#could still go further

[feline-ephemera]

Turnabout Is Fair Play

A Knight is sent after a quarry who doesn't take her seriously.

6k words

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Lucerne knelt to pull leather-fletched quarrels from the wolf’s matted hide. A crossbow may not have been one of the traditional chivalric weapons, but one was invaluable for jobs like this, and chivalry was not for beasts besides. 

At a rustle Lucerne dropped the quarrel and pivoted, braced her poleaxe just so to allow the wolf’s mother, this pack’s matriarch, to impale herself on its spike. Lucerne lifted the hounskull from her head, revealing in the feline flesh beneath the misnomer of the helm. That made eight, including the pups, which was the full count for this ensorcelled pack. She pulled the poleaxe from the wolf-matriarch’s chest. It was time to return to the Order.

—

In the city-state of Claim, a compound belonging to the Knightly Aver Order lay stretched out like a great beast lounging within the city’s walls. Deep within the sconce-lit depths of this compound Lucerne knelt and received instruction on her next assignment. It was a witch, sequestered in a forest surrounding one of the city’s outlying villages. Possibly connected to the recent ensorcelling of the wolf pack. 

Her mentor said to her, “The order is grateful for your work and devotion, Lucerne. You have been granted a freer hand than most for this next cleansing. You may capture or kill this one onsite, as you wish. She is a self-confessed witch, by all accounts, so bringing her in for an inquisition is unnecessary; if you do kill her yourself though, a pyre is still preferred. You have been allowed however much time is necessary to complete the act, though do not take this as allowance for slothful idling. You have free leave to requisition what equipment you desire from the armory. All else is as usual. Complete your mission, and return to us.” 

Lucerne almost made as if to rise, hopeful the litany would not come this time, before a hand on her black-furred brow stayed her and it began. 

“As always, remember your mask and cloak when out of battle-harness. The layfolk of the land will reject and scorn your bestial form if they learn of it, outside of this, your one refuge.” Lucerne had heard this a hundred times, incanted always with the tempo of something well rehearsed. But they would keep telling it to her, no matter how well she knew the fact better than the man across from her.

—

Lucerne arrived at the village of Latch and checked in with the Order’s outpost there to receive directions and supplies before heading off towards the woods. Upon consideration, she left her poleaxe in the case of the outpost’s quartermaster. Parting with it was uncomfortable but it would be cumbersome and noisy in a forest, and was unlikely to be of much more use than a sword against this quarry. She had replaced her full plate battle-harness with a jack of plate for similar reasons. Her helm remained with her, of course.

A short while after leaving the outpost Lucerne crossed the boundary between Latch’s fields and the surrounding forest. It was late, but she did not wish to rest even the night back in that outpost. Too many uncomfortable questions and stares. Better cold food and solitude in the forest. Lucerne was close enough yet to Latch that it was unlikely a witch who chose to live in isolation would see a cooking fire, but witches were not things to take chances with. Every precaution was necessary. 

Lucerne had been sent to dispatch many beasts and troubles of both mundane and mystical nature, but she had only been sent against a witch proper once before, and that as a disciple following a more experienced knight. It had been a harrowing experience, and they had come through it only  through the most meticulous and careful preparations.

—

Forests were home territory for Lucerne. Especially those surrounding Claim. Even if she had never been to this exact stretch before, she knew their character. Forest, most wilderness to be honest, but most especially hardwood forest, was much more comfortable to her than any city. There was refuge within the Order’s compound in Claim, of course, but general life in cities was horrific to her. Forests were much nicer, much safer, much simpler.

All of this meant Lucerne had absolutely no excuse to have gotten lost. It was ridiculous. She wasn’t some foppish stripling who inadvertently walked in circles whenever they were away from a road. Sure, the canopy of this place was dense; navigating by sun was difficult and by stars impossible, but that had hardly ever been an obstacle to her.

It was a day and a half before she re-emerged from the forest. In very nearly the same spot she had entered. Lucerne gnashed her teeth. This was infuriating. The place was a maze! She turned straight around and went back between the boles, this time determined not to lose focus on the task at hand.

