Open Chronicles How Frail The Mind

[Autumn Whispergrove]

An eeriness clouded the sky of Alliria. Rain padded the ground softly. Those who still wandered the streets were either foolish or drunk. Usually both. Autumn was the former. Autumn was at first infuriated at having been treated as a child. Second she realized that she was too anxious and embarrassed to admit she'd been a fool to leave in total darkness. Third and most recent, she was terrified. There weren't many out and about luckily and she didn't make a habit of assuming people were all cruel. The things that happened in shadow, though, were always more dangerous than under the glare of the sun.

She meandered. She knew if she really wanted to she could afford a room so her nerves and her pride would win this silly argument she'd had with Thorne. He'd of course panic if she did that and she didn't want that. Her was getting pretty damp from having been walking the streets with no hood or cover for her head. All of this was plain stupid.

You're an idiot. Stupid. Always have been. Always will be.

Her eyes met cobblestone as these thoughts bit into her mind. She didn't try and stave them. In this and in most instances, she believed them. It was a stupid decision to leave home at night time. It was stupid of her to fight with Thorne over something trivial. She was stupid for thinking he was trying to do anything but help her. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

When will you figure it out? You can't be on your own. You're not strong enough. You're pathetic.

More cruel thoughts. Like internal rapids, washing her brain clean of hope. She wanted so badly to just turn around and go home and apologize yet her feet kept moving her further and further away from the walls of her house. Her expression growing ever more disconsolate, she ran her hands through her wet hair. It had been a few days since she'd bathed. She didn't care. She couldn't care. Autumn thought only of how to apologize and when she'd muster the strength to just turn around and make it right. She was wrong.

You're always wrong. Quit thinking you can change anything. You're rotten. If it wasn't for you mom and dad would still be al-

"SHUT UP!" Her voice echoing against buildings and into sewers. She stood frozen when she realized how loud she'd just yelled at herself. As her eyes motioned around her she couldn't see anyone near and let out a sigh of relief.

She went to take a step forward when;

"Autumn? Autumn Whispergrove?" A familiar voice called to her. It wasn't someone she knew, she thought, more so someone she had known. There was too distinct a change in the harshness of their throat to be someone she knew currently. As she slowly turned she was face to face with a human man who'd chosen to stand a bit too close to her. She took a step back, and the man's face lit up when he gazed upon her own.

"It is! It is you! I can't believe it! I haven't seen you since you were a little one!" The man looked and sounded unnervingly ecstatic to see her. She did recognize him though. A memory of the past. Someone who'd been around when her old home wasn't ashes. His name was Donovan. He had been an attendant in her parents enormous home. He'd always been strange, and she could have sworn she'd heard him bad mouth her family more than once. She didn't like this encounter. It wasn't his fault, it just brought back too many memories.

You killed th-

She shook the thoughts away. She offered Donovan a quaint smile.
"It's nice to see you again, Donovan. It has been a long time, hasn't it? I hate to be rude but I do have to be going. Home is a wa-"

"What?! Don't you wanna catch up? Let's go to the tavern or something! Get a drink since ya can now! On me!" He waved her down to follow him.

"N-no thank you, Donovan." She replied, overly formal. "I don't partake myself. If we see each other at a more reasonable hour, perhaps." She turned to leave and Donovan grabbed her arm. Hard. She was frozen in fear and didn't look back when this happened. Her mind trying to not think of the worst possible outcome this could have.

"Now, hold on just a minute, missy..." His voice changed. The rasp remained, but he no longer sounded happy. More so angry. As she looked for escape routes she noticed more people pouring from the shadows. All their eyes on her.

"Your family had a lot of nerve hoarding the money that they did, now I'm gonna make sure you pay me back in kind, alright?" She couldn't reply. She still didn't accept that this was happening at all. "I know all about your little tricks, and I've been looking for you for about twelve years. Knew you were in Alliria somewhere. People will pay a high price for someone like you. Who knows, maybe you'll just get killed for sport, eh?" He laughed maniacally. This man was insane.

Her eyes wide and her expression numb. She couldn't even muster a cry for help. All that surrounded her were Donovan's allies.

No one would care. Remember, you deserve this. You. Killed. Them.

 

[Thorne]

"Damn that girl..."

Thorne trod through the damp streets of the Allirian outskirts, hood up and eyes sharp. Of all the times for her to run off, it had to be in the dark, the cold, and the rain. The dwindling torchlight that nearby buildings offered did little to aid his search. The man cursed his poor luck under his breath and stomped through a puddle while a corner of his mind quietly appreciated that his boots weren't leaking.

It was such a foolish thing to even argue about. His charge, Autumn Whispergrove, merely wanted to get out into the open air a bit more frequently then...well, never. Paranoia was a difficult thing to combat, however, as was remembering that Autumn was no longer the little girl he'd raised. Old habits do die hard, after all.

Thorne sighed deeply and watched a column of steam rise subtly into the evening air before vanishing.
All you had to do was give her some room to breathe, Gideon. Vera would be disappointed.
Much as he wanted to be mad at the young woman for running off, he couldn't deny that this was entirely his fault. Disgruntled, he pulled his cape forward, then buried his hands in his pockets.
She couldn't have gone far...

The older fellow traipsed past alley after alley, carefully eyeing each one as he passed. He took stock of every face of every peasant stranger he walked by, noting their features and expressions. It never hurt to be cautious. It seemed like half an hour must've gone by before he heard the cry, muffled by rain as it was.
"Shut up!"
Thorne's ears pricked up.
"There you are..."

The man turned on his heel and began walking toward the sound, careful not to seem too rushed or suspicious. It wasn't too long before he began to hear the other voice echoing off the walls of the alleys. Desperation. Mania. No good intent in the tone. Thorne furrowed his brow and picked up the pace. Hopefully he wouldn't have to spill blood here. That would only make things harder for the two of them.

 

[Autumn Whispergrove]

Now you've gone and broke Thorne's heart. He loves you, you know? Ungrateful bitch.

She could barely hear Donovan and his allies laughing and minor celebrating anymore. All that rang through her ears was some distorted remnant of her own voice reminding her she was always just in the way. If it weren't for her, Thorne could have moved further across the continent and found himself ever safe from Vel Anir's cruel laws. Instead he was forced to live somewhere he could provide and she could grow. She was twenty now, why did she continue to burden him?

As Donovan started to drag her away she hardly protested. Following where he lead without a word as she tried to make heads and tails of what was happening still. It was just one night. ONE measly night that she wanted to go on her own and have a bit of freedom all for her to remember how avidly she was being hunted. Thorne was a terrible cook but she'd give anything for one of his meals if it meant this nightmare would end and she'd be able to see him again.

You're such a coward. Just giving in. You could kill everyone here but you refuse to feel. Worthless.

Some sanity did snap back to her when this thought appeared. Her eyes looking away from the wrist that grasped hers for the first time since he'd grabbed her. She looked up to the back of his head and choked lightly, trying to speak.

"P-please..." She said softly. A sharp "huh?" was all she got as a response from the man.

