RP:The Cost of Violence
Part of the The God of Undeath Arc
Summary: Quintessa infiltrates the mayor's mansion in Cenril. After a short fight that Valrae escapes with the perfectly timed help of Lanlan, she leaves the witch with new wounds and a few hidden gifts.
Balcony
Dual framed doors are thrown wide, leading out to the roomy balcony. High above Cenril, and facing the northern mountain ranges, the view from here is spectacular. To the west lie the plains of Milous and the vague outline of the mighty Sage forest. A trick in the construction of the prismatic dome of the ballroom just below acts as a telescope, making the eastern sea of Cenril appear much closer than it really is.
Quintessa || As light from the sun sinks into the horizon and the twin moons shine their own luster down from the heavens, an uncharacteristically cold fog begins to drift down Beloy Street. The crimson glow of Arh’Nuk catches the mist in the streets and enchants it, a lingering spell put in place by the necromancer and unwilling servant of Caluss that lurked in the shadows of Cenril. The bewitched fog not only concealed her and her undead bodyguard as they approached the Mayor’s Estate, but it also carried with it a curse of sluggishness, of sleepiness and sloth. Ordinary people stood no chance, slumping against the walls and buildings as they slipped into a peaceful slumber. Quintessa’s plans for the manor, however, were not so placid.
Quintessa || Using the shadows as more than a means of hiding their movements, she and the Gloom at her side step through the shadows like a door, sinking into one side of the foyer exterior and surfacing on the other inside of her estate. The foyer is dark and empty save for the necromancer and her minion, neither making a sound as they sneak around the perimeter of the room. As she passes by them Quintessa takes a piece of black chalk and writes a rune on the back of a statue, small enough to go unnoticed but clear enough to carry its intended purpose. Then, entering the Grand Hallway the pair of assassins encounter their first guard, but the necromancer doesn’t even have to give the order for the Gloom to fade into the umbra and reappear at the armed guard’s flank, covering his mouth and sinking its cursed dagger deep into the man’s heart.
Quintessa watches for more guards to show up but no more patrol this area, and she makes a silent indication with her hand that the Gloom should stay here while she explores the lower levels. Yet again, passing through the entertainment room, Quintessa finds a new place to put a rune. She approaches the bar, lifts a bottle of expensive liquor, scrawls a rune where it was sitting, and then places the bottle back on top to conceal it. Next was Valrae’s Office, as Tessa’s shadow stepping boots aid her in slipping under the door without opening it, keeping her arrival a secret from the secretary still filling out paperwork there within. Much like the Gloom, Quintessa’s form rises from the shadows behind the secretary, but the changeling shows her mercy, sprinkling a bag of sleeping powder directly on her head, which when breathed would put you to sleep instantly. With the secretary dealt with, Quintessa takes a blank piece of paper, draws a new rune on it, and deposits it into the heavy oak desk. “Alright Valrae,” the changeling mutters as she skulks back to meet her Gloom, mismatched eyes cast up the stairway. “Time to stop putting off our reunion.”
Valrae || As night blanketed Cenril in its dark embrace, it beat back the worst of the heat that had crouched over the seaside republic in the harsh light of Kafzhash. High above the busy and eternally burning lights of the city, the stars appeared much closer on the mayor’s balcony. The torchlight was low and moody, casting wildly dancing shadows across the wide and glossy marble floor. This is where Valrae unwound after her day. She’d pulled the pins from her long hair, the golden length of it waving like spun sunlight around her shoulders that lifted in the gentle ocean breeze. She’d washed the makeup and magic of the day from her face, wrapped herself in the soft silk of a belted ivory evening gown. Her feet were bare and tucked beneath her on the plush pillow of her swing, an ember slowly devouring a bundle of Milous sage and filling the briney air with earthy, curling smoke on the short table to her right. There was a glass of red wine in her hand, half tasted and even less enjoyed, and a soft back copper novel opened and dogeared in her lap. Instead of bending over it and devouring the dramatic, wistfully romantic plotlines that she thought she might, her tired mind unraveled the motions of the day as she studied the nebulous blackness between the faraway sky and the churning sea. If she’d felt the chill of Quintessa’s arrival, it was only a faraway dance along the edges of her senses. A hungry stirring from the crystal skulls, of which she now housed four, from behind the doors of her room. Still, this was dismissed as an anxiousness born from a weary mind made loose with wine. As the guards who patrolled the sprawling gardens of her manor succumbed to Tessa’s fog, and another inside of her own walls to the woman’s blade, Valrae only hid a soft yawn behind her hand and flirted with the idea of sleep.
