The Alchemist, hearing Willow, turned sharply to get struck square in the face by the cup. If throwing them had been a sport, it would have been one Willow had been adroit at. Her missile flew with all the force her athletic ability had imbued in it and so the vessel shattered once it struck Mr. Caxton on the nose. Then, a spark of blue light burst from the shattered porcelain, sending out tendrils that sharply receded.
When the energy that had apparently been stored in the cup released in the next tenth of a second, it let loose a blast of force that turned it into a grenade. Shards of ceramic cut the man’s face, thankfully sparing his eyes after he reflexively shut them.
Blood and bits of delicate teaware fell to the grass below, and his hand rose to his face.
“Did you know,” came the man’s voice, low and controlled, his eyes opening between his fingers, “that I was once a Summoner. I called forth beings of ancient power, and made them real in the middle-realm. I learned, in time, that by embodying your summons, you could make their attachment to your plane more concrete, more solid. It makes them more powerful.”
A golem rose from the wall, breaking off what looked like decades of moss and growth. In its large hands was a curved blade, a similar orihalcum saber to the one that Willow carried.
“Thus, I engrossed myself in the studies of summoning and extra-planar bonding. I trained my body and my mind to feel my summons, to become my summons. This: all for the sake of concentration. One of my summons was named Akanus. He was reborn as Noble. Can you guess what I practiced to strengthen my bond to him?”
The sword was placed into Mr. Caxton’s hand, and his stance dropped into a practiced form.
“I’ll give you one guess, Daniel-san.”
With bent knees, the Alchemist shot forward with two bounds. The tip of his saber drew a line of light in its shimmer, resting at his side one moment and then diving for Willow’s chest the next.
[The Dorms] A Perilous Acquaintance
Re: [The Dorms] A Perilous Acquaintance
Last edited by Kokuten on Tue Mar 26, 2024 7:00 am, edited 1 time in total.
Re: [The Dorms] A Perilous Acquaintance
Oops.
Willow clamped both hands over her mouth as the tea not only struck the professor but also exploded. Even discounting the explosion, because who could have possibly foreseen that, she had been expecting some Matrix bologna or kung fu shenanigans from the slight man. He was practically a god here, from what she gathered. It would have been ridiculous for her to succeed with a ding dang teacup. But bam, or rather bang, teacup to the face. When Mister Caxton continued to speak calmly, she let her guard down a bit as she expected a lecture. This proved to be a mistake. Following the golem with just her eyes, she saw the sword and gleaned what was about to happen. At least, she thought she had gleaned what was about to happen.
“Eek!” was all the teen could manage as her body reacted in several different ways. Immediately, she almost began burning Pewter on reflex and had to consciously stop herself, which robbed some reaction time from her dive to avoid the blade. She felt pain flare across her left bicep as she dove to the right and back towards the table. Grabbing her chair, she swung and threw the furniture at the remarkably dexterous gangly man.
“Chair! Use self-destruct!” Willow called after the piece of airborne furniture as she continued to back away and draw her own sword. She’d used the thing once, and this would be a first for crossing blades. Okay, now she was a tad nervous.
"Gonna go out on a limb and say basket weaving," Willow joked as she unsheathed her own sword. "It's usually just a meme, but you seem like the type to actually... ooooh, right... one arm. Nevermind, wasted my one guess."
She positioned herself in a rough sword stance she’d seen in a movie, with the weapon gripped in both hands and raised by her head with the point still focused on Percy.
"Also, the name is Danielle.”
With that, Willow pushed off with a braced foot and lunged at Percy before swing the saber around and slashing in a downward arc.
Willow clamped both hands over her mouth as the tea not only struck the professor but also exploded. Even discounting the explosion, because who could have possibly foreseen that, she had been expecting some Matrix bologna or kung fu shenanigans from the slight man. He was practically a god here, from what she gathered. It would have been ridiculous for her to succeed with a ding dang teacup. But bam, or rather bang, teacup to the face. When Mister Caxton continued to speak calmly, she let her guard down a bit as she expected a lecture. This proved to be a mistake. Following the golem with just her eyes, she saw the sword and gleaned what was about to happen. At least, she thought she had gleaned what was about to happen.
“Eek!” was all the teen could manage as her body reacted in several different ways. Immediately, she almost began burning Pewter on reflex and had to consciously stop herself, which robbed some reaction time from her dive to avoid the blade. She felt pain flare across her left bicep as she dove to the right and back towards the table. Grabbing her chair, she swung and threw the furniture at the remarkably dexterous gangly man.
“Chair! Use self-destruct!” Willow called after the piece of airborne furniture as she continued to back away and draw her own sword. She’d used the thing once, and this would be a first for crossing blades. Okay, now she was a tad nervous.
"Gonna go out on a limb and say basket weaving," Willow joked as she unsheathed her own sword. "It's usually just a meme, but you seem like the type to actually... ooooh, right... one arm. Nevermind, wasted my one guess."