"Please let me g-go, Donovan. You don't want to do this. He'll kill you." She said, more confidently this time. Donovan stopped their movement altogether to turn and look at her with his malice fueled and wild eyes.

"What did you fucking say to me?" He barked. Her heart was racing. Her breaths were sharp and irregular. She looked in his eyes this time, trying to fake as much confidence as she could.

"I said he'll kill you Dono-" She couldn't finish her sentence. Donovan struck her too fast. A hard back hand across her face left her falling to the ground. He leaned over and pointed down at her.

"Listen here you priceless little shit, Thorne isn't coming! He had know idea I've been following you. Doubt he'd even recognize me if he saw me. There's enough men here to take down a bugbear and you think some ex solider scares us?" He laughed, his allies following suit in blind obedience. Even she could tell how much of a facade their laughter was.

She was growing angrier, and more scared.

"Whoa, you feel that?" One of the criminals spoke. "The air got like, denser?" He wasn't wrong. Autumn's ability was blooming after the hit to her face.

Don't. Don't. Don't. Don't. It's not worth it. It's not worth it. It's not worth it.

Her thoughts now unclouded by her self loathing. She was actively trying to prevent her magic from activating. No matter how much she hated this man she did not want to kill.

"Donovan."

"What is it now, stand up and let's fucking move, bitch."

She rubbed her cheek and sat upright, eyes still locked on him. Hers resonated sadness, and genuine concern.

"You don't seem to understand." She said stoic.

"One way or another if you don't let me go, you're going to die, Donovan."

 

[Glasha]

Glasha trudged happily through the streets of Alliria. If anyone were around they might even say she was skipping. Needless to say, she felt most at home during the nighttime where there were fewer people to stare or accost her. Komodo's, after all, meant trouble to most people and their reputation as disease-ridden pests meant even the worst establishments did not accept their custom. It was fine though, she'd found some straw and made a bed for herself in one of the sewers - ample hunting for food there too.

She grunted to herself, spotting a large crowd of people up ahead. Unfortunately for her, there were no alternative routes and she was going to have to try her luck here. As she drew closer towards the gathering it soon became apparent they were all armed and she found herself hissing. She could smell the anger, rage and greed on these men. Not good, those were markers of a fight. Despite their advantage in numbers, roughly enough to take down a bugbear, she doubted they'd pose a challenge to her - not that she was looking.

"Oi boys looks like we've got ourselves a Komodo, gi'us a kiss love." One of the men hollered at her as she stepped closer. Her brain worked overtime, she was not the brightest of folk and she couldn't quite understand why the man had tried to court her so ineffectively unless... it was a joke.

"Glasha, don't know where you've been, no thanks." She was ecstatic, she'd joined in and returned fire, maybe she was getting the hang of it after all. The mood turned sour immediately, she wasn't quite sure why but the men had gone from laughing and joking, at her, to drawing their weapons, again, at her. She sighed, at least tried too it came out more of a wheeze and swung around her oversized warhammer from its home on her back to comfortably within her grasp.

"Glasha warning you, this not wise." She grumbled it didn't bother her either way, she simply didn't want to go through the effort of cleaning her hammer. The first man struck from beside her, a vicious blow that wound rend and maim any creature unlucky enough to be caught by it. Thankfully, she had scales that easily protected her from the strike. She responded, in turn, with a flourish of her hammer. It struck the man dead on, his head splattering into a red explosion of gore and slurry, someone screamed.

She turned towards the men hovering cautiously around her. Without warning, she unloaded wads of sticky green venom onto the group and suddenly a volley of flame erupted from her mouth. Five men were immediately engulfed in fire, lighting up the surrounding area and sending overwhelming scents of cooked meat across the neighbourhood. She watched as the men slowly turned to a cinder, each one screeching until their dying breath.

"Glasha think you boys run now." And run they did, the remaining half of the group scattered away from this monster. Their screams carried in the deathly silence, and Glasha hoped that nobody nearby was around to hear them.

 

[Leyus]

The streets of nightly Alliria had become a familiar place for him. All too familiar in the last few weeks, as Leyus had started to wonder around in darkness more so than in light. It was silly, really. Not like there were many people around capable of recognizing him, as he had regained the control over his own abilities and changed his looks into something... bland. Boring. The same face and posture you would meet on every single corner of this city, or, frankly, almost any other as well.
Why hadn't he left? Well, for once, he hadn't found means reasonable enough for doing so. It was expensive and dangerous to travel. Although that hadn't stopped him before.
Yes, maybe that was the reason. Leyus was scared of the things he could find this time. And so it was easier to stay here, doing odd jobs, and questioning his every step.

He was heading back from one of his exchanges (that could worry the law if it knew about them), as he not so much heard the conflict, as felt it. Worry, fear, anger, the anxious mess of emotions that hit him more than once during his wandering through Allirian streets, but this time it was different. Somehow stronger. Or just closer, perhaps?
As Leyus stopped and listened, he heard voices coming from his left. They had to be no more than a few turns away.
He hesitated for a moment. He wasn't a person to jump into any drunker quarrel other people might have. On any other occasion he would have turned around and walked as far as he could from the sounds and the flooding feelings.
And yet, this time there was an edge to it all that made him stop. Turn around. And walk towards it all.

Just like that, a few heartbeats later Leyus found himself with his back pressed against a wall, listening to the conversation going on around the corner. There was girl, somebody named Donovan, some other men and an awfully lot of talks about killing. It really, really, really seemed like the kind of thing he should have been running way from.
But Leyus stayed where he was. There was an eerie sense of anxiety hitting his senses, making some almost animal part of him scream, that whatever was going on here had to be stopped.

He heard some more sounds in the distance, but those barely mattered as he peeked around the corner to see what was going on there better. The men seemed to have started to drag the girl away, as the later part of their conversation had broken out. They were still close enough for Leyus to see and hear. Close enough to act.
There was just one complication in it all, the same as always: what should he do? It was clear that his physical abilities wouldn't stop the group, he had to draw upon his magic, use lithomancy once more. Yet up until now he had always done it by an instinct, not wish, and his mind was racing, trying to come up with a word, any word he could find embedded in the dark street and the people in front of him, anything he could use to help the girl.
And he was really getting the feeling that he had to come up with something very soon.

 

[Thorne]

The number of voiced on ahead just seemed to keep growing. Not just one target on Autumn now, but a group, wagering by the footsteps. Thorne wasn't cut for fighting groups. If he was bound for conflict ahead, part of him almost wished that Autumn would make it quick and easy, a thought he quickly shook from his mind. That girl had suffered enough for one lifetime. Thorne would handle this, one way or another.

"Glasha warning you, this not wise."

He heard the woman's voice as he stepped quietly up the path. Grim resolve turned to momentary confusion, then shock as Thorne watched watched flame erupt from the alley ahead of him. The charred and smoldering form of a couple of men fell heavily into the crossway in front of him, screaming in agony, then shortly falling silent. Before he even had time to gather his senses a third man, panicked and wailing (but not on fire, notably), came reeling around the corner. Thorne recognized him almost immediately. Clarity followed.

