World Tree MUSH

    Once again a ship sails into the Bermuda Triangle. Once again a ship ploughs those darkened waters through the most paranormal nautical coordinates of the world of Pandemonium. And at the head of that ship is a witch. A witch who's eyes burn with the fury of hell itself as she stares out over the choppy grey waters and greying sky that hints an oncoming storm.
    "For those of you who do not know me, my name is Salome Highscribe." She says, voice a husky southern drawl as she turns to the others aboard the hired boat that just happened to have a captain crazy enough to sail into the Triangle in the middle of a storm.
    "I am an outlaw. I am a killer. I am a thief. I am wicked in many ways, and the first time I called myself a 'Witch' was the most magical moment of my life." She says, fingers drumming on the butt of the revolver at her hip, mismatched eyes flashing as she glances over her shoulder.
    "Let me tell you a little something about witches. Witches are a bit like cats. They don't much like one another's company, but they do like to know where all the other witches are, just in case they need them." She says. "I need one witch in specific tonight. Her name is Methuselah, and she's a hag of the worst kind. She kidnapped a mermaid. Stole the child's voice, and is, as we speak, using it in conjunction with the blood moon tonight to do deeds most dastardly. Y'all are here because I want that mermaid's voice back where it belongs." The dusky-skinned elven woman says, eyeing the very mermaid she speaks of; a small girl on the boat who could pass for human except for right now, under the light of the moon, revealing the sea-green shade of her hair and the scales on her face and arms.
    "Methuselah lives on an island in the Bermuda Triangle, and she surrounds said islant with the barrier of a powerful storm." Salome begins to explain as she draws the ornate revolver at her hip, a gorgeously engraved Colt Single Action Army that she slowly loads a single bullet into before raising it to the sky.
    And she pulls the trigger.
    The gun goes off like thunder, and a crack of lightning crashes down from the skies... Before the stormclouds clear.
    "I have just broken that barrier." She says as the dark silhouette of an island comes into view, the ship scudding through the water to a ratty old set of broken down docks to make port.
    "Your job is to get past Methuselah's army of the dead. Get back the child's voice, and preferrably kill Methuselah, to teach her a lesson for me. My associate, ms. Lucatiel of Mirrah will take any further questions. I'll remain here to keep the storm cleared. Now git." The surly witch says as the boat pulls in to the ghastly wharf.

  Lucatiel of Mirrah is already here. The fencer is leaning against the deck railing near Salome, arms folded and head downcast. The stormy wind riffles through the feathers on her hat, and the blade-like black plume bobs in the wind of the ship's passage, rustling the folds of her silk tunic. Beneath it are the shadows of bandages, but she moves with the same warrior's grace.

  She hasn't moved much since the boat disembarked, though. In fact, she's kept herself near the mermaid, as though she were hovering protectively over the child. Anybody that gets too close is simply looked at, very flatly, by the masked visage until they think better of it. Occasionally, a gloved hand rests protectively on the child's shoulder, or strokes her hair. Poor little sea-child.

  At least, until they get closer to their destination. With a final pat of the girl's head, Lucatiel drifts away from her, drawing her rapier with a rasping ring of steel. She doesn't so much as flinch at the roar of thunder, turning to look as stormy skies clear.

  "If you have any questions, the time is now," the woman intones, voice leaden behind the mask. The rapier flips up to point at the island. "I expect Methuselah will know we are here, soon, if she does not already."

    "Hmph."

    Octavia Alicette de Tenebrae is here because she sees things through. She had originally signed on for the sake of bettering relations with this world - as is the case with so many of her ventures. But finding out what's been going on, has her invested on a more personal level. Mermaids are rarer on this world than they are on her own, and that's saying something. So even if it means she has to work with a witch, she's in.

    "Ordinarily, as a daughter of Tenebrae, it would be my duty to see off ruffians like yourself, Salome Highscribe," the black-haired noblegirl replies, reaching up to absently flip a drill to one side. "But I suppose this isn't my world, and you have noble aims on this particular venture. And besides..."

