Open Chronicles The One They Left Behind

[Lyssia D'avore]

Thunder growled overhead, a brief flicker of lightning lancing from one cloud to the next preceding it by only moments, casting lurid shadows in the streets and in windows lit by lantern light throughout the city. Mericet sat in a torpid day as the storm rolled out of the mountains toward the sea, the slanted shadow of rain trailing behind itl ike a lost puppy following its master. It looked to be a real bender of a storm, too, the first real one of the season. Winter wasn't such a ghostly memory here, far to the north and not far removed from The Spine.

The first cold, hard drop of rain splashed against the worn cobbles of the street, ancient slabs quarried from the mountains. Lyssia groaned through her teeth, anticipating another wet evening, another battle with the cold. The winter had been utter hell, an endless misery that had seemed endless. The fact that she was still alive was, perhaps, a miracle. The fact that she was still so and still free, an even more miraculous thing.

The girl darted out from under some grocer's table, cleared of produce with stunning haste as they tried to get indoors before the rain came. Bare feet slapping the cold stone, she ran has fast as she could, heading to one of the few places she knew that she could get out of the rain, and avoid the true misery of sickening. Again. Brilliant blue-white light arced through the sky, leaving fading after images. The full throated roar of thunder followed moments later, and then the rain started, turning from a few fat drops to a steady rain, and then into a sudden deluge. She gasped as the cold water drenched her, running in rivulets from slate-roofed houses built of stone and wood, tendrils of smoke shredded by the sudden wind at the gust front.

The urchin didn't think much of it. What was there to think, anyway? Survival was the only thing that mattered, and the world was harsh, far more harsh than it needed to be. The memories of what it had been like before, before all the world came crashing down, seemed distant, like some lie her parents would tell her just to make her believe the monsters weren't under her bed.

She didn't often think of her parents these days. It was too painful, and it did no good. Survival was all that mattered.

Darting around a corner, she nearly ran into a pair of soldiers hurrying out of the weather, running towards their shack, somewhere to the north. A thrill of fear shot through her - memories and truths flooding her for a moment, before fading. If they find me, they'll take me back...

Back to the cells. Back to the cold and wet, where there was little food and no compassion. And no freedom. All that awaited her down that road was being sold on the block as a slave to someone, the ultimate penalty for great crimes. She never had understood what crime it was she had committed, but the simple fact of it was that, ostensibly, she was a criminal within the city. Mericet didn't forgive traitors. Lyssia wasn't sure how she'd betrayed the city in the first place.

The guards didn't pay her any mind, though. She was just another waif on the streets, hardly worth their consideration, especially when they could be getting somewhere dry and warm. She past them, darting into an alley, a narrow path between buildings wending its way to and fro to the waterfront, the docks on the river where all the trade came through.

She slowed, looking around cautiously. All manner of toughs inhabited this part of the city, criminal syndicates that dealt in smuggling and the trafficking of illegal slaves (there was an interesting concept). Normally the place was jammed with dockworkers, free or indentured or, indeed, slaves themselves. It was funny how the magistrate always managed to keep a fresh supply of criminals flowing in, despite the terrible conditions that led to so many of their deaths. Of course, all of those things weren't what she truly feared.

It was the feral children of the street, those forgotten youths who slipped through the cracks when the corrupt leaders of the city decided someone needed to pay a price, and be damned with the technicalities of guilt.

So much of the nobility prey upon the serfs, my girl. His majesty was adamant that the duty was to lift the people up. Such idealistic, endearing ideas... A fleeting memory of some time before, before everything went bad.

Creeping around a last corner, the rain coming down ever harder. Across the narrow street, the alley continued. Stacked boxes in the alley hid the entrance to the warehouse. It was usually empty, but some of the other street gangs of youths would weather out bad weather there, especially during the winter. Recently, the warehouse owner had either changed hands, or someone else was storing things there. She'd even been able to filch - with a great deal of guilt - something to make a makeshift bed from, a luxury she could hardly even remember anymore.

There seemed to be no activity over there. Her shabby, torn, and filthy dress was already wet and growing heavy on her shoulders from all the water it had taken in, and the chill was beginning to seep into her bones. She realized that she didn't care if the bullies were there or not. Swallowing hard, she darted across the street, scrambling awkwardly over the boxes because of the rags she wore, and then half climbing, half falling to the alley floor again. Scooting along on her knees, she pressed her cold, wet fingers into the boards, feeling for the seam between them...there! Working her fingers between then, she could pry the board up and away, giving her access to the relative dry and warm. With a last glance around to make sure she hadn't missed anything, she ducked through, squeezing painfully through the gap and out of the storm.

Thunder growling unceasingly now, lightning cutting the growing darkness of a thunderstorm wrought sunset, she didn't see the stranger a block up from where she had crossed, hood glistening in the rain that rolled over it, flickering lightning displaying bespectacled eyes over a mask, watching intently where the girl had gone, and clutching something under a ratty cloak.

 

[Kiileet Glassdancer]

With the thundering lightning and the roaring the rain another sound lilted over the din.
Approaching the walls of the town of Mericet, the sound of music could be heard cutting through the rain and soon, visible from the guard posts, wagons could be seen rolling into view through the haze, a long train of eight to ten wagons with a steady stream of cheerful music drifting from several of the wagons, some of which seemed to be carrying large pieces of equipment covered in tarps.

The train came to a stop in a clearing a good distance from the gate.
Some wagons went their own way, but the original convoy stayed together and began setting up camp outside the city even in the midst of the rain and the mud.
One wagon that was part of the caravan went along through the city gates after obtaining whatever permissions that were needed, some of the music could be heard coming from this covered wagon though it certainly wasn't the only one playing music in the convoy.

The covered wagon came plodding into the town pulled by two proud looking horses, even soaked by the rain as they were regardless of the makeshift coats that were made for them out of spare tarps.
The wagon itself was ornately decorated, though by no means expensive or plush, the tarp was colored blue with ornate homemade tracery embroidered into it decorating large letters that read "Dancing Wisp Circus"

The wagon traveled through the town and eventually the occupants were able to secure safe storage for their wagon and horses for the duration while they concluded business in the town, though all the same of the four people in the wagon one was left behind to keep watch on their wagon and belongings.
the three remaining went their own ways to carry out several points of business, all dressed against the weather and in a hurry to get it done.

