The Blind Leads the Blind

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Eyes was silent for a moment, and then he smiled.

"Alyssa, sweet creature," He wrapped his arms around her for a moment, low about her waist, before he slid his hands slowly upward until his hands rested on her ribs, just shy of her breasts. "Do excuse me, but the Eyes will sacrifice for the Beauty. Tell my ward not to worry, I'll recover."

His words came quickly and quietly, and then, in a singular instant, just as the trigger pulled, he shoved her from himself and stepped forward. The red circle appeared on the back of his head, and his face, smiling at her for a split moment, exploded in a shard of blood, bone, and brain.

With that, he collapsed, first to his knees, and then forward, one eye and most of his face obliterated. The other eye lost focus visibly, and every muscle in the left side of his body fell limp, while the right twitched. Half his mouth moved mutely as Twiggy witnessed prophesy, but soon even that became still.
 
He didn't miss. He never missed.

He'd just missed, in a way. What was a sure shot from a hidden, undetected location had turned slightly wrong. The asset had taken the shot, the woman was okay.

A split-second decision had the man leaping away from the tree he'd perched on, muscles growing and bulging all over, stretching the skin-tight fabric that covered his entire body.

Behind him, the tree exploded in splinters.


Shiloh's combined reaction time was barely the time it took for one to blink. The moment the shot echoed through the forest, he'd targeted the source and was working his powers to send a shower of spears a moment afterwards.

Alyssa's hands were rising, in both an effort to maintain her balance from Twiggy's shove, and horror from the gaping wound opened in his head.

From the brush nearby, something burst forward, gliding above the land silently as a breath, and only when it stood in front of Alyssa was it more than a blur - a massive quadruped, made of rocks, moss, leaves, grass, earth... Made of the forest itself, and shaped like an extremely minimalist animal would be, with simple traces all over.

The halfbreed's attack flew out right after the creature appeared, barely sparing it as he realized its defensive posture. The forest cracked, echoing of splintering as the halfbreed's armor shattered to feed his offensive, leaving a large patch of splinter-covered ground peppered with the remains of trees. As the dying throes of the terrified forest finally quieted, Shiloh spared a glance at the fallen figure of Twiggy, and Alyssa's kneeling figure right above him.

A second shot rang out, slamming against Shiloh's shield with strength, sputtering briefly before falling to the ground. He sprang forward only a single step before hesitating, fists clenching in rage - Twiggy was not dead. He could not be dead. He would not let him be dead. The only way to protect Twiggy was to take the shooter down, but the only way to take the shooter down was to leave him with the Gaeans. But they were masterful healers, only rivaled by the Warlords of Korr... So be it.

"Your people have healers. Heal him!" His tone conveyed a none-too-veiled threat of what would happen if Twiggy was not healed, sparing barely a glance to Alyssa and her wooden ally before springing towards the shooter, spraying the area with spears made of any material near him as he went. Soon, the halfbreed was out of sight.



Alyssa was kneeling next to Twiggy, eyes welling up slightly with tears, fighting back a scream as she tried not to look at the torn body in front of her. Any thoughts of sex or seduction were out of her head and, for a moment, she was just a simple terrified person - a soft nudge from the wooden guardian had her standing up, looking to the sky and taking a deep breath.

She knelt once more, wrapped her arms around the quite-possibly dead Twiggy, pulled him up, cradling his body with as much care as possible. Her lips moved in the words of the prayers of her childhood, a faith long abandoned, but still burnt into her memory. She looked up at the wooden warden, pleadingly.

The creature in front of her shifted, straightening upright, legs and arms stretching until it looked like a minimalist's version of a human. A large arm wrapped around Alyssa, picked her up along with her precious charge, and with long, steady strides they blended into the forest.

Twiggy would wake up in a cradle of wood, stone, and leaves, with a very worried woman holding him against her. Above her, the midday sun quickly gave way to stars of unnatural colours, and the silence around them was oppressive as a blanket - any sound, any motion, it all seemed to be passed through molasses, requiring of much effort and focus. Even Alyssa was standing perfectly still, with only the motion of her breathing proving she was still alive - and even something as crucial as that felt like far too much effort.

A few more minutes passed and, suddenly, the world returned to normal around them, with singing birds and the crunch of leaves greeting them. As Alyssa got down from the large warden, Twiggy would find himself placed in the center of a circle of standing stones, atop what could only be an altar covered in moss and dried blood.

"'E's a tough 'un, ain't he?" A low chuckle came from nearby, a rumbling noise much like stone grinding against stone.

A ripping sound, as if vegetation being torn, a spit, a grunt of minor exertion, and something was being carefully applied onto Twiggy's gaping wound, providing him with a bit of relief from the pain. The process happened time and again, with a soft chant repeating as well from the lips of the healer who was placing layer upon layer of moss onto the injured man's face - and with every layer, the power of his healing magic grew, draining away more and more pain.

As the chant grew in power, if not volume, the moss started to move on its own, reaching out to fill out whatever cracks of the wound it hadn't reached, shaping itself to look as if Twiggy had never been injured. Slowly but surely, the man recovered tact, hearing, smell.

"Huh. Sight's a goner." The healer mumbled to himself, finishing the chant as the magic died out. "Gave our lil' Lysa a scare there, pal. Remember your name? Or did you keep that in the part o' brain ya lost?" The tone was teasing, almost as if losing part of a brain was no big deal.[/hr]
 
Twiggy groaned, himself once more, and swallowed instinctively. Strange smells surrounded him, and he turned his head to seek sound and scent in hopes to identify where he was. The scents were vaguely forest-like, and he could smell dried blood from an unknown person—or multiple. His mind wasn't wholly understanding.

Someone spoke, and it took him several moments to understand what they said as he sniffed in quiet, quick breaths through his nose before he answered.

"Twig... M-my name's Twiggy," he stuttered. "Um. A—... Alyssa—Eyes—Eyes is back um... i-inside. He—um—" he took a quick breath through his nose, "—he's ok."

He could smell her nearby, and he slowly started to push himself up, only to grow dizzy and fall. "Where—where's Shiloh...? Is he—did...?"

This question, asked with fear and accompanied by trembling, displayed that he didn't remember wholly what happened as he fumbled for words. He ran through events in his mind, but they refused to take the proper order. Eventually, he recalled that Shiloh didn't like Alyssa, and that he'd touched her, and his head exploded.

