[The Welcome Home] It all Burns Down (Dusk)

[Stitch]

72nd of Fall, 510 AV. In the playroom of the Welcome Home, working out. Stronger! He had sent all the children away for the afternoon. There had been various tasks to occupy them with, and even though Fentya had expressed her concern for leaving him alone, he had managed to send her off too. She raised a valid point, but he would never admit it to himself. He was doing all this for them, but they couldn't understand that. The horror of that night, so many weeks ago, it was probably almost forgotten for them. Their minds were fresh and young, and old fears could be easily washed away. He could simply tell them it was a nightmare, or that the Knights were being extra careful to watch over them now. Fentya was the only one really old enough to completely recall the terrifying events of that fire, but she was also the only one old enough to deal with it on her own. Stitch left her to that. She was a mature girl, and she would be able to handle it herself. He had other things to do. He had to get stronger. He had to be able to protect them next time, and he had to be able to do it without losing control. Without killing anyone. You killed all four of them, Stitch. You killed them in cold blood. A shiver passed through his body, and he dropped to the floor, catching himself on his palms. He had already went out for a jog this morning, and push-ups were next on the list. He went through a large range of them quite quickly, hurriedly pumping his body up and down by the strength of his chest and arms alone. 30 seconds later, he paused, but only for another 5 seconds. Then, he was back on the floor, doing another set of exercises. Sit-ups came next, rapid-fire sitting and laying down motions that had his stomach on fire. Another 30 seconds, and yet again, he rested for five. He repeated this method at least two or three more times, focusing on upper body strength alone for today. He had to get this body of his stronger. It had to be much stronger. He soon sat up, sweat beading his shirtless frame, his Auristic vision glancing around. He wasn't so sure how much time had passed. Each session only lasted 30 seconds, but he had lost track of how many he had done. His body was buzzing with energy, and he felt like he should put some of that energy to good use. How long until the children would be back? Perhaps he needed to get some lunch ready for them, or something. His eye caught some of the burnt wood from where the earlier fire had damaged the Welcome Home, and he froze, his sweat running cold. The Knights had fixed a bunch of it already, after all, it was their building. But, there were still a few scars here and there that remained... And they only seemed to help Stitch's own scars resurface. He could smell it now. Smoke, twisting through the floorboards. Gray tendrils of barely existant Aura, signaling that Stitch's nightmares had come alive. He was frozen in bed, Djed pumping to his skull, giving more and more magic to his mystical sight, as if to assert that he wasn't making a mistake. But instead of vanishing, like the smoke should, it simply grew. It simply became clearer and clearer, until there was no doubt in Stitch's mind that it was real. The Welcome Home was on fire. It didn't matter if it was a small fire, or a big fire. It was still fire, and it had the ability to consume all. The Welcome Home will burn, and everyone in it. Stitch mentally blinked, snapping out of his stupor. Cold sweat was pouring from his body, and his muscles were frozen, as if he hadn't even worked out in the first place. The image of that night was so fresh in his mind, that he was starting to see smoke Aura everywhere. Even now, it drizzled through a nearby window, as if there was a fire in the backyard. Stitch let out a hollow chuckle, running a shivering hand over his face, trying to pull himself back to reality. There wasn't a fire in the backyard. He had taken care of the intruders who had meant harm to him and his children. Oh, had he. They were dead now, and no one else would ever set fire to the Welcome Home ag- He could smell it now. Stitch stepped up, his whole body trembling with constant shivers, his muscles flexing and unflexing. He crossed the livingroom quickly, trying to keep himself from simply running out. Slowly, fearfully, he reached the door that led to the backyard. Smoke was winding through the nearby window. Stitch focused his mind, seeing the Aura of the door, and then seeing beyond. There couldn't really be anyone out there, it was all part of his mind... But if there was... He bit his lower lip, drawing blood, drawing his head out of the darker parts of his mind. Focus at the brown Aura of the lifeless door, and search beyond it. See beyond it, just like you see beyond your bandages. Are there more, Stitch? Are there more that would burn your Orphanage, and harm your children?

