For practical purposes, for the majority of the year, white is not the most useful color. Spring and summer, better to use dark green to blend in with the trees and grasses. Autumn, more of a brown - brown being a solid secondary choice pretty much all year round. Winter, a light or dirty grey. Only when the snow was deep, or blowing in the air, could white be, objectively, the best choice.
Looking at this outfit, though, white certainly has its appeal. The little black shoes had been fitted to be worn without socks, but the white thigh high ones, a bit longer than my normal black pair, didn't cause much of an issue. The bright red skirt, just above my knee, and the blouse, snow white, button down and sleeveless to better allow freedom of movement. Good looking, overall, but not very practical; the shirt would be ruined ten seconds into a fight. Then again, any bloodstains may end up making the ensemble all the more striking.
The piece of spider's silk sewn onto the shirt's pocket in the shape of the rune deliberately obvious, overly large, and the threaded design changed its colors with the light. Hopefully it should provide a nice visual effect when combined with the flashing shield at night.
Quarter after seven, had been getting ready since dinner, some practice but mostly stitching the rune and getting used to the shoes: more staying on my toes than anything else. Had already paid for the night at The Red Lion, sharing a two bed one couch room with Riley and Wolfe. They'd given me space to practice and were visiting with the guys in their nearby room. Doing a last check in the bathroom mirror before heading out. Glancing over in the direction of their room, but choosing instead to go downstairs and grab a quick pint.
The barroom crowd, entirely us, very different than the usual patrons at Rat Cellar. A large, raucous group of Stormhawk taking up two tables, by themselves, and everyone else with no identifying marks. Almost to the bottom of the stairs and the person working the bar catching my eye. Stopping dead and doing a double take. Oh, how the mighty have fallen. Trotting across the room and taking a seat at the bar.
“What can I get for you, miss?”
What to even say? We'd never been the best of friends but it's depressing seeing him working here, even if he's only moonlighting. What a goddamned waste.
“I'll get a pint of whatever's good. A lager, not a wheat.”
Sipping the supplied mug – it's good – and watching him out of the corner of my eye, but then a conversation from a nearby table catching my attention.
“... that bastard killed six more people last night,” the guy saying. “Gets out of jail and right back to it. How do they just let him do whatever he wants? It's a goddamn disgrace. Half a mind to find him out there, somehow, and bash his fucking head in.”
“Don't go looking for trouble,” says a second guy. “He's nuts, even if you did manage to find him it won't end well. Someone probably said something he didn't like and then he went off.”
“So what,” says the first, “we all got to walk on eggshells because some psycho might end up snapping?”
“I dunno," says third guy at the table, "but Macarthy's Macarthy. That's all there is to it. Been here since forever - a fixture of this place - a boogeyman. You don't have to like it - shit, I don't like it - but there's nothing we can do. They'll deal with him, again. Throw him back in jail for another couple months.”
My blood running cold. Taking a gulp of the pint and bringing it with me to their table. Perfunctory “Hi, can I take a seat.” Not waiting for an answer, taking the seat. The three men looking at me, trying to figure me out. The first starting to say something but getting cut off.
“Sorry, couldn't help overhearing. What's going on with six people being killed? I've been out of the loop. Last night, you said. Who killed them? Sounds bad. I was just wondering. You did say that this happened last night, right? Not some other night.” Babbling, and my fingers nervously tapping the table. Taking another drink to shut myself up, my attention bouncing back and forth between the three of them.
“Uh,” says the first, “I didn't mean to scare you. You're new here?”
Nodding. Taking another gulp.
“If you just got here,” says the third, “you don't know what we've been dealing with since, well, since before I got here, but there's this guy, Macarthy. A real nasty piece of work. Before a year ago if there was bad stuff going on he'd always had his hand in it, somehow.”
Nodding. Taking another gulp.
“So they broke up this guy's gang, the whole lot of them, and since then he's either been real quiet, or real violent. Killed a bunch of people at one of the houses a couple months back, and now just got out jail and killed six more last night.”
