Always darkest before the dawn [Stitch, Jilitse]

[Tarot]

Timestamp: 6th day of Fall, 510 AV Some things start with a scream. Others start with a whimper. This particular thing started with a thin coil of smoke. It had been a normal day at the Welcome Home. The children had spent it playing and helping Stitch around the house while Jilitse of Sahova poured herself over the tomes she had brought from the Citadel. Her progress was ever so slow and painful, but each sentence stolen from oblivion felt like a major victory. Her attempts at finding Priskil weren't going as well. Few people had heard of this Order of Radiance. Fewer still had any idea where it could be found. It wasn't apparently something you just walked into and demanded to join. In retrospect, someone might recall that strange things had happened in the house over the past few days, though each was so minor and insignificant on its own that it easily slipped through the cracks. A piece of chalk and a fork disappearing, a bottle found tipped over that had been upright the night before, vague movements around the corners of one's peripheral vision. Nothing important. Nothing serious. With all the ruckus that the Welcome Home saw on a daily basis, it was hardly anything worthy of note. But then, on the night between the sixth and the seventh days of Fall, a tiny coil of smoke broke out inside the Welcome Home. It would be remembered as the night the Welcome Home burned. Oh, it would not burn down, for sure. But it would burn. The fire broke out in the classroom, easily the room with the most amount of wood in the building. Soon, the smoke trickled its way to the upper floor and those who rested in the bedrooms. Jilitse, who had not slept in five hundred years, saw the tendril of dark grey smoke slip beneath the door of her room. Stitch was having a hard time falling asleep. His Auristics had made him very perceptive whenever the children's safety was involved. Ever since retiring that evening, the blind man had felt a deep unease that exhuded from every wall. The Welcome Home was not quite as welcoming as it usually felt. And so, the smoke slithering through the gaps in the door looked like so many painful spikes of malice to his senses. Had someone not threatened to burn down the orphanage once, not so long ago? There had been no follow-up to the original message, and Stitch may have allowed himself to let go of the anguish, but he couldn't truly forget. Someone out there knew that he cared. Someone knew he would do anything for the children. Someone knew who Stitch really was. Someone knew the true significance of the Welcome Home. And they had no qualm about letting the wicker man burn to the heavens on this night.

[Stitch]

The Welcome Home will burn, and everyone in it.

Flames flickered in front of him. He was outside, on his knees, staring up at the Home he loved so much. Everything was on fire, everything was blazing with such a brilliant color. It was almost hard for him to look at, almost blinding to his Auristic vision. He couldn't tear his eyes away though. It was almost hypnotic, to see it all burning like this. To see the flames flickering out of of every single window, to see the smoke curling out of every single crack. It would almost be beautiful, if it wasn't taking away one of the things he loved so much. At least the children were safe. At least he had them out here on the street with- He paused, suddenly whipping his head around frantically. The children! They weren't here! How could he forget them, how could he leave them inside that burning hell? He shot up from his knees, taking a step toward the Home. He had to save them!

A hand latched onto his arm, yanking him back. Several voices yelled at him, telling him it was too dangerous, telling him he would die. Didn't they know? Why were they holding him back? He screamed out, yelling at them to let him go, yelling at them that the children were still in there. He could lose the Home, but not them! Anything but them! He spun, striking out at the variety of Aura's that were trying to keep him away from the blazing inferno. He used everything, a variety of palm and elbow strikes, battering away the people who would let his children burn. The minute he felt the last finger slip from him, he turned, sprinting toward the Home. He had to get in there, he had to save them! Putting a shoulder first, he barreled into the door of the Orphanage, caring little of the dangers of beyond. He would burn too, but only if he had to burn with them.

Stitch blinked, snapping out of the dream.

He hadn't even really been asleep, he didn't think. He had seemingly dozed off about five times tonight, and it was barely an hour or two into his normal bedtime. Each time he dozed off though, those nightmares struck him. And each time they struck him, he awoke, much like normal. It had been a pattern for awhile, after the Game. He had thought his paranoia had died down, but apparently, he was wrong. It was back again for the night, but he didn't really understand why. He had a definite feeling of unease though, both as he put the children to bed, and as he wished Jilitse goodnight. There was something wrong, but he couldn't put his finger on it. Or maybe he was just paranoid, tonight? The dreams certainly weren't helping.

So when the first tendrils of smoke curled through the floorboards, Stitch merely stared at them, sitting calmly in his bed. He was in such a haze, he wasn't so sure how to react. Was this just another dream? The line had been blurred for him tonight, and he was tired of panicking. Tired of feeling that desperation, that pain, that hopelessness, that fear. The black smoke looked horrendously evil to him, but he did not move. It was a dream, after all. It would all be over in a short while, and the Orphanage would be back to normal. He would be happy when this night had passed.