The ex-soldier moved quickly, grabbing the man by the front of his shirt. In one quick, fluid movement Thorne twisted about and slammed his quarry against the wall of a nearby building, then barred his arm across the man's throat to pin him. Green eyes and a grizzled face met the man's frightened gaze, and a rough, yet refined voice spoke up.

"It's been awhile, hasn't it, Donovan?"

Donovan's look of fear turned to abject horror the instant he recognized who had halted his escape. Strained by the well built arm locked across his neck, he tried to speak.

"G-g-g-...Gid--" Was the only thing the man was able to get out before Thorne quickly backed his hold off the man then immediately slammed him back into the wall.

"Sshhhh...we don't use that name here. Now tell me, old 'friend'..." Thorne began in a hushed, menacing tone. With his free hand he began to unsheathe a dagger, letting the blade slide roughly across the leather. He watched the sweat begin to bead on Donovan's face, then saw him begin to quake when the tip of the dagger pushed through his shirt and made contact with the tender flesh beneath.
"What the hell do you think you're doing here?"

Thorne increased the pressure of his hold at the end of the question and slowly began to sink the dagger into the man's gut, not more than a quarter inch. If there was anything Gideon Thorne had learned in his time in Vel Anir, it was that pain was an excellent motivator.

 

[Autumn Whispergrove]

How? Why? No. No more. I hate it. I don't want it anymore. Please stop it.

The others in the area would begin to feel heavier. As if the air itself was pushing upon them. Not to a degree of impediment. More so a noticeable shift in the field they stood in. As if someone would be giving them a gentle tug by their shoulders. She was trying, so, SO hard to not release her magic. It was only leaking now from her fright and being overwhelmed by these circumstances. Much more of this would only lead to devastation. Devastation she absolutely couldn't revisit.

"I-I know..." She said quietly, her words directed towards Thorne. She finally rose from her sitting position to face her godfather eye to eye.

"I know how angry you must be. I hate him too." She trembled while she tried to regain composure. "Please, Thorne, ju-just let him be arrested." Even Donovan had a look of shock upon his face. The girls gentle nature was impossible for her to hide. No matter what had been done unto her she couldn't watch another die. Not after the nightmarish explosion she just bear witness to. The men being sent to their graves was too much.

Not what I wanted. Not what I needed. Not what I wanted. Not what I needed. Not what I wanted. Not what I needed. Not what I wanted. Not what I needed. Not what I wanted. Not what I needed. Not what I wanted. Not what I needed. Not what I wanted. Not what I needed. Not what I wanted. Not what I needed. Not what I wanted. Not what I needed.

She clasped her hands together and looked sincerely into Thorne's eyes. "He's a bastard. There's no mistaking that. I just can't..." She looked back towards the charred bodies. The air again giving another heave to those who stood within the vicinity.

"I can't watch anyone else die tonight..."

Truthfully, she'd impressed even herself with how well she was taking this many casualties. Even five years ago the buildings in this area would likely crumble around her had she seen such a horrific action. Her hands relaxing and gaze now turning to Glasha.

"Ca-can I ask you something?" She said earnestly. "Do you feel better..?" Her eyes filled with regret and woe.

"I understand that men like this are awful, really! I do understand that!" She held her hand to her heart. "But even still... Did they need to die such painful deaths? I do not mean to sound ungrateful. You helped me escape a terrible fate. I am in your debt for this." She twiddled her thumbs and looked down to the ground. Her confidence in speaking to this stranger was astounding as well. Not a common thing. Perhaps odd circumstances had odd outcomes.

"It's just hard for me to believe that these men cannot be rehabilitated. Can not everyone know a new path with guidance?"

A laugh rang out from Donovan even with Thorne to his throat. He scoffed at the mercenary holding him.

"You really didn't teach her anything about this world, did ya, ya wifeless fuck?" He was getting the jabs he could in now that Autumn had begged for his life to remain. Egging Thorne on to kill him in front of his godchild.

 

[Glasha]

Glasha stared around at the scene before her, she was satisfied with the carnage she had wrought. Without a care in the world, she inspected her hammer and carefully rubbed off any smudges of brain, blood or gore that remained on it and simply returned it to its place on her back. Overall, she considered, it was quite a clean day's work and she'd only had a need to make an example of some of them. In fact, so engrossed and proud of her achievements was she, Glasha had failed to understand the situation developing around her. Talk of Donovan, the struggling girl and the new arrivals had simply passed her by without a care, without meaning too the Komodo had even begun to depart the scene. Until that was, she realised she was being addressed.

She turned, curiosity overcoming her better instinct, and regarded the frail human speaking to her. Her brow furrowed, her face contorted signalling deep and hard thoughts. It was rare for someone to address her without first shouting obscenities. Although she felt, perhaps, maybe that would be better than this intense questioning. Overall, she was struggling to understand the intent or nature of the questions and her brain began to work in overdrive.

"Glasha..." She paused, her brain roaming, trying to organise her few thoughts into a coherent sentence, she was not used to crowds and speaking in front of various people seemed to intimidate the woman. "Does not enjoy killing, but world is harsh and people cruel." Her voice was tinged with sadness, she came from a race that subsisted on the scraps of Arethil, constantly beaten, ostracized and killed for their appearance. "Humans... beat, abuse, kill, hunt, it is their nature. Glasha does not condemn them for that, but there is little kindness in a human heart." She looked down at her feet, it was easier to address the girl without making eye contact.

In her eyes, she had acted in self-defence. It was simply a matter of survival and self-preservation, yet this tiny human girl had made her feel a tinge of sadness and guilt about her actions. Curiously, she had not felt this way, at least in regards to a kill, for a long time. Equally, the growing pressure on her shoulders she took as an omen condemning her actions, and she found herself increasingly unsettled.

"Glasha can find necromancer and bring back humans if girl want?" She spoke remorsefully, guilt ripping away at her insides. Glasha seemed oblivious to Donovan, Thorne and Leyus, her sole focus was on the girl.

 

[Thorne]

Thorne hadn't taken his eyes off of Donovan, even as his charge approached. He knew she was near, and given that every building within thirty yards hadn't collapsed she clearly hadn't had an episode. Still, Thorne could feel the pressure start to build, if only slightly. It was always such an uncomfortable sensation, as though the world was fighting his every attempt to move. Multitasking would be necessary here.

"Calm down, Autumn. I'm not mad. On the contrary, I'm very, very calm. So just...breathe..." He glanced over to her for a moment and inhaled deeply through his nose, then exhaled through his mouth. With others around,, Thorne wanted to avoid having to use his own ability to suppress Autumn. Getting her to focus worked...sometimes...
"You can rest assured I have no intent on killing our 'old friend' Donovan here. However..."

Thorne began to drag the knife slowly across the man's gut, opening a clean, sensitive wound to the night air. "I'm not letting him go until he tells me what I want to know."

