Longshot97

In response to both of these posts: I think that having Fenna and Arranis seeking the remaining constabulary could be a cool idea. Right now, Eza, Asylum, and Eighth are in the commissary, and depending on @Stormlightsong's plans, this seems like a nice way of heightening stakes while giving characters some room to breathe. I vote to have one or both characters find the constables, then go hunting Asylum. Thank you for clarifying. That was my assumption, though hopefully we can get you back in play sooner rather than later. Thanks for taking that metaphorical bullet; the whole vampire fight scene feels really powerful for it. Awesome RP there.

Eighth of the Eve followed the black cat. Seiju huddled at his shoulder, eyes drooping. It had been a long day for her. Thankfully, she remained awake enough to guide his steps. The ground trembled every so often, accompanied with cries and shouts of pain echoing down the halls, but the Aviar kept his stride smooth. Eza curled up in his arms, breathing ragged and faint. She seemed to weight nothing in his arms. So slight, so frail. The cat was approaching the intersection. To the left, the cellblock door was flung open, flickering light spilling into the hall. Beyond there was escape. Beyond that bloodied hall was safety. As though hearing his thoughts, the cat stopped, turning its head to regard Eighth calmly. Its shadow followed suit a moment too late, spots of light seeming to pin Eighth in place. It flicked its tail, then meandered to the right. The shadow lingered, staring at Eighth, before following the small feline. Eighth ground his teeth, but turned as well. There was no point. It wasn't as though he could lift Eza out their small skylight. Well, not before pursuers caught up with them. This was their best chance. Her best chance. Her only chance. The cat strode serenely down the hall, almost delicately stepping over a few spots of blood, stopping before an open door. The smell of cooked food wafted out alongside blood and decay, and Eighth's stomach turned. The cat stepped through the door. And Eighth followed. He didn't know what he'd been expecting. But this was worse. Distant Father... Blood puddled around a corpse, prone on the floor. Unmoving, thankfully. Arranged about it were three circles of white powder. Salt? Besides them, three forms stood. And Eighth's heart all but froze in his chest. A bulbous, pestilent man stood, impossibly upright despite the ailments that visibly wracked his body. Eighth felt sick just looking at him. The mucus green of his eyes wavered in the light, like smoke above a fire. The yellow-eyed man was thin; painfully so. His clothes hung about a spindly frame, with skin wrapped tight about harsh, bony edges. Eighth licked his lips, his mouth suddenly bone-dry. And then... Oh Father. Oh, Patji. The man's eyes were completely red. Muscle swelled impossibly about his frame. Those eyes met his, and tore his eyes away. Horrible, terrible rage loomed in that body. It could hardly be human. And, of course, it. Skinwalker. Demon. Depthbringer. Asylum Smedry. The man stood over a withered husk, blood dripping from his hands and staining his suitcoat. It was almost entirely red now, so saturated as to appear black. That, however, paled in comparison to his eyes. Like pools of midnight, pierced by a the spots of abyss that were his pupils. His skin had smoothed over, teeth and nails pristinely white. Even that could not hide this monstrosity's nature. Eighth's eyes flicked to the shriveled mass of flesh at Asylum's feet. The shadowcat stretched, then padded over to its master, rubbing up against the man's ankles. Its eyes, however, remained on Eighth. Its shadow undulated unnaturally. Eighth of the Eve stood, Eza cradled in his arms. His back felt on fire. His face was a mask of stillness - trapper's impassivity flowed where emotion failed. "Asylum Smedry," Eighth said. His voice felt distant. "We have come, as your minion bade us. What are your demands?" @Stormlightsong @Lunamor

Oh. Oh. That's what the Forgery was. I kept seeing it mentioned, but found no directly descriptive references. So, I have hit a brick wall in terms of this. I am struggling with how to move my character's arc forward. To help stimulate creativity, I am turning to this community. If anyone has anything they'd be willing to offer - any insights, idle thoughts, even questions - about my character, I would love to hear them. Obviously there's no pressure, but if you have some free time, I value any and all responses.