    The girl leans herself against the railing of the ship. "I can't say that I dislike pride such as yours." Her gaze switches over to Lucatiel, and she asks a simple, "What is it we're looking for? How is the mermaid's voice contained, and how do we retrieve it?"

    She watches the witch breaking the magical barrier with curiosity, finally standing up straight again and drawing Hauteclere from its sheath. "If it's an army of the dead, then you've done well to have me along. The unliving are a specialty of mine." The girl looks out over the water towards the wharf, then adds, "Give me a moment, and I can secure us a landing site."

    A runic spell is drawn with rapid and precise movements; when the runes explode into holy light, that light sweeps around behind her - and forms a pair of broad, almost angelic wings, composed entirely of sacred magic. One flap, two, and the young noblewoman takes flight, swooping off to find them a suitable landing spot. And if there's any undead waiting for them, she's got the tools to clear them out.

>> SUMMARY[Octavia de Tenebrae] >> Asking Lucatiel a question, then using magic to fly out ahead and clear a landing site if need be.

Witches? Sea captains? Hags? Meh, whatever. Elizabeth Bathory heard about a girl who had her voice magically stolen, and that was enough to draw her attention.

During the voyage, she didn't stray too far from the mermadi girl, despite any glares leveled her way. Whether it's because she isn't bothered by it or because she's bad enough at reading people to notice it is hard to tell, but she does give an encouraging thumbs-up to the mermaid girl once the destination is reached. "No girl should have the joy and love of singing taken from them. Don't worry! Super dragon idol Elizabeth Bathory is on the job~!" 

Details are really unimportant. Others can worry about that! The Servant's tail swishes behind her as she squints toward the revealed island. "Mmm.... it looks like a nice place, huh.... My type of scenery~!" There's no hestiation as she hops out onto the wharf and draws her spear from thin air, twirling it once. "Now! Where do we go and who do we beat up?"

    Ysuran is indeed there on the boat, looking very much like he just stepped out of a tabletop RPG. Basically an elven dark wizard -- denoted by that huge black book he's carrying under his left arm -- wearing armor of light chain, leather, and cloth. The longsword sheathed at his side probably helps with the whole 'murder hobo' vibe.

    As Salome explains what they're doing here, he listens. Salome's words of being all those things do make him uncomfortable, but he doesn't object. At least for now, their goals seem aligned, so he's not going to complain. And yes, the loud crack of the shot and the breaking of the barrier does make him flinch a little -- sensitive elf ears, y'know. But it's a pretty mild reaction, all told.

    Though at hearing 'army of the dead', Ysuran's eyebrows raise. "Disable enough of them, and they will become MY army of the dead," he replies. Then he sheepishly admits, "...Temporarily." Permanently raising enough of them to be qualified as an 'army' would take far more time and materials than he has on-hand.

    He looks to Lucatiel as Salome kind of refers them to her for further information. He... doesn't really have anything to ask, honestly. This is kind of a feature of an adventurer -- he's been known to go on missions with much vaguer information than what Salome gave him. At least she's telling them what they're likely to face. Though Octavia brings a valid point up, and he nods, looking first to Octavia and then to Lucatiel. "I assumed something like a phylactery, but perhaps not," he muses.

    He'll have to stick with the boat until it docks, though, because aside from swimming, he doesn't have a lot of ways to get through water, and he's ideally not like to get his book wet. As legendary a lot as some adventurers from his world can become, they can pale in comparison to the strength of warriors from other worlds. Which Octavia demonstrates with her holy wings! That said, though? As soon as he's able to disembark, he's drawing his sword. Yeah, he expects resistance pretty much as soon as they set foot on the island.

    He also pauses though... to mark the presence of death. If there's an 'army of the dead', then perhaps there's one or two 'unclaimed' corpses about somewhere... Might as well get started with his own little 'army', if he can!