She positioned herself in a rough sword stance she’d seen in a movie, with the weapon gripped in both hands and raised by her head with the point still focused on Percy.
"Also, the name is Danielle.”
With that, Willow pushed off with a braced foot and lunged at Percy before swing the saber around and slashing in a downward arc.
Re: [The Dorms] A Perilous Acquaintance
Willow’s faithful chair was side-stepped by the Alchemist, who did not take his eyes off of her as she moved.
His oxfords seemed to offer no hindrance in his ginger movement. When she took the back step, he bounced off his toes into her lunge. With a curl of his wrist, the sword in his hands pointed downward, and Willow’s two handed strike rode down the length of the blade. The second the tip of the sword came free, it rose. With his whole body into the movement, he redirected his momentum and plunged the blade into her chest, sliding the point right between her ribs and out the other side of her.
In another step, he withdrew the blade sharply, whipping blood along the grass. It left a ghostly feeling in her chest as she could feel her wounded heart rush to worsen what had been done. One of the golems that had been watching was already trying to come to Willow’s aid, but Mr. Caxton stopped it.
“Fetch her friends,” ordered the Alchemist in a stony voice, his blade still ready, “do not help her.”
Willow’s vision darkened, losing consciousness before she hit the ground.
Then, she awoke screaming on a bright, sunny day.
“YOU STABBED ME!” she wailed, but not in a voice she recognized. It was the voice of a young man, someone distinctly southern in her country, Welsh, probably, “You said you were going to go easy on me!”
“My Lord!” came the boisterous, booming voice of a winged knight in a winged helmet, standing over her, “Your guard was impeccable; your bravery was inspiring. I could do naught but strike down a mage so valiantly striving in self-improvement!”
The Allomancer coughed up blood, “I th-think you got my l-lung!”
“Fret not, my Lord. Mine is the Edge of Judgement,” cheerily resonated the Knight, merely watching her die, “It strikes down the wicked most heinously, but mends wounds done wrongly, as I have upon you. In but an hour, you will be better than you were when you were born! Ha ha! My Lord?”
Again, Willow’s vision darkened. In the distance, she could hear a woman in the distance, “Akanus!? What have you done!? I can’t believe you!”
Then, Willow awoke again, refreshed and well.
“I can’t believe you idiots let this happen,” Helen grumbled, tightening a bloodied bandage on the Allomancer’s bare chest. “You’re all supposed to be the fighting types, aren’t you?”
Willow found herself surrounded by her entourage in a soft, fluffy bed. She seemed to be in a small room in the mountain, surrounded by cool walls of carven stone lit by gentle blue fire. There were amenities that reminded her of her dormitory, a dresser, a desk, and even a closet marked ‘ESCAPE’. A warm light bled in from an ornately carved door cracked open, revealing what looked like a common room.
“I don’t think any of us could have saved her from the Father,” Bjorn bitterly replied, “Aren’t you tired of bringing it up? Her wounds are gone, just a couple of glowing marks.”
“No– I–...” Helen looked at Willow, seeing her stir. The golem’s gem eyes began to pool with oily tears, “Ah- ah! She’s alive! Oh she’s alive!”
The golem scampered up into the bed and threw her arms around the girl’s neck, “Oh thank goodness, I thought– thought you– you left me alone with these morons!”
“These morons can hear you,” growled Phyllis, pushing in through the doorway.
His oxfords seemed to offer no hindrance in his ginger movement. When she took the back step, he bounced off his toes into her lunge. With a curl of his wrist, the sword in his hands pointed downward, and Willow’s two handed strike rode down the length of the blade. The second the tip of the sword came free, it rose. With his whole body into the movement, he redirected his momentum and plunged the blade into her chest, sliding the point right between her ribs and out the other side of her.
In another step, he withdrew the blade sharply, whipping blood along the grass. It left a ghostly feeling in her chest as she could feel her wounded heart rush to worsen what had been done. One of the golems that had been watching was already trying to come to Willow’s aid, but Mr. Caxton stopped it.
“Fetch her friends,” ordered the Alchemist in a stony voice, his blade still ready, “do not help her.”
Willow’s vision darkened, losing consciousness before she hit the ground.
Then, she awoke screaming on a bright, sunny day.
“YOU STABBED ME!” she wailed, but not in a voice she recognized. It was the voice of a young man, someone distinctly southern in her country, Welsh, probably, “You said you were going to go easy on me!”
“My Lord!” came the boisterous, booming voice of a winged knight in a winged helmet, standing over her, “Your guard was impeccable; your bravery was inspiring. I could do naught but strike down a mage so valiantly striving in self-improvement!”
The Allomancer coughed up blood, “I th-think you got my l-lung!”
“Fret not, my Lord. Mine is the Edge of Judgement,” cheerily resonated the Knight, merely watching her die, “It strikes down the wicked most heinously, but mends wounds done wrongly, as I have upon you. In but an hour, you will be better than you were when you were born! Ha ha! My Lord?”
Again, Willow’s vision darkened. In the distance, she could hear a woman in the distance, “Akanus!? What have you done!? I can’t believe you!”