The third time Lucerne emerged from the woods in more or less the same spot, she was certain. Witchery was afoot here. Her ears twitched against the inside of her helmet (that was one advantage of this bascinet, it came to an apex which allowed a cavity for her ears—though she had had to cut slits in her coif and the helmet liner to fit them into it). Witchery was to be expected when dealing with a witch, of course, though the average witch typically simply set traps to poison, maim, or otherwise kill hunters. They did not often invest the time in laying enchantments of confusion over stretches of forest to deter investigation. This sorceress was crafty. Traps were something Lucerne had already prepared for, and were still likely when she got deeper in. Now that she had assessed the outer defense of the misdirection spells, she could begin work on circumventing these as well. The first step was simple. It was back in the direction of Latch. Lucerne had taken advantage of her access to the armory and brought sufficient equipment from Claim in case of such a defense, along with equipment for several other scenarios. She had left what she thought likely to be extraneous in the care of the Order’s outpost. She sighed, pulled her hounskull visor down over her muzzle. Back to the stares.

—

Lucerne returned to the forest for the fourth time armed with about ten pounds of fine twine and more importantly, a mariner’s lodestone compass. Claim was a port city, so she hadn’t been terribly surprised to find it when prowling through the Order’s armory. She was glad for the foresight to have brought it with. With the compass, a map, and twine to mark her path it would be much shorter work to penetrate the web of misdirection laid over the forest.

Lucerne began her work with the twine while just barely in sight of the edge of the wood. There was no way she could carry enough to string a line all the way to where the witch was estimated to reside, but that was inadvisable anyway. Once she got close enough she expected some trickery of the prey would move any laid yarn to attempt to misdirect the cat, making it useless at best past that point.

She spent about [a day and a half? A day?] stringing yarn between branches in intermittent lines. She separated them to make the cordage last longer. For navigation it was necessary only to see the lay of the previous strand so as to lay the next properly in line with it. She tied the start of each strand with one knot and the end with another, so that if she were to lose her way and then come back across a yarn she would be able to tell in which direction lay the edge of the wood and which led deeper in. This task was simple to begin, among the parts of the forest well-tended and kept clear of underbrush by the woodcutters and charcoal-burners of Latch. Eventually the brush began to increase in density and laying straight strands became more difficult. Lucerne ran out of yarn shortly afterwards, so the issue was not long lasting.

 With the yarn depleted, it was time for the intricate lodestone compass to pick up the slack and earn its prodigious cost. Witchcraft could not confound the senses of such a device so easily as that of a person, or of a beast in Lucerne’s case.

The Knight made quick work of the miles, taking them in stride with newfound confidence buoyed by the compass. It was about another half-day of picking her way through the underbrush before she encountered the first trap. Deep maroon thorns of a bush running with a toxin not natural to the plant. She had reached the edge of the prey’s defences. 

It was near dusk and while Lucerne had excellent night vision, the cautious path was not to move into such territory in darkness. She stepped back and began searching for a covered spot to rest through the night.

After an uneventful night, Lucerne spanned her crossbow and laid a bolt of hawthorn wood and soft iron (materials chosen for their counter-magical properties) upon the string before setting out once more well rested and better able to see the lay of the traps before her. They were not terribly taxing to overcome, though they did demand vigilance. Unfortunately it was necessary for her helm’s visor to be down at this point. Anyone Lucerne encountered past the boundary of the traps would be either the witch herself, or in her thrall. Hostilities could commence at any moment, which just demanded more vigilance. Her ears were swiveling constantly, for whatever good they would do confined in the point of her bascinet.

After another several hours of picking her way around envenomed thorns, small pools of water with a faint scent of wickedness no human nose could detect, creepers strung above suspicious numbers of deer bones, and once or twice just straightforward steel foothold traps hidden in the leaf-litter, Lucerne was startled by a voice.

“Hey there cutie, you lost?” Lucerne pivoted to the side where the voice had come from and raised her crossbow to her shoulder in a single smooth motion. Almost before the sentence was finished the hawthorn bolt was flashing towards the speaker.

“Eep!” She ducked behind a tree before the bolt could strike anything more material than long dark hair, dropping the basket of mushrooms and leaves she had been carrying. “Rude!” came the cry from behind the trunk.

The knight dropped her crossbow and ran towards the tree, drawing her sword mid-stride. Distance favored this quarry, and must be closed as soon as possible. “Why not lay down and die, you wretched fucking—” Lucerne shouted out as she dashed across the undergrowth. Goading a witch to speech could interfere with their sorceries. This one did not take the bait, as she peeked out from behind the tree, crooked the fingers of her hand, and spoke a few syllables in a language Lucerne had never before heard.

“—witch!” Lucerne was no longer amid the forest. She looked around where she found herself inexplicably laid out on her back.