One of the people from the wagon carried a cane, the they obviously had no problem with walking as they jauntily walked through even the muddiest parts of the street in almost a skip-step fashion and an occasional click of the heals, swinging the cane in a circle from time to time or twirling it around his fingers.
Kiileet was in a good mood, they had spent the journey here in high spirits and even the downpour couldn't dampen their moods the whole way, music was still playing in his head as he all but danced down the muddy street.
He was purposely heading for the rougher districts because that was the audience he most enjoyed performing for, perhaps he could find some rough and tumble pub or shelter where the down on their luck people go to escape the weather.

Kiileet did a little reflection as he walked.
He knew he loved performing his shows for the downtrodden and unfortunate, bringing fully grown drunken brawlers to tears with a heartfelt gift of a momentary childlike wonder of the wonderful and unknown, while he did love bringing joy to the wealthy as well what he most enjoyed above all else was the laughter of children, their unbridled clear tones of laughter and the bright and unchained smiles whenever something truly wonderful is shown to them.
If he could work for that alone as a reward, he would do it admission free.

He splashed through the streets and was about to step around a corner to turn down another street when his attention was caught by a quick scurrying of a small shape crossing the street ahead of him, almost as quickly as he had rounded the corner he pressed himself flat against the shadows of the closest wall, which happened to be a warehouse.
His instinct to conceal himself was a good one, because as he watched the half drowned girl in a soaked dress slip through the boards gaining entry to the warehouse he spied the shadowy figure through the haze that spied on her, he remained where he was concealed in the shadows, mostly because it was comparatively dry and secondly because he wanted to see what the figure would do, and if his sense of justice would inspire him to take action if something fishy looked to be going on.

 

[Lyssia D'avore]

You must find them all. Do not fail me in this.

The cloaked and hooded figure grimaced at the memory of those words, delivered to him from one he could not disobey. If only he could, if only there was a way to overcome the brand on his flesh, the hateful thing that made it next to impossible to defy the will of the one who controlled it. it was almost a fitting punishment for the sins he had committed what seemed like an eternity ago. Almost, but not quite enough.

Would it ever be?

The stranger cocked his head to one side, suddenly aware of another presence in the rain. Gloved hands tightened on daggers that had been carefully blackened so as to not gleam in any light, hands going white from the grip. Would it be another caught in the crossfire, another soul snuffed out because they were simply in the wrong place, at the wrong time? Hooded eyes, dark in regard of the newcomer. They thought themselves hidden, but they were not - not to the keen senses he had developed and honed over years in service to his Lord and, shamefully, his master.

I don't want to do this. The voice was small, but it was there. Insistent, impossible to ignore.

Sighing, the man gathered himself, and then leapt with inhuman strength straight up a dozen feet, grabbing hold of the edge of a roof and hauling himself up effortlessly, landing with lithe grace only to immediately take off and jump the twenty or more feet from one side of the street to the other, landing on the roof of the building adjacent to the one the young girl had pried her way into.

From there, he vanished into the pouring rain as if he were a wraith.

-

"You dirty little bitch," the boy standing in front of her snapped, and then struck her in the face as hard as he could, snapping her head back with the force of the blow. The two urchins that held her to either side snickered as she slumped forward, breathes coming quick and fast. "I told you to stay away from here! This is our turf!" Another vicious blow followed, and this time the two holding her let go. She collapsed to the ground in a heap, sobbing lightly enough that the rain drumming on the roof overhead nearly drowned it out.

The interior of the warehouse was a jumble of crates and sacks stacked with the carelessness of low paid dock workers. The air held the strong scent of spices from distant places, although that smell couldn't overpower the smell of dust and the moldy decay of forgotten crates buried deep into the back of the building. Lightning arced outside, casting brilliant blue-white light through the windows that painted the interior of the warehouse in lurid shadows where anything could be lurking.

The boy that had hit her spit on her as she lay there, weeping and in pain. He was a couple hands taller than she was, but clearly older or, if not that, then more mature. Face coated with grime and hair a matted mess (which wasn't, in truth, that much different from Lyssia herself), he glared at her with a face contorted in some kind of feral rage. "Nobby bitch, what ya doing down with us anyway? here to mock us, aintcha?"

He kicked her in the ribs, and she elicited a muffled squeal which seemed to bring a smile to the ring leaders' lips.

"What we gonna do wi' 'er, Knuckle?" one of the other two piped up. He was clearly a lot younger than the boss, maybe a year or two younger than Lyssia's apparent age. Equally dirty and wearing the same kind of rags Lyssia herself was wearing, he wiped his nose on a crusty shirt sleeve. "Throw 'er back outside?"

"Nae," the older boy said, rubbing his knuckles. using a foot, he roughly rolled her over on her back. Wide, frightened eyes stared back at him, puffing up already and darkening where he had struck her. Blood trickled from a lip that was split open. "Nae, I reckon we can take 'er down t' the river. Wonder if ol' one-eye is looking fer another whore. Wonderin' if 'e'd pay us for this bag-a-bones...."

"You can't treat me in suc-" the girl stammered, but another boot into her gut cut her right off, forcing her to curl up into a ball, and sob harder.

"No one cares what ya think, ya stinking nobby wench," he snarled, half drowned out by thunder. A thump on the roof echoed through the room, and the boy looked up, shrugged, and looked down at his prisoner with a mean light in his eyes. "Tie 'er up. We can take 'er down there when it stops raining."

 

[Kiileet Glassdancer]

Kiileet had the sinking feeling that he had been spotted, no matter, perhaps his presence prevented something bad from happening to the little girl.
But he was very impressed by the powerful jumping ability the dark figure performed!
If he was some tough or assassin, his skills were wasted in those professions, if they could meet again maybe he could hire him for an act? But then again, he may not be the kind of person he would want working in his show.

When he was sure the jumper had vanished he came out of his hiding place and walked down the street a bit until he came to where the little girl disappeared into the warehouse.
Upon a little investigation he discovered the hidden entrance behind some wooden crates and could feel the comparative dryness and heat radiating from inside, at least she had somewhere warm to stay.
He was about to go on his way when he heard sobbing and whimpers of pain coming from inside.