Donovan's attempt at provoking him was painfully transparent. Thorne swiftly released his hold, pulled the knife back, and delivered a blow with his fist to the rat's torso, just beneath his rib cage. The defiant look of contempt he had on his face quickly shifted to shock and the man dropped. When Thorne heard Donovan begin gasping for air he knew that the punch had had its intended effect.
"You always were a wet match in a dark cave, McMillan," Thorne stated flatly, leaning down over the man's crumpled form. "The next time you speak out of turn you'll be doing a lot worse than sucking wind."

Thorne stood upright and used the heel of his boot to roll the man over onto his stomach. He then pulled Donovan's arms behind him, produced a pair of manacles from his cloak, and latched them around the man's wrists. Without diverting his attention, he listened intently to the words of the Komodo woman. He made a mental note that the gout of flame that had licked across the alley not minutes before likely came from her.
"Your new friend is right, Autumn," Thorne called over his shoulder. "Not a one of those bastards would've given a second thought to gutting you or me."

Satisfied that Donovan would not be slinking off anywhere soon, Thorne stood and turned his attention to his charge and the large Komodo female. She was imposing, even compared to others of her kind Thorne had seen. Yet, wittingly or not, she'd done a good deed and a big favor for the duo. He placed his hand on her shoulder to get her attention as he moved by.
"Thank you for dealing with the street scum. Saved me a few cuts and bruises, to be sure. I'm not sure what you might want in return, but you've earned yourself a favor." Thorne offered, his tone hushed. Something resembling a smile crept up underneath his beard. "The necromancer won't be necessary."

With that, he brushed past the woman and approached his goddaughter. He stared down at her for a moment in silence, then sighed and pulled her into a hug.
"I'm sorry." He murmured, genuinely.

 

[Leyus]

Darkness had obscured his vision, as Leyus soon understood. The scene was far more complex and involved more people than he had assumed. And, well, some of the said people were very quick to die, so that was that. A part of his mind insisted even louder that he had nothing to do with all of this, that he should just go, but, well, he was already involved, right? Almost. Enough for Leyus himself to consider himself involved.

Meanwhile, as he still stood there, watching and seemingly unnoticed, there were more and more emotions, strong and fiery ones, bubbling in the people in front of him, almost making Leyus himself want to go and punch someone. Fortunately, his survival instinct still functioned well enough not to do that, even if the stranger's sensations had started to cloud his mind the faintest bit.
That was a thing that he definitely wanted to stop.
And, as Leyus pressed one of his hands against the cool wall of a building, an answer to at least this riddle came to him. He wanted to make the anger settle. To bring some calm. And here was the source of it.
If Leyus had learnt one thing in his rather short journey with lithomancy, it was that he was good at dealing with emotions. Sometimes even too good, recalling how he had quite literally severed all the emotional bounds of two beings next to him, but that only served to fortify the fact that he was indeed good. And now when he knew what to do, it wasn't all that hard. His finger glided over the slightly wet and grimy wall, spelling one single word.
COOL.
He felt the pull of magic draining from him for the briefest moment, a feeling that had almost begun to get familiar to him. It was soothing in a way. It meant that his spell had worked. Or at least tried to work.
Its goal was simple: to cool the minds of those present here. And Leyus had high hopes that it would work, unless all these strangers were proficient in protecting themselves from such subtle manipulations.

He leaned against the wall, to mask his presence as well as he could. Unfortunately, that became the thing that betrayed him. The same wall that had helped him conjure his spell now let a fragment of a brick fall to the ground, making a rather loud noise.
Leyus cursed under his breath.
There went his peaceful role as a spectator.

 

[Autumn Whispergrove]

See? You were wrong again. So ignorant. Maybe you'll never grow up. You deserve to be treated like a child.

The mentally ill girl again self chastised as she listened to the retorts put in front of her. She felt such a deep disdain towards the idea of killing. The Komodi woman and even her own godfather spoke in protest of her belief against their actions. Stating that it was necessity. As she'd already said, she understood the vileness that lingered in men such as this. Their explanations still didn't change her feelings about the scenario. She truly felt as if all those corrupt could be made whole again through rehabilitation.

Regardless, she felt no need to continue the argument. As Autumn listened to all they had to say it struck a chord in her that she was better off shutting her mouth. Her opinions were stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

As her thoughts began to rupture her yet again, something in her mind seemed to calm. Leyus' spell did have an effect.

Breathe. This is trivial. Do not ruin yourself over being disagreed with.

Her breath becoming calmer and her eyes softer. She even began to feel abundant exhaustion. The mental and physical strain were minor to most but to her frail frame it took a tremendous toll. She closed her eyes and offered both Thorne and Glasha a gentle smile.

"You're right. I could've died and you prevented that. I thank you both from the bottom of my heart." She was then interrupted by the embrace from her godfather. It took her by surprise but it was as comforting as it always was. She hugged him back tightly.

"It's not your fault." She stated plainly. Crying small tears into his chest armor. "I'm sorry for acting so foolish. I know that you're worried about me." She backed away from the hug and wiped her tears with a quaint chuckle.

"But even still, I wanna explore the city more. And I don't want situations like this to ruin my growth as a person. I hope that's okay Tho-" Her voice was cut off by the wisp of an arrow piercing straight through her earlobe. She let out a sharp yelp and held a hand to her now bleeding organ.

"Ye got yourself ina bit of trouble now, didn't ya, Donovan?" An unfamiliar man spoke from fifty feet back, a bow in his hand. He drew another arrow.

"The hell took you clowns so long?" Donovan called back to his ally. The men that Glasha had let flee came back in full force. Reinforcements that looked much tougher than those that had been lingering beforehand.

"It's simple, really." The archer called from the front of his troupe. "You let Donovan and the pretty lil' wench come with us, and ya'll getta keep your heads. Even you, you damned Komodi." The men behind him began to draw weapons. No laughter from them this time. The sound in the streets vanished. It was just the three of them faced with a dozen or more new foes.

 

[Míriel Fëanorna]

An axe thudded into the wall behind the new challengers head.

"Go home, Frenwick."

*** One Hour Earlier ***

There was nothing Míriel loved more in this world than galloping with Thorlion. She rode with no saddle, nor bridle or whip. Freedom in its purest form. From the city walls it was a common sight now to see the blacksmith and local horse breeder gallop across the fields just outside the walls with an unbridled passion and joy that brought a smile to the tired guards who were posted on the wall at sundown. The elf urged her steed faster now as those walls came into view with soft words of nothing in his ear. They both shared the need to run in this wild abandon for the rules. Her old Commander would probably rebuke her for pushing her horse to such limits, but if they didn't, they would surely lose a part of their very souls. They were not built for the lines of armies they had left behind, they were built for this.

Both horse and rider had a sheen of sweat on them when they finally careened their way through the city gates with a wild whoop of exhilaration. Míri brought her black winged horse to a stop and wheeled him back towards the gate, where one of the guards stood with a quill and piece of parchment.