The first tendril of smoke twirled up to his nose, and he took a deep breath, almost gulping it in. The pungent smell stung his nose, and induce a coughing fit, doubling the blind man over in his bed. As he coughed, the vile smoke filling his lungs, a distant sound reached his ears. Was that screaming? Who was that who was making such a noise? Was it a girl? Who was it she was calling for?

"Stiiiiitch! There is smoke in my room!"

Trish.

Stitch was up from the bed in a blur, heading toward his door. Pressing a bare elbow to the doorknob, testing for heat like he had done so many times before in his dreams, he then applied his shoulder to the door to simply bust it open. He had no time, tonight. This wasn't a dream. Was it something filled with malice, or was it just a freak accident? He had to remain calm, for the children. If this was a freak accident, they didn't need to see him completely lose it. He desperately held onto his cool as he burst out into the hall, glancing around with his Auristic sight. Smoke here, too. It wasn't coming through the floor boards horrifically fast. Not yet.

"Trish, Damien, Fentya, Clarrisa, Jilitse! Out into the hallway! NOW!" He yelled down the hall, his voice only holding a small note of fear. The minor trembling was what gave his worry away, but the rest of his voice was deep, firm, and commanding. As the smoke continued to rise, he ripped a short sleeve from his shirt, bunching up the cloth and holding it to his mouth. Crouching to avoid the smoke that was slowly gathering on the ceiling, he spoke out again, if not a bit muffled this time. "Open some windows, and then come to the staircase, slowly! Find something to cover your mouths! This one is going to see if there is a clear path, and how bad it is downstairs!" He pulled the cloth away from his mouth a bit, just enough so he could shout the words. Just like before, his voice was booming, a far cry from the soft spoken Stitch that they all knew.

Trying to shut down his screaming head, his fraying nerves, Stitch quickly made his way to the staircase. Keeping his Auristic sight keen for any major hot spots, or anything dangerous, he would make his way down the staircase if it was safe. Testing each step along the way, not so sure of how dangerous it really was down there. He was barefooted, only in britches and a now-tattered shirt. He needed to find a clear path out of the home, or find the source of the fire. Would it be a simple matter, or was this something much more?

Who wrote that note, Stitch?

[Jilitse]

Jilitse was leafing through Mashaen's Project D book, consumed and obsessed with the information on the creation of the million miza golem, when the smoke started to float through the door. The nuit did not notice it immediately, it was only until the scent reminiscent of something smoldering was carried to her nose did she move. She placed down her book and gingerly opened the door. The apprehension of seeing smoke hit her and sent her retrieving her cart. The small thing was in the corner of the room, resting together with the golems, books, and tools she had with her when she left Sahova. Jil never really wanted to stay for too long in the Welcome Home, so she always kept her belongings tidied up - ready to leave at the first significant opportunity.

Snatching her ancient tomes, she took out one of her golems - a small container with a single wheel. It responded to her without hesitation, waiting for her orders.

The Nuit heard Stitch cry out. She was the first to be out the corridor, packed up and ready to leave. She had been locked up for a long while now, and it would not come as a surprise to Stitch that Jilitse smelled more of death than her usual spritz of lemon perfume. The Nuit watched as one of the doors burst open. Fentya was the first to sleepily come out of her room, somewhat irritated at Stitch's disturbance. She choked a bit and her eyes widened at the sight around her. Smoke was everywhere, dark grey and toxic. The little girl's feet hoofed through the corridor, clamoring Damien's door.

Clarissa was the second one to appear. Fentya's call of "Fire, fire, fire" had Clarissa quickly reacting, and she kicked Trish's door to open. Trish was coughing and gasping. Fentya ushered everyone to Jil's side, who was trailing behind Stitch. The Nuit was, perhaps the only one who was calm, at least when it came to appearances. Clarissa was now carrying Trish, who was unable to run. Jilitse gave Clarissa a determined nod. She had not seen the kid for a few days, now. She had been deliberately avoiding Clarissa, whose dead mother's body Jilitse occupied. The child, and the same can be said for the other children of the Welcome Home, was getting attached to their Nuit 'friend' and 'babysitter'. The Nuit found her relationship with the people in the Welcome Home a complicated one. She could not, however, deny the fact that she had grown attached to the children, too. At one point during her stay she almost found herself too distracted to work, choosing instead to play with Trish or Damien or help Fentya cook. Stitch was a very amiable person, too. Jil liked Stitch, beyond his friendliness and magical skills.

The orphanage was her home, too. And it was burning. How unfortunate!

Preventing herself from any form of panic, Jilitse ordered the children to listen to Fentya. Damien was on the verge of tears, and the Nuit could recognize the horror and shock in Clarissa's face. Fentya, bravest of the four children, had a grief-stricken look in her face herself. Trish was crying in between gasps. Jil cooed at the children, telling them to line up behind Stitch. Fentya, Damien, Clarissa and Trish, her cart, her golem, and then her. After a few steps they started huddling together, with Jil lending the kids an unused cloak to protect them from the heat and smoke.