Valrae || The guard that stood outside of Valrae’s door might yet show himself a more formidable opponent. He was a seasoned Cenrili guard that had proven himself capable in battles of awesome magic the night he’d defended Uma from Kahran’s attack on their shores. He stood alert, his back straight and his right hand resting on the hilt of his sword. Though voices at the end of the stairwell were not typically cause for alarm, the lateness of the hour coupled with no mention from the Mayor that she’d be entertaining guests had Kann taking a step forward as he closed his fist around the hilt of his sword. “State your business!” He calls down. Outside, Valrae turns the page of her novel and takes another testing sip of her wine.
Quintessa hears the guard call down to her in the darkness and she grins sadistically, the natural darkness fortified as the changeling’s black aura spread out like an ichor that natural light could not penetrate. Instead of stating her business as ordered, Quintessa manifests a wicked giggle that echoes up the stairs, targeting the seasoned guard with a minor phobamancy spell, trying to shake his resolve just a little, just enough to to make him hesitate when the darkness finally encroached to take his life. The Gloom disappears into the shadows once more, moving to find a way to flank the guard as Quintessa continues to distract him from the shadows of the first floor, raising the pitch of her voice to sound more childlike as she begins to sing just loud enough for the guard to hear her. “In my hand is a pen that will write a poem of me and you.” The location of the voice shifts. Is she closer? Is she upstairs now? Anywhere there is darkness Quintessa could be lurking, singing her creepy song. “The ink flows down into a dark puddle…” She’s definitely upstairs now, she’s right next to him poised like a spider ready to strike. “Just move your hand, write the way into his heart-” With that last line spoken Quintessa emerges before him, the Jubako no Kijo’s ebon blade thrusting through the air aim right for his chest, the blade of the katasu sharp enough to slice through plate armor like butter. Meanwhile her Gloom emerges on the opposite side, ready to flank him the moment he shifts to engage Quintessa. The ploy was simple, Quintessa forces the guard to focus on her while the Gloom sneak attacks. A classic gambit.
Valrae || Kann drew his sword, the fear imposed upon him through Quintessa’s phobamancy beating against his usually steady nerve only enough that he trembled in the darkness. Silently, he prays to Arkhen to beat back the unnatural night that has descended upon him. The intricate chandelier above them sparks to life, only an ember in the endless black, but it was enough. “Show yourself and state your business.” Came his dispassionate answer to Quintessa’s eerie song. He has little time to react as she makes herself known, only enough to pivot so that the shining silver of his sword may meet the ebon blade instead of his chest. The gloom remains unknown to him and so he’s opened himself to this trick, his back vulnerable and unguarded as he swings his blade forward with a loud cry of effort. He follows this motion by swinging back, aiming for her neck. Behind the door, the four skulls have begun a riotous humming answer to the magic being worked so near. It was hungry and dark, a mirror to what had made them, and they responded as if welcoming a beloved sister home. Valrae’s glass slipped from her fingers, shattering on the marble floor as the peace of her night was broken. The witch stood carefully, stepping around the mess of sticky sweet wine and glass to slowly enter her room. She could hear Kann shouting, feel the tingling pressure of magic crowding outside of the door like smoke. Valrae reaches for the ash wand on her desk, taking it up in her hand and only hesitating for a heartbeat as she steps forward toward the door.