"I should stop aiding you in these reckless challenges, Míriel," the human scorned, but she could see the amusement in his eyes. It was one of the reasons she liked Thomas and sought him out in the bars when she did go for a drink after a hard days shift. The sword she had made him glinted at his side proudly. "You managed to get to the first outer post and back in just under 10 minutes," he confirmed, as if he were reporting to his superior. "A new personal best, if I'm right?" Of course he was right, for only Thomas she trusted to time her properly. Thorlion reacted to the news of their latest achievement before Míriel did, rearing onto his back legs he whinnied and tossed his head. His rider laughed, stroking her fingers through his mane.

"Thank you, Thomas," she leaned down and clasped him by the forearm in a comrades embrace. "Think of it this way, you know you at least have one person in this city who can deliver a message urgently," she winked, causing him to laugh.

"Ah, I do wish you would let me have one of his colts," Thomas patted the stallions neck with a healthy amount of admiration and affection. He even snuck the great loaf a minty treat when he thought Míriel wasn't looking. The breeder laughed, this debate had been one the two friends had had many times, and wheeled the horse around in the direction of home. "You know the rule Thomas - pass my love to Eleanor!" No, she would never sell her horses offspring. They would run wild and free in The Spines, and if someone tamed their heart, well then she gave them her blessings.

It was on their way home that the pair came across the commotion. The first sign was the scorched cobbles. Thorlion skittered nervously away from the smell of fire and magic, his nostrils flaring. With a soothing noise, Míriel slowly dropped from his back, stroked down his nose and implored with her eyes that he stay quietly out of the way. She never went anywhere without some sort of protection, even on her rides. As it was she was lightly armoured, with only her twin blades and a couple of throwing axes she liked to practise with on her rides. It was one of those she eased now from her belt loop and held lightly in her hand. Slowly, the elf rounded the corner, and quickly moved out of the way as an arrow flew past her face and buried itself into the shuttered window behind her. Vexed, Míriel took another go at it and came up short at what she saw.

It was a quick assessment. A small group, against a large one. A girl, who had apparently been hit by the arrow clutching at her injured face. She didn't recognise anyone except...

*** And Now ***

Míriel watched as a thin red line appeared along the mans cheek where her axe had grazed him. The blood dripped onto his shoulder. She had sold weapons to this man before, for she didn't very much care what they were used for as long as she was paid. But, she also recognised him from some of the alehouses she frequented. Frenwick was an arrogant man with a streak of cowardice. She assumed that was why he had brought to many men to fight such a tiny group.

The two stared each other in a silence that seemed to stretch out.

"I will repeat myself, as you seem to be hard of hearing," Míriel tossed her second axe in the air as casually as a child might a ball, as she walked slowly down the street towards the smaller group.

"Go home, Frenwick."

 

[Glasha]

She was perplexed, a lot of things happened at once and, all the while, the tugging at her shoulders continued. Slowly it became clear she had saved the two figures before her, although she thought it best to keep it quiet that this was just by chance. Subtly, she glanced around at her vicinity, scoping the area and trying to find an escape route. She was a simple creature and experience had taught her that getting involved in strangers dramas would only lead to trouble.

Her initial thoughts of escape, however, were shattered as Thorne placed his hand upon her. The warmth of his touch sent shivers down her spine and she found herself paralysed on the spot. Any physical contact was a rarity for Glasha, except in times of violence, and human contact doubly so - most too afraid of catching something. The man before her was a curious case indeed. He was not particularly intimidating, although humans never were to Glasha, yet the actions she had witnessed and the very way he held himself seemed to scream danger. It would be interesting for her to see what the man was actually capable of.

"Glasha's favour... Can she come with tiny girl and moustache man?" Her question was tentative. She knew she could have probably asked for money or food or anything useful really. Yet the tugging sensation at her shoulder, the burden of an invisible weight, was a sign from her ancestor spirits. Whether this omen was good or bad it mattered little, she would have to see this thing through. Of course, it didn't, and would never, occur to the Komodo that perhaps what she felt was the result of magic.

Equally, the touching scene, the smile and the thanks chilled the Komodo to her core. She was in unfamiliar territory and was almost grateful when the challengers stepped up. "Glasha thought... She warned you? Either way, wench is not coming with you!" Her tone was curious, angry, vengeful almost, but something stopped her. She remembered the feeling, the look, the words of Autumn and the shame she had felt afterwards. As she went to reach for her weapon, she paused and let her hand fall to her side, her heart wasn't in this fight.

No doubt sensing her reservation, a single thug from the group broke ranks. A witness to her earlier brawl seeking revenge. He swung his long knife at the Komodo and she stepped around it. His fighting was unrefined and sloppy, full of openings, yet Glasha seemed unconcerned and was content to just let him tire himself out. "Tiny girl, Glasha would... If it not it be too much trouble... like to know if she can use her weapon." Her breathing was heavy, the evasion was clearly exhausting, but her fear of upsetting the girl seemed to keep her in check.

 

[Thorne]

The ex-soldier held his goddaughter close for the moment. He knew how she was. She was always so hard on herself, finding blame in her actions where there was little to none. He knew she didn't want to hear what Thorne and Glasha had to say, that she wanted to believe there was good in everyone. He found a strange comfort in the fact that she held that ideal. Perhaps because it was one that Thorne had ceased to believe twelve years ago.

Autumn's self disparaging didn't come, however. Instead she apologized, even came to a rational realization. It was like something had given her clarity, calmed her emotions. Thorne blinked for a moment, at first thankful, then suddenly wary. He felt unusually calm as well. The skin on his wrists began to burn beneath his bracers.
Subtle. Where is it coming from?"

"Glasha's favour... Can she come with tiny girl and moustache man?"

The question served to distract him from his realization that someone was watching them and influencing the situation. Whatever the intentions of the unseen magician, he'd deal with it when it became a problem. As Autumn backed out of his hug, he gave a curious glance to the Komodo woman. Not the favor he had expected.
"Why would--"

He didn't get the chance to finish the question. A flash of iron and the whistle of an arrow, a cry of pain, and a small streak of blood from his daughter which spattered onto Thorne's face as the projectile whizzed by. Thorne counted thirteen...no, fourteen men had arrived from the street, each armed and looking as though they'd lost their patience. Shock and fury welled in Thorne's veins as he looked to see his charge grasping the side of her face in pain. He instinctively began to reach beneath his cloak, slowly, cautiously. He didn't want to provoke another attack from the group until he had his own weapon drawn.

The storm of activity increased when he saw the axe sail by and slam into the wall behind the crowd of assailants.

"Go home, Frenwick."

This was the opportunity he needed. The distraction gave him enough time to unhook his chain from his belt. He didn't bother trying to conceal it, however. He decided to double down on the interloping woman's attempt at intimidation. He let the chain slip down, the counterweight hitting the ground with a clank. He gave the bladed hook a few feet of slack and began to spin it rapidly. The familiar, warbling "woosh" the weapon made began to sing through the night air.

With lightning speed he whipped the blade about, then lashed it forth at the man with the bow. Before he even had time to react, the hook had grazed the side of his head and quickly whipped back again, returning to it's stable spin at Thorne's side. The thug fired wide in panic, his shot striking near the top of a nearby building, and he quickly dropped the bow to grasp where the strike had connected to the side of his head. The thug felt the warmth of his own blood seeping down the side of his head and a disturbing absence: in that split moment, Thorne had taken the man's ear.