“That witch…” Some sorcery had taken place. Lucerne found herself back at the edge of the wood, again. In nearly the exact same place, again. This was absurd. Had Lucerne not been more aware and wary of wicked tricks from her prey she might’ve thought she had fallen asleep here, and dreamt of the encounter. She had no memory of the intervening time between that encounter and her arrival back at the fields of Latch, so some kind of soporific enchantment seemed likely anyhow. Lucerne had draughts from the Order’s alchemists which provided wakefulness. They would serve to counteract such spells.

Lucerne chided herself for foolishness in not having downed one prior to encountering the witch. The meeting had been by surprise and the potions had deleterious side effects, but it still would have been prudent. There was little reason the knight should be alive right now to make sure that mistake wasn’t repeated in the future. If the witch had cast her asleep it would have been simple for her to have pulled Lucerne’s visor up and slipped a dagger past her eye. It was a mystery, but one that Lucerne did not particularly care to solve. Solving it might involve a conversation with the witch, which was one of the least advisable things she could think of.

Lucerne felt well rested, so after restocking her supplies at the town outpost she set back out. The jute yarns remained strung, though if they hadn’t been removed wholesale then they had surely been tampered with to lead her astray and were hereafter an untrustworthy guide. Lucerne would have to rely on the compass, taking care not to damage the device (her original reason for using yarn as much as possible). 

More walking through the forest. Surprisingly, the yarn seemed to maintain the original path as Lucerne remembered laying it out. Regardless, she stuck to finding her way via the compass.

Lucerne made it back to the start of the trapped perimeter. The same low-down tangle of acrid poisoned briars. She downed the first of her draughts of wakefulness, spanned her crossbow and placed another bolt on the string. She could not be surprised again. It was miraculous she had survived the last encounter, and it was unlikely she would survive another if she did not catch the witch unaware and engaged her with swift brutality.

One point to Lucerne’s advantage—witches tended towards egregious overconfidence within their established spheres. This was the most likely reason Lucerne had been spared the knife; the witch felt no threat from her. Insulting, but opportune and exploitable. 

The knight approached the scene of that past confrontation carefully, scanning the ground… there! The witch, predictably overconfident and incautious had left tracks in the damp soil, beside a depression in the ground that Lucerne realized she must’ve made herself upon falling unconscious to the hex. Lucerne followed the tracks back towards their origin, moving even more carefully and with greater vigilance than before. Her tail would’ve been twitching in anticipation had it not been wrapped around her waist under her garments. 

She dogged the trail, which meandered between what must’ve been sites to gather various plants and mushrooms—no doubt ingredients for the quarry’s wickedness.

A ways up the trail, Lucerne’s ears perked up within her helm as she heard something out of tune with the normal song of this forest. An unnatural rustling, off to the side. The knight quickly raised her visor, took another draught, and pulled the visor back down. She stalked through the wood until she spied, through the brush, her prey. The witch had her basket once more, and was collecting something from the bole of a tree. From her position directly behind the witch’s bent over form she couldn’t see the head or heart of her prey. Aiming for anything but a kill-shot was untenable. Repositioning would be folly. So Lucerne waited several moments for the quarry to finish her task and then raise her upper body back up. 

Sights set upon the prey’s heart, Lucerne tickled the trigger of her crossbow. The bolt flew, but did not land. What? She had lost track of the projectile in its flight, but it had been a dead-on shot aimed perfectly to hit her prey’s heart. Sure, her hands were perhaps shaking slightly from the effects of the draughts she’d been taking, but Lucerne could’ve made that shot in her sleep. She was drawing her sword and rising to charge as these thoughts raced through her head.

They were interrupted by the witch calling out “You’re advised to look behind you before trying anything rash.” The witch did not turn from checking her basket.

Lucerne struggled to resist the urge to look. After a moment she concluded, perhaps against better judgement, that she should check just in case the witch wasn’t bluffing. She turned mid-stride just enough to see behind her through the perforated breaths in her hounskull. What she saw widened her eyes. Strands of something—no, the jute yarn, the same she herself had used to chart her initial course into this forest, it was strung taut between every tree she could see behind her in interminable tangles like the creation of some manic spider.

At the suppressed laugh from the witch, Lucerne realized she had unintentionally paused in her death-driven stride. She looked back forwards. The witch was facing her now, and around the witch, and to all sides, was that self-same tangle of pale beige cord stark against the dark trunks. The crossbow bolt was there, caught in the tangle. 

