#tmit

"Oh, gods. Hm. I think nearly everyone of our regular collective of Fancy Cakes would survive. Nearly. Fiorenze and Nahilvi are extremely cunning. They, likely under the guidance of Lady Keranna, would be the ones to develop the survival tactic. Think of all of those in the medical field, as well. Master Daigoa, Ema, Andi, the others of the Shielded Mind, they would be able to lend assistance to anyone who was harmed. Despite having resilience and having endured a great many things, I am not a good head under pressure. I do imagine I would be the first to perish. Ema, I think, would also perish, but I think it would be due to sacrificing herself for others to get away. She does strike me as that very selfless sort. Ryland and Master Dawnflare would clearly seduce the opposition and in that cleverness would also likely survive. That said, so many of these sorts are involved with that mercenary group. It is rather hard for me to imagine of them not being able to survive a horror picture, of all things. They have survived worse, after all. Suffice it to say, I am surrounded occasionally by incredibly strong and impressive individuals."

( What a great question, @turning-through-the-never. Thank you!

Not in the slightest.

There is some logic in the idea that he can hold onto it for longer if he does get it restored, but I think he would really hate it if someone else put their hands all over it. He has no idea how to do that himself. If he asks how to go about doing that, it's probably going to invite questions.

Soryk really isn't very good at answering questions about himself and I think he wouldn't be able to come up with a convincing lie on the spot. But he obviously can't tell the truth because if he did, people might change their opinion of him. Or he might perceive himself as being softer or weaker, though he almost certainly is.

"We're... friends? I sculpted some decor for her mother's veranda. Mesandréaux is a lovely woman. She's been through a lot. To be fair, name one of our people who hasn't. But she's out here trying to make her way in the world, sometimes doing so with the odds against her. I admire that. She's brave and courageous. Independent. Sometimes I think she's putting on a face just to keep others around her from worrying and I wish she didn't feel like she had to. She's great just the way she is. But none of us really have an easy time seeing that kind of stuff in ourselves, so I'm happy to say it whenever I think she could benefit from hearing it. It's always nice to see her. I'd probably like to see her more. She's on that pilgrimage, though. I'll have to see if her goddess is kind enough to put me on her path a few times."

"Oh, gods. Is it terrible if I say 'everyone'? That sounds like such an easy way to answer, but that really is the truth.

Not everyone comes to every gathering of Fancy Cakes, so I try very hard to remember names and faces and what little bits of conversation I can commit to memory. I have a difficult time randomly interjecting into conversation that is going on and I do not ever wish to be rude, but these are not oft faces I see outside of Fancy Cakes.

I do not like much, the notion of rattling off names, but let us assume that if you have shown up to the gathering, I have taken notice of you and wish to speak with you a little more in fewer numbers. I always want to know the people I am surrounding myself with. And perhaps... eventually, I will want them all to know me, as well."

What does Nahi want more than anything else right at this very moment? Does she have any aching, gnawing fixations?

Nahi’s back hit the ground with a sharp thud, the impact knocking the air from her lungs. Her hair fanned out beneath her, purple curls sticking to damp skin on her cheek, the sheen of sweat catching the light. A sound rumbled in her throat, half-growl, half-moan, before a firm hand pressed over her mouth, silencing her.

Her violet eyes flared wide, locking onto his. The heat in them could have been rage, could have been something else. She pushed upward, palms clutching at his shoulders, her body arching beneath his weight. A muffled sound slipped past the seal of his hand, raw and urgent.

For a heartbeat, time stilled. Breath mingled. The space between them felt too thin, too charged. Then, with a deliberate slowness, her fingers threaded into his hair. She curled them tight and pulled, hard enough to hurt, hard enough to blur whether the gesture was defiance… or something far more dangerous.

He hissed at the sharp tug, his head jerking to the side. The shift loosened his grip just enough for her to tear free a muffled breath, but not enough to escape his weight pressing her down. Their limbs tangled as she twisted beneath him, every movement a collision of muscle against muscle, strength against strength.

Her nails raked across his shoulder, leaving shallow trails that burned like fire. He caught her wrist, pinning it above her head, his breath harsh against her cheek. The closeness was suffocating, intoxicating, their struggle a rhythm that could almost be mistaken for something else.

She shoved upward with her hips, trying to unseat him, and for a heartbeat his balance wavered. His knee slid against her thigh, anchoring him again. A low sound broke from him, rough, half-laugh, half-snarl, as if he couldn’t decide whether to relish the fight or end it.

Their eyes locked once more. Her chest heaved against his, his hand still tight against her mouth, and in that charged silence it was impossible to tell if she was suffocating on fury… or desperately fighting back fear.

