Scadrial Thread

[+ZincAboutIt]

8 minutes ago, Invocation said:

Anyway, if they decided to take a pinch from his vials, your parlor is gone.

Nerin stood still for a moment, then cocked her head, horror and incredulity sloshing around inside her with a nauseous pitch and yaw.

"Are you saying," she began, taking one step - just one - towards Lance, "that your own gang is going to destroy my parlour. After we paid them? All our money?"

Nerin could hear her voice beginning to raise, and there was a heat inside her - just a spark, but it was there. Anger. 

"We paid," she said, raising a finger and pointing it toward Lance, "for protection. We threw in on your side for assurances. That was everything we had. Everything!"

[+Invocation]

Just now, ZincAboutIt said:

Nerin stood still for a moment, then cocked her head, horror and incredulity sloshing around inside her with a nauseous pitch and yaw.

"Are you saying," she began, taking one step - just one - towards Lance, "that your own gang is going to destroy my parlour. After we paid them? All our money?"

Nerin could hear her voice beginning to raise, and there was a heat inside her - just a spark, but it was there. Anger. 

"We paid," she said, raising a finger and pointing it toward Lance, "for protection. We threw in on your side for assurances. That was everything we had. Everything!"

"They might. Honor among thieves is...not their strong suit. I blame that Archivist bastard that started this. Odds are, though, they haven't done it. At least if they know what's good for them." Lance heated up. He knew he was inordinately fond of that parlor, but he was always a sucker for good conversation. "If they've done it, trust me, they won't live to regret it in full measure." 

[+ZincAboutIt]

19 minutes ago, Invocation said:

"They might. Honor among thieves is...not their strong suit. I blame that Archivist bastard that started this. Odds are, though, they haven't done it. At least if they know what's good for them." Lance heated up. He knew he was inordinately fond of that parlor, but he was always a sucker for good conversation. "If they've done it, trust me, they won't live to regret it in full measure." 

"All that swagger," Nerin said softly, stepping closer and feeling her anger curdle into something more venemous. "And what has that gotten me so far?"

Bad idea Nerin, something inside her warned. Lance may give the appearance of a gentleman, but there was nothing gentle about him. He could kill her as easily as breathing - easier, probably. She took another step, then another, until the tip of her finger just brushed the front of Lance's waistcoat.

"Nothing but blood on my shoes," she whispered, "and blood on my floorboards. Blood, blood, blood."

Nerin could feel herself shaking, staring through the tinted lenses of Lance's mask. "I've a feeling I'll be wading knee deep in it before this is all over" she murmured. "But I'd be more than willing if it's Scarlet blood, Mister Rapis. You want to deliver me vengeance? We can start with Willet." 

[+Invocation]

3 minutes ago, ZincAboutIt said:

 

"You want to talk blood?" Lance smacked her hand away. "Then let's talk blood. Yours, and all of the others', is worth nothing. You would already be dead without me. You want to talk about blood? Your boss? He would have died either way. Paying or not paying, there's no good time to be the one in charge with forces like this moving.

"He got off easy." Lance grabbed Nerin by the shoulder and spun her around. "Look around you. This whole world is drenched in blood. Nothing ever changes without it." Lance pulled his mask off, fury written in every line of his posture. "You want vengeance? Handle it."

"Or stop begging." He shoved her forward and Pulled on the rooftop beams, soaring upward.

"Good luck."

[+ZincAboutIt]

Nerin hit the floor hard, knees taking the brunt of the force, then the heels of her palms. She turned over her shoulder, something hot and furious spilling over her cheeks, down her neck.

"Then you should have left me on the kitchen floor, if I'm so rusting worthless!" Nerin screamed at the hole in the roof. "Maybe when we're all dead, you can have a good laugh and stop pretending to be anything other than a selfish bastard!"

She stood, then brought her heel down hard on the tinted glass of Lance's mask. It broke with a sharp, splintered sound, and Nerin scrubbed the back of her hand across her cheek, still furious, wanting to break something else, wanting take the world in her hands and tear it to pieces. Nerin whirled and looked at Aben and Attayl, daring them to say something.

"I'm going back to the parlour," she spat. "You can come, or not. I don't care anymore."

Nerin stooped and swept the shattered mask off the floor, intending to take it home and burn it along with that absurd mistcoat. She strode towards the ladder and started up.

"I don't care about anything."

@Invocation @Sorana @Dr. Dapper

[I think I am here.]

