Clarke didn't know exactly how long he was carried. He counted the seconds off, popping up a finger after ever ten counts of one one thousand until he ran out of fingers and simply waited silently, rocked side to side.
It might have been a relaxing sort of rocking, maternal, if he hadn't been in the depths of a super prison.
So he passed the time by writing down the experiences thus far until a heavy thump to the ground brought him back to the there and then, listening to the retreating steps of what he thought was the dryad.
He slowly shifted and listened for any other sounds, straining his ears to hear safety. He could hear nothing through the wood, not a footstep or a scream or the constant lash of chains over a prisoner's back as he expected to hear in a prison.
Peeking through a sliver of the poorly fitted top showed no one around in his small field of view so he raised the top, looking to the sides until he was sure it was clear and raised the top enough to climb out.
Shelves and shelves of goods of every imaginable kind lined many aisles around him, the boxes in an empty corner awaiting processing.
Hey, maybe they have...
He thought to himself when he heard the creak of nails and strain of wood and he turned to the source, one of the boxes nearest his own. The others began to open and he looked to the shelves and reached out to one. Wooden but sturdy. He slipped around the other side and gave it a heave, pushing from the top until it began to rock, back and forth with wider tilts until a good, hard shove had it over, bottles and books falling with it in a terrific crash of noise and weight that hammered down on one of the boxes.
That's one.
He ran to the next one and another sleeping gas pellet began to fill the box in a fit of coughing.
How many more were there? Hands and arms began to appear over the edges, the tops pushed away and he counted six more and knew that one of those awkwardly flailing limbs looking for a handhold was Wormwood.
A fistful of caltrops across the floor and he backed away before tossing two smoke bombs. Acrid grey smoke blew up into the air as the balls cracked and smoke hissed out in jets that formed around the boxes, cloaked the shelves. He backed away from the coughing, hacking noises from inside and bolts from a crossbow began to fire wildly into the shelves around him. Then a scream as one of them found the caltrops, likely with more than their feet if the continued screams were anything to go by.
“Hey, this way!”
He heard the scrambling towards him, the choking party knocking into shelves coming for him.
Alright, alright, can't let them get out, gotta kill them here. Don't need the competition.
He took a small bottle out of a pocket and flicked it toward the gas, towards Wormwood's face just as it emerged into the air, and he turned and dashed for the door as fast as he could.
Oh, there are the uniforms.
He snagged one as he ran by, the bottle hitting the floor, shattering, the spark of whatever was inside igniting into a fireball that turned the entire cloud into a wall of fire, an explosion that threw Clarke forward out the door and into the hallway of the complex.
He turned over on his back, his ears ringing from the explosion and fiery bits of boxes and dry goods raining down around him. The uniform in his hand had caught alight and wasn't going to disguise anyone unless being on fire opened doors for you around the place so he tossed it aside. Now outside the room he saw a few guards watching him, stunned at the sudden explosion and already rushing towards him.
I have to stop them before-
Crossbow bolts sailed out of the smoke and pierced their necks, each one crumpling to the ground mid run, blood spitting out into a pool.
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He looked to the smoke and flames and a wall of force pushed through the smoke and fire, one of the intruders casting an orange shield around five relatively safe burglar lookalikes. It dropped as they got away from the flames and the gas spilled out over the floor, dissipating away from its capture in the magic bubble.
Well god dammit.
“You're a real piece of shit, Clarke. You just killed a couple of very expensive and well thought of adventurers. I mean, they'd already been paid and we got no use out of them. We can't get that money back. Hey, maybe we can have your mom bring them back to life, as a test.”
Clarke backed away, glaring at Wormwood as they pulled out swords and knives until each was armed. The hallway was empty but who knew for how long considering the noise they'd been making. The wizard was already powering up a new spell.
“If you touch her I'll-”
“You'll what? You couldn't beat me the last time we tangled so it won't be any different this time. Knock him out, we'll take him back with us.”