No time to question it. Lucerne resumed her charge, hardly needing to raise her sword for the first strands as she broke through them easily. They were still just yarns. She could still succeed.

“Is this all you have arrayed against me?” She cried out as her sword swung effortlessly through a tangle. Get the quarry talking so she wasn’t doing something effective. 

Another quiet, two-note chuckle from the prey. The tangles were getting thicker, far thicker than they had looked initially, as if more strands were moving into her way somehow.  Lucerne was still moving quickly, but relying more on her sword and less on simply breaking through the strands by force of body now. “Why, you’re so strong,” the prey said, still with the glint of laughter in her eye, “perhaps I should’ve arrayed more indeed.”

Lucerne was slowing down though. Each strand was nothing by itself but the multitude of them grew wearying. A leg got snagged, halted. She freed it via application of the sword. An arm caught this time, again swiftly freed but not before a leg was ensnared in its place. 

“Then again,” the witch continued, this time with a grin as toothsome as any Lucerne’s feline maw had ever given, “perhaps not.” Both legs caught now. The threads were definitely employing unnatural movement to ensnare her. A few more moments and her off-hand was caught, and then her sword arm. She kept a grip on the hilt, but the cuff of her gauntlets prevented her wrist movement such that she couldn’t angle it back to cut herself free any further.

Lucerne was caught. Arm’s outspread, one leg snagged off the ground mid-stride. She struggled, which bore no fruit. More and more treacherous yarns wrapped around her, securing her restraints not just around her limbs but also her shoulders and hips and reducing the ability for struggle further with each moment. The miles of twine added up until she might as well have been held by hawsers. The witch approached. 

“Certainly seems like that was enough!” Lucerne’s glare back in response to the witch’s taunt was one of those that felt like it should be burning its object down to ash.

Once she ceased her futile struggles, Lucerne responded: “Kill me.”

“Awfully forward of you,” said the witch, “we don’t even know each other's names yet. Mine’s Ciara by the way.” Lucerne doubted that.

“Kill me.”

“Not going to ask me to let you go first?”

Lucerne raised her head to look better at the witch. “I have failed in my task. Twice now. Kill me and be done with it and I will have received what I deserve.”

“First time might’ve been a freak occurrence but you coming back in here and now saying this confirms it, you work for the Order, right?”

“Kill me.” Lucerne thought it a little strange she even had to ask, nevermind repeatedly.

The witch sighed. “No, so stop asking. Did you know you have very interesting pronunciation?” No one had ever told Lucerne this before. She weighed asking the Witch to kill her again against the risk of giving her more examples of her pronunciation of such a request. Who knew what she could do with that knowledge.

Ciara continued: “Very interesting m’s in particular, along with a few other consonants if I'm hearing correctly. Don't get me wrong, your diction is very good, it's just a few hairs of oddity in there.”

Lucerne remained silent. The witch seemed to enjoy the sound of her own voice.

The witch shifted topics unexpectedly. “Tell me dear, isn’t that helmet rather outdated? I know the Order equips their catspaws with more modern kit, which that fancy crossbow you’ve tried introducing me to seems to fit the description of. Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m certainly not an expert, but that thing on your head looks like it was in vogue, what, two centuries ago?”

They were standing face-to-helm now, the witch within reach if only Lucerne were able to bring down her sword arm enough to deliver a blow. 

“No, the Order has its faults but at least it equips its servants reasonably well. Meaning there must be some other reason. Which I think I could guess, but, why bother when you’re right here?” The witch reached out and raised Lucerne’s visor. Her discipline was nearly insufficient to stop her from snarling at the violation of her privacy. She suppressed the ingrained feeling of stomach-churning anxiety at having her face exposed, out in the open. The witch would know now that she had been hunted by, and had defeated, a mere beast. Something subhuman. She was sure to gloat over Lucerne’s nature.

“Ooh,” The witch exclaimed. “You’re kinda cute.”

“What?” Lucerne mentally chided herself for breaking her silence, although it seemed the angle for which the witch had brought up her pronunciation was moot now.

“You heard me. And I’d like to note that had I voiced my earlier guess, it would’ve been on the mark. And that with me having been polite and not looking under your helm when you so rudely fell asleep last time we spoke.”

Lucerne continued trying to learn how to kill someone via staring at them hard enough.