That makes sense. Hopefully, there's a healer around. Or maybe Asylum can heal. Who knows. Speaking of which @Stormlightsong it looks like Eighth and Eza are coming your way. One is borderline comatose, the other is probably on his last legs. The ball is in your court. Eighth heard a small groan from behind him. Eza. She was waking up. Or maybe in so much pain that, even unconscious, she couldn't help but express it. How badly hurt is she? Eighth of the Eve hesitated, then reached up and slung Eza from his shoulder into his arms. That should take the pressure off her abdomen. Her head rested in the crook of his elbow, her legs curled in a fetal position. His arms were full, now. If anything attacked, he would lose precious seconds setting her down safely. He could be endangering both of them. Somehow, Eighth couldn't bring himself to care care. The shadowcat could have killed him and Eza in a heartbeat - he was certain of it. If it wanted them dead, then they would be dead, simple as that. No. The mastermind behind this wanted them alive. Or at least one of us. Besides, hearing Eza in pain...it broke Eighth's heart. She was the reason they were here, but he had promised to see her and her friend to safety. She had saved him from certain death. If he had been locked up, stripped of his gear and helpless as that skinwalker swept through the constabulary... And he cared about her. Deeply. She was the niece he hadn't driven away, the child that might have been. She had saved his life not once, not twice, but three times. Probably more. She had trusted him. For the first time in so many moons, she had not shunned him as others had. Please, Patji. Please, Father. Spare this girl. You have taken so much from me. Grant me this much. @Stormlightsong @Lunamor

Eighth of the Eve held desperately to the cell door, fighting to stay alive. The door was composed entirely of vertical bars, with the only solid section being the lock. The Bloodless was taking full advantage, slashing and stabbing and biting as it tried to force its way out. Patji alone knew how it hadn't escaped yet. His hands burned from the impacts on the frame he was holding shut. He glanced reflexively at his wrist. But no. His lightline was gone, somewhere on the floor behind him. Eza stumbled the cell beside him. Father, but she was in bad shape. Of course, he wasn't much better. Pain wracked his back and shoulders every time he shifted, and hot blood ran down his shirt. She stopped by the door, closing her eyes, as though in pain. The Bloodless rounded on her, snarling its fury. No! Eighth angled his arm, then triggered his blowpipes. The dart flew, lodging in the creature's cheek. The Bloodless screeched wildly, slamming against the door. Eighth jerked his head from a clawed swipe, then dropped from a full-arm stab. His left hand slipped from the door. It was going to escape. He couldn't hold it. He- The lock clicked shut. Eighth threw himself back as the Bloodless rushed the door again. The bars rang loudly from the blow, the metal seeming to quiver at the force. But the door held. The creature threw its head back, howling its fury to the heavens. Clawed hands gripped the steel bars as though to rip them asunder. But no matter how it strained, no matter how it bit or clawed or wrenched, the steel stood strong. Those talons were meant for bloodshed and butchery, not carving through solid steel. Eighth scrambled back from the door, not bothering to get to his feet. He shoved himself away, kicking his feet wildly to gain distance. It was over. They had done it. They were alive. He rolled himself to his side, then just rested there, on his hands and knees. Chest heaving, arms quivering. He was shivering, taking in all that had happened. "Are you alright?" Eighth forced himself up on one knee, deliberately taking stock. His back felt on fire. From his forearms, his arms ached abominably. His head throbbed with pain, though his vision had snapped into focus. A flutter of wings sounded, and Seiju landed awkwardly beside him. She stood just fine, but lines of red blood stood out across one wing. Eighth reached out, carefully holding her in his hands. She was no longer a chick he could cradle, sheltering her with his hands from the world. But she huddled down, nuzzling his hand until he stroked her neck. "Thank you," he said, quietly. She cooed softly. A thump sounded before Eighth. He jerked upright, noticing Eza for the first time. She had fallen to the floor, eyes glassy, hands shaking. She nearly spilled water all over herself as she drank fiercely from a vial. He rose painfully to his feet, walking over to kneel beside her. Blood dripped from her upraised arm, and she curled about her midsection. She looked so small, now. A child really, huddled on the floor, hurting and far from home. Fall's face swam in his mind, hunkered down in the forest floor, underbrush barely sheltering her from the driving rain. Blood had mixed with the water running down her skin. Eighth rose, groping his coat for his bandages. His hands felt clammy. He barely found the small pouch, pulling it free and laying it out. "I'll be fine," he said to Eza. Her eyes were drooping, shoulders shaking. "But you are not." The girl didn't even respond. A small cat, black as midnight, emerged from the shadows. Eighth blinked. When had it arrived? What was it doing here? Did the constables have problems with mice? The little creature butted its head against Eza, as though trying to wake her up. Eighth frowned, shooing it back. Eza's