The moment they moved they stumbled, a lump rising from the floor and quickly taking the shape of a dryad.
Clarke had hit the jackpot as far as saviors were concerned but his joy quickly sunk. Each of the intruders rubbed the edge of their collars and their clothes changed in seconds to that of the uniform the guards wore. It showed just what a lot of money could get you if you waved it at an enchanter.
“WHAT is going on here!?”
Bellowed the serious dryad. The other side craned her neck.
“Looks like a fire. Probably not a good thing to have in the holiest of holy trees.”
Wormwood pointed at Clarke.
“He's here to release the Script User. We killed some of his allies but the rest got away and are likely on their way to her.”
“Then we'll-”
The brighter side of the tree twins suddenly yelled out.
“And you LIED to me! You're not a delivery person! I trusted you!”
The other dryad barked out orders.
“One of you get to the prison and make sure they know, the rest of you help contain that fire. We'll handle the intruder.”
The tree fairly glowed around them as the dryad drew power from possibly the greatest tree the world had ever known. Vines snaked out of the wood, twisting and trying to grab at him as he danced backward, pointlessly kicking them away.
Clarke dodged aside, rolling as a line of wooden thorns erupted out of the ground, each one dripping a fine poison before disappearing back into the tree.
He locked eyes with Wormwood who was jogging away down the hallway and there was something about his face...the smug look, the triumphant turn of events, the way he was looking down on everything Clarke had done up to then...that far from turning off his sense of self preservation, sent it sky high.
I'm going to kill you...I'm going to KILL YOU and EVERYONE ELSE for what you've done to ME...
The fire was on his right. The intruders were making a mock attempt of putting it out but were all keeping an eye on him. The dryad was staring him down, launching spells after him that controlled the very tree around him and he was rapidly losing stamina as he jumped and rolled tryingto find a moment to react.
The only thing that would save him now was his last ditch trump cards and he had to get close to the dryad to do it, tricky in itself since any dryad could spew poison spores put out into the air. He pulled his neckerchief up around his nose and hoped it would make the difference.
He dashed forward, dodging thorns and vines as he closed the distance with the her. Within feet a burst of pollen erupted from her skin, plant spores covering him and their tiny roots burrowing into the his jacket, the mask, into his exposed skin. He did not falter but tossed a potion down at her feet and slid through the oil, between her legs and across the floor.
He'd seen two elementals in his latest travels, the most powerful things to mix potions from and, as Twinty had told him repeatedly, as he had drilled into him, always be looking for ingredients.
He rolled out of the oil and into a standing position, his feet fighting to stay upright. The elemental from Whaler's Wharf had been an accident. He'd never been close enough to it to take any proper samples but he'd found a shard embedded in his book. He'd condensed it down, packed in other explosives and combustible powders that kept burning far longer than natural fire. This red bottle he tossed at her.
Then the earth elemental in Ondervale. Another light brown jewel with darker stone clumped together inside a bottle. He smashed it to the ground at his feet, the orb shattering and rocks erupting from the tiny shape, stone grown from the power of the earth, strength enough to forge it's own rock that grew out in pointed shards that walled him partially from the path he'd just left.
The explosion made the one in the supply room look like a firecracker in comparison, fire roaring out of the tiny orb like a blast from an overdue volcano, crawling up the walls, burning away the skin inside the tree and killing everything it touched. The sound shook the walls, burned away inches of ancient wood.
The rocks Clarke hid behind heated up white hot and melted away inch by inch, only surviving by the grace that it was made from a similar power, one element countering another. The sound however boomed around it and his ears deafened, a high pitched whine blocking out everything else.
Clarke glared ahead and walked away from the conflagration that was now killing the inside of the holiest of elven landmarks.
I'm coming for you Wormwood. You're dead. Weatherworn is dead. I'll kill anyone who tries to stop me.
He stopped by the bodies of the two downed guards and a spark of rationality still survived in his rage addled mind. He began to change clothes before heading in further.