He furrowed his brow and muttered to himself, "Not on my bloody watch."
He decided the entrance she used was too obvious, but a quick glance upwards gave him a better entrance instead, spying a window that could easily be opened.
With the skill of a master climber he began scaling the stone wall up to the window quick as a spider, he caught the window sill and pulled himself up as he silently pushed it open.
Once he was inside the warehouse and seated in the window he entered from he looked down to see the gang of boys beating up the soaked little girl, one of them approaching with ropes to bind her.

He quickly assessed his options, the warehouse was fairly dark with the storm illuminating parts of it briefly, there was no way of telling if the jumping stranger was still around, the little girl was battered and bruised, and these children might run if they saw an adult approaching them.
He smiled as inspiration struck.
He took off his rain coat, removing his top had from it's protection beneath it and placing it on his head, and flapped the cloak out above the heads of the children a good twenty feet below him, but instead of raindrops falling from his cloak roses suddenly floated down all around them, then with a flourish he tossed his cloak in the air and leapt down the full twenty feet to land lightly behind the group of boys, but it was not an adult that stood before them but a young white haired boy dressed in a ringmasters outfit, holding a cane and wearing a top hat along with a mischievous grin.

"Well ello lads an lass! what ave we ere? Seems the lass is mighty talented fighter to need all you lot to bring er down, seems she's more than a match fer only one or two o ye, per'aps she could even take all o you lot in a fair fight."

He interrupted any response the boys may throw at him and quickly addressed the girl, "Ye seem a little worse for the weather lass, per'aps ye would like something warmer to wear, aye?"
At that moment his rain cloak fluttered down and landed neatly over her.
He returned his attention to the boys again. He had chosen to appear as a boy close to the age of the leader, so it was the one whom he assumed to be the leader that he locked eyes with and addressed.

"Ye lads seem a bit young ta be running a gangbang session with any lass or lady, per'aps ye be better off wait'n till yer older befer testing yer perverted fantasies on some poor lass off the street."
He held his cane lightly, but it was prepared for any attack the boys may attempt.

 

[Lyssia D'avore]

The ringleader of the crew - Knuckle - spun to face the newcomer even as his cronies were in the act of binding the girl. His eyes were comically large at being taken unaware....but only for a moment, before they narrowed, a mean glint in his eyes as he took in the posh adversary.

"What're you on about, nob?" Knuckle asked, disgust in his voice. "I wouldnae stick it in 'er, anyway. Filthy high-born bitch like her, let someone else 'ave their way with 'er." The lad with the rope had halted at the arrival of the newcomer, and Knuckle glared at the boy nastily. "Did I say t'stop,? Bind the bitch up!"

The leader made fists of his hands, tightening them until the crackled, flesh going white. "Posh kid like you doin' here, anyway? Doncha know, peasants don't behave like civilized folk?" He made a motion with his head, a slight nod, and then there was the sound of several more feet hitting the ground. Half a dozen others emerged from the boxes, from the places they had chosen to bed down or else shy away from their leaders rage. They weren't all boys, either - two of them were girls, filthy faces and bedraggled hair hanging in lank, filthy strands across their faces. One of the boys and one of the girls appeared to be older, even, than Knuckle...but none of them appeared ready to make a stand against the bully that led the street gang.

They were, after all, all urchins, the miserable, misbegotten filth society had forgotten about.

One of the older kids - the girl, threadbare shirt so thin it was nearly transparent, enough so that it revealed just enough to indicate that it was more a young woman than a girl - stepped forward, and produced a homemade knife, a piece of metal sharpened and attached to a piece of wood with cloth and leather scraps. Her face was disfigured on one side, scarred as if she had been badly burned at some point in the past, such that it pulled the left corner of her mouth down in a scowl. Her eyes glittered dangerously as she regarded the top hat wearing child, the one that looked so clean and so upper class by any measure to the rest of them.

"Can I gut the lil' basta'd," she asked, her voice a gravelly rasp. "Mayb 'e 'as some money on 'im," she continued, a mad light flickering in her eyes. Knuckle shrugged at that. "Don't care, Scara," the boy replied. "Try not t' get any blood on 'is clothes, though. Might be worth a coin or two."

She laughed, a bubbly, unpleasant sounding thing, one side of her face lighting up in a smile. "Pleasures' min, boss," she crooned, and advanced on the posh looking boy. "Squeal like a pig, ye will, ye little nobby son. Yer in the wrong part of town," she said to Killeet.

The two other boys who had been binding Lyssia lifted her by those binding, and she mewled in pain at it, semi-conscious from the beating she had just received. They looked to their leader, who nodded his head back towards a dark corner of the warehouse. "Don't damage the goods," he admonished them, then turned to watch - and maybe help - Scara deal with the intruder.

 

[Kiileet Glassdancer]

Kiileet smiled wider and seemed to radiate confidence even as the hoard of children appeared all around him, probably not the reaction the children were hoping for, and when he smiled he got a glint in his own eye...
So many children in one place, all eyes on him, this is what he lived for and if there was one thing that he could say he was the absolute expert on it was children.

He giggled mischievously, "If This be the wrong part o town, then I am exactly where I want to be!"
He twirled his cane masterfully.
"I s'ppose it's time to get the show started." He chuckled as with a flourish he tapped his cane on the floor.
If it wasn't dark before, it was pitch black now, even the crackles of lightning from outside didn't bring relief from that darkness, in that darkness he vanished, but his voice could still be heard echoing through the whole warehouse seeming to come from all directions and a cheerful upbeat tune began to play, "Ladieeees an Gentlemen! Lads an Lasses! Welcome to the special private showing complimentary of the Dancing Wisp Circus troop! I am your ringmaster, Liam Kindly!"

There was another echoing tap from his cane and a spotlight, made by an unknown light source, appeared pointing directly at Kiileet who now stood posed with his cane majestically atop a mountain of crates that served as a stage.
To the surprise of Knuckle, without his will or his mouth moving he heard his voice call out to his lackeys hauling off the girl, "Bring her back, ya nobs! I don't want her to miss the show!"

Kiileet took off his hat and bowed low to his audience with the opening of the hat facing upwards, from the depths of his hat two white ears sprung up and were soon followed by a pure white rabbit leaping from his hat, he cried out gave a comical chase to catch the rabbit as it ran circles around his little stage, but in the end he lunged and comically fell on his face as the rabbit ran off towards the audience of children, followed by another tiny spotlight so it could easily be caught by one of the children, but it ran specifically to knuckle.