“Where?”
The men glancing at each other.
“Well, I don't mean to scare you,” says the first, “but it was near here, a couple streets over. He went berserk and started knifing people in middle of the street just after last call.”
“And it was this guy, Macarthy?”
“One of my buddies was there,” says the second, “that's what he said.”
“Okay.” The word coming out a whisper.
“Hey.” The first man putting his hand on mine. His much larger hand. “I'm real sorry I scared you but, if you want, I can help keep you safe.”
Staring wordlessly at his hand on mine and a desperate, wild panic taking root. Looking up at his face, but his eyes not meeting mine, their focus a bit lower. Snatching my hand away, leaping to my feet, rushing across the room and out the door. Taking a lap around the block.
A couple possibilities. First, it's only a rumor. More sins cast on my name by the gullible and stupid. Definitely possible. My hand in everything bad? Seriously? Not enough hours in the day. Second, it could be something like Melgorehn's Mask. But that's doubtful, very expensive, very rare. Third, it could be. Studying my hand now, small and feminine. It could be that. Worst case.
Getting back to the entrance and taking another lap around the block.
Tomorrow's the last day, will find out for sure if this was their trap. Haven't been attacked yet, not by anything horrible, so had been starting to doubt my intuition - hoping to doubt my intuition. Nothing to be done right now, unfortunately, but further contingencies need to be planned. Hopefully it's only a rumor. It's not. Hopefully things get back to normal. They won't. Panic won't help. Caught in a snare, panic will only choke me out faster. No one seems to know. No hit squads. No nothing. Panic won't help.
Leaning against the building to try and quell my rising panic. Seeking calm. Failing. Trying to attain inner peace. Unsurprisingly, failing. Attempting to steady my breathing. Failing, even at that. Hyperventilating for a moment and then tapping into that other emotion beside the escalating panic. The useful one. White hot anger and hate. Sweeping the panic aside. My breathing returning to normal, but my teeth grinding. Looking up at a passerby and being gripped by a manic surge. Reaching for my knife, but my hand remaining empty, had left it in the room, along with the others. Clenching my hands to stop myself from randomly lashing out. Seeking, and somewhat achieving, a sort of calmness.
One step at a time. Go out tonight, be in the crowd, and don't make it seem like anything's amiss. Going to need stationary, more ink and a quill. Have some letters to write. No matter what happens after tomorrow, that's no reason to ruin everything right now. Mostly powerless and nothing else to be done. Walking back to The Red Lion filled with an eerie calm, the same feeling as after being guillotined, head sitting in the basket and sight filled with woven fibers. Everything fading.
***
Looking at the merchant district street fair like it's the first time and, probably, the last time. Marvelous. Splurging on all kinds of candy to share with the group, and items - mostly of the explosive variety - to annoy them and everybody else. Making a general nuisance of myself. Seriously annoying Riley so badly that we had to be separated, her on one side of the group and me on the other. Buying some kind of noisemaking contraption to give to her as an apology, and being separated again.
Surreptitiously purchasing parchment, ink and a quill in between bouts of idiocy. My mood ranging from mania to despair, and then forcing myself back to mania. There, exactly what the doctor ordered. A small stall with little bits of sweet smelling resin. Paying for just a touch, just a taste, not enough to chase away every bad thought, but more than enough to regulate my mood. Walking back to the group ready to function more normally.
“You,” says Riley. Grinning at Riley. “I don't know if it's nerves or what but don't leave my sight again.”
“You're right, I'm sorry,” Grinning at the entire group. “It's just nerves. I won't leave your sight. Not again.” Giggling.
“I'll keep an eye on her,” says Morgan, my supposed date for the dance. Not such a bad guy, aside from that whole Blood Mage thing. Grabbing his arm and leaning my head on his shoulder. “They said you were going to be performing tonight.”
“Yeah, they asked and I should have said no but I kinda wanted to. They're great so I thought maybe I should, you know?”
“Can't wait to see it.”