Brillin was still at the point where the ladder descended into the warehouse. Everyone had gone, and after hearing Lance’s voice and some conversation he’d decided to stay watch on the roof, just in case anyone was thinking of returning, so he’d be able to warn the others below. The ending points of the conversation weren’t lost on him, though, as he heard shouts and screams before seeing someone climbing back up the ladder.

He looked down and saw Nerin.

“What happened?” He asked. It hadn’t seemed like there was any fight that had broken out.

[+ZincAboutIt]

Nerin stopped at the penultimate rung at the sound of Brillin's voice and looked up, feeling her fury and frustration die a little when she met his too-blue eyes. She pulled Lance's ruined mask out of her pocket and waved it in the air.

"Lance didn't need our help," she said acidly, shoving it back into her pocket and scrambling up onto the roof proper. "And he's not keen on giving us any, either. I don't know what game he's playing, but I bought Farrier protection and I'm rusting well going to get it."

Nerin kept low as she edged towards the other ladder. "He can't be the only thug in that gang. I'm done waiting around for that pompous dandy to swagger in too late every time." She looked up at Brillin, eyes fierce and hard. "We are living through this war, Brillin," Nerin said through gritted teeth. "I don't care what it costs. I'll contact that Tineye woman I met yesterday, get someone else round. They want more money, I'll tear the Aluminum out of the rusting parlour walls. And if they want something else, well..."

She shuddered a little, then stilled herself and took a short breath. Wetness still lingered on her cheek, and she wiped it off, hard. When she spoke again, her voice was cold.

"Maybe Lance is right, and my blood - my life - is worth nothing. But it's still mine. I'm not going to wait around for someone to butcher me like they butchered --" she faltered, then regained herself "-- others." 

Nerin brought her knees up under her chin and wrapped her arms around her legs, suddenly feeling every bit of the exhaustion and terror and grief of the last few days. She leaned her forehead against her knees and closed her eyes, breathing for a moment, rearranging her thoughts. Everything was bleeding together now, the real and the fiction, and her emotions were icy waves that threatened to swallow her whole.

"We'll wait for the others for a moment, if they want to come," she sighed. "Then I'm going home."

@Ookla the Maybe-Existent @Sorana 

[old man moomba]

Aben ran a hand through his hair, an old nervous habit of his, from before he'd picked up the sword, before he'd learned the ko'di. He grinned somewhat ruefully, shaking his head. He took his hand out of his hair and rested it back on the hilt of his sword. Still smiling a little, he moved silently out of the warehouse and into the street, moving with a wolf's grace. There were things to be seen to, in the wolf dream. 

Arriving back at the parlor, Aben ducked in through the back entrance, quickly heading for the roof, where he sat cross legged, too troubled to sleep. Eventually, he stood, taking his pipe and tabac pouch from a pocket and thumbing the bowl full before lighting it with a match. He puffed on it, distracted. If only he could enter the wolf dream in the flesh, like Perrin Abyara could. He'd met the Steward of the Two Rivers after becoming a wolfbrother, and the man had shown him how to do it. The only problem was, Aben couldn't. Lord Perrin had said he could only do it after extreme pressures had forced him into doing it, so maybe the same was true for Aben himself. He shook his head, pacing back and forth. 

[I think I am here.]

On 04/01/2020 at 0:51 AM, ZincAboutIt said:

“We'll wait for the others for a moment, if they want to come," she sighed. "Then I'm going home."

Home. Brillin assumed she parlour. A parlour that might not be there in a few nights, he thought. Despite protection being bought from the Farriers. And Lance had for some reason refused to help their cause — not surprising. Honour among thieves seemed something Brillin could only ever find in fiction books, between the pages of Allomancer Jak perhaps, not in the dreariness and stone-cold reality of the place he lived in.

Another thing that only lived in novels, he noted. The concept of the good guys always winning. By the beginning of this gang war, Brillin would have considered leaving this rusting city as a success. But now, with each day and night he found himself slipping down the very slope he’d hoped to avoid: he was connecting to people.

Nerin wasn’t a simple Soother he’d met in a parlour, she wasn’t a one-dimensional character in his memoir. She was Nerin, a woman who’d offered him a place to rest, had watched her home become endangered, had placed her hope in a gangster who’d turned his back on her.

Attayl wasn’t a faceless extra who’d showed him to the dance hall, she was Attayl. A strong, woman, stronger than Brillin certainly, with her own demons and stuck in the spider-web of the underworld.

Now, simply leaving wasn’t a success. Well, it was, but not the one Brillin preferred. Now, he had... Brillin frowned. Was it too presumptuous to say “friends”? And certainly leaving them and fending for himself wasn’t an option.