“Now, dear, I hope you won’t mind me speculating a bit on what your life has been like up until now. You’re a pawn of the Aver Order, and I’d guess you’ve been so since you were very young. Probably an orphan ward of theirs, as so many of their hunters are. Normally I’d call them hunting dogs but in your case that doesn���t seem quite accurate, does it?”

Teeth flashed in the shadowed forest as Lucerne’s upper lip pulled back, semi-involuntarily.

The witch leaned on a nearby tree and brought out a small leather-bound book from some hidden pocket of her skirts. “If I know the Order, and I know more than I care to,  I’d confidently wager that their treatment of you has been less than kind. To make an understatement.”

“They treat me extremely well for a beast,” Lucerne muttered, no longer caring about maintaining silence. “Not that it is any concern of yours.”

“Is that how it is? Do you truly see yourself as nothing more than a common beast? Do you see common beasts as less than the creatures in charge of the Order, or of Claim?”

“Of course.”

“Hmm. Did you know that if you were to sail south-west from Claim for about a week, you would come to a city with a large population of people like you who live peacefully alongside what you’d regard as typical humans as equals? People like you, mind, not beasts. I’d imagine that you haven’t been sent near there on your travels for the Order.”

Lucerne had never been to nor heard of such a place, despite having traveled extensively for the Order. She had not been sent southwest much at all, so it might exist, even if she thought the idea of such a place where she might be regarded as human was ridiculous. “Even ants make cities,” she eventually said.

Ciara scoffed, flipped through her book a few pages. “I don’t even know how to argue with you. Rhetoric is not a skill of mine.” She huffed. “I’ll make you an offer though. I’ve been meaning to attend to some business of mine near there soon, and I don’t like travelling without a retainer. Join me and you can come see this city, and be free of the Order at the same time.

Lucerne just looked at her in incredulity. Be free of the Aver Order? Her one refuge in the world?. “Kill me,” she told the stupid witch. 

The stupid witch reached over and cuffed the side of her bascinet, too quickly for Lucerne to successfully bite the hand though not for lack of an attempt. “Bad girl. I told you to stop asking that.”

So much for treating me like a human, Lucerne thought. Perhaps she should’ve gone along with the witch’s idea if only to stab her in her sleep some night on the road, but she was untrained in such guile and it was beneath her besides. 

Ciara snapped the book closed. “Well here’s how this is going to work then. You will leave this forest and I warn you not to return in anger. Do you understand?”

“I understand your words. Now unbind me.”

“Not so fast. I want a memento first.” Was the witch going to take her hand for the offence, or something of that sort? Lucerne supposed she deserved as much for her failures, if she was not to be killed. The witch moved around the yarns suspending Lucerne from the trees and the knight felt a firm grip upon the back of her helm. She tried to turn to see if she could bite the hand touching her, but found herself unable to against that grip. She heard a buckle unclasp, and felt the helm loosen, and then be pulled off her head. Seemed the witch would take an ear as trophy then. That was good, less of a handicap than losing a hand.

Ciara moved back around to stand in front of Lucerne. “This will do,” the witch said, rapping her fingers on the helmet held under her arm.

Lucerne’s eyes widened. “No! You can’t. Take something else. Cut off my ears, or my tail, or what have you,” she said in a voice verging on panicked.

“Why is that dear? I rather like this helmet. And I think it will look nicer on my shelf than a jar of pickled ears.”

“I need that. You can’t take it from me.”

“You’re not in charge here.” Lucerne did snarl this time, despite the gross impropriety of it. She was desperate. “I cannot show my bared head back in Latch, back in Claim. I cannot.” She gritted her teeth, managed to mutter: “...please.”

“No.”

Lucerne snarled louder, hurled obscenities, railed against her bonds. The witch stood there watching the display and giggled. She reopened her book and flicked through it until landing on the page she was looking for. Eventually Lucerne tired, breathing heavy against the restraints and her jack. “Fine,” she huffed out, despite the anxiety that was back in her stomach that would no longer be suppressed. “Unbind me. I will leave.”

“I did not say you would be leaving under your own power.” The witch scratched down the page with a nail, and the yarns vibrated into a flurry of motion. 

Lucerne grunted as she was hoisted fully into the air by the strands and they snapped out to different trees, pulling her along through the air. They were carrying her back out the way they came. They sped up, until Lucerne was mildly concerned she would be struck by a tree at the blistering speed they moved at though the strands moved her from the path of any obstacles before this happened. She was much more concerned when her sword was struck by a tree and thrown from her grip. She tried to mark the area where it was lost, but was moving too fast to get a good register of the place.

