Forums » Fantasy Roleplay » Desert Magic (open)

Mirima quickly pulls her cloak tight around her body to hide the bag from the young bandit. News that the witch has sent an ambassador sends chills through everyone in the tent. If they're going to escape, it might have to be now. I'd be of more help with my mandore..., Mirima curses her luck for losing it. But the bandit seems to be a nervous type, and that could be used to their advantage.

"Excuse me, you say the witch has sent someone on her behalf to collect the prisoners already? ...I wonder have you heard of Lord Elyrion? Most likely. He holds one of the largest oases to the south of here, and he's not a pleasant man to steal from. Turns out that one of us is a special 'pet' of his, and he's sent out a full brigade to find that person. He's offering triple the going price to anyone who returns his property unharmed, but he'll be sure to kill anyone who's been found to be, or have been, in possession of such property. I tried to warn your leader, but he wouldn't listen. That small army is less than a day's travel away; we've actually been journeying closer to them. And they're likely to be led by a mage - could even be travelling safe and sound in the middle of this storm." The sing-song of her voice becomes more and more haunting and icy as speaks. She pauses for a moment and gives him a look of warning. "Think on it. Ya could be dead by morning..." Then she turns away and rests her head on her knees. She's given him just enough information to really wind up the mind - so let him press for more.

“That stupid witch haves to come fast , because I want to eat from a candy house !” She shouted “I need candy , sugar chocolate and lemonade!”

((Sorry for the late reply))

Sampson slowly sheathed his knife, his eyes darting between Marcelle and the witchling.

Stupid, stupid, stupid, he cursed silently to himself. Why did I throw that knife?

He cleared his throat and then straightened his back and poised himself in a bandit solute. He nodded to the witchling.

"My apologies," he said firmly, albeit a little fearful. "I mistook you for an intruder and attacked you out of instinct. I didn't know you were one of our...allies. I'm sorry."

He turned to Marcelle and bowed. "Please forgive me for my rash behavior."

Myles stiffened at Lord Elyrion's name because he and every other bandit in the group had heard of that title and learned to avoid dealing with the man, but when Myles heard what Mirima said, he began to wonder if they could truly defeat an entire army.

"Marcelle and Silveris have a fire wall...no one can get past their fire wall....and Lady Jadis's disciple is here so...."

He stared uncertainly at all the prisoners, wincing at Iavre's loud voice that demanded candy, sugar chocolates, lemonades, all treats that Myles was sure the witch had the exact opposite of, but he wouldn't know because he'd never met the witch before and it was his first time.

Outside, Marcelle nodded at Sampson, silently accepting his apology, before turning to the witchling, his smile still on his face, glad that at least the witchling's gaze seemed to soften, and he stepped forwards and placed himself between Sampson and Vessa.

"There was a misunderstanding. Let's all work together from now on. I'm sure that since Lady Jadis sent you, she already knows about the prisoners? Has she made a choice or shall we head to her place for her to take a more thorough look?"

((Rook is still playing Jadis?))

“Guys I am hungry!” She shouted , “And I am bored and my hands hurt.”

“It’s. It fun anymore , let me go!” She shouted helpless

Grey shifted and the chains around his arms clicked and burned. He stared at Myles, eyes wide and flashing slightly with panic.

"You need to let me go," he said, holding out his bound arms. "Right now. You need to get these off."

He could practically feel the witchling's presence itching against his skin.

I need to get out of here. He could barely feel the hot metal now. There's no way I'm going back.

----

Sampson breathed a silent sigh of relief once he had Marcelle's forgiveness. The witchling on the other hand...

Sampson glanced at her, staring into those black eyes.

Mirima looks up and simply grins at the young bandit. "Hm," she chuckles and nods, "That's cute!" Her head bobs toward Grey, and she continues, "You might want to listen to him. It's not like that Marcelle and Silverous of yours can keep up a firewall forever. And even if you do manage to get us off your hands, Elyrion's men will surely find out the part your little band had to play in the destruction of one of his most prized possessions. And I can guarantee that no one will be spared. Not even the witch will be able to save you. So save yourself - get us out of here!" She still sits with her chin almost on her knees, but hidden beneath the cloak she manages to unsheath the knife from under her bag and sets to cutting the ropes from her wrists. The blade nicks her arms a few times, but she manages to cut through the rope.

Myles resisted the urge to cover his ears as a headache began to settle in and his thoughts whirled about in his mind, all different choices that led to different paths, different fates, and Iavre's shouts, Grey's demands, and Mirima's taunts were not helping him at all so he backed away slowly.

"I-I need to go. I-I can't do anything for you."

I have to tell Silveris.

As soon as the tent flaps shut behind him, Mirima jumps up. "Sorry, Grey, we'll have to figure a way to get you out of those, but I'm going to work on the rest first." She cuts the ropes binding Rook first and then the man tied to the post (she still hasn't learned his name) and then proceeds on to the rest. The delusional Iavre is left until last, and Mirima debates whether cutting her loose would be the best plan as the girl would be most likely to go immediately tearing out of the tent.

"Plans, guys. We need plans."