Then, Willow awoke again, refreshed and well.
“I can’t believe you idiots let this happen,” Helen grumbled, tightening a bloodied bandage on the Allomancer’s bare chest. “You’re all supposed to be the fighting types, aren’t you?”
Willow found herself surrounded by her entourage in a soft, fluffy bed. She seemed to be in a small room in the mountain, surrounded by cool walls of carven stone lit by gentle blue fire. There were amenities that reminded her of her dormitory, a dresser, a desk, and even a closet marked ‘ESCAPE’. A warm light bled in from an ornately carved door cracked open, revealing what looked like a common room.
“I don’t think any of us could have saved her from the Father,” Bjorn bitterly replied, “Aren’t you tired of bringing it up? Her wounds are gone, just a couple of glowing marks.”
“No– I–...” Helen looked at Willow, seeing her stir. The golem’s gem eyes began to pool with oily tears, “Ah- ah! She’s alive! Oh she’s alive!”
The golem scampered up into the bed and threw her arms around the girl’s neck, “Oh thank goodness, I thought– thought you– you left me alone with these morons!”
“These morons can hear you,” growled Phyllis, pushing in through the doorway.
Last edited by Kokuten on Thu Mar 28, 2024 7:40 am, edited 1 time in total.
Re: [The Dorms] A Perilous Acquaintance
Willow’s next words caught in her throat as the blade ran her through; the words were “What are you gonna do, stab me?” Clutching her chest as she fell, she had a jarring revelation of just what kind of situation she was in. She would need to process her revelation later however, as right now she was too busy dying and falling into a very on point vision. She guessed she was looking through Mister Caxton’s eyes in this one, and contextually she guessed the identity of the knight to be this Akanus dude; a guess which was confirmed by the end of the vision.
Eyes flickering open, Willow deduced she wasn’t dead yet, or if she was she was going to lodge a complaint that her afterlife ended up being in the place she’d already been. Right around the time she was considering if she was a ghost while idly listening to the chatter around her bed, Helen noticed the Brit had woken up. The golem hugged her as she was sitting up and inspecting her chest. All in all, she felt pretty good despite getting impaled. If anything, she was more surprised that she felt fine despite taking a nap with a decent amount of metal in her system. Mister Caxton should become a doctor who stabs people to make them feel better, she thought.
“Not t’ worry Helen,” Willow started, her voice sounding a little parched as she pat the golem on the head. “I was jus’ getting reacquainted with an old friend of mine named Consequences-Of-My-Own-Actions. They’re a bit of a prick, but we go waaaaaay back.”
Shimmying up the bed a bit so she could lean against the headboard, Willow stretched.
“So, how long was I out this time, Bjorn?”
Eyes flickering open, Willow deduced she wasn’t dead yet, or if she was she was going to lodge a complaint that her afterlife ended up being in the place she’d already been. Right around the time she was considering if she was a ghost while idly listening to the chatter around her bed, Helen noticed the Brit had woken up. The golem hugged her as she was sitting up and inspecting her chest. All in all, she felt pretty good despite getting impaled. If anything, she was more surprised that she felt fine despite taking a nap with a decent amount of metal in her system. Mister Caxton should become a doctor who stabs people to make them feel better, she thought.
“Not t’ worry Helen,” Willow started, her voice sounding a little parched as she pat the golem on the head. “I was jus’ getting reacquainted with an old friend of mine named Consequences-Of-My-Own-Actions. They’re a bit of a prick, but we go waaaaaay back.”
Shimmying up the bed a bit so she could lean against the headboard, Willow stretched.
“So, how long was I out this time, Bjorn?”
Re: [The Dorms] A Perilous Acquaintance
“Through the night,” answered Bjorn, balancing himself on the headboard as Willow made herself comfortable, “we were convinced you were dead when you were struck down.”
“You mean when you thought she was struck down,” chirped Curie excitedly as she entered into the room. The odinkine stared her down and she gave the bed a wide berth.
“Your biggest fan apparently tried his luck when you went down,” commented Helen dryly, sliding off the edge of the tallkin-sized bed, “When we got there, the Father was pulling his sword out of Bjorn. So we had to carry you both back. Thankfully you stopped bleeding before we got you into your room. People normally get a lot worse when they’re run through like that, you somehow got better and better through the night.”
“It’s miraculous,” Curie piped as her lattice’s arms carried over a cup for Willow, dispensing water into it as she set it on the nightstand, “Bjorn recovered so well, he can use his wings again.”
Bjorn grit his teeth, but spread his wings, nonetheless, to show that their crumpled shapes had been restored to their original form. He had not been this limber since Willow first met him in Jotungard, and even leapt up to flutter to the other end of the room onto the dresser.
“Do you think the Father’s sword is actually a sort of syringe?” proposed Curie.
“Syringes aren’t normally pushed all the way through,” rebutted Helen, poking the spot of Willow’s torso where Mr. Caxton’s blade had run out the other side.