eyes were distant, unfocused. Her head seemed fine. Still, anything could have happened... Eza's eyes rolled back in her head, and she collapsed bonelessly to her side. * * * Eighth of the Eve panicked. It had been sometime since that had happened. He grabbed Eza by the arms, shaking her forcefully. No. No! She didn't stir, not even as her head knocked hollowly against the floor. Calm. Calm yourself, fool! He forced himself to set her down gently, feeling at her wrist, then her neck. Her pulse was there, but weak, faint. Her face was pale, lips nearly blue in the harsh light. Her chest rose only shallowly. Eighth felt frantically for his waterskin. Then stopped, staring blankly at the empty bag. Fool! He tossed it aside, grabbing a clay pot from his coat instead. He crouched low, holding her arm up to the light and examining it closely. Some of the more vicious predators of Lokui delivered venom through hollowed claws. This cut, however, appeared clean. He packed the cut with salve before binding it. He hesitated, then wrapped cloth about her upper arm, tightly enough to restrict blood flow. He did not want her to lose a limb. Still, who knew how long before they escaped? The cat wandered over, sniffing inquisitively at the dressing. Eighth shooed it away once more. The cat did not back away. It sat there, looking calmly up at him. Despite the lighting, those emerald orbs glowed against the black pupil. It met his gaze steadily, unwaveringly, not even blinking. Eighth finally looked aside. To search for further wounds, he told himself. He was not unnerved by this feline. He repeated this sternly, as his trembling hands probed Eza's ribs for breaks. Finally, Eighth sat back. Seiju walked up, pushing her head beneath his arm. Eighth scratched her idly, then turned to begin addressing her wounds. We need to leave, Eighth thought, cleaning the wound thoroughly. The Aviar remained resolutely quiet, enduring the probing with only a few shudders. One minion was nearly enough to destroy the both of us. We need to leave, and she needs a surgeon. His back twinged as he began wrapping the wing. I do, as well. Eighth finished treating Seiju. The Aviar would not be flying for a week or so, and then only slowly. He felt a sharp pang at that. "I'm sorry," he said. He didn't know to whom he spoke. He placed the Aviar carefully on his shoulder, then stood up. The pain in his joints was receding. Eighth paced the length of the hallway, walking through their next steps in his mind. He gathered his knockout darts, sliding one into his emptied blowpipe. His lightline he found on the floor, next an ornately bejeweled knife. Eighth tucked that safely away. Debris scattered down the hall, he thought, carefully gathering the quicksilver. The Bloodless must have been rampaging there. Perhaps it broke a way outside. Eighth turned back to Eza. She lay there, oblivious to the world around her. Peaceful, almost. He brushed a stray lock of hair from her eyes. The cat watched impassively. Then, careful of her ribs - something was wrong there - Eighth lifted her from the ground. She didn't even stir. He would have carried her in his arms all the way outside. But danger roamed these halls, and he was already so limited. Wincing on her behalf, he draped Eza over his shoulder. Her stomach would hurt fiercely when she awoke. If she ever awakens. Eighth of the Eve turned they way they had initially been headed. Then stopped cold. The cat was there, seated motionlessly in the center of the hallway. Its eyes met his serenely. Eighth looked back, then down the hall, baffled. No cat is that silent. Seiju stirred nervously. "Move," he told it. His voice came out harsher than he'd intended. Something is not right. The cat flicked its tail, but otherwise ignored him. "Move," Eighth said. "Or be moved." Nothing. Eighth began to walk past it - slowly, with the additional weight. The cat didn't even twitch. But behind it, its shadow seemed to stretch to ten times its size, like the silhouette of some monstrous creature. Down the hall, where the head was, spots of light slowly grew. Like eyes. Like the shadow was alive. Eighth halted. Then, without even pausing to consider, he raised his blowpipes. The cat didn't move a muscle. He sighted briefly, then pulled the trigger. The trigger jammed, refusing to budge. Eighth pulled again, and the trigger moved. But rather than flying, the dart splintered apart, scattering harmlessly across the floor. Eighth swore, drawing his blade. Or rather, trying to. The machete only withdrew halfway before lodging in its sheath. Eighth pulled harder, and it seemed to him his coat reached out to entangle his arm. Eighth shook his hand free, then thrust it to the beast before him. The metal veins of his glove flared to life. Then sputtered, the glove emanating odd sounds. Eighth focused harder, but the glow only flickered more fiercely. The quicksilver at his side didn't move at all. He took another step. The shadow loomed, lengths of darkness that might have been claws unsheathing. The uncertain light of his glove didn't even disturb it. Eighth ground his teeth together. Eza seemed an enormous weight on his shoulder. Seiju huddled down. Then he lowered his hand. The light died out. "Fine," he told the creature. "Fine. Take us to your master." The cat flicked its ears, then rose, walking in the opposite direction. Deliberately, it brushed past Eighth's legs, sauntering back towards the cellblock. Towards a being from the Depths themselves. Towards certain death, or worse. The burden on his shoulders dragging him down, Eighth followed. @Lunamor @Stormlightsong