Fear clenched his stomach, and he decided he wouldn't touch her again—not like that, at least, though... his gift assured him she felt very nice to touch.
 
It had barely taken a minute for Alyssa to explain the situation for the guards and get a healer, but even so, even with Rammos himself doing the healing, she'd feared the worst. Having to stand by and wait by the stones was torture with the troll's massive, rock-covered body blocking her sight of Twiggy completely, even despite the healer's cheerful assessment of Twiggy's endurance.

Still, she could tell from the waving blades of grass and the whispering of the wind that the shaman was working strong magic - had she been more gifted in it, she would've probably been able to see the coiling vines of verdant power embracing the troll and his charge. She saw him reach up to the stone plates, pull off a fistful of moss, crush it... and judging by the noise, spit into it. She hadn't noticed she'd been holding her breath until the troll spoke again - and then Twiggy replied.

She almost sprinted towards him, but the troll raised a fist in her direction, a palm - a clear sign for her to stop. She bit her lip, but obeyed - while the trolls he led were not above the rest of the soldiers, Rammos had earned his leadship through respect. And it didn't hurt that the troll was an imposing, vaguely threatening figure, even knowing he was on her side. The rumbling creature grabbed Twiggy in midair as he tried to get up and failed, placing him back on the altar.

"Issa good name." The creature nodded. "You's a twiggy, defn'tly. Now why dont'cha tell me 'bout this Eyes and this Shiloh, Twiggy."

Alyssa looked at Twiggy, eyes opening slightly as she realized that the large creature did not trust the new arrival. And... why would he, either? Or she? Besides...

She paused that trail of thought right in its tracks, almost angrily thinking at herself. Besides the fact that he'd saved her by taking... something, to the head? Wasn't that enough? What more could you ask of someone, in a single action, to prove they were on your side?

But Twiggy seemed... different, nervous. Perhaps the blow had done more damage than she knew? Or Rammos had chosen not to heal all of it, just in case. Whichever way, if she could help just a bit...

She took a deep breath. No pressure this time, not like with the squidman. She could take the time to focus, to do things right. In. Out. Feeling the world around her, the chirping of birds, the rustling of leaves - so different from the mud-covered pathway where she'd found the two wanderers. Slowly, she pictured her breath spreading out from her, flowing in a pink cloud towards Twiggy.

A soothing, homely scent spread through the standing stones. The troll turned towards Alyssa, giving her a crypting look for a few seconds, but didn't say anything - but he did, however, wave her closer, with a massive finger on his lips gesturing for her to keep silent.

"Lil' Lysa 'ere says you saved'er. Izzat true?"
 
Nose ever sensitive, Twiggy visibly relaxed as Alyssa's perfume caught him, and he turned his head in her direction, though he was off by a few degrees. He could hear her footsteps and smell her, despite how blood from his nose choked him.

He forced himself to his side and pushed at the hand that held him down before he hacked up a wad of blood that seeped down his throat from his nose. So much blood...

The question of saving a 'Lisa' didn't register initially, but once it did, he blinked unseeing eyes a few times. "Alys... Alyssa? The one w... with the pretty sce—scent? I pushed her, and my—my head exploded... I don't... d-don't remember w... what hit me." He was starting to remember, though. He vaguely remembered something moving from the back to the front.

Shaking, uncertain fingers reached back to brush against the place he remembered the first pain before his violent would-be end. His finger found a bald spot where the skin had grown back. For several moments, he rubbed at it as he slowly realized what must have happened. "A... sniper?"

The man swallowed. "Why would... would someone want to hur... hurt Alyssa? My... my Gift l-likes her... That's why—why he pushed her, to get her... get her away from the shot."

Slowly, his eyes widened as he realized that normally, people died from getting shot in the head.

Sudden panic sent him to see the Moon, and his posture shifted.

"Two scares in one day? Tch. The Useless really can't do anything. Hello again, Perfumed Lady." Despite his blind eyes, he looked directly toward Alyssa and smiled at her. "Sorry for the scare. I'm very limited in what I can do like this, and instinct told me taking the bullet myself would be the wisest course."

He looked toward the troll and the healer, though his eyes didn't see anything. "I am The Eyes. Sometimes I call myself The Gift. The Useless and I are one and the same, but separated by mortal foolishness."
 
Twiggy's concern, confusion, tugged at Alyssa's heartstrings - admittedly, more at her motherly side than at any sexual desires, but she still did not enjoy watching the man cough up blood, or talk about his head exploding. She looked at Rammos, pleadingly, but the troll caught her glance and returned one that looked hard as steel. Then again, Alyssa was not too good at reading troll body language. Her heart did flutter a bit, however, at being reminded for her scent. A bit of guilt mixed with a bit of pride - it was her magic, after all, not her actual scent, but she was proud she'd made it memorable enough to remember through a head wound.

Rammos, meanwhile, had listened carefully, integrating what Twiggy had told him with his experience in the fight. Snipers were not something he'd heard about, but the man did not seem to be holding information back, either. Just confused. Which made sense, after such a wound, though he was healing fast enough that the troll realized his help had not been necessary. And that, that was... concerning. Even more so when Twiggy's stance suddenly shifted.

Alyssa had seen the shift happen once, and seeing it happen again, she could tell with a bit more clarity what was going on. Rammos, on the other hand, had not, but it was safe to say that it would take something larger than a sudden shift in personality to faze the veteran shaman. He listened to the suddenly changed man, his explanations, and nodded to himself.

"Least ya gots some manners." The troll stepped forward, a hand shot out with speed something his size should not be allowed to have, and he pulled Twiggy up straight until he was face to face with him, ignoring Alyssa's surprised gasp, her concerned stare - lasted barely a second, though. She trusted the troll.

"Ya'r a weird 'un. An' weird's not our friends, most'a the time. But ya helped Lysa, an' that counts fer somethin'. So gimme a good reason why you was walkin' - rescued, actually, wan't it Lysa? - rescued by a squidface, an' we'll be friends. Always good ta make new friends, don'tcha think?"

With that, the troll put down Eyes back on the altar, patting him on the head surprisingly softly. "So, what's yar story, blindy? Spirits 'n I wanna hear."

Alyssa breathed out, realizing she'd been holding her breath again - really had to stop doing that. Took another breath, looked at Rammos. Hesitated, and finally spoke out.