“We could kill them all, you know,” he said to Nerin, flicking his eyes up to her. “The gangs.”

“Send a few well-written notes to each of the gangs, pretend to be a third-party. Lead them to a meeting: rig the spot with explosives.” He shrugged. “We’ll find a way.”

Edited January 6, 2020 by Ookla the Maybe-Existent
Edited: Brillin means kill all the gangs, NOT all of the people :P

[+Sorana]

Attayl stared at Lance for a while, surprised by his harsh words, by the way he dealt with Nerin. He should know that she was an outsider, unused to the cruelties and the dealing. She hadn't earned this treatment. Nobody had. Lance seemed worried, but even that was no reason to snap at Nerin like that. Or maybe it was. No matter what, she would be safer away from him, and leaving Nerin alone was no option either.

She waited until she could hear Nerin and Brilling talking, before she whirled around as well and started to climb up the ladder. Her fingers were still cold and it took her a while, taking each rug carefully after the other. Her arms were hurting when she finally made it to the top, only to hear Brilling talk about killing. Killing them all. Wide-eyed she pulled herself onto the roof, knelt down to ward off the cold wind and gripped a nearby tile tightly.

Kill them all. Brillin. The one who had looked at herself strangely when she had only hinted at killing someone, was openly talking about erasing everybody? Freezing Attayl stayed quiet, wordlessly placed a hand on Nerin's arm in silent comfort. If neccessary, she would kill them all. Let Lance think she was a helpless girl - she had survived so far, she would live to see the day when she would leave the city. And her friends would as well.

[+Invocation]

Lance seethed. He felt powerless, exhibition in the warehouse or no, there didn't seem to be anything he could do.

So he seethed, looming over the Elendel skyline, watching the mists undulate and hoping beyond hope they could calm him as they always did his friends.

There is something you could do. The wind seemed to speak to him and with it came inspiration. There was something he could do. He pulled his backup mask from a pocket, the one with red lenses. It was time for him to bring flames to those who had earned it.

One in particular.

===========================

Lance carried his grisly package to the Parlor, work done for the night and card left in its glory so people knew who had delivered the earned punishment. He stopped for a second, ducking into an alley to readjust his bandages. He'd have to replace them soon, unless he wanted his blood halfway across the city.

He strode out, rounding the corner to the parlor's front steps, and set down the package, careful to leave the twin blood-red M's facing the door and the street. 

Lance pounded on the door and left, ducking back and forth through multiple alleys, all to return to one of his dwindling safe locations.

He could breathe here like nowhere else.

[+ZincAboutIt]

On 1/5/2020 at 4:56 AM, Ookla the Maybe-Existent said:

“We could kill them all, you know,” he said to Nerin, flicking his eyes up to her. “The gangs.”

“Send a few well-written notes to each of the gangs, pretend to be a third-party. Lead them to a meeting: rig the spot with explosives.” He shrugged. “We’ll find a way.”

Nerin turned to look at him, resting her chin on one knee and thinking about that possibility. To her other side, Attayl crouched and touched her arm without a word. Nerin could tell she was uneasy - they all were. She burned a little Brass and took a bit of the edge off; not enough to make anyone careless, but the two of them deserved a little more calm at least.

Brillin's suggestion would have sounded melodramatic if he hadn't said it so plainly, as though he were recommending a restaurant. As Nerin continued to study his face, she realized he was serious. If she agreed, he would help her kill every last one that they could manage to snare. There was an undeniable allure to that solution, a justice that felt raw and hot. The gangs and their warring had torn apart her life. Why shouldn't she dose them with their own poison?

And then what? Would she go back to running the parlour, sitting and waiting for some new gang to come in and take over? That was the way of things. The Hollows were not affluent enough to escape the clutches of Elendel's street thugs. They were like rats; even if you killed the lot, some would always slink back and rebuild the nest.

Nerin sighed, pushing a few stray hairs out of her eyes and checking her hair pins.

"This isn't the place for that kind of discussion," she said finally, stretching out her legs and getting ready to climb down the ladder. "Let's get back. I'll go down first, Attayl, you come down last."

Nerin shuffled towards the ladder and placed her hands on the top wrung before swinging down one leg at a time. The metal was cold against her palms, and the mist had begun to spiral up as night fell, making the rungs slicker than Nerin would have liked. Thankfully, she remembered which one was broken, and reached the bottom without incident. She stood in the alleyway, waiting for the others and trying not to imagine shapes watching her through the mists.