This kept up for a while, being propelled by the yarns at such an unnatural speed such that she dared not risk struggling against their grip. Soon, much sooner than she had expected given the distance into the forest at which she had encountered the quarry, she reached the edge of the wood and was thrown out by the yarns to the ground. Her sword and crossbow, which she had dropped back after taking the shot, were thrown down onto the ground beside her. She gathered these then raised herself to her feet and turned back to the forest. The jute yarns had gone limp and fallen to the ground, no sign of their enchantment remaining. Lucerne did not buy this. She gathered them up and immediately set fire to the bundle. 

That done, she took a deep breath and exhaled before moving along the edge of the wood. Someone might investigate the fire so she couldn’t stick around. That knot of anxiety in her stomach was not subsiding.

She ended up waiting out the rest of the day on the outskirts of the field, ducking into the woods if any villagers happened to come nearby. Once night fell and she felt it was dark enough to move, she secreted herself back into the village, into the outpost. She held her composure well enough through a staredown with the acolyte on duty there to intimidate them into retreating, though only just. She felt likely to vomit. She stayed there only long enough to grab a cloak and some traveling rations from where she had stashed her supplies. She had the outline of a plan already to catch her quarry. No magics would prevent her this time. But she had to go back to Claim first. Damn that witch! Had to go back to Claim for a replacement helm, but travel without a helm was much more difficult. Alas. Lucerne would have to manage with the cloak.

Still in the dead of night, a knight departed the village of Latch. She could sleep on the road. As she walked, she thought on the witch’s offer. Not out of any consideration of going back to accept it, of course, but out of idle, unbidden pondering while plodding along. How did she feel about how the Aver Order treats her? She felt there was no room for her to feel but grateful to that Order which had raised her, trained her, provided her with shelter and occupation. That she had never been treated the same as the human number in equivalent station was only natural, whatever the witch claimed. That said, though, she had gone on many hunts for the Order. The dark, nasty, low-down assignments which human hunters refused for being beneath their honor. Lucerne did have her own honor, even if it were similarly low-down and bestial honor as all of her must be, as all of her is. Was it beneath her honor to leave the Order? Had she repaid her debt to them such that she could justify leaving? Mayhaps. But that was all assuming she had reason and ability to leave.

Lucerne had seen how the others of her kind were treated by the human citizenry of Claim, those times she had gone out among the city streets (helmed or firmly cloaked, of course). She did not envy the experience of those who shared her bestial nature but not her proclivity and ability to mask herself, as well as the relative refuge provided her by the Order.

There was something perhaps appealing in the thought of devoting herself to something personal rather than the large but ultimately intangible Aver Order. Something, someone, she could see and touch in its entire. But it did not seem worth the material sacrifice of leaving the Order; and while perhaps she could justify that leaving, to enter the employ of a witch was certainly beneath even her honor. Idle thoughts, not serious consideration.

The Order knew of secret ways to enter and depart from Claim. Lucerne availed herself of one such entrance so as to avoid inspection by the gate guards. Others might have been looking forward to a repose after several days on the road, but Lucerne’s anxiety was such that she intended to leave immediately upon acquiring what she came here for. The tunnel led directly to the Aver compound, thankfully. She was able to requisition a replacement helm and a surprise for her quarry, integral to her next plan of attack. The helm was not blued to match the rest of her armor. Alas.

—

Back in the forest around Latch. Care taken to enter with stealth, no encounter with the witch before Lucerne reached her destination could be permitted. She had darkened the bright, un-blued steel of her replacement helm with soot the night before so it would not flash in the dappled sunlight coming down through the trees. She had brought her poleaxe with this time, and she maneuvered it with care so as not to rustle the underbrush. The knight was searching for the witch’s abode, likely a cottage or hut of some sort. 

Eventually she found it, stalking human tracks in the soil back to a small, stone-walled cottage in a small clearing. It was midday, and looked unoccupied at the moment. She crept closer until able to peer into a window. Confirming the witch was out for the day, she began her preparations. It would be good to finally get the stink of sulphur out of her pack.

—

The trap set, Lucerne camouflaged herself as well as she could and hid beneath some brush with a view of the clearing and cottage and waited until the witch came home. After some hours, the quarry came into view, entering the clearing to Lucerne’s right. Infuriatingly, upon entering the clearing her prey looked right at Lucerne’s hiding spot and waved. Waved! Then she continued in to the cottage.