Rallied together, Jilitse called out, "Stitch!" Her monotone was unnerved at the hinges. "How are we going to get out?" It was nice that Stitch had chosen to take the lead, but without him, it was up to the Nuit to be responsible for the children. If they ever found the way down the stairs, where the smoke was probably thicker, Jilitse knew that she was the only one who could keep her head straight - she didn't need to breathe and she was used to getting licked by flames. She would probably need to leave a few possessions behind to let Clarissa put the dizzy little Trish onto the cart. She needed all the children alive and awake - she can't carry them!

She turned to her cart and groped for Marie Suzanne. "Help us," Jilitse whispered. It once created a Void to save her, so she tried to bank on the possibility that it could do water reimancy or do any magic that might aid them. If the latter proved to be a folly, Jil would ask Stitch if there was any water. If not to kill the flames, then to soak their cloaks with.

The Nuit was silently starting to calculate the odds that she will make it out alive. The numbers were not pleasing as she started to consider the probability of her books surviving the fire. She also considered the miracle that everyone of them would live through this ordeal - almost impossible, but she was being pessimistic now.

Clarissa fell back and clutched at Jil. The Nuit told the young human to go back to Fentya and Damien. Clarissa would insist to stay with 'mama'. The Nuit saw a defeated look in the child's eyes. Clarissa was prepared to die. Not Jilitse. She was not going to put an end to her story by dying an insignificant death. Even if she was not one to talk about staying alive, Jilitse consoled Clarissa. "Everything is going to be alright," she said; which meant that they were all doomed.

[Tarot]

It was funny how a familiar, beloved place could look different and uncanny under different circumstances; how monsters could hide in the shadows of one's everyday routine. Who knew what the inkblot would look like to our heroes on this fateful night. The darkness wasn't helping them, though downstairs flashes of flame tongues could be spotted every now and then. Not frequently enough to suggest that the ground floor was officially on fire, but frequently enough to convey the idea that it might soon be if nothing was done about it. The smoke was a further burden on everyone but old Jilitse. To her, it was just what it was, smoke. An impediment to vision, perhaps, but not a set of dark fingers pressed against everyone else's throats. Truly, who could be callous enough to threaten an orphanage full of helpless, innocent children? An awful lot of people in Mizahar, that's who. Stitch was the first to reach the end of the staircase. His Auristic sight had no problem determining that most of the heat came from the classroom, where desks and bookcases were being consumed. It was only now starting to spread to the antechamber of the Welcome Home. Thankfully, the wood was still rather new and as such it gave off more smoke than fire. It wasn't too late to quench the fire. They could still do it. Or not? A flash lit up the room to his right, where the library was. Except this flash was blue, not red as would be expected of your average, card-carrying house fire. The energies and auras felt completely different, too. Jilitse could see it as she climbed down with the children, as well, and it struck an all-too-familiar chord within the Sahovan mage. It only grew more nostalgic when the peculiar oily smell mixed with the smoke. Someone had just opened a Summoning portal in the library. A tiny, fast-speaking voice could be heard from that room. "Quick, quick. You've got your orders. No prisoners. No witnesses. Kill anything that moves, but make sure you salvage the books. For freedom!" Some male voices answered in unison. "For freedom!" Mere seconds later, armed and lightly armored men started pouring out of the library, going straight for Stitch. There were at least six of them. He could see everything as if in slow motion. Each gleaming shortsword, every hostile aura, all faces twisted with zeal and senseless violence. They looked vaguely like a tidal wave about to crash against the rocks. Here we see what you are made of, Stitch. Jilitse felt Marie Suzanne, the animated book poke her shin, as if scolding her. It pointed its hard leather cover at the other books, as if to say - it was a trap and you fell for it hook and line. Needless to say, the children were terrified. Two of the approaching six men split from the rest and headed towards the staircase, killing intent obvious in their eyes. Jilitse had always rejected violence, but now violence was finding her instead. She was the shield between the children and those who would slaughter everyone. And what for? Why, freedom of course!

[Jilitse]

As Stitch inched forward, the kids retreated backwards towards Jilitse. Had she been alive and well and capable of smiling, she would have looked like the patron saint of innocent children. But Jilitse was Nuit, and the only thing she was capable of doing for the moment was to recognize the mounting stress caused by the threat of death. Was this Dira's way of reminding her that she was not supposed to exist at all? The word safety, however, did not selfishly include her and the books alone. Somehow, her stay in Syliras for a full season had been littered with memories and moments with the children. Deny it if she must, but the Welcome Home was her home. That warrants her a sense of protectionism over the kids, over Stitch.

Careful, careful, she constantly whispered to the kids. Fentya, who was helping with the cart, walked by her side. Damien and Clarissa, who was carrying Trish, stood closely by her side. But it was not so that Jilitse would be shielded from harm, it was that she was their current protective wing. The Nuit was just not able to realize that yet.