[Dusk]

The scent of the smoke hit Stitch's nose strangely, unlike any fire he'd ever smelt, and even as he inhaled the tangy scent of it, the dreams that had plagued his sleeping hours, ones that were even now beginning to encroach on his waking ones as well, lept up at him like ghosts sent by Dira herself to haunt him. Through the aura of the door, Stitch saw what could only be described as a horror scene to one who'd so recently tasted madness and tragedy. Two young men whose auras were twisted and indistinct, a side effect of the dream-smoke they had been inhaling, though it was doubtful Stitch could recognize it as such. And they were not quite human, some foreignness making them even less easily understandable to his strained senses. What he saw were two young men, building a fire just to one side of the Welcome Home in the small alleyway between the free-standing building and the Wall that surrounded the city. What he saw were two men with shaky, unreadable auras crouched over a fire, blowing on it as if to fan the flames, while one held what seemed to be kindling in one hand. And, even as he watched, it seemed to Stitch as if the man was about to set it against the wall of the Welcome Home and force it to burn once more. It didn't matter what the reality was: that two teenagers had snuck a packet of herbs out of the Golden Dragon and were hiding behind the seemingly-empty orphanage to take their drugs. That it was really just a couple of kids sneaking off somewhere quiet where they could light a fire and burn the herbs, releasing the dreamsmoke that they were even now inhaling - and which Stitch had gotten a potent whiff of. And it didn't matter that the younger of the two had lifted the kindling not to set the house aflame, but to tamp out the smoldering wick he'd used to start their little ill-planned campfire. None of that mattered, as Stitch's overwrought mind screamed at him that these two men were here to finish the job of their dead compatriots.

[Stitch]

The barely existant Aura of smoke once more wafted past his nose, and Stitch took a deep whiff of it, only further confirming to himself that the smoke was indeed real. It sent pangs of dismay through his body, the pain rushing through each of his veins to finally make it to his crumbling heart. The books were gone, and he had told Jilitse to not come back! She wasn't here anymore, he wanted to scream out! Instead, he just stood there, shivers attacking his body, spurned on by desperate words that wanted to escape. He couldn't make a noise, for that would alert them, and then they would be gone. They would summon another one of their mysterious portals, hop through it, and then that would be the end. They would come back if he didn't do something right here, and right now. This was his change to prove he had changed in this past few weeks. He had learned control, hadn't he? His hands shook as he crouched down and leaned back, grabbing toys to wedge against the back door, to keep it jammed shut. Kill them. Teach them a lesson! Make sure they never return! Save the children! Stitch shook his head rapidly, rising and turning to trudge back through the Welcome home. A headache was quickly blossoming, and he lifted a hand to hold onto it. Why was his head hurting so much recently? His Auristic vision surged in clarity, and he could feel Djed flowing to it, even though he had not given the mental command. Was Djed supposed to move against one's will? He wasn't sure, but he didn't complain, nor did he stop it. Things had begun to shake and tremble when he had saw that fire, and his swelling magic was making them still. He rubbed at his forehead, massaging his skull as he reached the Office. Why had they returned, and why only two this time? And why in broad daylight? He didn't understand. There had been five last time, and they had managed to survive through that. Why were they starting on the outside of the house? It would be a bit hard to set fire to- Set fire. Fire. They are trying to burn the Welcome Home! They are trying to burn my beloved home to ashes, just for a single book! They are setting aflame a building that might contain children! His forehead suddenly twisted in agony, and he paused, letting out a soft yelp of pain. His hand had found the door to the Welcome Home, and he slowly and silently opened it. Years upon years of working and living here had taught him how to open the door with not a sound. He would sneak up in them, take them by surprise, and then take them out. He could simply knock them out, and drag them to the Knights. That would be okay, right? That was enough control? You killed them last time, Stitch. He nodded to himself, biting his lower lip, whimpering. He had killed them. He had murdered them. The thought weighed heavy on his mind, and made him want to burst out in pained tears. He had killed men with his bare hands, and hadn't thought a second about it. He had tried to reason with them, they had attacked, and he had just... butchered them. He had been protecting himself, and the children, but that was no excuse. He could protect them without killing someone. This thought lingered at the front of his brain, and he clung to it, desperate to follow it through this sudden peril. He shut the door behind him, just as quietly has he had opened it, and simply began to sneak around the corner of the house and into the alleyway that they occupied. He had barricaded the door, so he was pretty sure they couldn't take that escape route. If they broke into a run upon seeing him, he would dash after them, planning on tackling at least one. The fire was bright in his vision, and it took all of his willpower not to solely focus on it. He wasn't so sure if he could keep ahold of himself, if he did glance upon it. It was small right now, but they had kindling! They could fuel it, and make it into an inferno!