They stopped the beast just in time. Eighth of the Eve growled. His muscles quivered, taut with exertion. Cords stood out at his neck. The Bloodless dug its taloned feet into the wooden floor, then lurched down to all fours. Pain began to flare, his tendons screaming in agony, his joints slowly pulling in ways the were not meant for. The claws slid towards him, carving ragged furrows through the planking. Eighth felt their progress. Slowly. Too slowly. His plan had to work. It had to. Just a little further… There. The wood crunched viciously under the monster’s claws as it howled in frustration. Eight felt the subtle lessening of pressure, saw the tensing of hind and shoulder muscles as the Bloodless prepared to turn on another victim. The veins about his left hand began to hum an ethereal violet. Without looking, Eight was suddenly conscious of the waterskin at his side. He risked a one-handed hold on the line, and thrust his gloved hand down. The quicksilver burst from its vessel, the cork effortlessly shoved aside. Solvent silver ran to the floor below, pooling about him. No! With an effort of will, Eighth held the metal back, away from his feet. Right as the Bloodless whirled on him, eyes alight with fury. He felt his mind clouding over, and hurriedly looked aside from its gaze. He saw it lunge, practically flying with the force of their pull. The approaching claws and fangs filled his vision. With a raw shout, Eighth released the line and dove forward, angling himself directly beneath the monstrosity. He had done so many a time. He would strike hands-first, slowing his fall to take the force off of his roll. It would end in an effortless rise to his feet, facing the way he had come, unharmed and unhindered. But Seiju was no longer with him. Eighth felt lines of heat trace their way across his spine. He landed his hands correctly, but his back spasmed in pain, and he only just managed to keep from slamming his head into the ground. He crashed down, tumbling painfully until he settled in a heap next to Eza. Through tears of pain, Eighth saw the monster touch down directly where he had been standing. Right on the quicksilver. The Bloodless slipped, claws sliding helplessly on the metal, its momentum carrying it onwards. Eighth thrust his hand - still alight with power - and the metal rolled forward, carrying the creature helplessly past the cell’s open door. Eighth lurched to his feet as the Bloodless crashed against the back wall. Hurry. Hurry! He raced across the length of the hallway as the creature slowly regained its feet. Just as it lifted its head, Eighth seized the door, slamming it shut. His hands scrabbled on the door, grasping for a lever, a bolt, a lock of some kind. There was none. The creature’s eyes widened as it made out the wall of bars between them. A wailing screech escaped its throat, and it lunged for the door. Eighth flung his hand to the side, and the quicksilver flowed out from beneath the Bloodless, sending it sprawling. The light of his hand revealed a strange indentation on the door. Angular on the bottom, circular the top, almost a fingerlength deep. A keyhole. Eighth barely hung on as the Bloodless slammed against the bars. “We need a key!” he shouted. He barely moved in time to avoid a slashing claw, then slid his hands down as the creature snapped at then. “It won’t lock without one!” @Lunamor

Eighth stood there, shaking himself out of the stupor. The Bloodless's eyes had trapped him, right up to the moment Eza had intervened. He had frantically reloaded his blowpipes - with killing points, this time - and taken aim. Then stopped as he saw Eza back away from the beast, blade buried within its heart. And it had stood up anyway, flesh sealing the wound with barely a scar.. We can't kill it, Eighth thought. It would take an army to kill it. But what other choice do we have? Eighth advanced, hand on his machete. Yet before he could even draw it, the Bloodless struck. It burst forward, and before either of them could react, kicked Eza. In the stomach, like a misbehaving hound. She collapsed, skidding helplessly across the floor to the opposite wall. And behind the creature, the door to an empty cell swung out. In that moment, Eighth of the Eve saw their chance. He whistled sharply, holding his left hand aloft. Seiju hopped down as he tapped his fingers to his left palm. Then he whistled - two shrill notes, one high, one low. Attack. Seiju looked askance only a moment before taking flight, rising above the Bloodless. Eighth ran in the opposite direction. Towards the open cell. Eighth darted to the barred wall, a glowing lightline trailing behind him. He heard the faint whine of his Aviar 's dive, and smiled. He stripped the lightline bracelet off his wrist, then passed it around the bar nearest to the door. A tap signaled the A cry split the air. Seiju. "No!" He shouted, whirling about. Seiju had been struck from the air, and was fluttering wildly, trying to regain control. The creature had barely paused to deal with the Aviar, and was nearly upon Eza. The beast's enraged snarl reflected in her terrified eyes. And a glowing line of light trailed from the Bloodless's back. "Eza!" Eighth shouted, tossing the bracelet into the air. The metal bracelet. "Pull!" Eighth seized the lightline, just as the creature pounced, teeth and claws bared. He braced his feet, released his weightloss, and heaved on the line with all his might.