If he could make just a few of them laugh, then he knew he could win.

Kiileet stood up in mock offence, brushing himself off in a great show of feigned dignity but he went on.
He pointed his cane up at the rafters and another spotlight appeared featuring someone else, somehow there was a woman in a bizarre costume riding a bicycle without handlebars and holding a balancing stick, though she didn't seem to need it. "First off in our show is the high biking act! See how she masterfully navigates the complex latticework of wooden roof supports while balanced on nothing but two wheels and her own skill!"

He pointed his cane in another direction, spotlights appeared to show a man and a woman swinging towards each other on swings secured to the rafters, when they met in the middle they performed a masterful flip and switch, trading swings as they began to move backwards again, "Also in our show is the amazing show of acrobatics! See how they swing low through the room, masterfully dodging crates at deadly speed before meeting together and switching their swings for their return journey! No safety nets! no aids! pure dangerous skill and no small helping of luck!"

He carefully kept an eye on the children, watching every response and judging how to run his act accordingly.

Behind the Scenes!​

The darkness was an illusion, he exerted only a little bit of power to maintain it but he was very good at it.
When the room went dark Kiileet did not stay in one spot, he first passed by the older girl and deftly traded her knife with a trimmed rose, then he actually leapt the full distance to his perch on the boxes.
He used magic to amplify his voice as well, making sure all the children could hear him, especially the ones carrying off the girl.

The spotlights were illusions of his as well, his magic mostly focused on special effects like this that really took no effort to pull of and maintain.
The rabbit that came from his hat was an illusion as well, but the peculiar thing about his illusions, was that if someone believed his illusions, then they can be interacted with, so if a child actually caught the bunny, their hands would not pass through it and they would be able to feel its softness and any other proof they would need to think it's alive. But anyone who catches it would soon see the rabbit to explode (In a non gory way) in a shower of tiny wrapped chocolate candies.

Each act he presented was also an illusion, he was truly alone in the warehouse, but the effects were not lessoned in any way by this fact.
He was going to give them a good show, and he intended to remind these children what it meant to truly laugh and be happy, if only for one blessed fake show.
And in the process rescue their prisoner.

 

[Lyssia D'avore]

Sorcery. The stranger was unsure what this was all about, and not entirely certain he liked what he was seeing from his vantage point. The illusory spells were as easy to cut through as linen threads, and he could see the manner of their crafting, brilliant threads of mana woven into patterns that, in this case, were intended to deceive the beholder. Such magic was some of his bread and butter, among other interesting tricks.

Balanced on a windowsill, watching, waiting. The right moment would present itself, he had every confidence.

I don't want to do this. Words to be ignored. Words to heed. Madness between them.

-

Wet clothes plastered against her flesh, rough despite being worn enoug hto see through, the girl looked at the rose in her hand with a start, and dropped it with a gasp, as she stepped back, eyes as wide as saucers. The illusion hooked into her mind, nothing preventing or even slowing it from working its wonder upon her, or the others. They were simple children, the downtrodden, the forgotten. They had no education, no special, secret skills, and certainly no prospects. Of this world, the one that the top-hat wearing nobleman brought to them, was strange and foreign, something that could not be discerned.

Others among the youths risked a laugh at the expense of their leader as he tried to catch the rabbit (chase the dragon), captivated and caught up in the show as it was being delivered to them. Pure laughter, born of real pleasure and without the bitterness of tears and suffering, something so rarely enjoyed here in the slums. Knuckle missed the rabbit, his eyes bright but distant, seeing nothing. Almost as if he was a marionette, dancing on unseen strings.

Scara turned to watch that, saw that the younger boys had gone and were half carrying, half leading the sodden girl from the corner they had stashed her in only moments before. Their eyes were too bright, almost feverish, as the watched on at the lights and the performers and all the wonder to be beheld here, in some dreary warehouse down by the river.

She clapped, a weird sense of detachment to the actions, as if they were not her own. As if something, some shred of who she really was yet fought against the encroaching sorcery.

-

There.

On the stacked boxes, a figure with which the reek of power seemed to bleed, oozing from every pore. A magician of no small talent it would appear, and if the stranger was any judge, much more than he outwardly appeared. It didn't matter, ultimately. The street rats were just chaff, blowing along the winds of fate, easily disposed of and unimportant. No one loved these vagabonds, and what he might have to do would be considered a kindness by some.

It was not they he was here for, however. Neither was the showman mage, casting about his power - slight though it might be, many orders of magnitude beyond anything these children could manage - with careless ease.

No time for distractions.

A faint trickle of his own power flooded him with life, a vigor that none other than a mage could ever know. Light bent itself around him, in such a manner that he appeared to be a blur, something that could be seen through if one knew both where to look, and was able to concentrate long enough upon.

The time, it draws near.

-

Captivated children, all looking skyward now, watching the artists at their deadly game. The captured girl hung limp between two boys who apparently didn't realize she was still there, still in their clutches. They couldn't see the threat coming their way, a blur of speed difficult to track with the naked eye. The only sound was that of a window closing abruptly, slamming home, halfway across the warehouse.

And then the shocked cries of two boys, a spray of blood flying to splatter the semi-conscious girl across the back of the head. One child dropped, letting Lyssia go and clutching at a gaping wound in his neck, scrabbling ineffectually before collapsing to the ground, feet kicking feebly and then stilling. The other let out a gasp, bloody spittle flying from his gaping mouth as heartblood flooded it. A blackened dagger had sprouted from his chest, but the biy never realyl felt it, falling dead and releasing his charge as well.

The blurred figure suddenly resolved into the man that he was, tall and muscular, bound with flickering motes of mana spent and dying outside his flesh. A quick glance at the ringmaster, a hastily sketched bow and a sickly grimace for a smile, and then he scopped Lyssia up, driving a fist deep into her gut. The girl hoofed all the air from her lungs in a single go, and then fell completely limp into her assailants arms. He raised a free hand, and unformed magic lashed outwards, smashing a window high overhead even as he leapt up several different boxes in bounds, and then to the window. The girl sailed through it a moment later, landing with a horrible, muffled crunch atop a stack of boxes just outside, and then the assassin was through, hands gouged by broken glass as he vaulted through after her.