[Dusk]

The two had not yet noticed Stitch's approach, fixated as they were on their own actions. The larger of the boys was almost as tall as Stitch, though he had about twenty pounds on him - not muscular, exactly, just stoutly built. The smaller one couldn't have been more than fifteen, and moved with the lanky unsurety of youth. Were Stitch able to see with his eyes, he would know them immediately for what they were - Chaktawe, with coffee-hued skin and raven's-wing hair, and the signature eyes of unblemished black without iris or white. But in the vision afforded him by Auristics, they were simply foreign men. And they still had fire. As he crept along, he was close enough to hear them spewing a strange language back and forth between them, what sounded like harsh words spat in anger, nothing at all like the Common that Stitch was accustomed to. The larger boy shoved the smaller in the shoulder, and then jabbed a finger down towards the fire. The younger one shrugged, and the older swatted him in the side of the head, the smoldering kindling still held in his off hand. The younger one hissed and growled a few more words at his companion, and then pulled something out of his pocket - and proceeded to throw it on the fire. Immediately, a flash of brightness lit the little alleyway as a cloud of smoke billowed up from the blazing packet.

[Stitch]

Stitch paused as he realized they were not quite aware of him, their attentions focused firmly on what they were trying to do. His muddled head raced through all the possibilities of what he could do. How was he to go about this? Should he just shout at them, and try to scare them away? He didn't think that would work. If they were truly from the last group, then they wouldn't be scared at all. They would be fanatically devoted to their sick cause, whatever it may be. Perhaps he should simply run for help, then? No, that wouldn't work. If they knew he was gone, then by the time he got back, the entire Orphanage could be in flames. He simply crouched there, sweat pouring down his brow, his headache threatening to draw another cry of pain from him. What should he do? He had trained for this the entire season, trained to get stronger than he had been before. He had trained himself so that he could protect those close to him, just in case something like the fire would ever happen again. And here he was, crouched here and shivering, not so sure how to proceed. What if they weren't even trying to set fire to the home? What if he was just paranoid? He whispered a few words of prayer under his breath, raising a single shaky hand to wipe away sweat. "Priskil, help this one..." You don't deserve her help. You are no follower of hers. Would a follower of Hope kill three men? You didn't deserve her help that day. The children did. But you? Veins visibly throbbed in his forehead, and right at that time, the younger raised his hand high. Stitch started, instinctively aware of what was about to happen. Once again, like it had been doing so many times this season, his body went on auto pilot. "No!" He started forward in a dash, right as the bright flash lit the hallway. His timing was perfect, if entirely accidental. Smoke billowed up from the little package they had just threw down, and a tendril of it managed to dart across Stitch's nose. The smell hit him like a load of bricks, sending waves of terror through his mind. It smelled just like it did that night! They were back again, and they were trying to burn down his Orphanage! Why? The book was gone, and Jilitse was gone! What did they want with him? They had forced him to play in the Game, then tried to burn his Orphanage to the ground, and now they were back! "Leave us alone!" He screamed it out as he closed in on them, hopefully upon the two before they had time to respond. If he managed to clear the distance quickly enough, his attack would be simple. He took flight, past the smaller one, not really perceiving him as the biggest threat. He jumped high, pulling a knee up, aiming the flying blow at the face of the bigger one. He had to protect the children!

[Dusk]

The reaction of the two boys was hindered by the dreamsmoke they'd both been inhaling, and when the strange man hurtled towards them screaming, they both simply stood with their mouths agape in shock. Which allowed Stitch to close the distance, and land his kick to the older boy's face with amazing accuracy. There was a crunch of cartilage as Stitch's knee broke his nose, and he gave a muffled shriek of pain as he collapsed backwards onto the ground. The other boy, terrified and confused, simply turned tail and ran as fast as he could away from the crazed attacker. The one who'd been kicked scrambled back on the ground, shouting something unintelligible, and threw the smoldering branch at Stitch in an attempt to ward him off.