"Unless the lot of you want to live the rest of your lives as blind, deaf beggars, I recommend you follow the lady's instruction." Thorne warned them coldly, hatred blazing in his eyes.

 

[Leyus]

How much out of place could one person be? Leyus was starting to think that he would soon get his chance to find that out.

He wasn't as noticed as he thought he would be by the bunch of people, but that came as a little to no surprise, since, as a few more heartbeats passed, they had a bigger problem to worry about. A dozen against the three of them. Well, four, if Leyus counted himself in, which was a bit of a stretch, taking in account his rather passive role as a spectator.
Although four did start to seem like an appropriate number to name soon enough, as not only arrows but other weapons started to fly through the air. Leyus' eyes widened in a momentary surprise, before he took in the new turn of events. Oh, if he was a bard... This would make a pretty story, give or take a few details. Like change the rather filthy street for something more noble. Drop the fact that the Komodo gal had killed some guys very recently. And maybe amplify the number of thugs even more.

And wouldn't this be a nice moment for a noble magician to step out?

The problem was, Leyus wasn't noble and he barely had any big experience with practicing magic. But, as he saw this all, enticed as he was, the part of him that was raised to perform and play different roles for the joy of public almost shouted that he had to step forwards. It was an odd instinct, but one that he wanted to follow.
Even more so, there was a lot of kindness and care in these people, even if it was mixed in with other things. And emotions like that, oh, how contagious they were. Too much so for him.

In the end, he was pulled by an instinct again. Maybe there was some truth to the words he had heard a long time ago, that those who start practicing magic once are bound to carry on doing so, even if they don't always wish so. His feet moved on their own, finally stepping forwards and away from the wall, and his hands rose of their own accord. As one of the strangers whipped his chain through the air, Leyus drank the sensation of seeing in fly through the air. And then he wrote the next word.
CHAIN.
This was the first time he had written a spell with pure magic. As it turned out, it wasn't all that different. If he had taken the cool dampness of the wall to craft his magic before, now he took the faint glistening of the chain, writing word that seemed akin to that light, as it lingered in the air for a bit.
Obviously, he couldn't chain the whole group of men. But three of them, those from whom he felt the most of malicious intent (and, oh, Leyus could feel that very, very well), found themselves to be bound by silvery chains. They wouldn't last for long, Leyus knew that well enough, but while they did, they would be difficult to break by physical means.
"Whoosh," Leyus whispered with half a grin, feeling far more smug than he should in a situation like this. But, hey, hadn't he just crafted a really neat spell?

As he put his hand down, he felt a part of him pull his shoulders down. He was suddenly tired, not too much, but enough so that he would feel it.
He was a novice in magic after all.

 

[Autumn Whispergrove]

DINGGGGGGGGGGGG

A loud ringing. Those in the vicinity wouldn't be able to tell if it was in their heads or if it was in the physical world. They would ALL hear it too. What would follow would be frightening but brief.

One... Two... Three.. Four... Exhale... The young woman thought to herself, tears in her eyes and a hand clasped to her ear. You did this you are the cause you are irreparable you cannot be fixed. A force would offer the combatants in the area a quick shove to the shoulders again. Not like the previous one. Not light pressure.
One... Two... Three... Four... Exhale. This force was much, much heavier. As if for a split second an anchor would be on each of their shoulders. worthless you cause everyone grief you inconsolable wretch.

A window could be heard cracking in a nearby shop. Rubble even rustling from loose brick. A bird hitting the ground next to Leyus, yet out of view from everyone else. One... Two.. Three... YOU RUIN IT ALL YOU RUIN EVERYTHING THORNE IS GOING TO DIE BECAUSE OF YOU YOU SHOULD KILL YO-

"SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT! THE! FUCK! UP!" Another ring from the wind. Another anchor weighted shove to the shoulders of all around her, sentient or not. A now shattered window. A crack in the wall of the same building. Tears flowing from her eyes and hands planted on the ground. Yet she did not display sadness. She displayed exhaustion, and unparalleled anger.

The brigand group had some of their members chained and some threatened. She stood and faced them, the tears not stopping. She looked into the eyes of the man who shot her with the arrow.

"How many fucking warnings do you need?!"

 

[Míriel Fëanorna]

Now she was actually stood amongst the group she did a quick analysis of each person there, based on what the actions she had witnessed in the quick flurry after her arrival. First, her eyes went to the Komodo; quick reaction times, and with the weapon she had on her back Miri had to assume she had at least some training in combat. Good asset, she summarised quickly, eyes moving to the next one - the older man. Everything about him screamed soldier, and the finesse with which he used his chained weapon earned him an appraising eyebrow raise. Definite asset. The novice mage was the next, his eyes had that wild exhilaration, adrenaline and bone deep fear every greenie had on their first serious fight. Protection probably required. And then her eyes landed on the girl. Crying, bloody, anguish written across her face. Too soft a soul for what was about to happen in this street. Her instinct told her to remove her entirely from the field of battle, for she also appeared to be the object of the attackers desires.

That was until the weight of power hit her like an anvil. Her ears rung with it, she could taste it on her tongue like a sickening medicine that threatened to choke. She hadn't felt something like this for a long time, control was drilled into elves from a very young age for this exact reason. If something wasn't done soon the girl would bring down the whole street: not just hurting her allies and enemies but the innocents who resided in the surrounding buildings. With visible effort, for every limb was weighted with the pressure of this unseen magic, she put her fingers to her lips and whistled.

Dropping to her knees, which was more just giving into the pressure at this stage, the elf put herself between the young girl and the offending men and gently cupped her cheeks.

"Do not look at them, look at me," for the men were writhing in agony under the pressure of the magic. If the girl didn't snap out of it soon then she would do what was so abhorrent to her - she would kill them. "My name is Míriel, and this," oh she was so grateful for her brave and beautiful black winged horse, who had come when called. "This is Thorlion. I want you to do a very important job for me, do you understand? I need you to look after him for me." She could feel Thorlion's terror at the magic in the air, but - bless the Goddess - the horse understood what she was trying to do. His massive bulk helped with blocking at the images of horror that were happening to the people surrounding Autumn. Gently, as if there was not a problem in the world, the horse lowered his large head and snuffed at the girl, nuzzling her tear stained cheeks with a soft nicker. For anyone who had never seen a winged horse he looked as though he had stepped from the pages of a humans fairytale; a long lustrous mane, feathered feet, and two large black wings as soft as a birds. Thinking of nowt but his stomach, even at a time like this, he unashamedly began to snuff at her pockets.

With a vast amount of strength and effort she pushed herself to her feet and out of the way so her horse could do what he did best, and turned her attention to the young mage, who was probably going to be suffering from the sheer magical out blast the most.

"Suck on this," she shoved a boiled sweet into his hand. The sugar would help with his energy, but the movement of eating something like that would help to ease the pressure against the brain until Autumn got her powers under control.

