her hand, jingling like bells. She smiles wide, winks, and leads us down the hall. The guard shout behind us, relieved of their keys and pleading, but their protestations are choked under the heavy stone walls.

As we move, I notice the shadows no longer seem to blanket us. I turn to Faylie, brows furrowed in concern at her dropped spell.

She shrugs. "I could cast it again?"

And then, above us, a high-pitched droning, wailing sound screeches through the air. An alarm, whining its clarion call into the night. Alabastra sighs. "Don't think that's gonna cut it."

* * *

On paper, the plan is very simple.

"INVISIBLIS."

Run.

Under Faylie's spell, we rush out the heavy iron door.

In practice, of course... through the windows, out to the inner courtyard, we catch several guardsmen already being stirred from their slumber by more of their comrades, recently arrived. The siren wails much louder now that we're out from under the basement... the whole neighborhood must be awake. I curse us all for not having spotted wherever this alarm is before venturing down. Too late now: this is the hell we've made for ourselves.

Beside me, Alabastra says, "Shit! The fucking day shift..."

We link forearm to forearm, and speed through room after room of marbled lounges and hallways, before finally finding the non-courtyard-facing entrance. We stand in a small lobby the other end of our exit doors. A winding staircase wraps around the side of the foyer, white columns stretching up to a gold-colored ceiling. A glass chandelier the size of a printing press hangs in front of a second-story interior balcony. The teardrop-shaped platform stands just above the exit, held up by dual pillars. And standing the other side of its marble balustrade, two figures wait patiently.

To our right, a meek-looking man in his late 60's, wearing a nightcap and gown, hunched over his weathered limbs like a willow tree. His pock-marked face sneers at the caterwauling alarm, and he scratches at the whiskers of his scraggly white beard.

And to our left, a woman easily half or less his age, with tired eyes and a curt little smile. Her hair is a mop of short blonde curls, and she wears a simple dotted dress. She stands prim and proper, posture tight like a mannequin's, and her nose is upturned as she tip-taps on the railing. And most concerning of all, she stares right at us, despite the invisibility spell.

As I look back up into her ocean blue eyes, there's something about her that I can't quite explain. Like déjà vu.

"Hmm. Well this certainly won't do", she says. We all freeze in place as the reality hits. "What in the heavens are you doing in our home... and with our house guest?", she gestures lightly toward where I presume the unseen detective stands. Her voice is airy and even and filled with arrogant contempt.

The older man atop the balcony turns to her. "Lyla... who are you talking to?"

The woman, Lyla, shrinks slightly at her husband's voice. Then she turns to us sharply, and simply snaps her fingers.

In a colossal shattering sound like a bomb in a window shop, Faylie's invisibility drops, and we're exposed to the open air!

Without so much as acknowledging the magic she's just undone, she continues, "Latchet, darling, I realize we have not been as gracious as is becoming, but it would be best for everyone if good dogs returned to their cages." The eerie little smirk on her doesn't leave her even as she delivers her threats.

"Good Heavens! Call the guard!", the man pleads, shocked by the sudden appearance of home intruders.

"Beric... we can't wait for the guard. These heathens won't be an issue."

This is Beric Serrone, then. But clearly his wife is the larger threat at the moment. I look to Alabastra, then the door. We're getting distracted... despite the spell shattering, the exit is right there. Yet the rogue doesn't move an inch, only watching Lyla Serrone intently.

Nathanial clears his throat. "Sorry, dollface - just ain't my scene."

"Hrm. Well, what are we going to do with you... and your little rat friends..." She leans forward over the railing, eyes passing over each of us. "Disgusting little thieves, reeking of the cliff downs... do you know what we do to rats, here in Firvus Heights?"

Alabastra backs up a half step, head darting around at every angle like a bird. Then snaps straight ahead of her, eyes wide with panic. "SCATTER!", she shouts.

She darts forward at a diagonal, and her partners and the detective do the same, leaving me standing confused for just a moment too long in the center of the room. Lyla outstretches her hand, and shining, radiant light springs from her palm. It extends into columns of gold that separate out five-fold and collide in bursting holy magic where everyone else had been standing. The energy dissipates in harmonic ringing.

As the column strikes me, my heart feels like it stops. I feel withered and dried, shriveled skin peeling in flakes, and my veins alight in fire-like pain, seared and burned from within. I fall flat onto the ground, slammed hard into the rug, and in that dazed place between life and death, all I can think is how annoyed I am for not dodging.

Someone shouts, but I'm too disoriented to pick up what they say.

I feel that should have killed me. Or at least injured me such that I am no longer conscious. Yet... I'm still aware. I hear the sounds of clamoring ahead of me... I open my eyes to the ceiling. The pain is immense, but bearable. I clutch at the watch on my chest. The watch... as I concentrate on it, already I feel the effects of the spell undone on my form, wound back in time like a reset clock. Another way it has saved me.

Lyla completes her thought, "We exterminate them. I only ask because I'm not sure you know... with your disgusting vermin-filled streets." As she speaks, I pull myself back up, soreness down to my spine, dizzy, but very much alive. I look up at her, seeing double for a moment. "Oh... It's tougher than it looks?!" She sounds scandalized. "You're... you're not just thieves, are you?"