She failed.

[old man moomba]

Aben exhaled another cloud of smoke, letting it mix with the mists and swirl into the sky. He smiled, tapping the tabac out of his pipe and returning it to his pocket. Now, it was time. He sat down on the roof, closing his eyes and counting back from ten. By the time he hit one, he’d fallen asleep and entered the wolf dream. 

He stood on the roof, looking out over a clear skyline. No mists here, for the moment at least. Now that he was here, there were things he needed to do. Places he needed to find, places which he could only find here. He set that need in his mind and shifted away. As he moved across the city, idle thoughts drifted through his mind. Maybe the name I picked for myself was foolish. Aben thought ruefully, After all, wolves don't pick their names like we do. I shouldn't be named just for the things I carry. He stopped on the top of a building, running his hand through his hair. He reached inside himself, looking for his very self. What was he, at his core? 

He was a traveler. The thought came to him suddenly. He'd seen more than any one wolf could have in a lifetime. He'd seen suns set on worlds where wolves were a distant memory. Aben smiled, an image forming of a wolf sitting on a cliff, watching the sun set. The world shifted around the wolf, but still it stood there, watching the sun. Aben felt himself change into a wolf. 

Some time later, the wolf called Many Suns stood back on the parlor roof, giving a doggy yawn and suddenly returning to the real world, changing back into the human form others called Aben. 

[I think I am here.]

Brillin looked at that silence, between Attayl and Nerin. He sighed and followed Nerin down the ladder and onto the alley.

“I mean, it was just a thought,” he said, feeling resignation and a touch of disgust in himself he would even consider murdering a bunch of people. Maybe all of this violence was influencing him.

Better than being a coward, a voice in him told him. All of that strength and yet you’re only good for writing.

[+Sorana]

Attayl climbed down after him, hurried, somehow caught by a strange fear to be left alone. She caught up to them on the ground, Nerin staring into the mists, Brilling standing close to her. He hadn't said anything again, not since she had arrived on the roof again, although she thought she could hear him talk to Nerin while she was half-way down the ladder. She resumed hugging herself, her eyes followed Nerin's glance into mists and she burned bronze, if only to make sure nobody was watching them.

"There is nothing here." She said quietly, after she had listened for a while again unsure if she should comment on Brillin's idea, or simply let it stand where it was. He hadn't spoken to her, so it probably would be best if she kept quiet. There were so many things she wanted to tell him, about killing, about considering to kill, but the way he had stopped really talking to her earlier the moment Nerin had shown up silenced her. She couldn't quite pinpoint why, couldn't see the reason, but the way he had changed topic had been impossible to interpret the wrong way.

With a sigh she brushed her hair out of her face, shifted her leg from one foot to the other. "Let's go back to the parlor." She suggested. "Talk and plan. And then we can think of a good way to drag ourselves out of this mess." She didn't wait for them to agree, instead she walked to the next corner, bronze burning comfortably in her core and carefully glanced around it. The street seemed save, with only a few people moving around, none of them suspicious. She could be wrong, but Attayl had learned to trust her instincts when it came to people and so lifted a hand and waved to them, indicated that she saw nothing out of place here.

[+ZincAboutIt]

Nerin followed Attayl, relaxing a bit when she declared that they were alone in the mists. It seemed she had taken to burning her bronze more often.

Good, Nerin thought, moving through the close, shifting grey that swirled around her. We need every edge we can get.

The mist spiraled and eddied around her, drawn by her Allomancy. She'd begun Soothing again, out of habit, though she was hardly near enough to anyone to be of any use. It was just what she did, what she was. Just a Soother and nothing more.

The Counsellor of Gods was only a misting, she told herself, fretting at a hangnail as they continued through the streets. But she was hardly Edgard Ladrian, and this wasn't the end of the world. Just probably the end of her world.

They passed a couple on the streets, then turned another corner into more familiar areas. A lamplighter shuffled past in the dimness, his long pole and candle flickering in the mist, and Nerin felt a tiny bit of her anxiety leak away. If they were still lighting the lamps around here, things couldn't be too bad. As they neared the parlour, Nerin spotted something sitting on the front porch. She stopped about a dozen yards away, motioning at Brillin and Attayl to halt as well.

"There's something on the front step," she said softly, keeping her face carefully blank. Nerin slipped her key out of her pocket and handed it to Attayl. "Go in through the side door, and take Brillin with you. I'll go look at it, and if it isn't dangerous, I'll knock three times on the front door."