 

[Thorne]

The sudden addition of extra chains appearing out of thin air was certainly surprising. When someone had gone about fooling with the group's emotions and hiding out of sight Thorne had guessed that they were likely up to no good, not capable in a straight fight, or both. The young mage rushing forward into the open and scrawling his magic in the air proved both assumptions wrong. Thorne tried to take a moment to soak in the new helper's appearance but it was...difficult. His features seemed to slide and shift even as Thorne watched him.

No matter. Another number in the ranks, especially a mage, would be one more reason for the thugs to want to flee. The odds were ever stacking against them. Thorne could see beads of sweat begin to pool on their faces. Once stony expressions began to crack, revealing their breaking confidence. Perhaps things wouldn't go so horribly today.

DINGGGGGGGGGGGG

Or perhaps they would. An unfortunately familiar ringing filled Thornes ears. Visions of that tragic night so long ago flashed through his mind. He could practically see the shattered forms of those Dreadlords right in front of him. He could feel the pressure of Autumn's power and somehow felt the pieces of the walls and ceiling of the Whisperwood manor collapsing around him. For a split second, Thorne froze up. Time slowed to a stand still. Blood leaked from his nostrils. His head was pounding. His arms burned.

The elf woman seemed free of this moment, somehow. She spoke to calm Autumn down and, to Thorne's amazement, summoned a great, winged steed. If there was anything that could somehow snap the ex-soldier back to reality, it was this distinctly surreal sight.

Thorne wrenched his hands free of his grip on his weapon, turned on his heel and began to move towards Autumn. He slipped the bracer on his right hand off and in an instant the bandages he had beneath incinerated, seemingly of their own accord. The usually blackened marks on Thornes arm glowed hot and began to come to life. A crackling sound and buzzing sensation, not unlike static, filled the air alongside the whining of Autumn's magic. Ethereal circles of negative energy formed around the man's wrist as he stepped closer to the collapsed form of his charge.

"Be still, dear child."
Thorne spoke the words softly as he had so many times before, yet they seemed to somehow carry over the chorus of white noise the duo were creating. Without another word he placed his palm on Autumn's head. The negative magic surged over her in an instant and Thorne gritted his teeth at the pins and needles that began to shoot through his arm. He didn't care what it cost...he was tired of watching her suffer.

 

[Glasha]

Several things happened at once, each one threatening to overwhelm Glasha's brain. As everything transpired around her, the Komodo still found herself ducking, weaving and sidestepping the blows of an insignificant runt. Suddenly, out of nowhere, chains had erupted and restrained a few of the attackers. A harsh ringing sensation followed, something Glasha found particularly odd as her tinnitus never normally rang directly into her brain. Not long after the burden on her shoulders doubled, then tripled, easing briefly and allowing some respite before returning in full force. Then there was a horse... With wings.

She groaned, shaking her head. Glasha was certain she must have eaten something. She very much regretted coming out today, confusion overcame her, and she wanted nothing more than to grab her hammer and splatter some humans - at least that she could control.

It wasn't long before the guilt consumed her once more. Autumn's response, her screaming, made it clear in Glasha's mind that she was disappointed and angry with the Komodo. The increase of pressure on her shoulders was proof of that, her punishment for being so hasty and inconsiderate. She had been a fool for asking and regretted it immediately, the spirits were clearly punishing her for upsetting this girl.

Fed up with feeling so dejected, unable to wield her comfort hammer and with the incessant bug still trying to hit her, she did the only thing she could think to do. She jabbed. Her scaled fist met his face, hard. Immediately it contorted around her strike, momentarily caving inward as the nose, very audibly, crunched beneath the blow. Her heart was back in the game and she lept into the throng of chained men, fists flailing about like a madman.

She paid Thorne no heed, last she checked he was playing about with rings. With each punch, the burden on the Komodo seemed to lighten. Her fists would deliver her to salvation and she was more than eager to slug her way out of this mess.

 

[Leyus]

Maybe he had gotten too smug. About the little magic he had cast, about this whole situation and his own abilities, because, as, even if paired with sudden lack of strength, rather victorious music sang in his blood, an unexpected weight pushed him down. He tried to stay on his feet, he really did, but his shoulders crumbled under the pressure, as his knees hit the ground rather ungracefully, him managing to soften the fall only a slight bit.
What on earth was going on?

Leyus felt his breathing quicken. Something bad was going on, something really bad. Fear crawled through his stomach, setting down with rock weight.

And even as the initial weight disappeared for a moment, his other senses were flooded by sensations too strong for him to distance himself from. Leyus usually could put some resemblance of a barrier between himself and the emotions of those around him, but this time they were far too strong.
It was the girl. The anguish coming from her, the guilt and a whirl of other feelings that he couldn't describe in those brief moments they flowed through him.

He felt his eyes sting, as tears threatened to fall. This was bad. This was really, really bad. His own fear fed that which was trying to gain control over him, amplifying them both. Leyus gasped for breath, seeing and hearing very little of what was happening around him as the weight fell on him again.

It was the last woman who had joined the scene to pull him out of this almost delirious state. As she showed the sweet at him, Leyus followed her command almost on instinct, taking what was offered to him, but even more so, gasping to take in as much of her calm attitude as he could.
As most of his reason returned to him again, he found himself to have grasped her hand for a moment, desperate for a shield for the storm of emotions around. "Sorry," he breathed out, pulling his hand away. Before it had been cut off or something. "Thanks," Leyus finally added, popping the sweet in his mouth. The sweetness was soothing.
He finally managed to raise his head, taking in the scene around himself.

 

[Autumn Whispergrove]

...Who were all these people? They all swarmed her in such a fashion and were assisting and apologizing. It was difficult to comprehend it all at the rate they came to her. Each of them intercepting her as she confronted those who'd harmed at threatened her. She looked bewildered and took a step back from them to get her breathing under control. She turned her gaze to Miriel, a tad bit of frustation in her eyes.

"I hate to be rude at a time like this but I am not a chil-" She couldn't finish her sentence as the winged steed approached. It was replaced with an excited gasp. As Thorlion caressed her cheek she felt a bit of relieved wonderment. The air density lifting a tad. She scratched the steeds chin with both of her hands for a moment.

"He sure is handsome isn't he..." She spoke softly as she was introduced to the creature. She did adore all things mystical, and this was no exception. She had more people to address however. And she was going to do so, had Thorne not come to her first.

"Be still, dear child."

Those words. Ever embedded. A moment of stillness not only in the midst of the fight, but also in the hurricane that was her mind. She gripped Thorne's wrist tight, her eyes somber but her smile bright. The tension in the air was now completely gone.

These people, especially Thorne, they care enough to fight.

"Thorne." She said, holding her smile and moving his hand away from her head so he would cease his casting. She felt clarity again.

"How do you plan on getting revenge with one hand, stupid? I'm okay." She hugged him tight and quick once more.

"I can head home. You HAVE to come back alive but... Give em' Hell."