Quintessa allows Kann to deflect her strike easily, pressing her blade against his in a swordlock as her expression grows more horrifying. Her sharp teeth bare as she grins and her golden hued eye, not covered by an eye-patch currently, glimmers like a snake’s in the low light. Even the pupil appeared more snake-like and slitted as her wicked aura grew, the evil magic granted by powerful beings seeping out into everything beyond Quintessa’s control. Should Valrae open that door, the tainted energy would wash over her just as it was doing to her bodyguard who already was getting spitroasted between two assassins. Quintessa carefully moves her blade up to protect her neck, allowing Kann to assume he has the advantage against her as she back steps carefully to deflect, fighting defensively and conserving her energy. The Gloom on the other hand possesses no such sense of self-preservation. No emotion at all, not ever bloodlust. It was simply an undead killing machine with a singular purpose. Wielding the keen-bladed dagger created with Quintessa’s hexblade curse, the Gloom makes three calculated strikes in quick succession. First aiming for the achilles tendon, next the weak spot in the groan of his armor, and then finally aiming a stab into the gap between his helmet and breastplate. If any of these attacks hit and the armored guard takes his eyes off Quintessa, she’d sink into the shadows once more, disappearing from view as she allows the undead monster to tag in.
Valrae || Kann sends another prayer to Arkhen as Quintessa’s face twists into something more akin to a nightmare. This prayer is cut short as pain brings him to his knees, the Gloom’s aim ringing true to find purchase in the soft and vulnerable tendon above his heel. He cries out again, this time in agony as he falls. The second strike, the one aiming for his groin, misses him by a hair's breadth as he curses. He rolls quickly, favoring the leg that remained uninjured as he stands and Quintessa slips back into blackness. The third strike is met as he stands, swinging his sword up to meet the blow ment for his neck. The force of it sends pain like lighting up his arm but he pushes back, sliding on the blood that spilled from his own wound. Kann dances back, minding the shadows that Quintessa might be lurking in by staying within the small circle of light beneath the low glowing chandelier. The fear that Valrae felt was organic, it needed no help from Quintessa’s phobamancy as the sounds of a muffled struggle came through the closed door. Grabbing up a small glass jar, seemingly empty at a glance, the witch snaps her power out and the door that separates her between the blood and darkness swings open and slams against a shelf with enough force to topple the books and crystals from it. She’s met with a confusing scene of motion and blood. Kann was swinging at the Gloom again, the unnatural shadows behind him writhing as if they were reveling in the violence. The witch takes a step backward, lifting her wand above her head as her own power rises. It filled her room with anticipation, crowding the air with the waiting charge before a thunderstorm before with a whispered word it coalesced at the tip of the ashwand and erupted with a tunneling cyclone of emerald fire. She aimed it for the unknown Gloom and felt the heat lift the hair back from her own face. Kann stumbled away from her fire, slipping from his circle of light and into the shadow to avoid the blast before charging out of it again, aiming a savage thrust towards its chest regardless of the outcome of Valrae’s spell.
Quintessa had slipped away into the shadows at the perfect moment, lurking in the darkness as Valrae joins the fray, slamming the door open and letting loose a torrent of emerald flames. The Gloom, being singularly focused on destroying Kann, fails to avoid the Red Witch’s green flames. Its leathery, undead flesh alights amidst the immolation, peeling its attention away from the guard to shift the eyeless face in Valrae’s direction. It shows no indication of pain as it sizzles and pops, skin melting into a sick sludge that pools on the floor. Its black, twisted smile flashes once in Valrae’s direction just before Kann hits it with a charge, his sword impaling through the undead creature’s chest as it is lifted into the air. Black ichor spills from the wound to mix with the melted flesh on the floor, the gloom’s lithe body sliding down as its attention returns to the bodyguard. A hand grabs the hilt, pulls its body further down the sword, and aims a final strike right for Kann’s gut before it grapples hold of him and throws them both over the edge of the staircase. In a mess of emerald hued flames, blood, and putrid fluids, both the Gloom and Valrae’s protector tumble out of sight over the ledge, the sound of them hitting the stairs on the way down echoing through the estate. Before Valrae can even think about rushing over to check to see if he’s okay, Quintessa makes herself known, dragging the end of her katana through the carpeted floor to make a slow ripping sound. “Surpriiiiise~” The malice in her voice can be cut just as cleanly as her blade cuts through the marble floor as she slowly approaches. “I bet you thought you’d seen the last of me, huh?”