“Whatever it is, yer in full health, cannae fault that,” chimed Phyllis, coming up to the edge of the bed, “Glad to see you’re in good health, Word-bearer. Ye’d look peely-wally when we hauled you in, but they’re right, you look like the picture of health. Gettin’ ahead meself, though.”
The Sergeant, dressed as normally as Willow had ever seen, in frilly plain-clothes, tugged an envelope from the near-by nightstand and handed it to the Allomancer, “Diligence himself dropped this off, said that only you could read it; that you should read it, before walking out the door. The seal is alchemical, nearly blew Ghyslain’s jaw off.”
Willow peeled the seal off with ease. The arcane sigils pressed into the wax sputtered out as she tugged out a letter written in a small, determined hand.
“Hey! Hey!” came a woody voice from the common room beyond Willow’s door, “Are you awake!? Get in here and sort your business, Tallkin! They’ve had me hanging from the ceiling for the whole night!”
“You mean when you thought she was struck down,” chirped Curie excitedly as she entered into the room. The odinkine stared her down and she gave the bed a wide berth.
“Your biggest fan apparently tried his luck when you went down,” commented Helen dryly, sliding off the edge of the tallkin-sized bed, “When we got there, the Father was pulling his sword out of Bjorn. So we had to carry you both back. Thankfully you stopped bleeding before we got you into your room. People normally get a lot worse when they’re run through like that, you somehow got better and better through the night.”
“It’s miraculous,” Curie piped as her lattice’s arms carried over a cup for Willow, dispensing water into it as she set it on the nightstand, “Bjorn recovered so well, he can use his wings again.”
Bjorn grit his teeth, but spread his wings, nonetheless, to show that their crumpled shapes had been restored to their original form. He had not been this limber since Willow first met him in Jotungard, and even leapt up to flutter to the other end of the room onto the dresser.
“Do you think the Father’s sword is actually a sort of syringe?” proposed Curie.
“Syringes aren’t normally pushed all the way through,” rebutted Helen, poking the spot of Willow’s torso where Mr. Caxton’s blade had run out the other side.
“Whatever it is, yer in full health, cannae fault that,” chimed Phyllis, coming up to the edge of the bed, “Glad to see you’re in good health, Word-bearer. Ye’d look peely-wally when we hauled you in, but they’re right, you look like the picture of health. Gettin’ ahead meself, though.”
The Sergeant, dressed as normally as Willow had ever seen, in frilly plain-clothes, tugged an envelope from the near-by nightstand and handed it to the Allomancer, “Diligence himself dropped this off, said that only you could read it; that you should read it, before walking out the door. The seal is alchemical, nearly blew Ghyslain’s jaw off.”
Read Message
Willow peeled the seal off with ease. The arcane sigils pressed into the wax sputtered out as she tugged out a letter written in a small, determined hand.
Fairburn,
Perhaps, by now, I’ve made myself abundantly clear: this is not a game.
I do not mean to insult your intelligence or your maturity, but it must be said plainly. By scaling this mountain, endearing the hopes of the thralls and challenging Diligence you have not just proven your worth, but accepted the weight of this plane on your shoulders. If you’ve awoken genuinely distressed, unable to go on, there is a door in your room, marked ‘Escape’. Walk through this door, and you will return to your life. No questions. No charge. No strings. I say this, because your only reward for ascending this mountain will be another mountain.
You will not be allowed to proceed until you can strike me down.
To challenge me, you will need your orihalcum blade in hand, and you will need to bring it to my garden here at the Archives, where we took tea before. If you carry it beyond the common area given to your group, the people of Dyrnwyn, the ‘Quarrids’ will rise up against you and try to detain you. If they detain you, they will return you, and your blade, to your room.
Should you pass them, and you challenge me, I will strike you down just like I did now. I will not hold back. I will not give you any mercy. I will cut you down and you will begin again the next day in the care of your companions.
We will continue this until you succeed, or you give up.
Most sincerely,
Percival Bredon Caxton
“Hey! Hey!” came a woody voice from the common room beyond Willow’s door, “Are you awake!? Get in here and sort your business, Tallkin! They’ve had me hanging from the ceiling for the whole night!”
Re: [The Dorms] A Perilous Acquaintance
“Good to hear I’m not gonna burn a year dying to Mother Hen… well… hopefully not, could still lose three-hundred and fifty more times I guess,” joked Willow as she accepted the letter. As she was opening the warded piece of stationary, she cast her gaze up towards Bjorn with a bland look on her face. “Bjorn, my dude, I appreciate your dedication, but you literally fought god. I mean, kudos, mad respect, and congrats on your fixed wings; but c’mon, throwing oneself at something that’ll probably kill them is my schtick. Get your own, ya dang bloodhawk.”
Opening the message, Willow had been planning to make a few jokes as she read, but decided to process in silence when she saw how long the note was; and Mister Caxton said he didn’t want to give homework, ha. Immediately, however, as in immediately following reading her name, Willow was glad she decided to read in silence. Even though she wasn’t saying anything, the group could see rather clearly what the Brit thought of the missive, and what she was feeling. As the letter progressed, so did the degree to which she was gripping the parchment. By the end, the sheet was crumpled and close enough to her face that the others hopefully couldn’t see her face.