"Thank you for saving me, Eyes." Her voice was much more casual, less on the seductive spectrum now, though there was still an undertone. The troll looked at her, but made no motion to stop her. "Please do give Rammos what he wants, so I can give you my personal thanks later. And I'm sure the Matron will also want to meet you."
 
Eyes simply smiled through the 'interrogation'. "I already like you better than the ones my ward rescued the Useless from, so I'll answer all I can—though, Sweet Lady, please turn off the perfume? Your natural scent is more than enough to charm someone." He paused. "And you're welcome, Perfumed Lady." He smiled at her, warm and sincere, before he returned his attention to Rammos and nodded, ready to speak.

"I am the Gift. I was given to the Useless on his birth, and we were slowly united until the day his eyes were replaced with mine, so he could see the Moon. However, our joining could not be completed, because we were stolen from the altar by some well-intentioned mortal who didn't realize that the suffering had a very important point—ensuring that I liked the Useless enough not to kill him."

He lifted a hand and ran it through Twiggy's hair, only to pause as he noticed how dirty it was. He brushed some debris gently from it with a frown of concentration before he sighed and returned to his answers.

"Anyway, I lead the Useless to where he can be Useful. Our journey here was one such event, and honestly, everything went according to plan. He's here to protect the Power. Specifically, to keep him from fighting the Perfumed Lady. Both of them have better things to do than get themselves hurt."

He paused thoughtfully. "Actually, The Useless could have handled it without my coming out, thinking back. I think this worried him." He opened his jacket to reveal not only nudity beneath, but skin covered entirely in dark violet tattoos, with one lone scar on the left side of his chest, just between the lines. "Do you have something that could get rid of the scar? The Guide will be very distraught if The Useless returns home scarred."

Absently, he plucked at a small string of power that extended away from the world, and it snapped.

"Tell me, what is the name of this stone?" He plucked a stone from a pocket and held it up for the two to see—jade, carved into a cube, with raised dots on each side, numbered one to six.

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Kanna noticed first, and the search for Twiggy began in earnest in the stone halls of HQ. She and others followed his scent, and found the trail end at a solid wall. The distraught woman approached Jade.

Within minutes, Rare arrived in the tiny woman's office. "Lady Jade?"

"Hunter Kanna tells me that Hunter Twiggy is missing again." Red eyes turned to look at Kanna as the cow-Hunter hung her head. Jade turned her attention to Rare. "Hunter Rare, please—"

Jade cut off as she felt thoughts of her name, luck, and dice ripple quietly through the multiverse. Right as expected. She sighed. "Please, go fetch him. His location is partly clouded, so please hurry. I worry about Unifiers."

Rare blinked, then nodded. "Of course, Lady Jade." She smiled, then walked to Kanna and wrapped her arms around her. "Don't worry, Twiggy is fine, I'm sure."

The other woman nodded, and then Rare looked toward Jade, who rattled off a series of coordinates. Rare repeated them silently to herself as she parted from Kanna, then gave a brief bow of her head each to Kanna and Jade. "I'm going to get a few supplies before I go."

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Rare jogged through HQ to gather foodstuffs to shove into her pockets, and a couple bottles from a shelf in a bar with a shouted promise of "I'll pay when I get back! Remind me!"

With that, she exited the bar and pulled a length of looped yarn attached to a carabiner from one of her many pockets, unhooked it, and used the beaded tail to input those memorized coordinates. With a flick of her wrist, the wound yarn unwound into a loop, and then pressed itself to the wall.

Before she stepped through, she pulled her phone from a pocket and sent a quick text.


To: Brock
[no subject]

I am heading out to fetch Twiggy. I expect to be home for dinner. Wear something blue?


She smiled at the text, then hit send. Once it went through, she stepped through the portal.

One finger re-entered HQ through the ring, and she hooked it on the yarn, then pulled it through after her as the portal collapsed.

On the other side, she wound the yarn, folding it into several smaller loops before she hooked it into the carabiner and pocketed it. Now, she just had to find Twiggy...
 
"Well 'tain't hard ta like anyone moren' those creeps. World don't need no unitin' with no shit." The troll's voice oozed certainty, a grunt following his words for emphasis. Eyes had apparently struck a subject they were in agreement with.

Alyssa, in the meantime, had blushed just slightly - being called out on her scent meant it wasn't subtle enough, which was quite an embarrassment. But fortunately neither the Matron nor the other priestesses were around, and she quietly abandoned the magic, smiling back at the blind man almost reflexively. They both listened to Eyes' words, though their attitudes were far apart.

"Protect th' power? Squidface? From Lysa? Now... ain't that a thing. Hmm." The troll scratched the top of his head, thoughtfully, but didn't say much, and his silence extended until after Eyes' request to be healed. Alyssa, however, shot a quick glance at the nude man, and grabbed one of his hands between her own, taking advantage of the man's full blindness to check out the tattoos carefully. With the troll's silence weighing heavily, Twiggy asked something about a dice he'd just pulled out

Alyssa had no knowledge of stones, and so while the stone seemed familiar she had to make an actual effort to remember, humming a bit - but Rammos closed his eyes, listening intently to something in the background.

"Pyroxene." Finally replied the troll, grinning. "'Least Sandy sez that." Alyssa looked up, a bit surprised.

"I would thought it was jade, or perhaps malachite." She looked at Eyes' scar, then back at Rammos. "Could you..."

She never got to finish the sentence, because Rammos was grunting and nodding before she'd finished. "Yah." The troll's hand moved again in a flash, striking at Eyes' flesh as Alyssa gasped, her hands far too slow to stop the rocky claw. A sharp, jagged rock caught onto the scar, tearing it open along with the chunk of flesh it sat on - and, in front of their very eyes, the wound began to mend, this time scarless.

"Aight, kiddo. I'mma busy troll, an' this is mah sacred alt'r. So 'less you want me to finish th' ritual ya left unfinished, git. Show'im 'round, Lysa. Shoo."

She glared at him for a moment, two, trying to figure out how to express her anger, how he'd twisted her words and hurt him, but she couldn't really bring herself to shout at the massive creature, since he'd actually delivered.

"Rammos, you... Let's just... get moving, Eyes." For a moment the sensual facade faltered and she sighed, pulling the man up and lending him her support. "Want me to show you around the camp, or would you rather go to my tent and... rest?" She asked, her tone retaking some of its usual seductiveness - though without her enhancing scents, she was feeling far less confident than she spoke.



Something agitated the Hounds. A common occurrence, yes, specially when carrying hopefuls, but it wasn't that common that they all turned in the same direction and sprinted off.