Valrae had no time to let the image of the burning mess of the Gloom and Kann falling from the balcony of her stairs cement as horrific reality in her mind before Quintessa made herself known. The harrowing scene dropped away from her like a veil, the mournful lines of her face passing like clouds over the sunlight of short lived but blinding relief. “Tessa.” The affectionate shortening of her name fell from the witch’s lips like an awe filled prayer of gratitude. She was alive, and well enough from the looks of it, and Kasyr’s word that he’d not given her an unjust end were realized and true. But just as her katana cuts through the priceless, heirloom rug of her floor, so too does the malice that the woman’s tone bathed in cut through Valrae’s elation. Her face closes off, replaced with a seriousness that she reserved for her spell work as her wand lifts again. “I had hoped not,” She answers honestly, her tone careful as she takes a step back. “But I’ve been made a fool for worse.” The witch moves quickly then, the small jar she’d been holding in her hand thrown to the floor in the short space between them. It erupted with a sound akin to thunder as magic rolled out in waves. The torchlight was snuffed out, drenching the room in darkness broken only by the light that slanted through the windows form her balcony. Where the glass shattered a tempest rose, jagged with the broken and sharp edges of the jar and whatever else the strong winds picked up. Broken crystals of tourmaline and selenite, heavy tomes and half burned candles flying about in the small bottled tornado she’d unleashed and aimed at Quintessa. And she ran, her hair snapping back like a golden flag as she slipped beyond the storm and headed toward her balcony. The witch knew there would be precious little time, so as she went the warding spell she worked to place on the door tumbled from her lips. It wouldn’t be enough to stop her, Valrae knew, but it would be enough so that she might be able to think beyond the wild pounding of her heart and the fear that rose up to her throat to choke her.
Quintessa ‘s face sets in seriousness the same time Valrae’s had, the end of her sword flicked upwards to serve as her own wand, the Ya-te-veo wood of the handle being so accustomed to drinking the changeling’s cursed mana that it served as an extension of herself. The thunder jar causes Quintessa to flinch but the darkness gives her comfort as it snuffs out the candles. This relief was short-lived, however, as the wind picked up and transformed into a magical cyclone which rips and tears through the mayor’s bedroom in her direction as Valrae escapes to her balcony. “Why are you running!?” That is all Quintessa is able to get out before she is forced to respond to the storm-in-a-jar Valrae had generously gifted her. Focusing on the thin membrane between realities, the same she used when she shadow-stepped, the changeling breaths out the words “Porth yr Ysgam.” before her experimental spatiomancy spell traces down the length of her sword. In the next instant she slices right in front of herself, separating reality to open up a portal meant to consume the twister headed right for her. The edges of her portal flap like curtains in the wind as the magics combat one another, the tornado resistant against being dumped in some random location in the Nameless Desert. It's not until Quintessa stomps her foot in anger do the folds of her portal react to her baleful magic again to swallow up the cyclone and snap shut- the slice in reality sealing closed just as easily as it had been sliced open. “Heh, how do you like that, Kasyr…” She mutters to herself, her attempt to immediate the kensai’s ability close enough to fill the changeling with pride as the ruined room fell to silence once more. “Vaaaal,” Quintessa calls out eerily, crushing broken baubles under her heeled boots as she slowly gives chase. The ebony blade smacks against the warded door, but it holds, causing a frustrated growl to build in the young woman’s throat. “What’s wrong Valbae?” She asks in a flirtatious tone which suddenly shifts to venom when she adds the next part, “Scared I’ll give you the Kasyr treatment?” She swings her sword at the door once more and this time the ward begins to crack.