Checking the time. Quarter until nine.
“Alright, it's almost time, I'm going to start heading over there.”
Releasing Morgan and turning away from the group. Leaving them behind. Riley yelling something but her words lost in the noise of the crowd. Walking through the packed streets, grinning at the different stalls, games and merchants. Clapping my hands when everybody else started clapping at a theatre troupe. Making little jumps from stone to stone and changing my stride, swinging my arms. Progressively getting closer to my destination, one of the larger intersections in the merchant district.
Arriving, but my friendly helper not in sight. Not quite nine. He'll show or... a giggling fit taking hold of me. Alright, alright, alright. Get the warmups down, limber up the arms and neck. Hey, kinda in the middle of something here. No, not gonna move, you go around. Giving the interloper a taste of my shield, the sparks and sound drawing attention. Glancing around. Should save it for the show. Getting back to my warmups.
There he is. Oh, and his whole crew. Knife to the neck, axe to the face and runs away through the forest. Knife and axe'll are probably still feeling a bit under the weather. Giving them a big cheerful wave. The slight bit of disappointment that they actually did show up fading. Looks like no future fun.
“Hey, you made it, great, that's wonderful. You,” pointing at runs away, “I still owe you something but your friend here really stepped up. You have a really good friend.”
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Their shifty, doleful expressions filling my heart to bursting.
“Lucy.” A voice from somewhere near.
“Oh, those are my people. Hey wait, I haven't introduced myself.” Giving my worst rendition of an Academy salute. “Name's Lucy nice ta meecha.” My not-so-innocent giggle immediately converting to full on, mocking laughter.
Riley, Wolfe and the guys coming into view.
try not to laugh try not to laugh
“I want to thank you all for coming. This friend I found in the forest has agreed to help me tonight. Because he's so helpful. C'mere you. I'm gonna be doing most of the work but you're, like, super important, too.” Pausing, trying not to laugh, but then busting my gut.
The two groups grimacing at each other. My cup runneth over.
Turning away and trying to focus. Okay, it's a simple goal. Make more money tonight than on the first day and then treat myself to something nice. Maybe another hit - though this feeling right now is absolutely perfect - not too much, not too little. Just right. That'll be the goal for tonight: a perfect performance, just right, but try not to start flinging knives into the crowd. It doesn't need to be that perfect. That'd be a clear case of the perfect being the enemy of the good.
Opening my pack and getting out the knives. Eight. Overboard, but good to have goals. Placing the pack in optimal begging position and starting off the routine slow. Three, a simple pattern, and then using the shield to momentarily freeze some in midair. One here, one there, producing bursts of light and sound to start reeling gawkers in. My helper, sitting near me, not helping yet.
Moving to four, basically a modified three, using the shield to hold a dagger in midair, moving it slightly to the side, until tossing it back in to the bunch and arresting another. Getting to five, basically a modified four. Doing the same. My helper starting to add his song, greatly increasing my competence and removing any hesitation, allowing everything to just flow. Moving to six, three with each hand. Freezing three in midair and then juggling the ones on the other side, changing back and forth.
Taking a moment to get my bearings. Beads of perspiration dripping down my face and discovering that a sizable crowd had been gathered in front of me. This transition is going to be tough.
Holding the three in midair, juggling the other three with both hands, adding a fourth to that set. Freezing the four and then doing my utmost to get the others and grabbing the last almost before it hit the ground. Getting those three spinning and adding a fourth to that set. Had nothing planned beyond this, hadn't thought it'd even be possible.
Catching two of the knives in each hand, bladepoints down. Lifting my hands into the air, pulsing the shield, dropping the other four to the ground in six inch bursts. Giving a bow.
Loud applause covering my labored breaths into my sweat soaked shirt. Standing up again and raising my hands to sky. My adoring fans spilling praise and some even kind enough to make contributions. Walking over to my extremely helpful Bard and clapping him on the shoulder. Taking a fifteen minute break and then running through the set one more time.