Behind, the spell seemed broken, reality crashing back to all the children, for a brief moment reminded of their childhood before that was cruelly snatched away from them.

Again.

The howl of feral rage from the girl Scara and the boy Knuckle tore the air with their venom.

 

[Kiileet Glassdancer]

Kiileet was just about to perform an act in which he needed a volunteer, and he intended to select the bound girl for this event, but just as he was about to call out for a volunteer he saw the blur, saw the man, saw the death of the two boys, and saw him bolt out the window.

Seeing the two boys... children, they were happy but a moment ago, but now bleeding and dead on the floor, his heart hurt for them and his blood boiled in rage.
His illusions broke, but the spotlight meant for the girl he was about to call up came to focus on the killer as he made his escape.

Before he left he threw a rose with a flyer for the circus attached to it and left it stuck in a crate where the children would see it, an opportunity for them to see that glimpse of childhood once again.
Then he went after the assassin, just as quickly he was at the window and he saw the assassin had yet to land.
Up to now he had only used simple illusions for the children, to bring them happiness and to forget about their lives for a time, but now he was angry, and vengeance was on his mind for the two boys who were now dead.

He spotted the girl and saw that's he was mostly safe, so he cast his magic without fear of harming her.

While the assassin was falling he saw something that looked like a red portal opening below him, gravity was already pulling him down at full force into it.
The portal was an illusion, but it was designed as a logical precursor for him to be able to rationalize and believe the illusions to come.
When he landed in the street it was like he was in a totally different world. The sky was red and on fire, the warehouse was gone and instead on either side of the street tombstones were erected for as far as they eye could see, but they eye couldn't see far through the red fog that covered this hellish place.
It was like he fell through a portal to the realm of the dead, and the girl was nowhere in sight for him.

Out of the hellish fog he could hear footsteps of someone drawing nearer, and a shape approaching, a tall shape made taller by the top hat it wore, a long tailed coat, and a cane in his hand. When the figure drew closer his face appeared through the fog.

The voice of death himself boomed demonically, "You stumbled into my circus, assassin, never suspecting it was a circus of hell! so now, welcome to your fated resting place, guilty one!"

The power of this illusion was immense, and it would take an incredible amount of will to see through it, let alone convincing oneself that it wasn't real, wind whipped around the killer and leaves slapped his face as the creature approached him with a terrible sense of hopelessness radiating from it, the rain he would have known to be outside the warehouse was gone, he couldn't feel it.
All signs and proofs pointed to the reality of this illusion, to him it seemed punishment for his deeds was finally being delivered, and being delivered directly from the devil himself.

Upon looking around he would see the two boys he just killed, wounds still fresh, looking at him with wet eyes as they stood floating over empty graves.

-------------------------------------------------------------------​

To the girl, if she was conscious, all she would see was the kidnapper landing in the street and then stand unmoving with his eyes closed as everything took place directly in his own mind.

Kiileet then landed beside the assassin and regarded him for a moment before turning his attention to the girl. He wasn't worried about any sound or feeling brining the dark cloaked man around to the real world, his illusions in the mans mind blocked out all sensory perceptions except for that which would be felt from the scene in his mind.

When he approached the girl he drew the knife he stole from Scara and began cutting through her bindings, "Come along, lass, we best be away quickly afore e somehow figures out his reality ain't real."

 

[Lyssia D'avore]

I don't want to do this, the assassin thought as the chains of illusions snapped around his mind, the bindings tight but already showing the fractures that would break them. Too attuned to illusion, was he, for this to be effective for long. His mind, on a subconscious level, recognized it was under assault. It thrashed against its chains.

The world he saw was not the one the Ringmaster had crafted, although it was close. It was blurred, the defining edges fuzzy, as if the will imposed on him was not strong enough. And perhaps it wasn't, or perhaps it was just the familiarity with the brand of magic used that made him....resist.

But the world he was shown wasn't the thing that shattered the illusion. It was the voice of Death, the grim spectre he had danced with for too long. That grim figure haunted his waking thoughts and his dreams at night, the litany of names erased from the world coming from between those bleached death of the deaths' head.

The illusion vanished with palpable force even as the assassin landed, catching himself with a hand to the rough dirt of the alleyway. Sweat beaded on his brow, such was the stress of breaking that powerful illusion...

And his own rage flared.

-

Vaguely she was aware of the world around her, although it seemed distant, indistinct. There was so much pain, too much to bear, and she tried to will herself away from it, tried to accept the oblivion that seemed to yawn beneath her. There would be peace there, an escape from the nightmare that she had lived through these last years. No time to mourn everything that had been lost, only time to eke out what miserable life she could.

And it was all for nothing, she was sure. She could not play her skills for money, for the Houses still looked after her, daughter to a traitor. Were it that she could flee...but that was not an option, and never would be. For better or worse, she was bound to this city.

The parting of bonds and movements thereafter made her groan softly, her eyes fluttering open. Her face was puffed up and bruised, one eye nearly swollen shut,and every breath felt like someone was driving a dagger in between her ribs. The blurred form of someone swam in and out of focus, someone with a tall hat. He said something to her, but the words rang in her long ears.

"Wha...what?", she rasped at him, voice filled with pain.

Behind them, a howl filled with rage and pain assailed them. The cloaked and hooded figure that had killed the boys was standing, and facing them as Killeet tried to lead her away. Sh was still down on hands and knees, gasping for breath, cold rain soaking her to the bone.

"Do you know who you are messing with?" the assassin asked in a cal.er voice. "Leave 5he girl, or deal with the city guard!" He added.

 

[Kiileet Glassdancer]

Kiileet paused for a moment, since the cloaked man opened a dialog and wasn't immediately attacking again he felt safe in allowing the adrenaline of the moment to wear down a bit.
He helped the girl to stand and put his rain coat over her, wrapping her as warmly and as comfortably as he could, then he stood up still as a young boy, and turned to face the killer, meeting his enraged gaze squarely and unflinching, his unnaturally colored eyes glowed softly in the flashes of darkness and light.

"Ye ask me if I know who I be messing with, aye? Well it seems safe ta say we both be blissfully ignorant in that regard, friend."