@Sorana @Ookla the Maybe-Existent

[+Sorana]

13 hours ago, ZincAboutIt said:

"There's something on the front step," she said softly, keeping her face carefully blank. Nerin slipped her key out of her pocket and handed it to Attayl. "Go in through the side door, and take Brillin with you. I'll go look at it, and if it isn't dangerous, I'll knock three times on the front door."

Attayl raised an eyebrow at her, and handed the key back. "I will go and take a look." She said softly. "You can come along, or go through the side door, but I certainly won't let you go alone." A smiled touched her lips and she brushed her fingers over Nerin's. "You aren't alone anymore. I am here, Brillin is here. We can shoulder the situation together."

Concentrating on her bronze for another moment she heard nothing but the pulses coming from Nerin. Drawing her knives she held them in her hands for a moment, before ghosting over to the entrance of the parlor. Her steps were quiet on the cobblestones, the shivvering of her limbs had stopped. Now that she had something to do, she could feel herself settling into a place of calm and concentration, just like she had been taught. Don't let yourself be distracted, focus on the situation.

Carefully she neared the package, wanted to take a look at it first.

@Invocation

[+ZincAboutIt]

Nerin moved alongside Attayl, impressed by the woman's quiet step and surety. She could hear her own breath in the cool night air, and she forced herself to slow it down. As they neared the porch, Nerin could see the shape of the object resolve itself into a medium-sized box. Something had been scrawled onto the side - a letter, perhaps? 

Darkness pooled at the foot of the box, seeping up the sides. Nerin squinted, then stopped.

"Attayl," she hissed, eyes locked on the familiar, wet shadow of blood that was leaking through the package. "It's... bleeding. Whatever's in there is bleeding. A lot."

@Sorana

[I think I am here.]

Brillin followed the both of them until the box came in sight. He’d heard Attayl, and he wasn’t keen on leaving them behind either. Even if the box ended up to be dangerous. And from how the pool of blood looked, reflecting a streak of lantern light, that’s what it seemed to be. Dangerous. Brillin stepped forward and squinted, tried to read what was written on the side.

Serial killers sometimes delivered body parts in packages as intimidation. Was this that? Brillin swallowed and looked at the blood again. Bombs didn’t bleed. So, this couldn’t be a bomb. Which meant it would be safe to open up without the risk of being blown up.

“Who do you think it’s from?” He asked.

[+ZincAboutIt]

Nerin continued forward after a moment, curling her hands into fists to keep them from shaking. She knelt down to the side of the box, out of the way of any obvious blood pooling, and squinted at the writing on the side. 

"I can't see a bloody thing," she said under her breath, twisting to get out of the way of the meager light of the street lamp, which was simply diffusing in the mist. Nerin looked closer, and a glimmer of light reflected off the slope of a single letter scrawled in vivid - and familiar - red paint. 'M.' It was the letter M.

Nerin felt her jaw tighten.

"It's from Lance," she said, biting off the name as though hoping he might feel her teeth on it. I did ask for blood. "He's probably lurking somewhere, getting ready to have a nice laugh, the rusting weasel."

[+Invocation]

1 minute ago, ZincAboutIt said:

Nerin continued forward after a moment, curling her hands into fists to keep them from shaking. She knelt down to the side of the box, out of the way of any obvious blood pooling, and squinted at the writing on the side. 

"I can't see a bloody thing," she said under her breath, twisting to get out of the way of the meager light of the street lamp, which was simply diffusing in the mist. Nerin looked closer, and a glimmer of light reflected off the slope of a single letter scrawled in vivid - and familiar - red paint. 'M.' It was the letter M.

Nerin felt her jaw tighten.

"It's from Lance," she said, biting off the name as though hoping he might feel her teeth on it. I did ask for blood. "He's probably lurking somewhere, getting ready to have a nice laugh, the rusting weasel."

Quote

Lance smirks on the roof.

 

[+Sorana]

Attayl nodded in agreement and but her knive away. She looked at the blood for another moment and then reached out for the box, pulled it over. It was heavy, and the blood covered her fingers and hands, coloring them a bright red. She had seen these packages before, different sizes, different locations, but usually they all contained something of they same category.

"I doubt this will a pleasing sight." She warned the other two and then turned it around, searched for a way to open it. It wasn't a pleasant sight. Glassy eyes stared up at her, hair coated in blood and plastered to the scalp, too pale skin. She knew the man, knew him better than she would have prefered. "Willet." She announced and closed the lid again. The carton was soaked, threatened to rip apart beneath her fingers, but for now it would hold everything together.