Holding out the ransom money to the Bard, the sweet resin's giddiness mostly faded and the workout cutting through my worries, making them seem much less insurmountable.
“Hell of a job. We square?”
“Y-eah.” His voice croaking.
Nodding at his group and then continuing off in a different direction to enjoy the rest of the night at the fair.
***
Squinting in the low light at the last piece of paper, the sixth. Riley and Wolfe already asleep in their beds. Each of the previous five had been basically the same, with only slight variations. Tapping the paper, debating whether or not to actually write this one, and then deciding to do it.
Sly,
Heard directly from Michelle Avery's lips that the goal had always been shutting us down. Exactly as I figured, but now I know for sure. I'm doing my best to get the guild back, but I'm going to need your help. For old times' sake. I don't know where everyone went off to, but I'm counting on you to help pass this information along. The only way we get them to fix it is to pressure them. Enough of us doing it, at least, to make them regret doing what they did. Get them to realize it'd be easier to give it back rather than deal with what we're doing. If a bunch of us together, we'll be in a place to make demands.
Black Hand
Putting down the quill and considering my other pressing matter. Had hit level 7 almost three hours ago, unlocking Rune of Mending, and thus far had delayed assigning further points and scouting ahead. The very act of doing so almost seeming to be an affirmative declaration. There'd been no disruption at the fair, meaning the rumors that guy had been spreading earlier may only be rumors. Still, need to prepare for the possibility.
Eighth rank.
Copy: Duplicates a nonmagical object, up to 3 lbs in size. Each cast of the spell incurs a cooldown, the length of which depends on the nature of the item copied. Chance of success is increased with more ranks of Arcane Lore, Transference.
Too interesting, too useful. An object, so maybe a gold coin. Literally creating money out of thin air, but a cooldown on the spell, so not exactly a license to print. Well, that depends on the length of the cooldown. Probably much better uses for it than a single gold coin. Probably a significant contributing factor as to why Matheson is the highest at only level 13. Effortless money generation sucking away all initiative.
Ninth rank.
Rune Trap: Triggers when the affected area is touched by anyone who is not the caster. Completely immobilizes the target, the duration of paralysis is dependent upon the degree of warding success. Maximum area affected is 9 sq ft on a surface or 9 cu ft for an object. The affected area is visible to the caster, but can also be detected by others via magical, or other, means. Duration is 10 minutes per Runemancy rank. At 1 rank of Arcane Lore, Decomposition, the target will also suffer Mana and Stamina damage, which further increases with additional ranks of Arcane Lore, Decomposition.
There it is. Very powerful. Know from personal experience. The spell that had aborted my attempted shakedown years prior, the one that had turned us all into statues, only to be carried out of the library and put on the sidewalk. Had lasted about five minutes, but that had been cast by the master. Probably on the very far, extreme upper end.
Sitting and considering, my ambivalence only growing. Assigning points before grabbing a blanket and heading over to the couch for the night.
Name: Lucilia Macarthy Profession: Runemage Level: 7 Sex: Female Experience: 18,592 (9,929) Age: 20 Until Next: 4,408 Health 59 Mana 51 Stamina 29 Spirit 8 Strength (STR) 55 (2) Constitution (CON) 62 (6) Dexterity (DEX) 67 (13) Agility (AGI) 86 (18) Discipline (DIS) 75 (12) Aura (AUR) 79 (14) Logic (LOG) 70 (15) Intuition (INT) 73 (16) Wisdom (WIS) 43 (-4) Influence (INF) 75 (12)
Name Trainings Bonus Armor Use 6 29 Physical Fitness 8 37 Simple Weapons 8 37 Arcane Symbols 13 51 Magic Item Use 8 37 Harness Power 8 37 Mana Control 8 37 Runemancy 8 37 Arcane Lore, Shaping 8 37 Arcane Lore, Transference 1 5 Survival 8 37 Perception 8 37 Climbing 8 37 Swimming 8 37 First Aid 8 37 Trading 8 37 Stalking and Hiding 8 37