He stood between the assassin and the girl protectively, using his slightly larger size over the girl to sufficiently block any notion of attack reaching her without going through him first.

"But I can judge pretty well what's going on ere, an I wager this sort o work isn't your cup o tea either. If ye actually are an assassin or bounty hunter, then ye must ave been hired by someone who can afford ye, an who better able to afford or need an assassin or bounty hunter than some power hungry noble looking ta eliminate a thorn in his side?"

He held up his hands preemptively to objection, "Hear me out, mister. If I've hit anywhere close to the truth, then let me bring ye an offer to the table between you an me."

He lowered his hands, keeping one behind him holding the cane protectively to keep the girl close and the other one perfectly visible as if to say, "nothing up my sleeve", but all through this a charming smile never left his face even as he prepared to bargain for the life of a young girl.

"Would it work with yer previous contract if the lass were to simply disappear?" He hoped that was enough for now to interest the killer, but he was fully ready for his offer to be denied and prepared for swift action.

 

[Lyssia D'avore]

Perhaps the stranger didn't understand what he was saying, but it didn't really matter to him either way. Orders were orders, and he was already woefully behind in the tasks set by his overlord. Still, it was cute to think that he could be bought off so easily or, in fact, at all. The coin in question was life - the lives of the D'avore family in exchange for lives he held much more dearly.

The assassins hands dropped to the hilts of knives at his waist. When he spoke, it was with the calm assurance that every word he spoke was simple, unalterable truth. "You assume much, meddler. When one of your betters tells you to do something or else, you do it. There is no escape for me or her, either one," he said, indicating the girl leaning heavily against the meddles' leg and hip. She looked worse for wear, but that didn't matter. All that mattered was that she was alive. More or less. Something inside the assassin twisted at that, but there was nothing he could do.

If only he were a man of principle. Alas, he was just human, with all the foibles that came with it.

"You really aren't from around here, are you? You have no idea who she is!" Not really surprising. Mericet wasn't a powerful nation like the ones to the south, and the trade here - mostly ores from the mountains, pelts and furs, as well as lumber - wasn't anywhere near as exciting.

"If you would do business here, I would warn you against dealing with her...or her family. Not in such a good odor, now. No, not at all. Just hand her over and be on your way. I promise I won't kill her."

 

[Kiileet Glassdancer]

The conversation was still going, that was a good sign even if the tension has risen a bit, but even with the high tension and the killers hands on his daggers, Kiileet smiled and was completely relaxed, water dripping from the rim of his hat.
Even if it didn't seem like the case to the killer, Kiileet exuded a complete confidence as if he were the one in control of the situation.

He went on with the conversation, using a business tone, "So making sure the lass disappears isn't enough to satisfy your contract? Is this because ye need to bring back proof of the completion o your mission?"

He wasn't just buying time at this point, a plan was forming in his mind where if he could just get the black cloak on board it would work!
"I'm sure ye can understand why I be protecting the lass, an we both know it has nothing ta do with any other blokes asides you an me. Even if ye aren't the one ta kill her I don't want ye ta bring er to any bloke who will. So hear me out, mate."

Standing in the rain was probably not the best place for this to happen over the cacophony of thunder and lightning, but extreme situations called for extreme measures.
The girl was exhausted and battered, leaning against his leg and it made his heart hurt for her, nobody should have suffer like she did... and he should know.

"How abouts this, if ye need proof fer yer noble overlords. An I don't trust them not ta kill er even if I trust ye not to kill er. What if I were ta take er place an see fer sure what fate yer overlords ave planned fer the lass?"

 

[Lyssia D'avore]

The assassins grip tightened on his knives, shaking with the force of it. "You don't know what you speak of! They want her alive, but they don't tell a peasant like me their reasoning for it. They could have killed her last year if they wanted to, though, so I doubt sticking s knife into her is their plan."

He didnt know what it was the noble House wanted with this disgraced child, but it probably wouldn't be a savory affair. The Lotd was not known for either his patience or his goodwill, especially to those he saw as enemies. Likely, the girl was just a pawn, to be used and thrown away in some political game. What game that could be was beyond him; the House D'avore had been pulled down and smashed a year ago. There couldn't be any scions to the house left that hostages would help to deal with.

"I can't take a risk like that. You don't know what you are asking - I wouldn't trust my friends in an endeavor like that, let alone someone met on the street. Hand her over! If you want, you can try and take her back from the Lord once I have delivered her there! If you don't hand her over to me now, I'll...I'll have to kill you and take her by force! And your illusions won't work now, wouldn't if I wasn't expecting them, either."

The assassin dropped into a crouch, one foot forward. The body language was clear: the time for talking was coming to an end.

 

[Kiileet Glassdancer]

Kiileet could see the man preparing to attack, but he also heard a hint of desperation in his voice, he hoped he could find out why beyond guessing but he needed more time, and the girl wasn't doing very well at all even with his cloak around her.
As a precaution he cast a mirror image which made him and the girl temporarily invisible while leaving clones of them in the same spot, he took her to the side and could see she was suffering badly, what was that big oaf thinking striking a little girl like her so forcefully in the stomach! something was wrong and she couldn't handle it.

He knew some healing magic which he would sometimes use in emergencies during shows or rehearsals, he hoped it would be enough to bring her around and well enough to run if she had to, though it was only an equivalent to first aid.
He was using a lot of magic lately and he was beginning to feel the effects, he wasn't anywhere near close to exhaustion, but he could do with a nap pretty soon.

He cast the spell which was an independently run spell, so she would be continuously healed till the spell ran out without him having to be there to keep it up, which would be about thirty seconds.

He returned to the mirror image quickly and thinking quickly he changed his shape, which was a natural ability and did not require magic. When the mirror image ran out there wasn't a girl and a boy standing there, but the assassin now looked directly at himself, poised for attack with his hands on his daggers, cloak and all, though the voice was lower and older and more mature it was the same accent as the little boy.

"We may ave just met, mate. But if I were ta trust any bloke, I would trust the one standing up fer a little girl in trouble... What are the details of yer contract, we can work something out without more killing, aye?"

 

[Lyssia D'avore]

A sensation like ice, trickling through every part of her being. Something that was difficult to ignore, and whatever it was slipped icy coils around her soul and drew her back from the darkness, pulled her away from the oblivion she sought.