There shouldn't have been anything foolish enough to be around this area, not when it was well known that the Corvians had claimed, not this deep into their territory. The leader of the patrol clicked his long, sharp beak once, and the rest of the knights halted immediately.

The hopefuls took longer, perhaps a full second, but that was to be expected. Their pitiful, almost featherless forms, like an overgrown chick that had learned to walk were all but worthless, their white eyes almost unable to see. Willingly, they had given themselves to the rot, and most of them would die, either from it or from the brutal treatment they got at the hands of the knights.

Those who survived, though... they had a great future ahead of them, working hand-in-hand with the Artiste, who would help them unleash the true potential of their frail bodies. The instantaneous reactions of the knights were only the tip of the iceberg - mystical abilities almost akin to magic, weapons and armor enchanted by the Artiste himself, and training by the best killers in the realm. A Corvian Knight's body was certainly an impressive thing, but it was the combination that made them the best assassins money could buy.

And yet, something had had the courage to step into their territory, unwanted, uninvited. Xosh, the patrol leader, almost chuckled to himself - but that would've been too noisy. Instead, he waved the patrol along, as he headed to check personally the source of the disturbance.

And what a source it was! A rather small woman, human-looking, slender. Almost... frail looking. The corvian did allow himself to chuckle this time, a clicking sound that flew uncontested in the forest. One hand headed to the rapier sheathed on his left hip, while the other shot into his billowing black cloak, grabbing what seemed like feathers, one between each pair of fingers.

"My, but aren't you a pretty morsel..." He clicked, amusedly, as he walked closer, on guard.
 
Eyes shifted just slightly, and the claw struck true and ripped away only the thin line of scarred flesh. It barely had time to bleed before the wound closed, and he forced a tight smile. "Efficient. Thank you."

He made no further comment on the die he held, and pocketed it, now that the 'call home' was completed.

As Alyssa helped him up, he took to his feet with strange ease. "Thank you, Alyssa. That sounds lovely, though I think you may be forced to endure the Useless again, now that his perceived danger has passed. If he says something cryptic, I urge you to pay attention to him. He might have... Seen something important."

He walked with her as he spoke, and tilted his head as he turned his head toward her. "It seems I've upset your confidence a little. I hope you'll forgive me. This one's nose is far more sensitive than even the best tracking hound, and we can smell even emotions, though the Useless is more practiced than I am."

Though Eyes felt he had more to say, he felt his time acting in the body growing short.

"The Useless will be in control again soon. I hope you'll forgive my departure, Scented Lady." He rolled his shoulders to loosen the muscles, then smiled at her. "It's been a pleasure meeting you. The Bound Woman with arrive at a point soon, I expect, to return the Useless to the Land of Order. Will you please look after the other part of myself for me until that time?"

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Rare smelled the crow-being before he emerged into view, and her posture straightened as she turned to watch his approach. With hands folded delicately in front of her thighs, she stood still as a light breeze toyed with her long hair.

She wore a dress in shades of grey, with a dark leather coat over top. Heeled shoes altered her posture to draw attention to her over-modest bust at the front, and the arch of her lower back in the rear.

As what he was registered in her mind, her face remained placid, but internally, the urge to flee nearly overwhelmed her. A crow creature.

A smile found her glossed lips, despite the unease in her stomach.

"Far too thin to be a meal, I'm afraid," Her voice was even and respectful, but she made no move to approach him, and shifted her weight. An experienced fighter might see her stance was more guarded now, with her weight shifted to allow her to lunge away, if the need arose.

"I believe I'm lost. Has a man with a coat like mine been seen in this area? He is slightly taller than me, and stammers often. I am looking for him so I can return him to his caretaker."
 
Alyssa listened to Eyes, glancing from time to time at the closed wound. It made the choice to take the shout seem just slightly less crazy, seeing how quickly he could heal, though she couldn't help be a bit resented towards the troll healer. Sure, it had worked but... was it really that much to get a simple regeneration spell instead of lopping off the affected part, without even a painkiller?

She almost missed the relevance of Eyes' mention to her confidence - almost, but not quite, and she almost-reeled at it. Still, a single blink had the minimal show of expression gone from her face along with her concern. Eyes had just saved her! So of course he had some odd perception skills. How else would he have done that? She missed her chance to speak trying to figure out how to word things, and by the time she knew what she wanted to say Eyes was already saying his goodbyes.

"It's okay, Eyes. The Useless isn't that bad. Just... a bit awkward." With his time running short, there was no point in keeping the seduction up, and so she just smiled sincerely at him, her hand reaching for his. "It's been a pleasure too, though it's a shame it couldn't be a literal one. Hope we can fix that someday." She teased, winking at him.

And then, she pulled from his hand towards her, her free arm wrapping behind his head and pulling him down until she was planting her lips on his, holding him close until he went away. A small advancement of what was to come the next time, if time allowed. And, a little voice in her head said, chances were Twiggy's reaction would be hilarious.

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The crow's clicking laughter sounded again as Rare declared herself inadequate to be a meal, though his eyes, protected behind a steel mask that only left his elongated beak uncovered, did not leave Rare's defensive stance.

"Lost she is, she believes. Unfit for a meal? Perhaps for one of meat, but such is not the hunger you shall sate. Or is it?" The crow talked as he slowly walked closer to Rare, hand leaving the rapier to hang loosely to his side, though his left was still inside the cloak. He closed in until he was almost in arm's reach of Rare, the creature's monstruous height dwarfing the already short woman even despite its rather hunched posture, all elongated limbs and pointy joints. His head cocked to the side, looking at Rare appraisingly, and for a few seconds there was silence.

"A coated man, of many pockets, taller than her and caretaken. His visage we might've seen, were we but a humble guard. Our Lord and Master shall know for sure, if by your presence's grace is not his wit undone." The corvian slowly pulled his hand out of his cloak, revealing he was holding a parchment - and holding it there for a moment so Rare would be sure of it.

Then, he took a single step back - a long one, thanks to his spindly limbs - as he bowed, deeply enough that it seemed he was going to touch the ground with his beak, though in fact it just was so long that his torso was barely past the horizontal mark.

As he descended and stepped back, he undid the seal on the parchment with a deft hand, unrolling it and placing it on the snowed-upon ground, where it extended in what was obviously a magical way, until it was a flat square of two metres on the floor, decorated with the picture of a staircase descending into the depths of a rocky castle.