Inch by inch, without any water, they carefully followed Stitch. She could tell that the kids were hiding their fear, or perhaps they have gained her tolerance for emotions, but every one of them silently treaded on, speaking in hushed tones. Careful, stay close, pray we'll be safe. The string of one-liners did little to appease the troubled kids. In fact, Jilitse did not even notice that she was supposed to be providing a speech of courage and bravery. If it helped, her rotting features, weary as they may look, had no sign of apprehension. Damien was holding her hand tight, she assisted Clarissa and Trish by hooking an arm around them. Fentya took the task of assisting her cart and books. One step at a time, they cautiously placed one foot ahead of another. The stairs never felt longer than it ever had.

The brighter flashes of flickering flames was reflected in everybody's eyes. "What do you see, Stitch?" Jilitse asked as soft as she could. Although she cared for everyone's safety, it may have slipped her mind that she was the only one who did not need to breathe and did not breathe. She counted on Stitch's Auristics, the blind man was the only person among them who could actually see. Ironic as it may be, Jilitse had to accept so.

As her left foot touched the first floor, the Nuit was hit bye a wave of familiar force - so familiar, she almost dreaded it. But her mind was slow to work, unable to come up with a coherent explanation. What was happening, who is there, what is happening? Question pounded her brain, as a researcher's mind who have doubted the event. The next second was BAM! Hitting her like an old friend who hugged you unexpectedly, who slapped your back too hard. She stepped back, the motion alarming the kids who retreated two steps. Instinct made them halt, all five of them moving like an organic entity connected together, with Jilitse as the leader. BAM! The flash of light was undeniable. It was magic, the kind of magic she knew only the most powerful wizards could have produced. It was a very sudden, a quick flash of blue. Undeniable.

She was extra sensitive now, with an atypical heightened awareness. The stench of smoke spiked with a peculiar oily smell reeked in the air. Wide eyed, she flashed a warning look at the children, and all of them were confused, unsure whether to stay in place or to move backward. The three children appealed to Fentya's leadership. The eyes of the bravest child searched Jilitse's unusually calm face, and saw her own fear reflected in their Nuit friend's eyes. Jilitse's attention was pulled back to the voices. It was inaudible at first, but the battle cry was familiar, too familiar. Unmistakable.

For freedom? For freedom?!

The two nostalgic words connected together. Sahova. Freedom. Hung in a very brief moment of disbelief, Jilitse added a word of her own. Drainira. Was it possible? Of course, logic rebutted. She cried, "No! Stitch! Come back here with us!" But her warning, if it can be considered such, was too late. The men poured out of the portal and appeared from the library. Stitch's hand were full, and Jil and the kids had their own lackeys to give their attention to.

The appearance of Marie Suzanne, the sentient book, was not missed by the children. But for now, a sentient book was far less threatening than two armed men. Jilitse felt humiliated in that very brief moment. Sahova. Freedom. Drainira. Project D. All of this, all of this just because of a pile of books?! Forced into a corner with no escape, her pent up emotions rose beyond the cowardice and uncertainty. No! Her mind rebelled. No! And that tiny spark that she had all along, that tiny tiny light called fortitude, ignited.

But of course, you can't exactly use fortitude against a sword, and Jilitse, for all intent and purposes, did not seem to have any offensive skill with which to defend herself and the kids. Nor any particular defensive skill for that matter. But her previous glance at the cart did not only invoke a recollection of the books she borrowed from the library in Sahova. Her brain was quick to remember everything and all that was in it.

Jilitse was pulled her cart in front of her. She took a big cup and spilled the contents in front of them at the charging men, die after die after die. As if they were playing a game of chances. If she had the time to, she would order the kids to retreat to a safe place. Run to the porch, to the garden, outside, ask for help!

"Stitch!" But she wasn't sure she was calling for help.

"You can void one of the men you know," she told Marie Suzanne. Not depending on the little book, the Nuit took the clay pitcher in the cart and threw it at the men, then the jug will follow, then her sickle. One thing thrown, two steps backward. Oh, why did she have to do this again?!

"Stitch!!!" The cry didn't come from her this time. It was from one of the kids, she wasn't sure who. She quickly took the jar of slide grease with one hand and tried to aim true at one of the men; with her free hand she reached for one of the books, and made it arc forward. Whatever it was, it wasn't Marie Suzanne, nor the red book. Nor any of her Sahovan books. It was the book on Amphibians. Petch, didn't she just buy that? She hope the men will fall for the trap. Quickly, if she was able to create a distraction, she would take a shot at checking up on Stitch and then will be on the lookout for something to ignite the slide grease.