Lyssia gasped softly at the sensation of magic pouring through her. It wasn't very much - the power wielded by the ringmaster was nowhere near strong enough to overcome her own natural resistance to magic. Still, it was enough to draw down the swelling in her face, a little, and lessen the pain in her abused muscles. The broken bones in her chest, however, it could not touch - shied back from, as if terrified to even contemplate repairing such frightful damage.

Still her breathing grew easier, and her eyes fluttered open, still full of pain but mostly aware now. She was in an alley, somewhere, with the rain still pouring endlessly from the sky. The murmur of words nearby bid her turn her head, but it was a colossal effort, and beyond her at the moment. Each breath brought a stab of pain, and even thinking of moving was enough to make her blanche. An achievement, given her current pallor.

She struggled to move, but found her strength was unequal to the task, and her attempt at speaking only brought a mewl of pain.

-

More illusion. This man he faced was a fool. Only a fool would rely upon trickery to survive, especially against a trained opponent. Especially against one they thought was trained to kill for money - ha! money!

The stranger remained stock still, the only motion his slow, measured breath. His eyes were locked on the mirage before him, unwilling to cut the magic loose and reveal whatever it was his tormentor was up to; it wasn't as if he expected much in the way of threat from this strange creature. And so, when the trickery was allowed to fall away, it was at himself that he looked, every detail faithfully recreated. There was no sense of magic here, so this was some inborn ability of his opponent. And something he had heard of before, albeit never seen.

"You stand up for a little girl in trouble? That's rich," he growled, but stood his ground. "You know nothing of that girl," he observed, and took a step forward, tentatively. "She's not as young as you think, and you of all should think twice about judging a book by its cover."

The girl was indeed older than she appeared. Some strange aspect of her people, she was nineteen but held the appearance of a twelve of thirteen year old girl, just coming into her own but still too young, physically and mentally, to speak for herself and care for herself. He was intimately familiar with the phenomena, having born witness to another such as her. That her people were very rare in Mericet and, if the Duke was to be believe, in this world, probably did not help with the deceit her unique attributes told.

"Not some little girl. She held more power in her hands a year ago than you've probably ever held, legitimately, before." Was there some anger there? Maybe, but it was a thing buried deeply. Deep beneath all the other iniquities he'd been forced to endure, over the years. It was difficult to be too angry at the young mistress, though, for the things her family had done. Although, to be fair, if he'd had his way all of this would be forgotten, and she could be left to live her life.

Some people weren't willing to let their grudges go.

"Y-you ... !" The word was thick with pain, but the emotion was there: a deep hurt, and incredibly deep hurt and betrayal. It made the assassin want to cringe inside. "How...dare....you..."

The girl was sitting up, propped on an elbow, an eye closed and a grimace of pain marring her pale, childish features. Spots of color marred the pallid whiteness of her cheeks, angry red standing out brilliantly.

"...." she spat at him, a wordless sound filled with pain and rage, bloody spittle marring her chin. The assassin didn't have anything to say to that.

 

[Kiileet Glassdancer]

Kiileet glanced at the girl then back at the assassin.
Obviously there was more going on that he didn't understand, but for some reason his own sense of justice and morality wouldn't let him sit this out.
The way the girl reacted seemed to stun the assassin, which told him that this killer wasn't as cold blooded as he originally thought and he kept that in mind.

"Yer right bout that... Judging a book by its cover... Yer right that I would be the one fer knowing every bit how that's like."
He smiled warmly with the assassins own face.
"That's why what I'm seeing in the lass... Be a lot more than er cover. But maybe it's not me that's staring at a colorful picture an a title... Per'aps the one of us staring at book cover be you?"

He spoke with a soft tone, hoping to bring down the adrenaline of the situation again. When emotions are running high they tend to get in the way of rational thinking, and he wanted the assassin to be thinking as clear as day if either of them were to get out of this situation alive.
He relaxed his stance, and raised his hands disarmingly to show nothing was in them and took a tentative step forward in complete copy of the step the killer took forward before. Part of this was leading by example, by using the assassins own face and the killer seeing himself as calm and reasonable and willing to talk peacefully Kiileet hoped that the assassin would follow suit... Following his own example, as it were.

 

[Lyssia D'avore]

The assassin opened his mouth to reply to the changeling, but Lyssia cut him off with a pained scowl and a rattling cough. "Maybe it was...my family that judged the book by its...cover," she managed to get out, struggling to get into a sitting position. The look she shot the assassin was purest venom, spoiled only by her obvious pain. Her flesh was as white as a sheet of fresh paper, all the more so for the contrast blood made on it. She winced with every breath. "Tr-traitor!"

The assassin retained his stern mien for a moment longer...and then visibly melted, head hanging a little. His hands remained resting on his weapons though. "Aye. But you don't understand, little miss." He looked up, and his expression was deeply pained. "You, stranger, know not what you speak. Judge the girl by her cover? I watched her grow up from a wee tot." Something of those formative years seemed to play across his face, some aspect of the nightmares that must haunt him when he slept at night. Assuming he slept at all.

"Father was the one that misjudged you," she spat in a thick voice. At the mention of her father, a tear leaked from the corner of one eye. "And he....and he..."

"Yes," the man breathed, simple reply for a simple accusation. "But I can't stop now. Mindy and Sam....I can't stop. You have to come with me, little miss." A look of resignation on his face, then. He didn't like what he was doing, and was conflicted by it...but he was going to do it nonetheless. Had no choice in the matter, really. "Its nothing personal," he added sadly.

"Nothing...persona-," she began, and then broke off in a fit of coughing that dropped her to the street, forced her to curl into a fetal ball. Blood spattered the muddy alleyway at her mouth.

 

[Kiileet Glassdancer]

Kiileet stepped in front of the girl again with his hands in front of him, palms forward in a pacifying gesture, again using the reverse psychology of the situation to hopefully pacify the assassin.
He had heard the killer mention two names and he fastened onto that little gleaning of hope for their situation. Kiileet knew his own skills in combat were considered formidable by many formidable people, but when facing a stranger it was always wise to assume they were more skilled and deadly till proven otherwise, at least he knew to some extent to kind of mental fortitude the man had, able to shrug off a powerful illusion with great effort.
But he was not foolish enough to fight a total stranger head on, so the next best thing was to talk him down and figure out a way for everybody to win.