"A name shall be required, morsel. If yours is the choice to not please, then the master will surely a fitting one give." The crow's clicking chuckle echoed again, from his still-bowing position.

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"What'd you get from our new guest?"

"The restraints are working properly."

"Just that? I thought you said the drugs..."

"I said the infusions might make him more cooperative. They didn't, but they are keeping him from focusing enough to break the silver."

"You knew enough to know about the infusions. Surely there must be something else you can get out of him."

"We know from other, lesser servants of the deeps, but we've never got our hands on a specimen like this. This is a delicate work. And while we could force the issue, it would risk killing him. And isn't that the reason why we're not going with torture?"

"Tseh. This all sounds like a waste of time and resources, but..."

"Have some faith, brother. You thought the same after breaking your toy, and yet look how far we've come. The Blood will provide."

"Like I was saying. Even if it doesn't look too promising, if there's even a tiny chance of making it work... Just imagine what we could do with an army like him."
 
  • Nice Execution!
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Twiggy walked slowly up the moon's tears and to her surface, and she pulled him within her, to a path that branched in many directions. Different shadowed versions of himself split away, one for each path—each possibility, until the one that walked straight came to the end of the path, and an image opened up before him.

A single large brazier lit the hall. Shadows danced, somehow trying to warn away all outsiders. No dust clung to the corners, and guards more crow than man stood watch in each corner as their beady eyes stared through the darkness.

A shiver ran up Twiggy's spine as he inspected the scene at the far end, where a man with wild hair painted furiously at an overturned throne. The painter, dressed in rich color and smooth silk reacted to nothing else but his work until the creak and crash of a door interrupted him, and he turned to look with a beaming smile.

The child that entered was pale, with short black hair and a smile of his own that reeked of victory.

"Joel, my boy, it's been ages! I take it the Chorus has finally accepted my offer?"

The image became still, and Twiggy felt his gift holding him there despite the end of the vision. He waited, exploring the image of the hall frozen in time. A sense of dread in the pit of his stomach warned that this scene, though it seemed like nothing too strange to him, was a dangerous one. It would lead to danger, at the very least, or be a sign of coming danger.

She wouldn't show him this scene for no reason.

He closed his eyes as he felt the tug back to his body, and felt himself travel back through a trickle of his own blood.

In passing, he gasped as he saw something else, but it flashed too quickly in his mind, and left only an impression—Shiloh was in danger.

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Eyes blinked, and his lips pressed against hers lifted into a smile. Without any sense of shyness, he wrapped his arms around her. He pulled away briefly to murmur, "Enjoy the show," before he pressed his lips against hers again. Slowly, he teased her with his tongue, letting it seek refuge in her mouth if she allowed it.

He held off on the switch for a few moments to enjoy himself, and then Twiggy returned with a slouch and a quiet noise of confusion. His lips remained on Alyssa's for a moment before a squeak suddenly emerged from his throat, and he jerked his head in surprise. With unseeing eyes wide, he stared in the direction of her hairline as his hands roamed, confused.

Delicate touches traveled along her sides and ribs, and then up to the sides of her breasts. His breath caught as he figured out their positions, and fear lit onto his face. "S-sorry! I don't—did... did my gift f-force...!?"

Awkwardly, his hands fumbled until he found her face and cupped it, feeling slowly with scarred-smooth palms and fingertips to check for injury. "A-are you ok?"

His thumb lingered on her soft lips, wetted by his own, and as ideas invaded his mind, blood invaded his face and lit his skin red as he remained still.

⋯﴾⛧﴿⋯​

Rare remained still, posture subtly defensive despite how the massive creature made no move to attack. His ramblings, strangely poetic and pretty, nearly urged her to lower her guard. Past experience dictated that lowering her guard would be unwise.

He might have succeeded at lowering her guard had he rhymed, she reflected as she took in the sight of the parchment and the bowing avian.

Though he asked her name, she remained silent for several moments before she answered, "I am called Rare." Her true name, she kept to herself. Some beings could use those to gain control of a person, and she refused.

Still, she found herself bowing her head to the creature before she addressed the curious magic in front of her. "And what is this, if I may ask?"
 
Eyes took to the kiss rather eagerly, with the self-control of one who'd done this before. His tongue probed her lips, and they parted just slightly at first, inviting but not completely giving everything up.

Of course, when Twiggy woke back up, a squeak and a blush had him backing off. It was almost cute to see him try to figure out what was going on, and Alyssa couldn't hold back a small smile, almost motherly, as the man touched up her sides, much more chastely than a moment before. Poor thing thought she hadn't been a willing part, but she just smiled his way, waiting for him to realize the shape of her face as he cupped it softly.

That was until he pressed his thumb onto her soft lips, gently, perhaps for a moment too long, the moment it took her to hesitate.

She pushed her lips slightly forward, pressing them softly against his thumb, and then she was drawing it into her lips, giving it a soft, teasing nibble as she drew closer to Twiggy's face - again. If the man had the presence to remove his finger from her mouth, she'd plant another, more chaste kiss on his lips; and if he didn't he'd find himself pulled until he was resting in her bosom, with her arms wrapped around him. If Eyes' confidence was attractive, Twiggy awoke her motherly instincts - so insecure and hesitant, the poor little thing.

"Shh. Don't worry, darlin'. I'm perfectly fine, thanks to you and your little friend in your head." She whispered softly into his ear, close enough that he could likely feel the warmth of her breath. "That was his reward. What do you want for yours?" There was no way Alyssa could make that not sound sexual, but at least she managed to make it sound like there could be other, nonsexual options. It was unlikely Twiggy would take anything else, after all, seeing how blustery and shy he was. But maybe time would fix that.

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"Rare, a rare fit for a name!" The crow's clicking chuckle reappeared. "The conspiring fates, as roastless meat she has been seen. But disagreement abounds, mayhaps hers alone."

He stood up, straightened, extending in his full towering length above her. Took a single step forward, towards the painting - and his talons slipped into it, rippling the surface as they went.

"Ask she may, for such is the fool's dismay! Arcane arts supreme rule our castle fair blessed true by snow pure as maiden's skin. And yet, a gate, a passageway." The crow paused, looking straight into Rare as he extended one long-fingered hand, the fingertips covered in talons. "Fearless forward-flicking feet shall unveil the truth, oh uncooked maiden. No hole hidden, no spot secluded. See all, reach all. Darkest wings, our flight."