Eighth of the Eve regained his feet right as the abomination dropped from the ceiling. It's skin was pale; deathly so. Yet even that pallid sheen was eclipsed by the bone-white of fresh scar. Spiraling across its skin, in eldritch patterns that baffled the mind. Just looking at them made Eighth shiver in revulsion. His reservations vanished as the creature slashed at Eza. Patji be praised, the girl dodged the blow, jerked to the side as though hauled by a rope. The claws scored her, however, even as she returned the favor. The monster recoiled, half its face lacerated, its eye split asunder. Yet not a hint of gore exited the wound, even as the flesh rippled and ran over, healing the damage. Eighth shuddered. Bloodless indeed. He ran a critical eye over the creature, examining it as he would a stalker of Lokui. Claws split the beast's fingertips, and the barest hint of talons emerged from the shredded ruin of its boots. It moved fast - faster than Aviar in flight. What he could make of its pupil was a mere slit in the illuminated hall. Nocturnal, then. Hunting habits aside, its eye was gone, and they had a chance. Eighth of the Eve raised his arm, sighting on the creature. His grip centered on the creature's ravaged eye. Then he pulled the trigger. A volley of darts erupted from his blowpipes in quick succession. Six. Seven. Eight. His aim was true. The projectiles flew straight, striking home about the Bloodless's ruined eye. Then rebounded. Eighth stared. The volley of missiles had driven the Bloodless back a good seven meters, step by step, but not a single one had penetrated skin. What had he done? Were his dartpoints faulty? No. They couldn't possibly all be misaligned. Eighth's eyes fell on one blowdart, rolling across the floor back towards him. The tip was oblong, slightly deformed. And completely, harmlessly blunt. Oh, Patji. Oh, Distant Father. The creature was recovering. Its eye was healed now, the fully formed orb fixating on them, beady with malice. The socket about the eye was deformed, and a flash of white told of protruding bone. Yet it ignored the injuries entirely, all its focus now upon them. Eighth thrust his hand within his coat, seizing his piercepoint darts. The creature's eyes fell on him, and Eighth froze despite himself. In those eyes was not merely hatred, but hunger. A lust for blood and bone, to drive all other, lesser concerns from this thing's mind. An unearthly screech emerged from its mouth, ululating unnaturally. Eighth quailed. Then the Bloodless charged him, fangs bared, claws seeking Eighth's heart. @Lunamor @Speeding Steelrunner @Stormlightsong

Eighth of the Eve nearly staggered from the sudden force that pulled the waterskin. He braced his knees, holding tight as Eza fairly flew across the open space, her feet not even brushing the ground. Even so, he felt his feet sliding out beneath him, and he reached desperately to anchor a lightline to the hallway. And missed. Eighth lurched forward. Thankfully, Eza landed safely beside him. Still, stumbled, only just catching himself on the doorframe. Right in perfect view of the demon. Eighth felt himself freeze, like a preybeast hearing a trapper's approach. Those infernal eyes caught him, pinned him in place, boring through skin and sinew directly to his soul. That eerie smile lingered, even as those midnight orbs widened in alarm. Eighth whirled, seizing Eza by the arm, and sprinted down the hall. Blooded pounded in his ears in time with his steps. They had been spotted. Patji, they had been spotted. The demon knew they were here. Seiju trilled frantically from his shoulder, but could offer little aid. Their flight was down an clear hall, and a person could only run so fast, no matter the path they took. Still, his steps were effortlessly soundless as they ran, and terror lent his feet wings. Further down the hall, a gaping door opened to a bloodstained room, a prone corpse just visible. Eighth felt his stomach heave, and he turned on the nearest intersection. Behind, ominous footfalls sounded from the cellblock. There had to be a way out somewhere. They had entered somewhere central to the building, just outside the prison area. All they needed do was head in the general direction of the outermost walls. Eighth was confident he could break out of anything short of solid stone. Without warning, the constabulary shook. Eighth fell to one knee as the walls rippled and the floor quaked. Seiju clutched his shoulder even tighter, nearly falling from her perch. What manner of sorcery did that monster wield? How could he shake the earth itself? He raises the dead from the Depths, fool. What challenge is the living world to him? @Lunamor

More action for Eighth and Eza, I suppose. At least they aren't vampires. Oh, and they both might bump into Fenna at some point, since they've passed Asylum's position.