"Ye murdered two lads ye had the power an skill ta spare, ye narely killed the lass and she's only got a chance if we help er now. Ye may say it be nothin' personal, mate, but when ye attacked lads an lasses in my presence ye made it personal with me. But ere's tha deal, I can forgive ye, ye can keep yer knives away, an we can get out o this weather an talk like civilized blokes while keeping the lass alive, aye?"

He put on a good show as the assassin, if nobody heard his accent one could believe that he was the real deal, matching even facial quirks or nervous twitches with nearly impeccable accuracy simply from his observation even as they spoke, and he could copy the accent as well with ease if he wanted.
The Kiileet assassin looked the original dead in the eye and smiled grimly.

"An if we can't make a deal, maybe we can all dry off first an fight somewhere without buckets pouring down our shirts, aye?"

 

[Lyssia D'avore]

The stranger cut Lyssia off before she could speak, spitting with distaste as he did so. "Murdered two little lads? Are you addled in the head, man?" The look on his face was one of pure incredulity. "They stopped being little lads years ago, when they took to bullying, murdering, stealing, raping, and all manner of other crimes. They were street rats, as morally bankrupt as any other filth."

It seemed such a harsh statement to make about children, but he didn't really believe it so. Oh, sure, some might have argued to reform the kids, but he knew from personal experience that it only worked seldom, and usually you ended up with a man grown who went back to his predatory ways. The girls often never made it that far. Their lot in life was to end up on the riverfront as whores, until some disease took them, almost always too young.

With great difficulty, the red headed girl had managed to sit up, finally, wiping blood from her mouth. The pain was still there, plain as day. "Azure...," she began, coughing harshly. "Who are you to...judge? At least they are not...traitors..." She tried to stand, and found that she couldn't. The simple motions, the contortion of her body, was too much for the broken ribs she clearly had, and she very nearly vomited at the pain. "You have not managed...to get us all yet, though."

He looked distinctly uneasy now. "I don't care about your forgiveness, stranger. I could give two shites about it. The ones whom I care about will not give me either forgiveness or redemption, and why should they? What is there to talk about, anyway? Do you think you can save her? Me? You are an idiot," he spat at the changeling.

Lyssia looked up, haggard, and spat blood spittle at him. "Forgiveness? You killed my father! And probably my mother and...and my brother as well, not to mention the staff..." She trailed off, anger rising in her voice until it drown out the pain, and she shook with the force of it. She looked up, and saw the former household retainer looking at her with red-rimmed eyes. She could see the conflict deep within, but could not find any way to sympathize with him.

 

[Kiileet Glassdancer]

Kiileet held his peace for a moment, he could tell there was an internal conflict within the assassin and he wanted to give that every opportunity to take root.
He spoke just loud enough to be heard above the storm, but he kept a calm tone. "We ave time, yeah? I wager yer contract leaves the time of completion to yer discretion, aye? so lets get out o this storm an talk about this, per'aps we can elp each other?"

He changed shape again to his chosen form, the white haired young ringmaster with unsettling eyes. He fit his top hat on his head again and walk backwards to the girl, not turning his back on the assassin as he moved to gently pick her up, being especially gentle and mindful of her injuries.

"Take it easy lass, yer already in a bad way, don't make it worse, yeah?"

He stood up holding the girl, his eyes never left the assassin.

 

[Lyssia D'avore]

The simple act of being picked up was too much for her, and her strangled gasps of pain ended with her eyes rolling up in her head, and her going as limp as a ragdoll, lank, wet hair dragging the ground as the changeling moved to suit his words.

The assassin - Azure - watched on in silence. Whatever he thought of this fools' words was not displayed or spoken of, yet. "Back to the street," hecsaid to the nameless shifter. "There is a place not far from here, one that I have keys to."

Behind them, in the warehouse they had just vacated, a keening cry of mourning went up, female in nature and clearly young. The gang was now coming to their senses, and that would eventually mean trouble.

"Move," he demanded roughly.

 

[Kiileet Glassdancer]

Kiileet let out a sigh of relief he had been holding. He carried her as gently as possible, adjusting his cloak around her to help shield her from the rain.

He followed the assassin where he led, but he was still on guard.

 

[Lyssia D'avore]

Azure motioned them out of they alley and onto a muddy street between warehouses, lit only by the occasional lamp, oil lamp within burning bright as darkness fell. Lightning cast lurid shadows across everything, but as dusk fell, the storm seemed to quiet, until nothing but a steady, cold rain fell.

He directed them down a street, keeping the changeling in front of him, keeping a firm grip on the sorcery within. The stranger would not be playing any more tricks that way without him being aware, and he would be ready to cut any such sorcery to shreds just as he would the changeling itself.

Ultimately, he bid them to stop in front of a weathered wooden warehouse, much like many of the others around. Reaching for his belt, he tossed a key at the feet of Killeet.

"Open it. Slowly now. Just as easy for me to kill both of you as it is to speak to either of you." Why am I even doing this? Putting everything at risk, and for what?

 

[Kiileet Glassdancer]

Kiileet complied, but he didn't bend down to pick up the keys and potentially cause the girl more pain, he kicked them up with his foot and caught them in his fingers without changing his grip, but he moved in slow and obvious motions to not alert Azure.
He unlocked the door and slowly opened the door as instructed. Then he stepped inside and stood waiting for the assassin to follow with further instructions, but at least now they were out of the rain and they could begin drying off.

 

[Lyssia D'avore]

Inside was a space more empty than not, with stacks of crates forming walls and walkways between 'rooms'. There was a certain odor about the place, something that smacked of death. It was not pleasant.

Azure's nose wrinkled at the smell, but he pushed them on. "This is my...masters' workshop," he said suddenly. "I usually drop people off here, and then leave. No one should be around right now."

The main walkway led to a 'room' with simple furnishings. A couple of chairs, a hard looking mattress with threadbare sheets, a table, and a pitch and wash basin. Other than that, it was empty.

"Put the little pri... put the girl on the bed and sit down. I'll give you my ear for a little while, but I doubt you can change anything," he said, sadly. "You are just some lowborn... person, and you are meddling in things far, far beyond your station." As am I, he thought to himself wryly.