 

[Míriel Fëanorna]

Míriel's ears were beginning to bleed, her ear drums popping under the pressure, but helping the young mage was helping her to keep herself focused. When he gripped her hand she squeezed it back - normally, she probably would have given him a mouthful, but this was a horrible thing to endure. Whilst he tried to regain his focus she spoke gentle things, meaningless things, but her voice seemed to be helping him find a way back. Finally he looked up and took the sweet.

"Do not apologise, you are most welcome to my help," blood was an iron taste in her mouth, if the pressure didn't ease soon the- and like that it was gone. She stumbled a little bit as the extra strength it took to keep herself upright vanished. She went down to one knee and wiped her nose as a trickle of blood ran down to her lip were a final blood vessel had burst. At least, none of the ones in her eyes had. Pushing herself to her feet again, she offered a hand to the mage and helped him to his too, then glanced over at Thorlion.

The big black beast was in his element clearly, getting scratches behind his ears. Her lip twitched in amusement. If he were a dog she was pretty sure he would be on his back with his tongue lolling out. As it was, his eyes were almost entirely closed as he gently lipped the girls hair in a return gesture of affection for having found The Spot.

Her eyes then turned to the rest of the street: most of the men were on the ground. Bloody noses, ears, some with burst vessels around the eyes. As the gravity lifted from them there was a chorus of groaning and coughing. "I believe," Miri turned one man over with the toe of her boot, who looked up at her with absolute horror, staggered to his feet and took off down the streets. "You have done that already, My Lady."

 

[Thorne]

"How do you plan on getting revenge with one hand, stupid? I'm okay."

Thorne smiled weakly at her. The crackling died down and the disturbing, symbol covered rings that hung in the air withdrew into his wrists. He relished the hug, happy to see that there was light in Autumn's eyes once more. And, of course, that the immediate thirty yards weren't about to be crushed flat.
"That's my girl."He said softly, affixing his bracer after she bounced away.

"I can head home. You HAVE to come back alive but... Give em' Hell."

"Stay SAFE. Hood up, main streets. I don't think we can do this twice in one night." the man chided, smiling beneath his facial hair. Part of him wanted her to stay close. Who knew what other scum all the noise they'd made had attracted. The arrival of this trio of strangers to aid them was fortunate, extremely so, but who knew how long the good fortune would last. Experience said "not long." None of this would've happened, however, if Thorne had merely let up on Autumn's proverbial leash to begin with. She deserved a quiet walk home, at least.

Thorne grabbed his chain from where he'd left it on the ground and wheeled about, preparing to charge back into the fray, but...

"I believe," Miri turned one man over with the toe of her boot, who looked up at her with absolute horror, staggered to his feet and took off down the streets. "You have done that already, My Lady."

The fight had been stricken from most of the assailants, and Glasha was currently in the process of beating the ever loving shit out the few that still had the gusto. There wasn't much left to do...except attend to Donovan. He decided to let the Komodo blow off some stress. Nodding a thanks to Miriel, he moved past her.

At present, Donovan lay in a fetal position in a puddle of his own piss looking frightened and dejected. Thorne approached, then kicked the man in the ribs, eliciting a cry of pain. It likely wasn't as bad as the crushing force that had been on him mere moments ago, but Thorne had hoped it would be enough to shock him back to reality.
"I did tell you that you'd be doing a lot worse if you spoke out of turn again." Thorne taunted the man. He leaned down once again and placed the blade of his hook against the man's cheek, making sure he could see it.
"I believe we've all given you a good demonstration of why attacking us was a mistake. I'm thankful you came here, though," He continued, slowly dragging the edge down his face to his neck.
"I'm going to enjoy pulling all the information I need out of you."

 

[Glasha]

Glasha's fist buried itself deep and hard into the face of a man. He screamed, blood erupting from his nose as it cracked to the side. It was a messy affair really. Her fist was now a rusty browny-red, each fresh coat of blood from a victims face further painting it a darker shade. Yet it didn't stop her if she couldn't use her hammer she was happy to do this at least and her choice of attack seemed to have eliminated that pressure on her shoulders. Her boxing frenzy continued unabated for several minutes, Glasha clueless to the ongoings around her.

Eventually, however, the silence, and the lack of enemies, brought her back to Arethil. She turned around, spotting the group of people spread out behind her - and the winged horse of course. The sprawling bodies of unconscious men scattered around her feet and Glasha stood in awe. She couldn't quite remember the last few moments, a few insults and fists thrown and she had let her anger get the better of her. But here, returning to sobriety, she brought her fist up to inspect.

She stood in awe, had she floored all these men? She couldn't recall hitting that many, and there simply didn't appear to be enough blood on her fist, but there was no other explanation. Her fellows had all stepped back from the fray, nobody was here at the front lines, she must have done it surely. She beamed at the thought, her superstition and guardian spirit had led her to victory, the burden she had felt on her shoulders was clearly a guardian angel watching over her.

With that, the Komodo strutted over to the group silently, a huge grin on her face as she occasionally checked back at the fallen men behind her. Oblivious to the fact that Autumn's magic had been the one to render these men unconscious. She gave the winged horse an incredibly wide berth - she was still frightened and unsure about how it had appeared here unseen by her - and stood, towering over the rest of the group, curiously.

"Who piss baby?" Glasha asked curiously, she watched as Thorne threatened him, his knife precariously against his throat. She didn't particularly care at this point, however, her acute sense of smell was starting to get offended by the smell given off by this figure.

 

[Leyus]

The woman was kind. Kind as very few people were, in his own experience. Leyus didn't know, what she had to take away from it, what was the purpose of her actions, other than presumed altruism, but he gave her the best look of gratitude he could manage with his head still not completely straight. "Thank you," he could only say once more, because, really, what else he could do? There was no assistance he could offer to her right now, and he somehow doubted that it was very possible for something like that to appear in the future. Although, who knew.
He made sure to remember her face nevertheless, even if there was little chance he himself would have the same one as now the next time they met, if that ever happened. He could sense even now that his appearance had shifted while he lost control of his mind, and now Leyus tried as best as he could to get it back under control.
The color had faded out from him a bit, in all of his features.

And now he could finally observe the scene around himself properly and, frankly, as strange as it was, it did little to surprise him. Too many odd things had happened already, so the winged horse and the Komodo woman beating the light out of the gang of men was only another stroke of brush in this mad painting.
He finally managed to get back to his feet, somehow not feeling as terrible as he could have expected. He was still far from good, and a dozen hours of sleep made a tempting thought, but Leyus was at least capable of keeping some of his grace while walking towards the man and the girl. He was close enough to overhear their conversation, at least a part of it, and it appeared that the man was about to let the girl find her way to whatever safe place they had here alone. If you asked Leyus, it wasn't exactly completely safe. "I could accompany her. If you wish," he spoke up from behind them, sounding as a man mostly alive and well. Given his pale look, that stretched even to his hair, eyes, nails.
Perhaps his company wasn't the best protection one could have, but Leyus had walked into this because of the girl, he had felt the storm of emotions inside of her, and it would feel oddly wrong to simply leave her getting home alone. He had to at least offer this.
If they refused, so be it. Fortunately, it seemed that he Komodo woman had taken care of most of their problem.