“I know this isn’t a game,” Willow spoke finally through grit teeth, her voice quiet and hissing as her hands trembled. “I…”
The spriggan’s demand interrupted her, and Willow let the letter slowly lower until it rested in her lap. Her eyes were molten, and her features felt cold to look at. She was battling with something. With one hand she finished crumpling the letter before swinging her legs out of bed and standing.
“Sword,” Willow ordered as she looked around before she found the weapon on her own. Not bothering to dress beyond the bloodied bandages wrapping her chest, she strode over and picked up the weapon from where it lay. “Ghyslain, Phyllis; either break that closet, or find a way to break it. Bjorn, Helen; with me.”
With grim intent the teen marched into the common room and locked the spriggan with an intense glare. None of her friends from Safeholme would likely recognize her right now as Willow rode a wave of intense emotions.
“You do not make demands here, Thief. I will address you either when I feel so inclined, or when you wish to confess. Until then, you will continue to hang; after all, you’ve already been there all night, you’re comfy and settled in. Helen, we’re going. Carry this.”
Without giving the spriggan, or Helen, a chance to interject Willow tossed the sheathed saber to Helen before grabbing her coat and putting it on over the bandage wrap. Looking down to make sure she was at least wearing pants, Willow didn’t bother with much else in the way of preparation before her intense stride took her out of the common room. Exiting with a fierce determination in her eyes Willow held her hands aloft for the quarrids beyond to see the only thing she was carrying was the crumpled letter.
“I understand y’all have orders to stop me,” Willow began as she called to everyone present, “but this letter from the Big Man himself states quite specifically that y’all will stop me if I am the one carrying the sword. Complain to your boss and we can do things differently after I lose again, but right now I am going to talk; and frankly would rather not have to walk all the way back when I’m done.”
Opening the message, Willow had been planning to make a few jokes as she read, but decided to process in silence when she saw how long the note was; and Mister Caxton said he didn’t want to give homework, ha. Immediately, however, as in immediately following reading her name, Willow was glad she decided to read in silence. Even though she wasn’t saying anything, the group could see rather clearly what the Brit thought of the missive, and what she was feeling. As the letter progressed, so did the degree to which she was gripping the parchment. By the end, the sheet was crumpled and close enough to her face that the others hopefully couldn’t see her face.
“I know this isn’t a game,” Willow spoke finally through grit teeth, her voice quiet and hissing as her hands trembled. “I…”
The spriggan’s demand interrupted her, and Willow let the letter slowly lower until it rested in her lap. Her eyes were molten, and her features felt cold to look at. She was battling with something. With one hand she finished crumpling the letter before swinging her legs out of bed and standing.
“Sword,” Willow ordered as she looked around before she found the weapon on her own. Not bothering to dress beyond the bloodied bandages wrapping her chest, she strode over and picked up the weapon from where it lay. “Ghyslain, Phyllis; either break that closet, or find a way to break it. Bjorn, Helen; with me.”
With grim intent the teen marched into the common room and locked the spriggan with an intense glare. None of her friends from Safeholme would likely recognize her right now as Willow rode a wave of intense emotions.
“You do not make demands here, Thief. I will address you either when I feel so inclined, or when you wish to confess. Until then, you will continue to hang; after all, you’ve already been there all night, you’re comfy and settled in. Helen, we’re going. Carry this.”
Without giving the spriggan, or Helen, a chance to interject Willow tossed the sheathed saber to Helen before grabbing her coat and putting it on over the bandage wrap. Looking down to make sure she was at least wearing pants, Willow didn’t bother with much else in the way of preparation before her intense stride took her out of the common room. Exiting with a fierce determination in her eyes Willow held her hands aloft for the quarrids beyond to see the only thing she was carrying was the crumpled letter.
“I understand y’all have orders to stop me,” Willow began as she called to everyone present, “but this letter from the Big Man himself states quite specifically that y’all will stop me if I am the one carrying the sword. Complain to your boss and we can do things differently after I lose again, but right now I am going to talk; and frankly would rather not have to walk all the way back when I’m done.”
Re: [The Dorms] A Perilous Acquaintance
Seven quarrids were outside Willow’s door, armed to the teeth, but lounging in various states of readiness. Four of them jumped to their feet as soon as Willow walked through. Two of them raised halberds up at Helen and the Allomancer, bleary and confused.
“She’s got the sword!” one of them said. Helen’s protective dome slapped shut over her head, and she inched behind Willow.
“Yeah, but the tallkin is right; she’s gotta be holding it,” said the other, running his fingers through a jeweled beard.
“No… no extra pay?”
“No!” buzzed Helen, leaping out with some of Willow’s confidence, literally rattling a saber at them, “Now scram! I’m tired of stepping over you cretins every time I need to go out for a walk!”