[Stitch]

He trusted Jilitse with the children. Normally he would be the one back there, escorting them where they needed to go. He would be by their sides, protecting them the entire way. He had originally developed doubts about Jilitse, when he had first met her. She seemed incredibly distant, in a way that had been different from Malia's dettached self. She had also come with secrets, a cart full of items that she was ever-so-protective up. He sometimes woke up in the middle of the night to hear her working away at something. He had never once tried to meddle though, or pry into her personal business. Even if she made him a bit nervous, he was determined to be a good host, and a good person. He would accept her, and trust her. It had become easier, when he had watched her interact with the children. She had opened up with them, if but only a little. She had played with them, helped them with their studies, and helped them in the garden. She had even helped him a little bit with cooking, and he didn't think it had been out of simple obligation. He had seen smiles. Well, not smiles. More like little twitches of the mouth. She was a Nuit, those counted as genuine smiles.

Stitch hurriedly gulped in air, trying to get as much as he could before the smoke became too overwhelming. As he stepped his way down the stairs, he yanked a few bandages from his pocket, quickly wrapping them around his bare, blind eyes. He didn't know if the smoke could damage them any worse than they were already damaged, but best not to take chances. He quickly glanced his Auristic vision around, now hell-bent on finding a safe way out. He had to make sure Jilitse and the children made it out okay. He had to make sure they weren't hurt. From what he could tell, the fire wasn't yet rampaging about the various rooms, as most of the heat seemed to be focused in one particular area. He could see it, a raging red Aura against the familiar light blue of the once-comforting orphanage. It wasn't actually that big, now that he was focusing on it. The immense amount of smoke curling throughout the Home must be generated by the rather green wood that helped support the Orphanage. Stitch couldn't help but let out a sigh of relief, pausing at the bottom of the stairs to gather himself. As he had travelled down those stairs, his most horrible nightmares had screamed that there would be someone waiting for him. That someone would be pouring oil all over the floors, and that all of their exits would be sealed off by massive infernos. He trusted his sight, and his sight told him the fire was small. And it was contained in the classroom, so far. He could get the children out into the front of the Home, or out into the backyard, and they would be safe. Then, he could come back and put out the fire. Simple, right? He coughed, and took another step forward, a shaky smile slipping across his lips. He had been worried for nothing. The nightmares had just worked him up. He turned back towards the staircase, motioning at Jilitse and the children, giving them the relieved smile he now wore. He heard Jilitse's question, and he hurriedly answered, happy to have a good report. "This one sees the flames, but they are over in the classroom. It isn't much fire, just a lot of smoke. We can take the children out the back, into the yard. It should be safe out there, and this one can come and control the flames whil--"

The bright blue Aura flashed into existance, and Stitch staggered back a step, his head whipping towards the library. What was that? An Aura like none other he had ever experienced snapped into existance, exploding into his senses, buffeting his brain with a new array of information. Aura's just didn't appear like that. His brain started screaming at him again, telling him that something was wrong. This wasn't just a normal housefire. There was something sinister at work. He could tell Jilitse was thinking it too. Her normally apathetic Aura was quivering with emotion now. Worry, and fear. Stitch coughed, smoke creeping through the cloth he had pressed to his mouth earlier. He could feel the ribbons of smoke curling against his skin, and wrapping around his form. He ignored the miniscule Aura they emitted, looking deeper. He kept his focus on the bright blue flash, pain and horror ringing through his heart as several other Aura's appeared, equipped with steel.

A tiny voice spoke, and with those words, his darkest nightmares came true.

Men flooded out of the library, voilence leaking from their ferocious Auras. Stitch backpedaled, toward the children, terrified for them. His head was spinning, swimming, and he was having a hard time locating them. Was Jilitse with them? She didn't know how to fight! Did they know just who they were attacking? A helpless woman, and a bunch of children! Stitch distantly heard crashing, and realized Jilitse was already reacting, hurling object after object after the man, crying out for Stitch. He had to help them, he had to do something. Tears rolled down his cheeks, all of his pent up motion finally releasing. Why were they doing this? Just for a few books? They were going to kill the children for a few paltry pieces of bound paper?

"Please..." Stitch staggered backwards, trying to position himself in a way that made him an obstacle on the pathway toward the children, and toward Jilitse. His voice was loud, high pitched, mixed with soft sobs. His children were in danger! "Please, just..." He didn't even know if they would stop to listen. Did they know who he was? Were they aware that he wasn't really blind? He could take a chance, couldn't he? "This one is blind, and those are just a woman and children!" Stitch pointed at Jilitse and the kids, then held up his hands, palms pointing at the men, as if putting up a wall between Stitch and them. "Just take the books and go! You don't have to kill children! Not helpless, innocent children! Not a blind man, and a obviously unarmed woman!" It was a distant realization that even though he had just begged, it wouldn't work. They wouldn't listen. He would really have to fight.