Should Rare take the creature's hand, she'd find herself pulled towards the hole - and then down, into the depths of a torchlit cave, dry and cold, which soon opened to a massive, frost-covered ropebridge that swayed precariously in a snow storm.
 
If he hadn't before, he definitely stopped breathing when she pulled his thumb into her mouth and nibbled at the edge of the burn scar. Simple as that, he lost all sense of higher thought, and then his head was against his chest—even if it bent his back, it was a familiar and comforting sensation, to be held like this. His thumb slipped from her lips, and as she reassured him and then propositioned him, his red face grew ever redder.

Something nagged at him, nearly forgotten in the sudden assault of very very nice things.

His head shifted and nestled against her breasts. Her breath smelled nice, and his mind fell easily before the first ideas that came to mind.

"Uh... um... If you're im-implying what I, uh," he swallowed, "I'm n... not against it."

How could he be against it, with her taste still on his lips and tongue?

A yank in his stomach almost turned him away from her as, inside, Eyes discovered just what Twiggy saw in his vision. Ever-merciless to his counterpart, he tried to push Twiggy away from his baser urges.

Damn distracted seer!

⋯﴾⛧﴿⋯​

Well, the bird had charm. Still, she didn't trust him, but curiosity drove her to take his offered hand and follow. The cold beyond the parchment's passage bit at ankles and legs beneath her skirt and brought gooseflesh to her chest, but she didn't shiver. Even as the wind on the rope bridge threatened to throw her slender body down into the chasm below, she simply continued on.

Her lips turned blue, but her grip remained true, and her steps confident. She made no move to converse until they were out of the wind.

"Pleasant walk," she murmured sarcastically as she finally allowed herself to rub her arms. Her bleeding nose, plugged now by a frozen clot, ached. She blew the blood from it and then plugged it with a wad of cotton that hid itself almost entirely within her nostril—so much less ridiculous than the whole tissues her comrades used.

Brown eyes took the opportunity to explore the nearby area, curious and wary.
 
Alyssa simply giggled at Twiggy's confusion, petting the bent man's head and gently pulling him away from her warm chest.

"Well, if you're just 'not against it' we can leave it for later." She winked, teasing. It was so easy to tease him! Her hand, however, slid down his cheek and shoulder, holding onto his a moment later. "After all, you just woke up from taking a pretty bad wound. Injured people should not do strenuous exercise, right?"

Another giggle, a wide, beaming smile that faltered just a bit when she remembered Twiggy couldn't see her. A pondering moment, and her fingers intertwined with Twiggy's, pulling him along.

"C'mon, I know what we can do! I'm going to introduce you to the rest of the Sisters. I was scouting the area, see, and I'm sure they'll want to know more, about you and about that fishface." A brief moment of seriousness tinged her voice. "That was so lucky for both of us, that he ran after whoever... did that thing to you. I'm fairly certain if you hadn't been there he would've..." She shuddered, her hair standing on end for a brief moment.

"Well, whatever! Tell me, what's your favourite type of woman?" Her tone light once more, she pulled Twiggy without leaving him much of a choice.



"Icy winds bear judgement true on those who would trespass on our sanctum!" Explained the corvian, shouting over the snowstorm - that being pretty much the only time he deigned to acknowledge its existance, as he seemed completely unaffected by the cold, moving through the snowstorm as if it wasn't there, remaining perfectly upright despite the winds buffeting him to and fro. Eventually, when they reached the white-cloaked castle, the only sign that he'd gone through a blasting snowstorm was the fact that he had to shake off a bit of snow.

The room they were in was still blisteringly cold, but at the very least there was no wind. A small antechamber at the bottom of some stairs spiraling up a guard tower, there wasn't much to see in it - two decorative armors, not very well kept, and a wooden table that seemed to have seen no use in years; as solid as the wooden door behind Rare and the one that the corvian was fumbling with, until he left it with an exasperated sigh.

"Of unpleasant temperament, machines become in our fair castle, new and old. Trust not lock nor key, nor apparently gate." He shrugged, a motion that had more than a few feathers ruffled, and then stepped back. A swift motion had him reaching for the rapier.

"Halt, you senseless buffoon!" A voice echoed down the stairs, and a man quickly walked down them. Dressed in what could only be described as a silken night-gown in reds and blacks, he too seemed to be completely unaware of the temperature. His gaze, initially fixed on the corvian, wandered over to Rare for a brief moment - and then never left.

"Oh, marvelous wonder! Who is this prodigy of beauty standing before me?" With a theatric flair, the man bowed deeply before Rare, the bow turning into a dramatic fall that ended with him kneeling in front of her, taking her hand, and pressing it to his warm lips.

"My manners!" Alarmed, he looked around, almost as if searching for something. "Alas, beauty as this always makes me lose track of them. I ask, I beg, I supplicate your pardon, oh beauty unparalleled! I am but a humble artiste, a man with no name, who lives only to perpetuate marvels such as you in the clumsiness of his works." A single, fluid motion had him standing back up, gazing adoringly upon Rare. And then, suddenly, a frown.

"This is unacceptable!" He shouted, a quick flicker of his hand drawing a glowing rune midair, causing the air around Rare to heat up almost instantly. "Please, ma'am, if I may listen to your angelical voice, partake upon your doubtlessly enchanting name? And, perhaps, count you among one of but a few honored guests in my humble home?"
 
Yanked around by his libido and the woman he'd taken a bullet for, Twiggy could only stare like a landed fish, mouth agape. She rattled on, about introducing him to her sisters, and wanting to tell them about him and 'fishface'. Her voice lost its smile when she mentioned that he ran off instead of...

She trailed off and moved on to a different topic that stopped Twiggy's train of thought entirely. He followed with a stumble.

His mind, still grasped by his libido and his head's earlier resting place, immediately went to the physical.

"I—I like breasts?" It came out more questioning than certain, but he knew for sure he loved breasts. "And... soft... and... and nice..." he trailed off, then swallowed. "You s-smell really... r-really good."

Inside of Twiggy, Eyes cursed and stormed about, trying to get his other side's attention. This was bad! There were things happening that weren't erections!

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Rare didn't have much time to process everything, but her captor? Host? The bird she didn't quite trust, regardless, became irritated by the door. Rare tried not to laugh, and bit both her lips as her brows and cheeks lifted in a restrained smile of amusement that slipped away the moment someone shouted.