The squad of quarrids grumbled, some of them bitterly cursing their luck. They kicked around for a moment, before clearing the way for Willow and Helen. Phyllis, Curie and Ghyslain filled the doorway behind them. The Sergeant looked as though she wanted to say something, but held her tongue at the look in Willow’s eyes.
“C’mon now,” Phyllis grabbed Ghyslain’s shoulder, “There’s a hammer in one of the drawers, might be able to make short work of that door.”
“Are you just leaving me here?” the Spriggan warily rattled. Bjorn flew in from the bedroom, landing on Willow's shoulder.
“Read the room,” suggested Bjorn with a sense of bitterness, watching the Spriggan as the door closed.
Helen led the way, becoming less and less confident again as they caught every eye through the halls of Dyrnwyn. They marched through carven halls of stone, with high ceilings and chandeliers of glowing crystal to light the way. Fresh air wafted through large openings in the walls high up. Water ran along the edges of the halls, sometimes as just decoration, sometimes as drainage. All this engineering possessed not just great thought and purpose, but a degree of polish unlike anything else in the Elementalia.
Once they found the main hall, where they had met Diligence, it was easy to retrace their steps back through the center of the mountain. A bright, morning sun greeted Willow on the other side, shedding beautiful light over the valley, light that could not heal the darkness arising out of the forest across the way. The Archives were easy to find, the colors of the garden were a beautiful beacon that drew the eye.
Descending from the stone walkways, they found the moss-covered golem holding an orange sword. Next to it was Percival Caxton, taking his morning tea at the table like he had the day before. Without regarding them, the Alchemist set his cup down, stood and received his blade from the golem.
“Willow, I want to leave,” stammered Helen, shrinking away with the saber she was carrying.
“She’s got the sword!” one of them said. Helen’s protective dome slapped shut over her head, and she inched behind Willow.
“Yeah, but the tallkin is right; she’s gotta be holding it,” said the other, running his fingers through a jeweled beard.
“No… no extra pay?”
“No!” buzzed Helen, leaping out with some of Willow’s confidence, literally rattling a saber at them, “Now scram! I’m tired of stepping over you cretins every time I need to go out for a walk!”
The squad of quarrids grumbled, some of them bitterly cursing their luck. They kicked around for a moment, before clearing the way for Willow and Helen. Phyllis, Curie and Ghyslain filled the doorway behind them. The Sergeant looked as though she wanted to say something, but held her tongue at the look in Willow’s eyes.
“C’mon now,” Phyllis grabbed Ghyslain’s shoulder, “There’s a hammer in one of the drawers, might be able to make short work of that door.”
“Are you just leaving me here?” the Spriggan warily rattled. Bjorn flew in from the bedroom, landing on Willow's shoulder.
“Read the room,” suggested Bjorn with a sense of bitterness, watching the Spriggan as the door closed.
Helen led the way, becoming less and less confident again as they caught every eye through the halls of Dyrnwyn. They marched through carven halls of stone, with high ceilings and chandeliers of glowing crystal to light the way. Fresh air wafted through large openings in the walls high up. Water ran along the edges of the halls, sometimes as just decoration, sometimes as drainage. All this engineering possessed not just great thought and purpose, but a degree of polish unlike anything else in the Elementalia.
Once they found the main hall, where they had met Diligence, it was easy to retrace their steps back through the center of the mountain. A bright, morning sun greeted Willow on the other side, shedding beautiful light over the valley, light that could not heal the darkness arising out of the forest across the way. The Archives were easy to find, the colors of the garden were a beautiful beacon that drew the eye.
Descending from the stone walkways, they found the moss-covered golem holding an orange sword. Next to it was Percival Caxton, taking his morning tea at the table like he had the day before. Without regarding them, the Alchemist set his cup down, stood and received his blade from the golem.
“Willow, I want to leave,” stammered Helen, shrinking away with the saber she was carrying.
Last edited by Kokuten on Sat Mar 30, 2024 8:14 pm, edited 1 time in total.
Re: [The Dorms] A Perilous Acquaintance
Within Willow was a tumultuous storm of teenage emotions. She was genuinely grateful that the quarrids had pulled back, as she wasn’t certain how she would have reacted had they not. With Helen following behind, the Brit continued her course through the mountain with a look on her face that could kill; or at least, a look that suggested she would bite the head from anyone who got in her way. Down and down they went as they retraced their steps to the archive, every step making her chest ache a little more; not from the stab wound, but from the well of feelings that vied for control of the girl. She knew in her heart what was coming, and she dreaded it. When at last they arrived and Percy stood, Willow looked down towards Helen and her look softened ever so slightly.
“Then set the saber down and go,” her voice sounded tense as she spoke, her gaze eventually moving back to Percy. “It’ll save you from seeing what comes next.”
Taking a few moments to allow the golem to decide, Willow also took the heartbeats to close her eyes and steel herself. One more deep breath and then she opened her eyes and stepped towards Mister Caxton. One last bit of defiance saw her toss the crumpled note into the grass leaving her hands truly empty. Willow fell to her knees a little way in front of Percy and let out a racking sob as her hands clutched at her knees. Her head began to sink, but she forced herself to look at Mister Caxton.