[Jilitse]

It was the closest thing Stitch could ever come to cracking a joke that would have elicited a reaction from the Nuit. Damien cried: "Stitch!" Jilitse would have laughed, if only for the absurdity of it. She, an obviously unarmed woman? Clarissa cried: "Jillie!!!" Why, how preposterous! While Stitch suffered from the delusion of a reprieve, Jilitse tried to think fast. Damien cried: "Help us!" No way was she ever going to let go of her books! The kids cried: "Somebody help us!" But with four kids glued on her heel and the warriors in front of her, there was nothing but to follow their one and only established plan: Move the kids to safety out in the yard(Jilitse and books) and put out the fire(Stitch). But was it truly possible?

Woe to the vanquished.

Fentya stood tall despite the wobbly knees, prepared to help throw their furniture decors in order to help Jilitse. Clarissa was weak and yet she had been carrying the half-conscious Trish this whole time. Even Damien, who probably thought boys shouldn't cry, had streaming tears on his cheeks. They were facing threats against their lives. At that very moment they all cowered in fear but steeled their hearts.

Woe to the vanquished.

"They can't take the books Stitch!" It was time for a little honesty between the two of them, "I'm just borrowing them! I still have to bring them back to Sahova! They are the only things I have in between me and my task to help Priskil revive Aquiras!" Or kill Sagallius. Reason was not a pointy sword. Hope was not a method. "Whatever happens I will not let anyone take anything or anyone of importance to me!"

The children pressed closer to the undead. Jil pulled the cart closer to her. The Nuit was prepared to protect them, no matter what the cost.

Woe to the vanquished!

[Tarot]

They came down on Stitch first, and they came down on him hard. If anything, seeing him beg and not even make a move to attack them made the assailants bolder and more cruel. They knew they didn't have to take this fight seriously, with the only potential threat almost wetting himself in front of them. Forgetting what the voice in the library had told them, they decided to take their time with Stitch. A knee found his ribs while he was still talking, and slammed the blind man into the nearest wall as four men punched and kicked him from all sides. Insults and taunts in the Zeltivan accent filled the Welcome Home as they began to pummel Stitch with their left hands and elbows, their short swords still drawn in the right. They were humiliating him in front of the children, and were taking great pleasure in doing so. Someone suggested killing the kids and putting him to death along their dying screams. There was no humanity left in these men - only the obsessive search for 'freedom' in the destruction of others. The last two guards quickly climbed up the stairs, where Jilitse and her cart stood between them and the children. At least, the witch from Sahova did not waste time bargaining with them. Instead, down went the pitcher and then the cup and then the book on amphibians. The first man grunted, shielding himself from the barrage with his forearm. At the book, his footing faltered and he had to grab the railing to keep from falling. As if on cue, Marie Suzanne opened a small Void portal around his foot, closing it right away. The net effect was a neat, if somewhat lucky, amputation of a foot. Blood spurted from the ankle as the armed man yelled, letting go of his shortsword, and tumbled downstairs, almost crashing into his comrade. What followed was a veritable stroke of luck. The man fell at a strange angle, his head smashing into the first step and starting to bleed profusely. Meanwhile, the other guard was distracted for just half a second, if that long, but it was long enough for the sickle to take him by surprise. The pointy side got stuck in his throat, slashing it open beautifully. Had Jilitse purposefully tried the maneuver one hundred times over, it was doubtful she would have succeeded even once. As it was, the second man went down with a grotesque gurgling sound. Somehow, she had killed both opponents. Splendid! She was a force to be reckoned with! The tide may be indeed turning. Between her and Stitch, they could actually do this! She only needed to come up with another 'plan' like this, after all. Szzzzzt. Or maybe, Jilitse should have wondered where the first man's sword had gone, for it was missing on the staircase. As a sharp lance of pain exploded through her body, followed by a sensation of metallic cold, the answer soon came into plain view. If Jilitse merely looked down, she would see the ichor-stained sword point sticking out just below her sternum. She had been run through from behind. Skewered just below the ribcage. The kids screamed. Tears flowed down Clarissa's cheeks as her shaky hands still wrapped around the hilt. "Sorry, Jillie..." she managed, in between sobs, "my body... won't listen..." She could never have stabbed a living person, but this was a Nuit wearing a body near the end of its natural term. It had gone in and out like butter. A tiny figure laughed in the far corner of the room, near the door where the armed men had appeared. "Gotcha, corpse-lady. If you will allow me this one moment of hubris... Just. As. Planned." The voice was quite deep, as was often the case with the Pycon claymen, and it matched the one giving orders to the men. It was too dark and smoky to make out exactly what he looked like, but he was most certainly an enemy.