Rare's expression fell to neutrality as she followed the sound to its source—a man who appeared well-dressed. As his eyes similarly found her, she could swear she saw the moment he fell for her.

Language suited to a poet flowed from his lips, and acrobatics found him kneeling before her. He kissed her hand, and she allowed him to hold it as she offered a polite smile.

Adoration, pleas for forgiveness, and then a spell of warmth and a desperate request for her name followed.

She had to agree, he was certainly an artist. She found herself swept into the moment, and curtsied before him. She rose before she answered. "All forgiven. I do not offer my name freely, but I am called Rare. Miss or Lady, or without title, whichever suits your tongue."

Damn these two, she was getting wrapped up in their play, but... it was fun. Damn her, missing the play of courts and nobles and their make-believe love.

"Humble artiste and noble host, what would you have me call you, should I accept your gracious offer of hospitality?" Light brown eyes shone as she came to the conclusion that as long as she was here to look for Twiggy, she might as well enjoy herself a little. Twiggy was very difficult to harm—doubtless, he would be fine if she was a little slow in finding him.
 
Alyssa giggled. There was definitely a certain cuteness in the blind man's hesitant replies, perhaps the way that the powerful, regenerating seer became just another man at, well, breasts and a good smell.

"Soft and nice, hm? And good smelling. Those are easy enough!" She pulled from his hand, soft but insistent, almost as if leading a child... who was taller than her. In the distance, multiple voices of women grew closer as they walked, laughing playfully, smiling, teasing. Someone with sight would've realized they were related somehow to Alyssa, since they were all wearing the same clothes as she was, but Twiggy would not have that clue.

"Here, careful. Lots of rocks around, don't trip!" Alyssa fell silent for a few seconds as she carefully helped him navigate around a circle of stones, holding his arms in hers until he was safely sitting on one of the stones.

The women around her, though, were far less quiet - among the murmur, Twiggy would hear them appraising him, commenting on whether he was a bit too thin, or perhaps blind, or how Alyssa had clearly had an effect on him, the tease; but none of it with a malicious tone.

"So, enough suspense!" Far less buxom than Alyssa, curvy but not exaggeratedly so, freckled and with an almost-bowl cut that left two long bangs on each side of her face, the woman leaped energetically in front of Twiggy, giving him a whiff of her scent, spicy but not overwhelming as she grabbed his chin.

"You know you're supposed to keep lovers out of these meetings, Lys." Another voice, deeper, from a taller woman with voluminous, black, curly hair; scent of blueberries and lavender.

"He's not a lover, though, is he!" The cheerful redhead interrupted. "So who are you? I'm Rimi!"

There were definitely two or three more women around - at least one smelled of cut grass, and another was reminiscent of warm bread - but they chose to not speak, simply gathering around Twiggy.

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"Lady, I would choose, though if it were to fit my tongue then nothing less than queen or empress would do!" The Artiste did not miss a beat, sparing Rare a smile as warm as his magic, before turning to face the corvian, who had wisely stayed away from the flurry of worshipful activity that the man had become.

"Ensure that everything is ready for a guest of this caliber, my faithful Rukh! Nothing but the best shall do, from food to entertainment. Go!" A theatrical wave of the hand, as the Artiste was wont to do, had the corvian slipping away through the doors, bending its large frame to fit the human-sized door with uncanny grace.

"Alas, my fair lady, if I had but a name to give you, that I may remain in your memory for a second longer." The Artiste's tone was tragic. "But alas, I am nothing, unworthy of even the most bland and forgettable name, a waste of ink with which to write a footnote. All of worth that's ever been found in me are my creations and, thus, I am now and forever, simply the Artiste; and the day I stop creating is the day I have stopped being."

A simple bow revealed a glittering tear in one of the man's eyes - perhaps it was a prepared speech, perhaps he was an excellent actor, but there was passion behind his words, a measure of conviction and, on equal parts, self-hatred.

"Thus, I beg of you, oh loveliest Lady Rare. Allow me to share my art with you, that you may remember it when the ravages of time had made the world forget about your humble servant."
 
Twiggy followed along, unseeing eyes wide as she led him with care. His slack-jawed and overwhelmed expression didn't quite fit his square jaw and thick brows, but he followed eagerly, if a little uncertainly.

As she led him through the rocks, he gripped her arms and felt in front of himself with his feet. The shift in her leading that left him seated without a word of warning nearly toppled him, but thankfully didn't. Slowly, he began to feel the surface he sat on as he noticed that the female voices from earlier had gone quiet, and now murmured amongst themselves quietly.

Their quiet words were about him. His cheeks slowly reddened as violet eyes stared at the group, ears seeking the best angle to listen, despite not really wishing to. Murmurs about him were usually hurtful. These murmurs seemed... different. They sounded like mothers. Concerned. Even a little bit scolding toward Alyssa in calling her a tease, though never without a sense of warmth.

One of the voices spoke up suddenly, and Twiggy jumped, reddening further. She smelled spicy, or at least he assumed it was the speaker that came close and grabbed his chin.

More approached. All of them smelled wonderful, and their voices were pleasant. He decided he liked them, and a tiny hint of a smile appeared on his lips, unbidden. By scents, there were five or six women: Alyssa, Rimi—the excited one, the scolding one, and two or three more who kept quiet, their scents mingling together.

At the request for his name, he nodded. "I'm... I'm Twiggy. And... whoever guessed th-that... that I'm blind is... is right." He couldn't help but gravitate toward Alyssa, because she was familiar and he knew she was friendly, but he also thought the other women seemed nice, too.

Not used to so much positive attention, he couldn't help the nerves that filled his gut with thrums and tickles. Absently, he pushed his hair from his face. "Nice... nice to meet you, M-miss Rimi," he looked around to try and indicate who he was talking to—the group, "and... and everyone... Um... Could I...?" He lifted a hand upward as he directed the last, a question, toward Rimi by turning his head toward where he assumed her face was.

Inside and unable to speak, Eyes sent jabs into Twiggy's core. The blind man flinched, expression confused, and he started to turn his head, scanning for the sound of whoever might have just poked at him. "D-did... someone poke m-me...? Ow..."

⋯﴾⛧﴿⋯​

Rare's smile retained grace and dignity even as he declared she should be called queen or empress. Far from humble, and well-aware that it was simply courtly language that called for such exaggeration, she simply inclined her head in thanks for his praise. To deny it would have only begged for more from a man like this, and fun as it was, it was best not to overindulge.