Lanlan :: The hour was approaching its prime. The sun had gone down and the heavy curtains slid to either side of their rail to invite the moon in from the window at a high point of his coral-grown study. The only glow allowed from inside, soft and blue, was created by Lanlan, and only to add to the atmosphere. Magelights in the shape of luminescent moon jellyfish gently push themselves around the space between the strange and wondrously colored structures that create this castle. There wasn’t much for him to do at this hour, but if anyone were to ask, he’s extremely busy. He should be! Yet the mostly misunderstood tome from the otherworldly library lies on a round glass disk, untouched for days. He looks at it with violence. “I don’t have time for you right now,” he says, as he slaps the edge of the floating glass. It tumbles over itself, the crystal that just a moment ago was as clear as fresh water, now had a mirror on its opposite side. From a wardrobe in another room, a parade of brocade vests and velvet jerkins and other ornately embroidered shirts is summoned. Quiet but for the ruffling of sleeves, they present themselves before Lanlan for adjudication. And then they all fall down. A sudden and powerful pang that grips his very soul with icy terror and burning rage all at once. Something inside he couldn’t feel until he needed to, it felt gripped. A familiar feeling, he felt it recently and Valrae did too. And then they knew that Kasyr was in a fight for his life. But Valrae wasn’t with him this time. More troubling, was how much sharper this felt. His beautiful clothes were all over the floor, but he couldn’t focus on them. Couldn’t even see them. He had to see something else first, and he leaves in a rush.
Valrae hadn’t answered the woman’s taunting. The witch stood, frozen and silent as she beat against her wards. There were no tools near her now, she’d abandoned them to the ruined room she’d left Quintessa in. There was broken glass, a book laying with its worn spine cracked open and forgotten, and her wand. It would have to be enough. Kasyr’s name brought the taste of bitter ash to her throat, her temper rising as fury spread from her chest down to the tips of her bare toes and burned away her fear. In the newness of her rage, Valrae did something reckless. With the flick of her wrist the wards crashed down, shattering like glass as she slapped out at them just as Quintessa struck again. “You can try.” Valrae hisses. She followed the motion up quickly, raising her wand and throwing the only spell that came to her mind. The words fell from her lips, the magic lifted her hair. It burst from the tip of her ashwand in watery blue light, spreading out toward Quintessa as a massive wave. It was no curse, nothing ever intended to be used in combat and the intent she’d placed behind it now had warped it into a towering wave of magic. It was a simple spell, one the witch had used countless times to explore the coast of Cenril without fear of drowning. Succumbing to this spell would temporarily alter the lungs, allowing for easy breathing beneath water. Above it, if Quintessa didn’t counter her here, it would leave her gasping for every breath. Valrae kept moving, rushing to place herself closer to the spellblade despite the foolishness of this decision as she called to fire again. The emerald flames leapt from her wand and finger tips, aiming behind Tessa rather than for her as she attempted to drive them closer.
Quintessa gave once last kick with her boot to break down the door, the wicked Jubaku disrupting it enough to fizzle out of existence the two strikes prior, but when the balcony opens wide to her and she steps out to meet Valrae the changeling is showered in witchy magic. Her still-injured lungs want to cry out in agony as the Red Witch’s spell transfigured Quintessa’s lungs into an organ more suited for underwater breathing, her hand clutching to her chest as she watches Valrae follow up with another torrent of green fire that closes off her retreat and forces her into the melee combat- which Quintessa was happy to conform to. The hexblade couldn’t figure out why Valrae was foolish enough to engage her this closely, but she moves forward anyway, her gasping breath showing that she was slowly succumbing to suffocation. How long did she have? Three minutes? Plenty of time for this. Now that Quintessa had been robbed of her breath she had no voice, meaning a large section of her spells were now closed off to her. This handicap left her at a disadvantage but she was not helpless, she still had all manner of techniques she could employ. One such ability was the unspoken curse that lingered inside of Quintessa’s katana, the ebon blade humming with dark mana as she ignored the aching pain in her wrist to drop into a plow guard and charge. Valrae had proven herself a real threat with that last spell and now Quintessa could not afford to offer her any mercy with her next flurry of attacks.