[Stitch]

Firefirefirefire. Burning. Smoke. The smell of smoke, of fire, of wood, of... Stitch froze for a moment, the smoldering branch seeming to have some kind of effect on the crazed blind man. In his mind's eye, all the Auras around him were going wild, all except for that single one. The fire was all their was right now, and it brought back tons of horrific memories that he was better off not remembering. Veins bulged in his forehead, spider-webbing out from under his eye bandages, the result of his Auristics being fed just a bit too much Djed. He was obsessed with the fire, and he was pumping as much Djed as he could into his Auristics, just so he could see it perfectly clearly. At this rate, he would Overgive before he even had a chance to defend his home. But then again, Overgiving with Auristics usually resulted in blindess. With that handicap already present, what wild effects would the overused magic bless him with? He didn't know. He didn't know what Overgiving was. He didn't care. He only cared about one thing. Fire. With a shout, he stumbled back, the smouldering branch striking him. It didn't really hurt, nor was it enough to light him on fire. He just frantically batted it to the side, then whipped his head around to face the one that was on the ground. "J-just... don't fight back... Just stay there, and... i-it... it will all be over-" Stitch surged forward mis-sentence, giving up on trying to force the words through his chattering lips. Forgetting about the boy that had ran, Stitch dealt with the threat that he was currently facing. With a powerful step forward, he leaped, bringing his other leg around in a soccer kick, attempting to plant it right on the side of the remaining villain's head. This should be enough, right? It would knock him out. The foreign Aura was flickering in fear, and soon, it would flicker and dim into unconsciousness. Then, he would have protected his Orphanage for a second time! A shaky smile crossed his lips as he sent the kick flying, relief crashing through his veins. This had been much better than the last time. He had scared one away, and was going to deal with the other one! And the children weren't here to experience it this time!

[Dusk]

Stitch's mumbled, fumbling words didn't seem to reach the boy's ears. All he knew was that a madman had come out of nowhere, and now he was in trouble. Deep, painful trouble. But he did hear the other man approach, and was trained enough to know another blow was coming, and so even as Stitch kicked out the boy twisted and covered his head, leaving the blow to fall hard against his forearms. He gave another unintelligible shriek of pain, and then quickly drew a dagger from his belt with one hand as he used the other to leverage himself up enough to start scrambling away from his attacker. "Eloahin itachi!" he yelled hoarsely, barely managing to focus after the blow to his face, but he could make out the shadowy outline of the offender against the still-roaring fire. "Atowaji kaloakat'ah! Stop, please stop!" he croaked, finally managing to get his mind to make sense and his tongue to speak Common. As the boy finished yelling, there was the sudden sound of a half-dozen people running towards the Welcome Home in heavy boots. A moment later, an entire wing of Knights in their usual plate armor rounded the corner behind the younger Chaktawe boy, who was pointing directly at Stitch. "Hurry! He is killing my brother!" the boy yelled, even as the Knights charged forward to break up the fight.

[Stitch]