Oh, Father. Guilt stabbed him. Gone was the courageous, resourceful young woman that had outwitted men twice her age. Gone was the fierce loyal companion that had braved imprisonment to rescue her friend. Gone was the hardened warrior who had seen too much for her age. In her place, all Eighth saw was a small, fragile girl who had lost everything. Tears fell from her eyes, and her body shook with sobs that threatened to tear it apart. And her face... That was the face of a broken soul. A person who tried so hard to be with those they loved, only have everything ripped away by a cruel world. Eighth recognized that face. He knew it well. It greeted him in every passing reflection. Eighth saw something harden in her eyes. Her shoulders settled, the tears eased from her face, and a deadly calm suffused her features. In that moment, he saw it. The numb, unfeeling resolve of someone with nothing left to lose. The horror was there, and the loss. But a silent fire burned therein, and Eighth was struck by the strength of this girl. "That's not my friend. Not anymore," she said quietly. She brushed past him, stepping between him and the skinwalker's horde. Blades appeared suddenly in her hands - thin, sharp daggers that glittered defiantly in the light. They both were yet unnoticed by that monster. But his heart swelled at her ready defense. Fool. This is why you are here to begin with. Remember. Remember your exile. Somehow, facing a being from the underworld, Eighth could not care. "Eighth, run." And run he did. * * * Eighth of the Eve darted towards the bend in the hallway. Just past it, the door yawned open. He needed only cover a distance of five meters. Five meters of open floor, where anyone, man or monstrosity, could see him. Five meters of danger of the highest order. Five meters where it might see him. Eighth felt the strength of his stride, marveled at how his pace left no sounds. Seiju, still at his shoulder, huddled down, gripping his shoulder tightly. Their bond had never been stronger. Right then, he could have crossed the densest grove of Lokui at a dead sprint, and quite possibly not have disturbed a single leaf. Thank you, old friend. Another second, and he would be out in the open. He clenched his fist, and the violet veins of his glove flared anew. The quicksilver followed, rippling down the floor behind him. Eighth focused on it, felt the world seemingly slow from his concentration. He reached out, praying that he would not fail this time. Praying he got the timing right. Praying no one looked his way. Praying nothing went wrong. Please, Patji. He was at the bend. He thrust his hand forth, and the quicksilver flowed before him. In the same breath, Eighth leapt forward, stretched his arms out and locking his knees. The quicksilver flowed beneath him right as his feet landed. The silvery metal was slick - slick as ice. His feet landed, and he shot forward like a stone from a sling. The speed of his jump diminished not at all, and he sped across the intervening space almost too fast for him to react. Praise Patji, Seiju was still with him. He jumped again, then swept his hand to the side, the quicksilver racing past him. He landed hands-first, tucking himself into a roll as Seiju soundlessly took to the air. He came to his feet, muscles tensed from the speed. It took his body a moment to believe the motion had stopped, then he sagged against a wall. He shook his head, turning to the doorway. He was out of the skinwalker's sightline. Good. He guided the quicksilver back into his waterskin, moving swiftly. If they were lucky, he had gone past unnoticed. If not... Time to run. Eighth released his weightloss, felt himself settle more heavily on his feet. He held the waterskin aloft, gesturing hurriedly towards it. Come on, he thought. Pull on it. Get over here. Escape. That makes absolute sense. You have thought this through way more than I have. Sorry about that, and I look forward to seeing this powerset in action. @Scars of Hathsin According to this, yes. @Lunamor @Stormlightsong

Eighth of the Eve could have laughed. Could he find a way out? It was all he could not to start running like the wind. Seiju had set her talent flaring like a bonfire. He could have scaled mountains without breaking a sweat, crossed a frothing river as though it were a placid stream. Still, he remained where he was, focusing on the bloody tracks leading to their escape. He knew he wasn't steady enough to go anywhere right then, not without serious injury. Well, not only that. Eighth looked down at the girl behind him. He had moved between her and the door, crouching protectively. When? Why? He knew her by now. Tiny, yes. But fierce, determined, clever. She looked at him, and he saw Fourth of the Fall in her face. In his mind's eye, she held his gaze only a moment before looking away. Fury had blazed in her eyes, emotion that she refused to let him see. That was the last time she had ever met his gaze. In this girl's eyes, all he saw was trust. Trust, wholehearted and earnest. Like a