Quintessa was out of practice but she was still a warrior and swordsman trained by a Kensai. She had fought on the front lines in the Razurath War on multiple occasions. She had turned the tides in battle against Xicolt’s thralls and defeated its lieutenants in single combat. Countless others Quintessa had defeated in times of better health, but even now in her broken and wounded condition she's a force to be reckoned with. Like a wolf Quintessa drops low as she closes the gap, sweeping her cursed blade around as she circles to Valrae’s left, trying to strike once inside her blindspot to aim a long slice down the witch’s thigh. Following up, Quintessa pivots, carrying the momentum of her rush to slide behind her and aim a downward slash across her back, then to finish it off she draws the blade back and thrusts forward, deliberately aiming to skewer through Valrae’s right shoulder blade should she fail to react in time. Superficially these wounds were neglectable, even the final crippling blow could easily be survived through, but the real danger was the curse that lingered in her sword; Quintessa’s Hexblade curse. These wounds won't heal until the curse is broken with healing magic, left to linger and fester long after the wound has been cut. Hopefully for Valrae, she will have a way to avoid such fate.
Lanlan begins to feel the gravity of his adopted fear and anger intensify, to the point that it could’ve been born within him. It was alarming to the point that he could hardly tell whether it is his life or someone else’s on the line. When in fact, there are three. The tapping of his cane and steps on the cobbles quickens, and quickens again. “She’s probably just having a nightmare,” he reasons, because what danger would she be in that he didn’t know about? And who would want to do her harm. The logic…doesn’t help. When he can’t stand it anymore, the tapping stops. His cane lifts off the ground, then his boots, and an unseen force propels him quickly inches above the surface of the streets, and he seems to disappear into a gust.
Valrae felt no satisfaction knowing her spell had landed. In another time there might have been sympathy but there was no room inside of her now, there was only the white hot fire of her rage. She could hear Quintessa’s ragged breathing through the rush of blood in her ears, the roaring of the fire she’d called as it devoured the ruined mess of her rooms. Beyond it, there were the calls of guards, those who had been tucked inside of the mansion's walls and away from Quintessa’s fog. They wouldn’t reach them though, not with a wall of witchfire spreading between them and threatening to consume the estate. Even as she crouches down to rush her, Valrae doesn’t seem to register the danger she’s put herself in. Her blade finds its home across her thigh, slicing through the thin silk of her gown and drawing blood from the soft flesh beneath. Valrae doesn’t cry out as the blood rushes warmly down her leg, instead she pivots with her and throws her own body even closer, reaching out with her free hand to seek purchase in Quintessa’s hair. Valrae was no trained swordswoman, had never had any formal training in any combat of any kind in fact, but she’d flourished on the streets of Cenril’s southside and had won her share of dirty, unfair street brawls. If Quintessa had come for a fair or honorable fight, she’d not find one here. The witch attempts to gather a fist full of the other woman’s hair and pull with all of her might, even as she swipes out with her wand to cast a knock back spell aimed directly at her already laboring chest. She only needed a single strand of hair for what she might attempt next. But Quintessa was fast, and refined in a way that Valrae wasn’t, and she slipped behind her anyway as she stumbled. Valrae dropped down quickly, cursing as the bite of her wicked blade glanced across her shoulder blades. The woman hadn’t finished with her though, even as Valrae attempts to right herself and turn, she can feel the blinding pain of the hexed blade piercing her. The witch screams, lurching forward as the torment spreads. The wand falls from her hands, clattering uselessly on the marble floor of the balcony. Through the pain the witch looks down at her own hands, hoping to see even a single strand of Quintessa’s hair through her fading vision, as she knew what she attempted next would be made more potent with it’s aid. She gathered her magic, borrowed from the emerald skull that sat atop a burning desk and sang with starving greed, and she screamed again. The spell she attempted now would make her a living poppet. The aether rushed from her, poured into her, as she reached up with her left hand to take hold of the sword that still protruded gruesomely from her own shoulder and gripped the painfully sharp blade gently as the spell fell from her lips. The curse burst from her then, a rapidly spreading light of sickly green that sought to sink into Quintessa and bind her to Valrae. If successful, their injuries would be mirrored upon each other; Valrae’s breathing stalled, Quintessa’s shoulder pierced. The witch’s spiteful last gift for a fight she knew she had lost.