[Jilitse]

What was the one enemy Nuits could not escape? Was it death, Dira's embrace? To Jilitse there were far worse things to fear than death. Despair. Betrayal. The err of a human with a heart - a beating, pounding, feeling heart. Irrational logic, the ones that lead you to insanity and menace. Who was she, who was she to attempt to offer herself, her life, her whole being to a man who never reciprocated her love? Who was she, who was she to think that loyalty could be a passion so great even after five hundred years? Who was she, who was she to attempt to beat against the divine power of Mashaen's Grand Oath?

Hold on to me love you know I can't stay long
All I wanted to say was I love you and I'm not afraid
Can you hear me, can you feel me in your arms holding my last breath?

She was Jilitse. Nuit. Apprentice extraordinaire.

It was true, what they say, that if nothing ever changed, there would be no butterflies. Jilitse had been forever in Sahova, doing nothing but repairing golems, creating golems, rinse and repeat. For hundred of years her life did not have any meaning except the insignificant purpose of serving as a little undead puppet in a factory that wished to impose its imperial power over a world that was no more. A maggot, a lowly caterpillar. After five hundred years, she was alive, at least in the principle of the world. She knew what she wanted to be. She was the answer, the solution. She was not about to let go of that decision. And she would not fail now.

And so it was with great delight that she was able to cause enough ruckus to stall her first attacker. Jilitse reveled in the participation of Marie Suzanne - she had an ally in the sentient book, at least. One enemy down. A lot more than five to go. As the sickle flew from her hands, her expectations soared. It was possible for them to win this battle!

GR-RRAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!

Was this happiness? An ecstasy shocked Jilitse, a physical sensation tearing through her soul. Pain, oh the pain. Oh, how the pain reminded her what it felt like to hurt! It reminded her of her mortality. The realization was instantaneous: somebody had pierced her from behind. Her hands found the tip of the sword. A sharp blade. The apology she heard was vinegar that dripped out of her wound, scorching her. It was Clarissa. Clarissa, the annoying snotty kid who claimed to be her daughter and, later, after the issue of body switching was cleared out, her friend. Do things add up? No, it did not. Clarissa was not capable of hurting her. Clarissa was not capable of hurting anybody, period. "Clarissa," her voice dipping lower than her usual monotone. "I accept your apology. You did not really want to hurt Jilitse, right?" She slinked a hand to her back and wrapped her fingers around the blade. Knowing full well that this was not going to be the last stab, she lunged forward - pulling her body forward, pushing the sword backward. It took effort, and it resulted with excruciating pain. "Fentya, Damien," the courage and the vigor wearing out, "Trish." Jilitse shook, "Run. Run!" Ichor poured out the wound, trickling, searing her. She stared at her hands, sticky with her silvery white life force. Knowing full well the implications of being exposed, of the possibility that she might cause the children to succumb to the curse of the undead, she cried, "Run away from me!" The children clambered upstairs, helping one another, crying and wailing. There was no greater torment for them than to see Stitch, who was - in many ways - their father, get beaten up mercilessly. And the sight of Jilitse, a Nuit friend who had become dear to them in a strange way, getting struck by one of their very own, was more than what the young minds could bear. "Close your eyes, close your eyes, I do not want you to see!!!" She turned and slapped Clarissa's face as hard as she could. She was going to lose her life, but she will not succumb to despair! "Wake up, Clarissa! Be strong, do not let them control you!" She wobbled, shaky knees betraying her will, until she clasped both of Clarissa's hands and positioned herself to the side, avoiding the bastard blade. She shook the young child's arms, crying "Let the blade, go!" The pain in her belly notwithstanding, Jilitse could not bear to think the danger that they were now in.

I know you hear me I can taste it in your tears.

"Fight it! Control yourself!" The advice was now for all of the kids, they were all vulnerable. It was just a hunch, but it was reasonable intuition nonetheless, that this was Sagallius' power. Would any of them have the guts to fight? If Clarissa would not gather enough will to fight against the malicious power over her, Jilitse would perform the most devastating move she could think of, a move reasonable enough to push both her and Clarissa out of harm's way. Gathering enough strength and momentum, Jilitse would brace her knee against Clarissa, with all the strength of her arms and hand pushing the blade away from both of them. She swayed her head to the side. With the right timing she could deliver a good headbutt. Perhaps enough to get them both dizzy, or at least knock out Clarissa unconscious. If it missed, she would try to follow the move with a sharp blow using her shoulder and elbow (although this may not be as lethal as she intended it to be, after all she was slowly losing ichor) and do her best to wrestle the sword away from Clarissa's hands.

"Break free, Clarissa. Please, break free."

Why would she let the chips fall if there was no dice?

I'm frightened by what I see
But somehow I know that there's much more to come
Immobilized by my fear
And soon to be blinded by tears
I can stop the pain if I will it all away

She was the dice. The answer, the solution.

Don't turn away
Don't give in to the pain
Don't try to hide
Though they're screaming your name
Don't close your eyes
God knows what lies behind them
Don't turn out the light
Never sleep never die

She will drag her bleeding guts to that Pycon and fight it!