He was getting away. No, that wouldn't do. He was surviving. He was still alive. He could still hurt them. He could still use that infernal fire, he could still summon more. This wouldn't do. It wouldn't do at all. Stitch yelled, and with that yell, summoned all of the power he hadn't used last fight. All of the power that he had purposely held back, out of fear that he would hurt those pathetic creatures. Right now, he acted with the assurance that he would be able to control such power, that he would be able to use it in such a form that would render his opponent helpless and disabled... but not dead. He had trained for this, right? He had trained to be able to protect, but not to kill. He had trained for these moments of fear, where terror and anger overtook him, and where he acted without control. He had trained to have at least a little control in those situations, where his emotions ruled him. Where his fear and anguish ruled him, where hate and anger took him over. Or was he just using the excuse of "hopefully" having control in order to exact holy vengeance upon his attackers? The yell bellowed from his throat, and his left arm swelled up, the general group of muscles just flooded with Flux. It wouldn't be an incredible increase, but it would be something. Enough to push the pain just a little bit further. He would bury a Flux punch into the attacker, then another, then another. How long would the intruder and his tiny dagger be able to stand up to the full wrath of the blind man? He growled, stepping forward, slowly closing the distance between him and the young one. With each step, he pumped Flux into his arm, exercising as much control as he could muster within the fury of the moment. He didn't want to injure his arm, but he needed enough to summon forth a flurry of blows that would truly knock the attacker into total darkness. With each step he breathed, and with each breath he took, he tugged at a little more of Flux within his body. It was an almost simple thing to him now, to manipulate it in this way. He could pull the Djed from deep within himself, and send generous amounts of it flowing to broad areas of his body, just to lightly power up those parts. If he really wanted to, he could probably target a specific muscle now. But this... this would be enough. His arm shivered with energy, and he finally leap forward, raising his arm high, intending on hammering it down upon the boy. He had no time to hear his pleas. The cry for him to stop didn't even reach his ears. The sound of the Knights behind him did though, and he instantly spun, his fist falling by his side, a fresh round of tears flooding down his cheeks. "Thank Priskil! Please! Look, they came again! This one doesn't know where the portal is, but look, there are more of them! You remember the fire! You remember what they did! Look!" Stitch frantically pointed toward the burning limb, actually grabbing a nearby Knight, attempting to force him to look at the fire. "Look at it! They were back here, trying to set fire to the place! This one... This one tried to stop them, but..." He glanced back and forth between each of the Knights, his voice high and wild. He was quite a sight, the blind man. "Please... just take them away!" He whipped his head toward the boy who had ran for help, his voice growing even wilder, his finger raising to point at him. "And you! This one was simply defending himself from your flames!" He turned to the Knights, grabbing one again. "Why do you let them remain free? Hurry! Take them away!"

[Dusk]

The Knights had thundered into the courtyard expecting something entirely different - but they were the Knights who regularly patrolled this district and, to a man, they recognized the blind man who cared for the city's orphans. It was quite the last thing they expected, and three of them just stared open-mouthed as Stitch began wildly ranting. The Sergeant, a man named Nikolas with sandy blond hair and a knife scar transversing his mouth, was not nearly so dumbfounded. He went straight to the boy's side, who was even now rolling onto his stomach and muttering every angry cuss he'd ever learned. The knight that Stitch grabbed at the end finally reached up and took Stitch by the shoulders, shaking him a little. "Stitch! Get ahold of yourself, man. These aren't men sent to attack you, they're kids having a bonfire," he hissed, shoving Stitch's back against the wall of the Welcome Home in an attempt to keep him contained should he decide to go crazy again. As he did, the arm that Stitch had been pumping Flux into began aching deeply, a painful throbbing that stabbed through his muscles in time to his heartbeat - for perhaps he hadn't as much control over the flow of Djed in his body as he'd imagined. "Even worse," Nikolas said as he climbed to his feet and waved two of his knights to see to the boy, whose brother was now kneeling by him and crooning in that sing-song language again. "The one you've beaten is not only a squire within the Knights, but his mother is a Stewart. And not one known for patience or forgiveness." The Stewart turned pale eyes on the blind man, and managed to feel a moment's pity for him. And then the squire's cries reached his ears, and his face hardened a little. "Stitch, you are hereby arrested on charges of assault on the Knighthood. You're to be taken to the Tank and held until morning when the Council of Three shall hear your case and decide your punishment. And let's hope Stewart Kalanue doesn't have friends on guard duty tonight." "Sergeant!" one of the other men yelled, and pointed above them to the roof of the Welcome Home. There, watching the entire ordeal, sat a fat black crow. "Sweet bloody Sylir," Nikolas muttered. Then he turned to one of the other Knights and grabbed him roughly by the shoulder. "She's seen. Go run and fetch another Stewart, and quickly! If she decides to kill him right here, we're not enough to stop her, and I'd rather not have two reputations lost in foolishness tonight. Go!" he shouted, shoving the other man off, who began running as quickly as he could away from the scene.