“I’m… sorry, about the joke I made about your arm,” Willow’s apology seemed to come out of nowhere. “That was Old Willow, and I don’t like Old Willow. I’ve… I’ve been trying… so… hard… to move beyond her, but some things just push me the wrong way; and before I can stop myself I lash out, or say mean things. One of these things is authority. I know… I know I probably sound like some fucking punk saying that, but its more than just being some bratty Londoner. There’s a reason the only time during this trip I was scared was when you threatened to send me home.”
Her hands were trembling, so she moved her hands to the ground in front of her and gripped the grass.
“I know, this probably seems like it’s coming out of nowhere, but if we’re gonna be dedicating time to this we both need to know where the other stands; and I… have a lot of stuff I’ve been trying to work through… nah, trying to bury.”
A deep breath in.
“I don’t have a good home life, Sir. Never have. Like, my parents have called me once since I got to Japan. I’ll give ya a hint; it wasn’t on my birthday. It was Mum calling at the end of the semester to confirm my grades; not even to ask if I was coming home for the Summer. And… and… I… hate my mom. And…”
A moment of clarity and calm seemed to wash over Willow but accompanied by some fresh tears.
“I think she hates me too. She has always tried to dictate how I live my life. Trying to send me to strict boarding schools, organizing who I should be friends with based on who their parents are, and… getting mean when my behavior interrupts her plans; among other things. I… can’t remember the last time my mom said she was proud of me, or praised me, or even hugged me. Even before I started to act like a little shit to spite her, back when I wanted nothing more than too be the daughter I thought she wanted; all niceties, braided hair, and ballet lessons. Hell, when I was leaving for Japan? Mum didn’t bother taking off of work. No note on the counter wishing me a safe trip, no extra words the night before, nothing; I even had to pay for the cab to the airport! And all of this has made me resent people who loft their authority, and who dictate the lives of others; as well as the people who just happily go along with it. I’ve said… I’ve done terrible things to people, including you; and I am so so sorry. None of you have deserved the way I treated you.”
At last Willow's head sank until her chin rested against her chest, a stream of tears falling into the grass between her tucked legs accompanied by raspy sobs.
“Then set the saber down and go,” her voice sounded tense as she spoke, her gaze eventually moving back to Percy. “It’ll save you from seeing what comes next.”
Taking a few moments to allow the golem to decide, Willow also took the heartbeats to close her eyes and steel herself. One more deep breath and then she opened her eyes and stepped towards Mister Caxton. One last bit of defiance saw her toss the crumpled note into the grass leaving her hands truly empty. Willow fell to her knees a little way in front of Percy and let out a racking sob as her hands clutched at her knees. Her head began to sink, but she forced herself to look at Mister Caxton.
“I’m… sorry, about the joke I made about your arm,” Willow’s apology seemed to come out of nowhere. “That was Old Willow, and I don’t like Old Willow. I’ve… I’ve been trying… so… hard… to move beyond her, but some things just push me the wrong way; and before I can stop myself I lash out, or say mean things. One of these things is authority. I know… I know I probably sound like some fucking punk saying that, but its more than just being some bratty Londoner. There’s a reason the only time during this trip I was scared was when you threatened to send me home.”
Her hands were trembling, so she moved her hands to the ground in front of her and gripped the grass.
“I know, this probably seems like it’s coming out of nowhere, but if we’re gonna be dedicating time to this we both need to know where the other stands; and I… have a lot of stuff I’ve been trying to work through… nah, trying to bury.”
A deep breath in.
“I don’t have a good home life, Sir. Never have. Like, my parents have called me once since I got to Japan. I’ll give ya a hint; it wasn’t on my birthday. It was Mum calling at the end of the semester to confirm my grades; not even to ask if I was coming home for the Summer. And… and… I… hate my mom. And…”
A moment of clarity and calm seemed to wash over Willow but accompanied by some fresh tears.
“I think she hates me too. She has always tried to dictate how I live my life. Trying to send me to strict boarding schools, organizing who I should be friends with based on who their parents are, and… getting mean when my behavior interrupts her plans; among other things. I… can’t remember the last time my mom said she was proud of me, or praised me, or even hugged me. Even before I started to act like a little shit to spite her, back when I wanted nothing more than too be the daughter I thought she wanted; all niceties, braided hair, and ballet lessons. Hell, when I was leaving for Japan? Mum didn’t bother taking off of work. No note on the counter wishing me a safe trip, no extra words the night before, nothing; I even had to pay for the cab to the airport! And all of this has made me resent people who loft their authority, and who dictate the lives of others; as well as the people who just happily go along with it. I’ve said… I’ve done terrible things to people, including you; and I am so so sorry. None of you have deserved the way I treated you.”
At last Willow's head sank until her chin rested against her chest, a stream of tears falling into the grass between her tucked legs accompanied by raspy sobs.