From the hallway we came from, the shouting and marching of the guard fills the air. I stand, rushing forward to meet the rest. Under her mask, Alabastra looks down, concerned, but then shakes her head, and makes a break for the door.

"Ah-ah-ah, where do you think you're going?", says Lyla. As we reach the dark wood double doors, a torrent of shining gold energy erupts in a wall before us: a solid glinting barrier no less impassable than a steel vault, blocking our escape. Behind us, a half-dozen guards pile into the space we just were; Stygian bulwarks to contrast against the same gold-white force glowing behind them. We're trapped. "We are not done here yet, you monsters. Conspirators! You're here for me, aren't you?!" Lyla's eyes glow golden now, shining sclerae like the sun. Beside her, the councilman cowers behind a table.

Tegan and Alabastra form a line in front of us. "What's the plan?", the knight asks the thief.

"Fuck it, we're wingin' it." She tosses a dagger to the detective, then pulls her bow from her back and fires an arrow off in one swift motion. As the arrow sails toward the enchantress, her form turns to pure light, and she reappears several feet to the side of where she'd been. Alabastra grumbles and darts up the stairs.

Tegan rushes forward to meet the onslaught of guards, outnumbered six-to-one, but taking a defensive stance at a chokepoint between a pillar and a wall. She centers herself low, planted like a great oak, shield at the ready. Beside her, Nathaniel Latchet stumbles forward, knife in a reverse grip, covering the knight's flank.

I look around at the coming melee, and in the instant before the onslaught begins, I feel a strange pulling sensation deep in my mind. The whole world seems to stop, and then speed along in rapid time. Alabastra puts up a brave fight, but the sorceress dispatches her eventually. Tegan does her best, but there are too many of them. The detective is a rusty fighter, and he does not make the difference. Even Faylie's magic fails. And nothing in my bag of tricks turns this tide.

This is not winnable fight. The conclusion is inevitable. It isn't mere speculation... somehow, I know it.

Our only chance is getting the barrier down and getting out of here, otherwise we're all dead. I turn to look at the faun, as she prepares her cards, shuffled in a floating array before her. "We can't win. You have to break the spell."

She looks nervously at the light magic behind us, then back to me. "I... I guess I could... but I'd have to concentrate, and... I can't cast anything else to protect myself... and what if someone sees me?"

My eyes rolls, and I reach into my satchel, fingers wrapping around another of last night's creations. I pull the potion bottle free, and a small selfish thought occurs... I could simply use this myself... But, no. Even if I survived this initial attack... without the detective, I have nothing to show to the Gloamwoods. And clearly such measures aren't enough to stop Lyla. No... this is the only logical choice.

Though a carving path of pain digs its way through my skull, I hand Faylie the potion. Visually, it looks as if there's no liquid inside at all, yet the weight and sound tell a different story. "It's an invisibility potion. So the guards don't see."

Her hands wrap around the flask, and she looks back up at me, eyes full of frightful fading stars. "But... the other mage..."

"Alabastra has her distracted." I point up to the rogue, rushing to meet the rich woman. "Break the spell."

"... What'll you do?"

I look back to the unfolding skirmish. Tegan's sword glows with holy light as she bats away an encroaching guardsman. The detective blocks a sword swing with the sharp end of his borrowed dagger, stumbling backwards. And having reached the top of the stairs, Alabastra begins a dance of frenetic blows exchanged with the sorceress.

"Mostly try to not be stabbed", I intone. Easier said than done.

The faun quaffs the potion without another word, and she disappears from sight.

I creep over to a potted plant, and crouch behind the terracotta in cowardice. Above us, Alabastra fires off a volley toward the sorceress, who puts up a lambent barrier to block the arrows, plinking off the glowing gold with a crack. Lyla returns fire with a ray of sunlight. The rogue dodges with a quick roll, upturning a table for cover and causing the nearby councilman to yelp.

Tegan backs herself against the wall, her oncoming assault riven by the pillars like a wave split against a pier. Their attacks are coordinated, giving her little opening to do much but defend, holding out against the onslaught. The guard that had been harrying the detective draws blood across the arm, then kicks him low in the stomach, sending the newly-freed man to the ground.  Dammit. If he dies, this was all for naught. Loathe as am I to participate, I have to do something. My hand wraps around a syringe in my satchel, and I stand.

"Hey!", I shout, catching the guard's attention.

He looks to me, then rolls his shoulders once, marching with ill-intent like a shark to chummed waters. As he approaches, sword at the ready, I can only think one thing... what the in the Hells am I doing..?

Desperate to keep the gap between us wide, I shove the potted plant onto the ground in front of him, and scramble up the stairs. Soil spills over the stairwell, and the poor, pathetic ficus does absolutely nothing to stop the guard. He stomps up the steps, picking up momentum to close on me. My instincts are woefully insufficient for this... yet, as he winds back to bring his broadsword down in a vertical blow, something within me knows exactly where he's going to hit. I simply need to not be there. I step to the side, and he connects with nothing but air. Inside his bubble, I swing desperately for an open slat between his armor, to jab the needle between.