younger Fall, holding desperately to a tree ten times her size. Looking dwon at him, arms outstretched from the earth below, he had seen terror fade to trust. Like El, clinging to roots and weeds as quicksand swallowed her up to the waist. Seeing him, that pain and panic had shifted to simple calm. How long had it been since anyone looked at him that way? Eighth finished strapping his blowpipes to his arms. He absently fired a dart through the open doors at his bundled coat, a lightline trailing behind it. It struck, and he abruptly pulled on the line, catching it and swinging it on. He returned his machete to his hip, and reslung his waterskin to his belt. He popped the cork, sending the quicksilver pooling about his feet. "Yes," Eighth said quietly, "but what about your friend?" He looked back at her, and suddenly knew. The alarm was no accident. "Very well," he said. "But I promise you this: we will find him. Eventually." He stepped forward swiftly, closed the office door, then stretched a lightline across the frame. Then two. Then three. That might mislead any pursuers. That done, he rushed down the hallway, as silently as he knew how. The guards should just be approaching the office door. With the other sentries out, they could escape through the entrance into the cellblock. The quicksilver flowed along the floor, following their brisk pace. The door came into view. Someone approached the doorway. Eighth slowed, pulling Eza to the closer wall, hidden to the entryway. The figure strode confidently closer, still just out of the light. Behind it, two men followed. Eighth stiffened, and Seiju huddled down on his shoulder. The men didn't walk so much as shamble, as though any strength of theirs was long spent. The man entered the room, and Eighth froze. Horror swelled within, and he felt sick to his core. The man's eyes were black, black as midnight. Greasy hair framed a gaunt face, the skin pulled tight across the cheekbones. The hands were withered and skeletal, the yellowed fingernails crusted with blood. More blood covered a sleek modern suit, which draped a painfully emaciated frame. It was the figure of his darkest nightmares, sending him screaming from his bedroll, soaked in sweat, body ready for flight. It was the skinwalker of his people's stories incarnate, ready to devour the souls of all who dared cross it. It was everything Eighth feared in the modern man, manifest before them. "Hi," it said, simply. A blur of motion caught Eighth's eye, and the guard from before lunged at the monstrosity, moving with ungodly speed. Then he stopped, the air flickering weakly about him, a knife between his ribs. The guard collapsed to the floor, and the man knelt down beside him, pulling the knife from his chest. Then it... It... Oh, Distant Father. The man desecrated the corpse, defacing it, sparing no expanse of skin from that brutal knife. They carved the body like a cut of meat, inscribing runes of alien origin. Eighth watched in horrified fascination as the man laid a hand over the mutilated guard, bowing his head. The whispered words should not have reached Eighth, but he swore he could hear them, swore he could almost understand them. The corpse twitched. Eighth could not tear his eyes away. The body stood, those awful wounds slowly sealing themselves, leaving only faint scars across it. The skin was gaunt, pale and bone-white. Bloodless. One of the prisoners said something. Eighth could not make out the words. The suited man walked over to a cage and - with a mere touch - unlocked the barred door. In the blink of an eye, the dead guard was in the cell, kneeling over the slumped corpse of the prisoner. The poor man's throat was torn out, and the guard had it's mouth over the wound. Eighth saw the creature's throat work, saw the man's thrashing slow, then stop. Patji protect us all. Eighth backed around the corner, terrified of being seen by this...this thing. His eyes, however would not move from the tableau before him. The Bloodless rose, heedless of the gore spattering its face. The suited man watched impassively, perfectly composed. Then their face split in an unnatural grin, yellowed teeth pointed and predatory. Those midnight eyes glittered with satisfaction, and Eighth swore he saw the fingernails of their folded hands stretching, elongating into curled claws. With a start, Eighth suddenly made out odd sparks of color at the man's sleevecuffs. A green clover, with four leaves. A strip of green silk stood out at the man's throat. And suddenly, everything clicked into place. "So," Asylum Smedry said, "Who's next?" Eighth of the Eve whirled on Eza. His machete was in his hand. When did that happen? The quicksilver pooled around his feet, writhing like boiling water. His mouth felt dry, his eyes wide. He was shaking. Patji, he was trembling. "You did not tell me your friend," Eighth whispered savagely, "Was a demon." Anger and fury pooled with fear and terror. "I promised to help you find your friend. I have." Seiju trembled at his shoulder. Again, he suddenly knew the