Lucerne held her breath and did not react. Did not show any hostilities. The quarry clearly did not see her as a threat. It was insulting, but at least it worked to her advantage. The prey had entered the trap.

It was time. Her crossbow was spanned. Materials had been prepared. Lucerne pulled out the slow match tied to her pack that she had kept carefully tended and lit while waiting. She held it to the pine-resin mixture affixed to her crossbow’s bolt, courtesy of the Order’s tame alchemists. The knight tickled the trigger, sending the burning bolt into the small pile of straw set against the cottage side wall.

Crossbow nut still spinning, Lucerne dove behind the thick bole of the tree she had been beside. She was breathing heavy in anticipation. This would have to be done swiftly, but she was ready. As the straw caught and the flames reached toward that other gift of the labs, the Knight began pulling her helmet off her head.

The petard went off. Lucerne flew to action, coming out from behind the bole in a sprint towards the newly three-walled cottage. As she entered through the smoking, dusty hole she saw the witch coughing with a shocked, pained look that Lucerne had only a moment to appreciate before the helmet she hurled hit the woman in the mouth, knocking her on her ass. 

Lucerne was on her in an instant, stepping on the witch’s hands and shoving fingers into her mouth as her other hand pulled her dagger and held it to the back of the prey’s neck.

“Try another fucking soporific hex, or charmed twine. I dare you.”

—

Lucerne had stripped her prey of all jewelry and other small accoutrements which might be charmed, feline claws making short work of necklace thongs and bracelet-cords. The small spellbook had been tossed in fire. A gag more secure than fingers was tied in place. To keep the prey’s hand immobile Lucerne had soaked strips of leather and used them to tie those hands to opposite ends of her poleaxe’s haft, placed horizontally behind Ciara’s shoulders such that it kept her arms outstretched in opposite directions. Those leather bindings tightened as they dried, making sure those fingers stayed painfully still. Normal rope was used to further secure the half to her arms, neck, and torso.

The prey was kneeling in her binds outside the ruins of her cottage. Lucerne sat looking down at her from a stool that had somehow survived the blast. She rapped staccato claws across the properly blued steel of her old helmet, resting on her knee after she’d dug it from the rubble.

“You opened my thoughts to the possibility of leaving the Order. Not that I am convinced to do so, but it is a possibility. So that leaves me with a question. What now?”

The witch had held an indignant cast to herself. As she looked up to Lucerne when she spoke, and beheld the look in those feline eyes, that indignance changed to stark fear.

[marciaillust]

I added some colours to her :)

[oposssumsaucee]

I don't know what fucks me up more, the fact that Constructs just have a Secret Ribcage Pocket for storage or the fact that it's so underutilized that MB forgets an entire FutureTech WiFi Extender in there for an absurd amount of time. You're telling me it's not jostling in there??? Is the construct equivalent of a Glove Compartment lined with velvet??? The company would never. Thunk thunk bitch your secret best friend ham radio is audible whenever you run but no one's brave enough to make smalltalk with you about it.

[skunkes]

[foldingfittedsheets]

I hate sales. It’s not a surprise, I went back to school to try to avoid working retail and the game industry is shitting itself so here I am once again in retail. But the fucking worst part is how much worse I’m getting paid.

When I sold mattresses last time I was making incredible money because the company I worked for was employee owned. I got bonuses, I never made base pay, I always sold enough to get commission. Then a mega corporation bought it and fucked everyone over.

So no more bonuses, lower commission, less benefits. All the evils of capitalism and no union.

I’ve been forced into trainings over and over being like, “If you do a good job and add on accessories and bases you’ll get paid so much more!”

But guess what? I’m great at my job. I fit people for the right pillow and sell protectors because I believe those things are important. I haven’t made commission in months. Deliveries are spaced out, I’m stuck too often in the little store. My sales numbers look incredible, I’m in every way a model employee. Except that I’m getting paid shit to be a model employee and it makes me furious.