The syringe snakes its way between the armor, but whether it's pierced the inside lining or not is anyone guess, as the end meets resistance. I can only hope, as I press down on the un-plunged end. I try to step away, but the man grabs me roughly by the collar, and stops.

He pulls me into his own form, turning me around and pressing the sharp end of the sword to my throat. Every inch of me freezes under the grasping position, as I'm forced to look upon a similar scene atop the balcony.

Alabastra has Beric Serrone in the exact same position as myself, her own dagger to the councilman's neck. She looks down at me, then back to Lyla.

The light-wielding sorceress only stares on, curtly, posture returned to her withdrawn state. "Rather bold..."

"Let them go, and I do the same", says the rogue, as the old man shakes under her grasp.

"Or... you'll kill him? That is the threat, correct?" Lyla stares at her husband, the column of her throat run-through with hard and tense lines. "Do it, then. Go on."

She brings the knife up higher. "I will!" She glances to me once more, eyes darting back and forth, wild and manic.

Where before she seemed nervous, the mage now gains a confident glare, and she readjusts. "You'd be doing me a favor, really. I can always remarry... And in the meantime I gain all the sympathy of the grieving widow of a slain councilman..." Her head tilts. "Meanwhile, you'll never know another moment's peace, with Beric Serrone's blood on your hands. Regardless of who you are under that mask, no expense will be spared to find you. And, to be honest... he'd be more useful as a martyr, anyways!"

Though only her eyes are visible under the mask, it is still plain to see that pure horror has stricken Alabastra; she holds not a shred of her usual confidence.

Lyla turns to the guard holding me. "Kill hi-", she stops.

The sword at my throat clatters to the ground, sliding down several stair steps before becoming caught in the railing. The guard falls backwards over the side, fast asleep. He lands with a crunch that I have to assume for my sanity was not his neck. I wipe the sweat from my brow.

In the chaos of the moment, Lyla turns back to the rogue, preparing to unleash a spell. Alabastra throws the councilor to the side, attempting to duck low and dash at the sorceress. And for the first time in all the years I have known her... Alabastra Camin is too slow. The ray of light emanates and collides with the floor between the two women, and Alabastra is sent tumbling backwards, falling over the balcony baluster and landing hard on her side, a violent and brutal bounce to her head.

For a moment, a spike of panic runs through my heart, followed by a needle of pain in my mind.

"No!", Tegan yells, batting away an attacker with her shield, and kicking another out of her way. She runs to Alabastra's side, and the remaining two rush past her as she goes, both running to me.

The left one grabs my sight, and looks like he's about to shout something... before a sword is pushed through his throat, back-to-front. The body falls away as the sword is pulled free, revealing Nathaniel behind it, swaggering and wielding the bloodied sword and dagger both. "They don't make 'em like they used to, that's for damn sure." The other guard pivots toward the more dangerous threat, and the men engage in a pitched battle.

Behind them, Tegan reaches her lover, kneeling down and issuing a quick burst of her healing magic, jolting the rogue awake. Alabastra turns to look up at the still-helmeted knight, and says with a wheezing voice, "Trade with me."

From the top floor, Lyla Serrone walks to the edge of the railing... and two golden glowing seraph wings erupt from her back. She lifts, flying into the open air of her home, floating above us all.

Alabastra rolls away, to engage the two remaining guardsmen, now returned to their feet. Tegan rushes to meet the flying enchantress. Her sword swings wide underneath the woman, but booming light shoots from the edge in an arc. It extends several feet from the sword and strikes Lyla in her center.

The sorceress hisses in pain, wings buffeting her higher into the air.

A still-injured Alabastra ducks between the blows of the guard, darting away, and plinks arrows off their armor. Unable to pierce their resolve in the frenzy, she turns and lines up a shot against the watchman engaged with Nathaniel. The arrow clanks into the back of his helmet, distracting him long enough for the detective to slip his blades into the man's side. The detective smiles a tobacco-yellowed grin, and kicks the man away.

All four of us join together in front of the doors now, the two remaining Sable knights approaching side-by-side in mutually-covered flanks, as Lyla flies above us. She conjures another spell. Light gathers and grows between her hands, a summoned ball of energy that brightens with each second. A wind picks up through the room, carrying away unsecured knickknacks and light furniture, buffeting the woman's hair in a wild mess, and even shattering the chandelier in a rain of glass.

Her voice booms with divine prominence, "You wretched vermin. Our Luminary Gods demand you repent!"

Behind us, Faylie's voice chirps, "Well, I hope they'll settle for re-treat!" An arcane card shines through the air, as a tiny sword-wielding king in blue light cuts the barrier in half. The wall of light sunders and falls away, exposing the exit. Without further comment, Faylie bursts through the doors.

We all rush after her, darting one-by-one into the open air. I hear a high-pitched whine as the spell we'd narrowly avoided burns its way through the foyer with holy wrath, immolating a path of destruction.

For my final trick for the night, I throw a second smoke bomb to cover our tracks in a confusing cloud of fog, and we make our desperate escape, running headlong into the morning dawn.