Quintessa growls in anger when Valrae grabs her hair, a guttural, breathless, animalistic growl. Not because the witch was dishonorable, Quintessa didn’t believe in honor, but it was because Valrae was putting up more of a fight than she was expecting. This was becoming a struggle. The knock-back spell lands true, stealing as was left of the changeling’s breath as she struggled for air, unable to get relief from the oxygen in her lungs. It was maddening, she couldn’t focus on anything but that desperate urge to breathe that her lungs could not cure. Worse yet, strands of the changeling’s raven hair remain twisted up in Valrae’s fingers, a powerful tool in the hands of a witch. Soon Quintessa would pay for letting it happen. The bind finds its connection, the crystal skull linking the two two women in a spell-poppet connection. She’d scream in agony if she could as the wounds she had just left on Valrae spread across her own body, her form flinching against the pain as her own curse betrays her. It doesn’t take long for Quintessa to understand what has happened and to know she had been cornered into a stalemate, so instead of giving them both new wounds Quintessa fishes for a potion, one that would dispel any enchantment currently affecting her body- in this case her lungs. In seconds the relief that fills her lungs is more satisfying than anything she’s ever encountered in her life, a record that earns Valrea a genuine glare. “You didn’t.” Quintessa knows she did but the implications of this keep rolling in and rolling in. She is still catching her breath, frozen in place until slowly her lips part into a smile. “Well played, Valrae,” Her compliment is as genuine as the glare she received, “Now I can’t kill you.” The blood continues to pool around her feet, her left arm hanging limply. She knew she could withstand this level of pain but could the Red Witch? She had been burned alive, surely she could handle this. Quintessa stumbles backwards towards the edge of the balcony and she parts her lips to speak once more. “This fight is over.”
Lanlan has his fears confirmed. Smoke billows above the buildings in a dense plume, only a few blocks away from him. Where the manor should be. He leans forward slightly as his eyes and heart sink, and his velocity rises. Then suddenly he stops, as if possessing no momentum, and clutches his chest. There is a sense that the air he draws into his lungs isn’t worth anything. He breathes, yet feels breathless. A feeling that waxes and wanes along with the foreboding sense of death. Just a feeling, that’s all. He resumes his hovering race until he’s above the cobblestone path under the mayor’s balcony. What he sees fills him with fury. It’s Valrae in a white gown, glistening wet with blood; her own he thought. Across from her is Quintessa. In seconds, he’s ascending the sheer wall of the manor like it was any other floor, and then he drops down between them. Twice in fact. One version of Lanlan stands before Tessa, accompanied by a mystical doorway it seems. Brilliant and blinding hues accompanied by billowing winds pour out from a seam in space just inches behind him. The deafening winds blew directly against Tessa, and the massive display of energy completely obscures Valrae. Though it was all an illusion, except for the scorn in this Lanlan’s eyes. “Was it all a lie?” Not that he can elaborate without ruining everything, but she should know what it means. The real Lanlan was just behind, sweeping a thin and weightless coat over himself and Valrae. He pulls one finger to his lips and places his other hand in hers, before looking out across the balcony again. He could see through his illusion. Hear through it. In another second, the illusive Lanlan ‘departs through his portal’, and it would appear to Quintessa that nobody was behind it. And they would wait.