Reaching out, Nahi tapped the floor. Instantly he slid off her, leaving her gasping, chest rising and falling hard as she rolled to her side. He lay back with a grunt, catching his own breath before saying, “Not bad. But you missed things that would have stopped me, or at least slowed me. Look around. Right now. Give me five.”

Her pulse thundered in her ears, but there was no reprieve in these lessons. Turning her head, she scanned the room. “I could have kicked the stool at you.”

He nodded. “Or hit me with it. Next?”

She let her eyes sweep again, forcing her brain to work through the haze of exhaustion. “The window. I could have broken it, used the glass.”

“Not bad. A bit too much effort, though.”

“The leather scraper.” Her voice faltered. She couldn’t see how that would help. He had her in a room for repairing leather armor, intentionally putting her in a space not made for fighting.

“Yes.” He sat up, sharp eyes watching her. Then he spared her the struggle, rising to his feet and offering a hand. “The leather itself. Throw it in my face to break my line of sight. Blind me while you go for my legs. Stepping on my foot is good, a kick to the knee is better.”

Nahi hauled herself up, hands braced on her knees as she fought for air. Her gaze flicked again around the room. “The lamp?”

His brow lifted. “That should have been the most obvious. Flammable liquid, fire, glass, all of it a deterrent.”

She straightened slowly, every muscle aching, and looked at him. “What’s my takeaway?”

He returned her stare in silence until she forced the answer herself.

“I won’t always have a weapon on hand,” she said quietly, “or it might be knocked away.”

He crossed to the table, snagged two bottles, and handed one to her. “In the field, especially in a medical tent, you won’t have a sword or shield nearby. Your focus will be on patients. An attack could come from anywhere. The tent is full of things to use in an emergency. You need the mindset to see them and use them.”

She lifted the water, grimacing as she straightened. Tomorrow her body would rebel. “How do I learn to think like this?”

“Practice. Until it’s instinct.” His eyes hardened. “I told you when I agreed to take you, this isn’t pretty, honorable fighting. This is the lowest, dirtiest way to survive. Right or wrong doesn’t matter. Only who walks away.”

Her fingers trembled against the cool bottle. The words dragged her mind back, to the Undermines, the hand at her throat, the chaos pressing in. She swallowed hard, maybe she still wouldn’t have stood a chance against the worgen. But with this… maybe she could at least have understood what it meant to claw for life.

"Do I just sit and brood in shadows…?"

A hum, low and velvety. The sort that slid beneath skin like oil.

"No, little thing. I feed in them."

A step closer... he never moved, yet the space between seemed to dwindle all the same.

"I listen to thoughts never spoken, press into fears so old you've mistaken them for instinct. I slip between moments. Twist the threads of fates you thought were yours to command. I watch gods rot and mortals crown themselves with their corpses."

Then, a pause.

"And when I tire of that..."

A smile formed. Not kind. Never kind.

"I make things suffer. Beautifully."

A long look. A slow lean.

"What do you do all day?"

The Lord of Bats as they say had chosen to segregate himself for some time after that encounter with Annaliese. And while there were some regrets on his parts that he didn't quite understand completely, it was clear that much like himself, she was a creature of suffering. Haunting memories were just that, haunts that plagued his body and soul. Black ichor continued to ooze from his wounds involuntarily as he occasionally sputtered a laugh. " Hrrrgh... Huehehe.. hahahaha! How cute. . . the artist did not quite enjoy me attempting to paint her with imagery. Ohhhhhh.. everyone is a critic until it is their art that is being critiqued! " For weeks, he had endured a hint of madness as death's curse had coiled around his core, binding it as he continued to absorb it's nature like a sponge. He sought to understand the malevolence of it and how it ticked from the Gravekeeper. Overtime, he would master it, allowing it to permeate into his magical essence to that point that it had brought enhancement in some of his own magical prowess. Fighting it was similar to how one would partake in a poison or medication bodies understand to fight it off in battle. However, the drawback would be that a part of the Gravekeeper would always be lurking within him, as is the blemish that he had left behind due to his miscalculations. A miscalculation that would not happen again. " Hue... Hue... Hueeeeeee... " A chuckle billowed in a black smog from his throat as he gave such things thought. He had no ill will to her. The bastard had always found a way to touch up the sensitive spots on others and some of his closest friends were no different. " ... I look forward to our next teatime, Anna-dearest. I hope your admiration has not changed in the passing hourglass. After all, time sure does fly! Hahahahaha! " And so, his cackle echoed through the caverns as he departed into the night. This event would take place take place just before the events of finding Arrydhalia's location where he implemented some of that raw, curse energy to create madness within her captor's domain.