The stygian creature's pursed smile curled wry for spying Sampson's look. "Of course," she said, intonation too mellifluous, too pleasant. She turned to Marcelle too easily, abdicating righteous anger in favor of polite accord. Eyes as deeply dark as obsidian turned unto the man and the full compass of the cruelties those opaque vessels were capable of lay obscured and unfathomable, only hinted to in the slanted sly of an expression tarnished by ritual scarification.

This scarification dotted and drew her face into ceremonial and magical patterns transfixing one's eyes upon closer approximations. A magically inclined individual might comprehend them for warding and drawing on spirits, an art often considered a cruder type of magic, but no less capable of great feats. Her's was a fickle, unruly magic that ever created yokes of things supernal, ever hung on the fringes of control and ever fluttered victim to the caprice of it's subjects.

Dredging her voice from a coarsen pit, for such the rasp of exhaustion and thirst, she continued, "She says to take them to her. Though I will inspect them first. The storm will end when we are ready to leave. Get your men ready." Withal, the desert huntress proceeded past, nary a care given for the bandit leader's permission.

“My plan is going away , find the candy house eat and then kill the witch.” She giggled

“And after that we will live in her house so we can eat everyday candy.”

The chains around Grey's arms refused to cool.

How much fire did they put in these things? Grey winced, trying to wriggle loose as Mirima began untying the other prisoners.

It was a miracle that the bandits hadn't taken away her bag and the knife inside, but Grey had a feeling that time was running out. The witchling's presence was getting closer.

"You're a musician right?" Grey asked, nodding at Mirima. "You play that string thing? Do you think you can sing the horses into a stampede as a distraction? But leave two horses for us to make a getaway?"

----

Sampson breathed a sigh of relief as soon as Vessa strolled some distance away.

Damn those witches, he cursed silently, shivering a little. I'm in a firewall in the middle of the desert and still getting goosebumps.

He glanced at Marcelle and wondered if the bandit leader ever stopped smiling.

Mirima nods solemnly in response to Grey's question; she too can now sense the dark, unsettling music of the approaching witchling. "Be more effective with my instrument, but horses won't stampede through a firewall.

"...And what should we do with the kid?" Mirima worries that Iavre will run right out to the bandits and witchling, not only harming herself but also making the enemies aware of their "freedom."

She quickly pulls a small flute from her bag and then hands the bag to Rook. "I ran away so that I could help more people. If that means I have to stay, then so be it. You'll have supplies for a few days."

She is suddenly struck by an idea as she considers the problem of the firewall. They filled in the bare spots fine, but what happens if the fire goes out of control? Will they tire more quickly? She easily identifies the magical strain and begins to hum along. Then she pushes the music along, making it faster and louder - hopefully driving the flames higher, hotter, and more out of control. As she does so, she stabs her blade through the back of the tent and slices downward before handing the knife also to Rook.

((Anybody mind if I play Ayelle until we find a good spot for her to leave the story?))

((Mirima, I think that would be great! ))

Her bonds cut, Rook struggled to her feet, sucking in a sharp breath as she put weight on her injured leg. When Mirima shoved the bag into her hands and then the knife, the ranger gripped the hilt of the blade tightly.

How they were going to survive in the sandstorm if they could get beyond the camp was still an unknown, but Grey and Mirima obviously thought the witch was more dangerous. So they had to try and apparently there was no time to create a better plan. With the chains still binding Grey, he wouldn't be able to do much to assist her. "Iarve, can I lean on you? I won't get far trying to walk on my own..."

“If u give me cookies today.” But she Let Rook lean on her “My arms still hurt.”

Vessa sprung the tent-flaps aside her limber entrance, suddenly stood in sand trod hard and flat. Outside, the storm made a pandemonium of the landscape, howling against a wall of fire that refused the very entity of nature.

"Ah-ah-ah. The little piglets are being too crafty for their own good," Vessa rebuked over the murmured tumult of captives leaving. She bared her teeth in wake of her words and confidence carved her pantherine figure into the midst of them, spear leveling in a sweeping warning, eventually to snap it's aim unto Iavre and Mirima. "I come on behalf of Jadis, songstress," spoke the wicked witchling, twisting her lips into a smile askance for crude implications. With a sneer to punctuate diplomacy, her cadence spilled into serrated verse, each word transmogrified with jagged intent. "I will not be denied."

Grey heard the tent flap open, turned to see the witchling's spear raised high and aimed at Iavre and Mirima, felt the dreadful pull at his soul in Vessa's presence, and hesitated for a split second. Then he threw himself forward, swinging his chained arms towards Vessa's face. He may not have been able to use telekinesis but he hoped the chains would at least leave a bruise.

"This is for what your black-eyed, thorn-faced master did to me!" he screamed and lunged.

“Was that the candy witch?” Iavre asked like it was a good question on this moment “That’s Cool , I a, Finally to meet her I mean I wanna see the candy house.” She laughed

Even Rook, with no magic abilities of her own, could not help but feel a sudden chill as Vessa entered the tent. There was certainly nothing reminiscent of candy about her. "Let's..." she began to whisper urgently to Iarve, pointing at the exit Mirima had cut into the back of the tent for them.

But then Grey surprised her by attacking the witchling. His own attack prompted her to action and she let go of Iarve and hobbled to the side as fast as her injured leg would take her, trying to get behind the Vessa with the knife gripped tightly in her hand.