More violence. As if violence would solve it, as if violence would stop it. Maybe it would. If they were all gone, if nobody was left to fight anymore, then maybe, maybe they had a chance. She looked at the box for a while, unsure what to feel, how to deal with that. Willet. Sorrow crossed her face, followed by relief that he was gone, that this tie had been cut as well.

"Maybe we should talk to him again." She suggested. "See if we come up with a plan to turn their attention away from the parlor. If they stop using it as a battlefield, you could simply continue paying the one who wins the conflict."

@ZincAboutIt @Ookla the Maybe-Existent

[+ZincAboutIt]

"Let me see," Nerin said, her hand reaching for the box before she could stop herself. She was surprised that her hand didn't shake, that her voice was still and quiet. Nerin gently lifted the lid, careful not to jostle anything or tear the soaking red carton, and looked down at the head in the box.

Nerin had never met Willet, and so there was no shock of recognition as she stared at his empty eyes and open mouth. The air was heavy with the hot, coppery smell of blood; she was getting used to that smell now. She had half-expected to feel revulsion, perhaps even to vomit or faint at the sight of so much gore. Or maybe she had expected to feel joy, that hot, cruel happiness that savagely gloats at the downfall of one who has harmed you.

Instead, Nerin felt only a tight, icy rage pool in her belly and begin moving outward. It spread a cold determination through her veins, galvanizing her toward action. That feeling was the biting wind, the deep freeze, the calculating and merciless frost of winter. Nerin said nothing, but reached up to slip one of the hairpin daggers from her hair and slide the blade from its little wooden sheath. The metal glittered in the low, misty lamplight, winking coldly up at her.

Then, she drove the blade into one of Willet's dead, glassy eyes. Then the next. Again and again, she punctured the soft, vulnerable flesh with her little steel blade. She only stopped when she could no longer recognize him as a person at all, and she knelt there, breathing hard, her hands slick and scarlet.

She stood, still clutching her little dagger, and felt moisture on her face - though whether blood or tears, she couldn't tell. 

"Attayl, Brillin," she spoke into the misty night, her voice still soft and even. "I believe the linens on my bed are already soaked in blood from yesterday. You can use them to carry this out to the back yard. It won't do to keep this out on the porch."

Nerin took the key ring from her pocket and unlocked the front door, then the dead bolt, and pushed it open.

"I think you're right about speaking to Lance again," she said, and some of the ice in her veins crept into her words. "And I have a feeling I know just where to find him."

She moved through the darkened entryway, taking the stairs by memory and walking down the hallway towards the room at the end. Jeb's room. It had the easiest access up to the roof. Her hands left red smears on the doorknob and window latch, but she barely noticed as she climbed out into the misty night, one hand still holding her dagger, and stalked around a gable.

"I know you're up here!" She called out. There was minimal wind tonight, but the mist still eddied around her in thick currents. She was still burning Brass at a low pace, though what she was trying to Soothe escaped her. "You wouldn't miss a chance to mock us some more, now would you?"

@Sorana @Invocation @Ookla the Maybe-Existent

[+Invocation]

On 1/24/2020 at 6:27 PM, ZincAboutIt said:

"I know you're up here!" She called out. There was minimal wind tonight, but the mist still eddied around her in thick currents. She was still burning Brass at a low pace, though what she was trying to Soothe escaped her. "You wouldn't miss a chance to mock us some more, now would you?"

Lance smirked from the balcony of the inn next door, new mask in place and tenebrous mistcoat as comfortable as ever.. "You are on the wrong roof. Did you enjoy the gift? You did ask for blood, after all."

[+ZincAboutIt]

2 hours ago, Invocation said:

Lance smirked from the balcony of the inn next door, new mask in place and tenebrous mistcoat as comfortable as ever.. "You are on the wrong roof. Did you enjoy the gift? You did ask for blood, after all."

Nerin turned at his voice, looking across the narrow alleyway and spotting him perched on a balcony. The mist churned like a river through the gap between the buildings, thick and grey. 

“So very generous of you,” she called, stepping closer to the edge of the roof and holding up her hands. The little dagger glittered wetly. “I inspected it myself.”

She pulled the wooden sheath from her pocket and wiped the tiny blade on her skirt before sliding it back into place. Her fingers were beginning to feel uncomfortably sticky and cold; she ignored the sensation.

”Does this mean everything is done, then? Will anyone else be using this place as a battleground for your war? We paid for safety; is there anything more your people want from me?”