I proclaim myself the heroine.
I know I can stop the pain if I will it all away.

[Stitch]

What was this that Jilitse was saying? She was screaming about the books. She had told him that she needed the books, that she wouldn’t let any one touch them. She would protect the books, and she would protect everyone around. In his mind, he raged at her, screaming his concerns straight into her undead visage. What if she was forced to choose between the books, and his children? She would dare comprise his children for a pile of leather-bound paper? She had told him that whatever she held in that cart was perfectly safe! Is this what she considered safe? Had she known that these kinds of people might come after the books? It was odd, for his mind to be on fire like this. She had just placed the lives of his children on par with that of those cursed books. The men weren’t here for him or the children; they were here for the books. Jilitse was determined not to give them up, even if it put Stitch and the children in harm’s way. What was she thinking, what was she doing? Was this the woman he had come to know over these last few weeks? He didn’t care about her quest, or her books. Not when compared to this place and the children it contained. He would burn the books himself, if he had to.

The books, the books, the books. It's all about the books.

A foot took him in the stomach before he could scream his concerns, before he could even finish his original pleas. He gasped as the breath left his lungs, expelling from his body in one single explosion of air. He staggered backwards, hands and arms automatically going up to guard, the reaction honed from years of martial arts practice. They were simply thrust up in front of his face, as his chin ducked low to hide between bunched shoulders. To his dismay, he felt his back hit one of the walls that made up the Welcome Home, and he realized that he was trapped. Elbows and fists rained at his skull, battering at and around his guard. They beat at his face and his shoulders, taking their time, holding their swords at bay. One of his plans had worked; they were mistaking him for a helpless blind man. They were taking their time to torture him, to humiliate him, to threaten him. The blows weren’t even coming all that fast. Sometimes they would stop, grab his chin, scream threats into his face, and then backhand his bandaged eyes away. How could humans be this cruel? How could they torment children and a blind man, just for books? What had possessed them to go this far? He could barely even feel the blows, as they had turned into a background against the pain of his heart and head. It hurt to think about this. He could taste blood in his mouth, but he didn’t care. He could feel cuts on his face and shoulders, but he did not mind. Was he going to pass out? He couldn’t get knocked out, not like this. He had to keep his guard up, had to keep his arms up in front of his face.

"Maybe the little girl, the older one! What if we rape her, blind man? We haven’t had a woman in so long… And you wouldn’t even be able to tell! You can’t even see! You can hear though, can’t you? You can hear as we take her, and make her scream out in-"

I’ll kill you all.


A knee had been drawn up, just to protect his midsection. He was balancing on one leg, his back leaning against the wall, desperately trying to keep himself as curled up as possible without falling to the ground. White hot fire seared into his mind, and along with the fire, the Djed. The room lit up in an explosion of light and sound, the horribly red and purple Auras searing into his mind, along with every other color in the area. It was all so clear, and the magic tasted oh so sweet. Blows came at his head, almost all at once, and he ducked, refusing to acknowledge any that might still land upon him. He ducked low, stomping down with that raised foot, placing the blade of his foot onto a single kneecap. A kneecap of the guy in front of him, the one yelping about things that Stitch couldn’t bear to hear. The stomp was hard, fast, and angled at just the right point. If it landed, it would shatter the kneecap. At least Stitch hoped.

Right before Stitch ducked low and stomped down, Stitch’s hand shot up in a furious blaze of speed that struck at a deadly location. If all went well, it would be almost ironic. Two fingers would find their place on either side of the nose, sliding up the bridge to puncture the eyes. Stitch was not attempting to be gentle; Stitch was only going to become more brutal. The striking fingers would curl, and hook into the eye sockets, roughly yanking down, no matter what blood and gore spilled forth. The two strikes happened one after the other, Stitch counting on both to work. One would stagger the man while the other blinded, and brought the now-staggered man down on top of Stitch. Exactly like a human shield. He was counting on the element of surprise to totally work in his favor; after all, he was supposed to be blind!

He could take this in various directions. If they struck, he was going to use the one as a shield, if all went well. If they were still baffled, he was going to shove the wounded man into them, and once again go for another eye gauge. Or he would grab at the mouth, and attempt to rip the jaw out of place. Or he would place a foot between their legs, and attempt to crush whatever manhood they had. He was only relying on the speed and power his martial arts had given him. There was almost nothing elegant here. He was doing every and anything that would permanently hurt, if not kill, these pathetic creatures.

He was faintly aware of the rest of the Auras. One that pulsed with magic that reeked of a substance that wasn’t skin. It was something inhuman and foreign, yet vaguely familiar. The children were all there, and all of them were okay… But Clarrisa, hers was pulsing with something beyond Stitch’s comprehension. Jilitse was his main worry, although worry was certainly at the back of his mind. Her Aura was flickering, and hurriedly dimming. Was she in trouble?