way to escape, and his legs wanted nothing more than to sprint out the door, heedless of the monstrosities that awaited him. "What will keep him from killing us both?" Behind him, the screaming resumed. At the risk of sounding pedantic, you might want to review the Coppermind for information on F-Iron and conservation of momentum. The Tl;dr is that anytime a Skimmer in motion stores weight, they speed up, and everytime they tap weight, they slow down. To give an example, a Skimmer who is skydiving can increase their weight to slow down, maybe to manuever. They could also decrease their weight to speed up, maybe to outrace an opponent. Hmm. Fenna saw the ravens leaving the building, but didn't see the hole Eighth punched through the roof. This means she probably approached the building from the opposite side Eza and Eighth did. That is roughly where Asylum was actually being kept, and the direction from which he approached the cellblock. So, I propose that's where Fenna crashes down. @Stormlightsong @Lunamor

Eighth of the Eve raised his arms with the next blow, hands spread wide. The cudgel struck the stretched length of wool between his wrists, and he moved swiftly, trapping the weapon in a flurry of fabric. Along the way, he tapped one wrist against the guard's hand. Eighth ripped his hands apart, sending the club spinning off to one side. He slapped his wrist against the left-hand wall, and a glowing cord leashed the guard's arm to the wall. Eighth spooled another lightline over the coat, then flung it in the sentry's face. It immediately adhered to the skin, and the man went down, clawing blindly at his eyes. Footsteps sounded behind, and he whirled to see three guards closing in on him. He swore, slapping his blowpipes to his arm and taking aim. Only, unstrapped as it was, the trigger was just out of reach. He fumbled desperately for it, then looked up to see one guard suddenly in the air right in front of him, emerging from a blur behind him. Eighth dropped, rolling to the side as the man's cudgel crunched into the ground. The man turned on him, and suddenly the approaching guards froze. The air rippled slightly around them. Father! Eighth ducked another swing, then lunged, swinging his blowpipes like a club. The man evaded easily, smiling. Then he cursed, dropping as a blunt-headed projectile passed directly where his head had been. Eighth's heart sank. He had hoped to catch him by surprise. He was clearly the better fighter. The man sprang at him, and Eighth stumbled back, air whistling as the club flew just before his nose. The backhand came, and Eighth knew he could not avoid this. He was defeated. Then a sudden force pulled him by the torso, ripping him out of the bubble of rippling air. He felt a sudden jolt, like hitting water at the wrong angle, only three times as bad. He reeled as he flew through the air, the quicksilver pouch pressing painfully at his midsection. He was soaring towards the far wall. No, towards the office. Eza. Thank Patji. The pull stopped, suddenly. Eighth tried to slow his flight, but, disoriented from the jolt, he just missed anchoring his lightline. He struck the wall with a crack, then dropped to the floor. The world spun about him, and the pain of his head returned with vengeance. A roar filled his ears, and he smelled blood. Eighth lurched to his feet, staggering around the corner. He found Eza hunched over, wheezing as though she'd run a mile. What happened to her? He grabbed her by the arm, towing her towards the office doorway. Then slowed, confused. His hearing was beginning to clear. A loud sound, blaring throughout the building. He had heard its like, once before, high in the air on a ship of metal. An alarm. Ahead, he heard Seiju cry. It was like nothing he had heard from her. Raw. Frantic. Frightened. She shot out of the doorway, then swerved to Eighth, landing on his shoulder. He suddenly saw the best route out of the building, knew it like he knew the lay of Lokui. His feet quivered, ready to run at a moment's notice, even while the world still rocked about him. No, she was not frightened. She was terrified. Ahead, footsteps sounded. Multiple people, striding towards the door. Slowly. Deliberately. A raven's call reached him, and he thought he heard the rattle of rooftiles as someone climbed out their escape. Outside, screams seemed to be echoing. Distant Father. What is happening? @Lunamor @Stormlightsong

No objections here. I've been trying to build up to Eighth and Eza getting trapped in the area outside of Asylum's cell, so that tension is at its maximum for the Big Thing™. Whether or not you feel like waiting for that is up to you, however. You've already waited a while. Though, there's something I feel I should check about now. I'd been assuming this Big Thing™ would be something that allows Asylum to walk free, possibly with a substantial powerup. In my head, I've been imagining a vague explosion of some kind. Would you say whatever the Big Thing™ is would be enough to get Eza and Eighth out of (the current) danger