Valrae falls forward, landing on her knees with a dull thump as Quintessa is knocked away from her. She couldn’t breathe, could no longer cry as the agony pulled her down. She might have sank further, let her tired and ruined body lay and die in a rapidly growing pool of her own blood, but the fight hadn’t left her just yet. She met Tessa’s eyes even as her chest ached with the familiarity of Larket’s fire, her shoulder somehow worse, and lifted her chin definitely. Her relief was a twin to the other woman's as she took her first ragged and gulping breath. It was sweeter than any she’d tasted since her return to life. The witch smiles with saccharine sweetness as Quintessa glares, until her body pitches forward and she’s forced to hold herself upright with her uninjured arm. “You could,” She counters, her voice soft and filled with that same tooth-rotting sweetness. Even as Tessa asserts that the fight is over, Valrae feels dissatisfaction in her anger fueled bloodlust. And she knew that together they had entered a new struggle, this one of wills. “And if I’m not done?” She challenges, though they both knew she held no other card but mutual destruction in her hands. But there was more than just physical pain raging through her now, there was an ache that clawed between her ribs that came from the bitterness of perceived betrayal. From the shame of being horribly and terribly wrong. “I believed in you.” She says softly, her tone quiet and filled with that shame now as she reaches up, Quintessa’s hair still tangled around her fingers. The witch watched Qintessa’s face with flinching pain written on her own as she punctured the new wound on her shoulder with her index and middle finger. She couldn’t even feel the warmth of the blood on her hands as her own fingers sank into the derelict flesh. But her sadistic vengeance is interrupted. Lanlan appears, maybe two of them but she was in no condition to discern illusion from reality now, and her hand falls away. The spell that bound her to Quintessa dies, the green light pulling toward her and fading away. They were free now, and the pain and injuries were her own again. She might have known Lan would be coming, but for the pain that ruined all other senses now. There was relief again, as sweet as that first breath, as he took her hand. “Lanlan?” Valrae whispers, looking up at him with confusion warring to outdo the pain in her dark eyes even as he presses a finger to his lips. She hears nothing after this, releasing herself to the blackness that had been swimming at the edges of her vision. There was only darkness and agony waiting for her there.
Quintessa merely stands pressed against the railings of the balcony as Valrea continues to speak to her, a cruelly the changeling didn’t recognize in the witch’s demoenor. “If you’re not done? I have no interest in dying together with you.” The wanton suffering Valrae was willing to inflict on her as she hurt herself in the process, watching as she digs her fingers into her wounds. Something about the sadistic action reminds the changeling of being a child, suffering at the hands of her father in defiant resistance. She smiles at the pain the Red Witch inflicts, licking her lips at her. “I suppose then you’re not much different from him after all.” Before Quintessa can construct a new quip to throw her way or get some new idea of mutually assured destruction, Lanlan shows up in a flash of bright illusions which Quintessa shields her eyes against. Lanlan’s words confuse her, but then she thinks she understands. “All according to plan,” she responds with a cheeky smirk. Clearly this was what they talked about before in the realm of dreams, right? Quintessa was just playing the role she was given; the villain. When Valrae and Lanlan vanish from sight, hidden by the Archmages’s illusions, Quintessa finally breaks character, the face of the villain melting away into the exhausted girl that was done playing this game. How much time before the guards put out the fire? Lanlan and Valrae are able to watch Quintessa in this candid moment, a frown tugging on her lips as she looks back at the destruction she caused, a pain in her eyes that had nothing to do with her wounds. “She’s never going to forgive me for this…” She whispers before returning her sword to her sheath and climbing up onto the railing, looking at the darkness below. “I hope you’re satisfied.” Unless either of them reach out to stop her, Quintessa would drop from the ledge into the shadows, allowing them to consume her and carry her far from Cenril and back in the direction of Vailkrin. The cursed fog that surrounds Valrae’s estate lingers longer however, requiring another ritual to break that curse too, bringing the total number of gift hexes left behind for Val to two. Hopefully when Tessa gets home Karasu won’t add to the number of wounds Valrae had left her in exchange.