His tone took a tragic note, and she lifted her head with a troubled expression. The true meaning of his words, based on the rules she knew, was that he wished to remain anonymous for some reason.

She let him finish his speech, then lifted a hand and used only the barest touch of her fingertips to lift his face.

"Then I shall look upon some of your works, and carry them within my memory, and I shall call you Artista." She paused, then covered her mouth briefly as she caught the slip.

"Do forgive me. Artiste. Artista is the pronunciation from my home." She inclined her head with a subtly apologetic expression. Even with the slip, this was fun, and she regretted briefly that she didn't practice these skills often anymore.

Being free of Crow meant she had so much time, but her missions of late—

A sigh escaped her lips. She looked away as a light pressure to his chin from her fingertips was the briefest warning before she allowed her hand to drop away from the man. A mournful expression teased at her eyes. Let him ask what was wrong. To explain too much all at once would ruin the performance, though with Rukh absent, they lacked an audience.

Regardless, someone who called himself the Artiste must be enjoying this, perhaps even as much as she was.
 
Rare's ploy was obvious, but nonetheless the trap was unavoidable. When a beautiful woman spoke of home, then pouted and turned aside, there was no excuse to not ask what was wrong. Her minor mishap with his name would have to be pushed aside, forgotten and never remembered, perhaps as the woman herself had desired - not that the Artiste would hold the slip against her, not that he could've brought himself to even if he'd needed to.

"There's a looming shadow upon your eyes, Lady Rare." The man looked worried, distressed, almost bashful as he looked away. "I mean not to pry, but to see you pained like this..." He paused, sighed dramatically, his eyes rose back to meet Rare's.

"Is it your home that you miss, milady? But, no, your eyes speak of a different tale. Someone dared hurt you, did they not?" The Artiste's voice was soft, almost soothing, but there was an edge underneath it. "Unforgivable, utterly unforgivable." He shook his head, a single frozen tear clinking quietly against the ground.

"I beg, forgive my forwardness, but while this is neither the time nor the place, I cannot bear the thought of leaving a beautiful flower like yourself to suffer alone. If there is anything, anything at all that might help turn that sorrow into a smile, you have only to ask - should it be within my grasp hand, it shall be done." No hesitation in the offer, no limits other than being doable.

"But, as I said, this is neither the time nor the place, and it is nothing but uncouth of me to offer in such a manner." The man bowed, deeply, apologetically. "For the time being, please allow me to treat you to warm food and cultured entertainment, Lady Rare, for I am well aware that the path to the castle is harsh and unwelcoming, and I would like nothing better than to make you feel truly welcome."

The man extended a hand for Rare to take, twisting his torso just slightly towards the door - clearly, if she took it, he'd take her to the dining room, but he'd also left her few avenues to avoid taking his hand without causing what would, in a real court, be called an 'incident'.
 
Rare's mournful expression warmed to just short of a smile as the man offered to help, but urged that this was neither time nor place, and invited her inside for warm food and entertainment.

"Thank you, dear Artiste," a brief inclination of her head accompanied the movement of her hand to rest lightly on his, "Your hospitality warms me. I would be pleased to accept such an offer."

Rare allowed him to take the lead. Her smooth gait offered a view of nobility, and her posture displayed both modesty and confidence—a straight and unbowed back, but with a relaxed neck that bent faintly forward.

The woman took a moment past the doorway to take in what was beyond—only a slow moment for her eyes to travel, carefully timed so she could take in as much as she could before her attention returned to the man beside her. She recalled it was in good taste to take a moment to appreciate a host's home on entry.
 
Past the doorway lay a stony corridor, with evident signs of both having been cared for, and not having been cared for enough. The tapestries on the walls were slightly dusty, though their colours were bright - reds and purples and blues, in a garbled mess that seemed to rearrange itself before the watcher; one moment a maw, the next a battlefield, then turning into a gored woman - never anything clear, just the hints that one could see in the shape of a cloud, and when looking directly at it not even that.

The tapestries shared space with a multitude of paintings, of multiple men, women and children, some of whom couldn't have possibly existed, for reasons like... The details of the pictures were elusive, as if examining them carefully was something they didn't want, and in fact looking at them for too long would produce a sense of dizziness and unease - but not looking at them meant getting flashes of fangs, tendrils, extra limbs and mutated faces looking at one as they walked through the corridor. Seemingly unaffected by the eerie display, the Artiste moved quickly, lightly, closing the door behind them and turning to face it.

"Ah, I did not realize this was where we'd ended up." He shook his head, one hand on the door's handle, simply holding it. Behind them, from the eerie corridor, a buzzing of sorts. "Please, this way."

The door opened again, and this time it didn't lead to a small entrance tower, but rather to a large room - a mess hall, judging by the tables, the cutlery on them, and the chairs by them; with one table transversal to the rest at the far side of the room, in what could only be the seats reserved for royalty and those close to them.

While the royal table was brightly lit with a candelabra, light seemed to have trouble spreading through the room, and about halfway through it dimmed abruptly to almost-complete darkness, leaving only a lit-up semicircle, while the rest of the room was in complete darkness, barring the light Rare and the Artiste were letting in through the door they were crossing. Figures lurked in the shadows, the occassional wing or talon pointing to the fact that they were local residents.

A loud, sudden clap from the Artiste had light bursting into the room as several other candelabra ignited, revealing every corner of the room and its Corvian guardians - though it also made it easy to see why it was often kept in darkness. The sides of the room seemed to not have been cared for, with cobwebs hanging and even dirty dishes remaining.

The Artiste gave Rare a pained look, grimacing as he saw the look of his castle.

"Alas, milady, it's a dark time that has brought you to us, though none other have we known since birth. The refuge of art brings ephemeral beauty to my domains, but my beloved Corvians must attend to matters other than housekeeping; and it is not easy to find good service around these parts."

He bowed slightly to her, guiding her steps towards the main table as the corvians in the room started leaving - and a few seconds later, others came back in, holding piping hot trays.

"Little as I have to offer in regards to honor, mayhaps you would take a seat to my right, o lovely Rare? It's an excellent angle to watch the entertainment from, or so I am told." As he spoke, the Artiste pulled the chair for Rare to sit on and, should she accept, he would push her back into position next to the table - a solid chair, made of heavy wood, which the man somehow managed to imbue with grace simply by its motion.
 
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