[phonification]

ive been thinking about taco and balloon forming a little alliance post s1/ pre s2 where they'd (begrudgingly) work together planning on how to break into hotel OJ to steal stuff to take back to their makeshift camp like food, blankets, pillows, etc,,, anything that could be useful to them

[deoidesign]

when your main characters start dating after years of writing so they finally get to be like this

[w1f1n1ghtm4r3]

a bunch of bugs and one dog

[kerryweaverlesbian]

When Eileen or whoever Sam's blurry wife is in a throw away line in a fic is pregnant to show that Sam's happy and doing good it kinda revolts me not gonna lie. We're really putting 2.5 kids on whatever woman shaped object is in Sam's love life? And on Sam for that matter? Who, by the end of the show, expressed zero interest in having a little baby and said he felt fulfilled by hunting, despite its downsides.

One of the reasons Sam and Eileen work well together is that they're both hunters and feel able to lean on each other in that regard, and yet pregnancy or motherhood is often the only thing we hear about Eileen in these cases. She's made into an incubator. Is the only vision of happiness she's allowed becoming Mary from the first minute of the Pilot?

[righteous-r0de0]

it’s all “apollo and hephaestus didn’t care” this and “apollo and hephaestus gave up too easy” that

no

you guys don’t understand

it’s a game! specifically a video game with five (or four if you combine aphrodite and ares) levels and one boss level

of course the first two levels are going to be easier than the rest, most games aren’t going to start you out on a difficult boss level

i mean it’s called god games for a reason

[daisybell-on-a-carousel]

When Superboy Prime accidentally resurrected Jason Todd, it was described something like the universe righting itself. And, from a purely physical point of view, Jason never died. It brought his body back to it's state before his death, his injuries there but with just enough he could still survive

So, now I'm imagining like. What if there was an au where it was more than Jason just physically "never dying," but it affected memories of those around as well

Joker not remembering killing him, Dick not remembering hearing the news, Batman and Gotham not remembering the 6 months between Jason's death and resurrection, but not thinking much if it

Its all as if Jason never died

[slamrink]

Nothing to see here just steph stealing glances of klay like he’s afraid he’s going to get caught 😃😃 (via namxsj on twitter )

[gotta-bail-my-quails]

(ch366 spoilers) ok but seriously, i have some thoughts on this that are maybe too long to put in one go but essentially, I don't think Iruma will take up Mephisto's offer on the basis of him being the "king-maker", rather I think he would ask for his guidance more like as a teacher. Especially since Sullivan has already told Iruma becoming the demon king is only one path he has of many, and Iruma himself saying he's still a student when Mephisto originally (jokingly) named him king of the Many-Ears. Plus him being a teacher now and always admiring the teachers of Babyls.

(Although personally I think school + action shounen that results in the MC becoming a techer is hit or miss. Like Assassination Classroom made sense because the whole point was the teachers and students' relationship to each other not the killing. And how people are kinda hating on MHA's ending for yoinking Deku's power [idk that's what I heard] and making him a teacher even though personally I think the ending makes sense from a pure narrative structure perspective though it perhaps doesn't have the same context that makes it satisfying since AssClass was a very small enclosed world centered around the school and MHA did not, afaik. Anyway, I think it would work with Iruma, and I could definitely see him being both a teacher and demon king--it's very greedy but it fits M!IK's themes perfectly)

on the other hand, Mephisto's declaration is basically saying he has chosen who he supports as the next demon king, so regardless of what Iruma decides, Baal will absolutely not overlook it. Obviously, because he has gotten Princess Shura's support seemingly to become king himself, but what if Iruma becoming king will help his goal to (as it seems) extract Delkira's power? Ali only gets stronger as Iruma's rank goes up, so who knows what will happen if he passes Scala here. Maybe Delkira's power will manifest enough for Baal's goals. And now that I think about it, does Iruma even know Baal is trying to kidnap/use him? If Baal ends up showing his support for Iruma and Iruma doesn't realize his malicious intent...

[humanitys-strongest-bamf]

“Levi’s one of the most hated characters in the fandom”

Ok great now let me suck his cock in peace

[joshuamj]

Linktober Day 8. Tunic

[alltheyearsblog]

You ever think about how 03 Splinter literally didn’t have to stay in third earth New York? Like, he knew how to make a portal to travel to the Nexus, was sit-at-my-right-hand level of friends with the Diaymo. It feels like he literally could have rolled up shortly after mutation, said “Hey Bro, this wild thing happened and I need a place to go where me and my brood won’t be dissected if caught”.

I reason it is because Splinter is too wildly polite that he couldn’t force himself to impose on his friend like that. Or by the time it occurred to him, they were kind of already settled as a family and it felt more disruptive to try and move. It’s just something I think about sometimes.