Re: [The Dorms] A Perilous Acquaintance
Percival Caxton watched in taciturn silence, his sword at the ready through the whole, heart-wrenching scene. Each time Willow’s pain gained more gravity and became more real, his face hardened and became more severe. Bjorn had perched himself to Willow’s side, unable to process her emotions, but keeping his sword drawn at Mr. Caxton. Helen, who had run as soon as she was given the chance, was now running back, if only to plant herself behind a tree and watch.
A gentle breeze pushed the flowers and leaves of the garden in a gentle sway, carrying a few petals along the way. Then there came the whisper of crunching grass as The Alchemist began to walk over to Willow. Bjorn raised his blade, but let it come down as the man handed off his own weapon to the golem.
When those brown oxfords stopped in front of her, he came to a knee. If Willow had looked into his face, she could see what she had seen yesterday: words unsaid, movements unmade, a mask covering something up beneath.
Then, wordlessly, he scooped the girl into his arm and embraced her.
A gentle breeze pushed the flowers and leaves of the garden in a gentle sway, carrying a few petals along the way. Then there came the whisper of crunching grass as The Alchemist began to walk over to Willow. Bjorn raised his blade, but let it come down as the man handed off his own weapon to the golem.
When those brown oxfords stopped in front of her, he came to a knee. If Willow had looked into his face, she could see what she had seen yesterday: words unsaid, movements unmade, a mask covering something up beneath.
Then, wordlessly, he scooped the girl into his arm and embraced her.
Re: [The Dorms] A Perilous Acquaintance
“Stop trying to fight god, my sobby mug ain’t worth it,” Willow swat at Bjorn halfheartedly, but beyond that she simply remained slumped as she let the dregs of emotions pour out. Frustrations and insecurities that she’d tucked away for the last couple years finally venting, and all it took was getting stabbed in the chest. When at last it seemed like she was winding down, she shooed Mister Caxton away and pushed herself to her feet before moving to collect her sword.
“Sorry ‘bout dampening the Student-Murder vibe, just had ta get tha’ offa my chest; ya know, ‘fore ya stab it again,” Willow rubbed her swollen eyes with the base of her palm as she took her sword with the other. “Getting’ weepy like tha’ always makes me pretty dehydrated. Figure we could take a water break, or you could jus’ stab me again so I can wake up feelin’ peachy. Not t’ mention I sort of disappointed y’ur door guards on my way down. Would hate for them t’ feel left out.”
Willow paused, straightened, and rolled her shoulders before swinging the saber and letting the scabbard fly off towards Helen’s hiding spot.
“I also want to make a statement of fact. I know this isn’t a game. Do not mistake my flippant attitude as me downplaying gravity. Sure, sometimes it might take me a bit to get it, but I don’t want to be serious. I’m afraid that if I act serious I start t be too much like my mom. So don’t expect my wise cracks to go anywhere, but I promise I will be better about not making my jabs targeted. Keen? Now, where were we? Oh, right, getting stabbed.”
Rushing Mister Caxton, Willow’s form was entirely different this time. Perhaps due to the dehydration, or the weight that was off of her shoulders, Willow’s stance was a lot more relaxed, but still just a unpolished and open. As she closed the distance her saber was held in one hand way off to the side, and swung in a wide, powerful arc towards the instructor; this time though she watched his sword, and prepared to drop into a roll if it looked like he was going to avoid her strike and stab her again. Contrary to the defeatist tone she had used, Willow always played to win.
“Sorry ‘bout dampening the Student-Murder vibe, just had ta get tha’ offa my chest; ya know, ‘fore ya stab it again,” Willow rubbed her swollen eyes with the base of her palm as she took her sword with the other. “Getting’ weepy like tha’ always makes me pretty dehydrated. Figure we could take a water break, or you could jus’ stab me again so I can wake up feelin’ peachy. Not t’ mention I sort of disappointed y’ur door guards on my way down. Would hate for them t’ feel left out.”
Willow paused, straightened, and rolled her shoulders before swinging the saber and letting the scabbard fly off towards Helen’s hiding spot.
“I also want to make a statement of fact. I know this isn’t a game. Do not mistake my flippant attitude as me downplaying gravity. Sure, sometimes it might take me a bit to get it, but I don’t want to be serious. I’m afraid that if I act serious I start t be too much like my mom. So don’t expect my wise cracks to go anywhere, but I promise I will be better about not making my jabs targeted. Keen? Now, where were we? Oh, right, getting stabbed.”
Rushing Mister Caxton, Willow’s form was entirely different this time. Perhaps due to the dehydration, or the weight that was off of her shoulders, Willow’s stance was a lot more relaxed, but still just a unpolished and open. As she closed the distance her saber was held in one hand way off to the side, and swung in a wide, powerful arc towards the instructor; this time though she watched his sword, and prepared to drop into a roll if it looked like he was going to avoid her strike and stab her again. Contrary to the defeatist tone she had used, Willow always played to win.