    Emily is here in the form of a pink-haired woman in her twenties with a pair of devil-horns, wearing a cat-eared headband and a red and black cheerleader outfit which appears to be made of devastatingly-expensive silks and which, upon closer examination, has patterns and designs you'd expect a queen to wear. There's a fake Lunar Tear in her hair. Her eyes are glowing purple.

    She just nods along with Salome's self-introduction at first; she's already familiar with Salome, and only slightly has a problem with any of the things she uses to describe herself.

    ... She laughs out loud when Salome shoots the storm.

    She grins. "If Methuselah isn't the kind of witch who immediately knows when someone broke one of their spells," she says (and she has the same voice that she always does), "then I wanna say she is not a witch who is worth her salt."

    She considers this a moment, pondering what to ask, but then side-eyes Elizabeth. "They just told us, clown-shoes," she says playfully, her amused and faintly smug smile out in full force. She's pretty sure she knows exactly how to wind up Elizabeth, too. "Uh ... what was your name again? ... tip of my tongue, begins with an L ..." Even though Elizabeth also just introduced herself.

    ... She's been glancing at Ysuran for pretty much the entire trip, and doesn't stop now, either.

    "I always have noble aims." Salome says matter of factly to Octavia, flashing a fanged sneer. "It is my methods that are usually less than ideal." She states, twirling her Colt on her finger theatrically before smoothly sliding it back into the holster at her hip. "Y'all better mosey. Stopping a deadly storm is blatant and obvious, there is no subtlety in a spell like that. There's no question Methuselah knows we're here already." The elf says in regards to Emily's point, expression morphing into a scowl.
    So it's time to disembark, and Octavia takes the lead on wings of light.
    No sooner than she lands hands burst from the loamy, soggy ground. Clawed hands of soggy wet-rotten flesh burst up, seeking to drag the de Tenebrae heiress down as they pull themselves from the ground. But considering her magic, they shouldn't be an issue for her.
    " Already told you what you're up against. Now git." The witch says to the Servant.
    "Auu... Hau au ahhh...!" The mermaid grunts as the others start to disembark, before Salome gently nudges her to follow along after Lucatiel.
    "She's gonna have to be there when you get her voice back. Keep an eye on her." The elf says as the others hop from the boat to the docks.
    The wood is rotten and chewed up by seawater and lime, and look like it'll barely hold up the weight of one person let alone several disembarking. But even from here there's no missing it. Ysuran will feel the presence of death over this island like a heavy fog, shrouding it thick and heavy, and already there's an untouched corpse floating in the water, towards the island itself. IT looks like the dead of various shipwrecks throughout the Bermuda Triangle all float to this place.
    But no sooner than the group makes it off the docks, they'll hear it... A voice. Ethereal and beatiful, hanging in the air, melodic and beauteous.

    "Upon one summer's morning, I carefully did stray,
    Down by the Walls of Wapping, where I met a sailor gay,
    Conversing with a young lass, who seem'd to be in pain,
    Saying, William, when you go, I fear you'll ne'er return again."

  Lucatiel's mask turns to Octavia. Gloved fingers shift over the hilt of her rapier. While the woman's thoughts aren't clear, her direct regard suggests she did hear the question. She must be mulling over her answer to the question.

  "Witches weep sand," she intones, slowly. "Sand is forged into glass. And glass can be wrought to hold a great many things." No more explanation is forthcoming, so one can reasonably assume that the vessel holding the girl's voice is wrought of witch-glass.

  The woman looks out to the island, for the moment ignoring her colourful allies. Literally, in the case of Emily or Elizabeth. Those two are a riot of colour all by themselves.

  Trailing after the others more sedately, Lucatiel leaps from ship to shore, turning to offer her hand to the mermaid girl. Having her there complicates things, and she's moving a bit slower than normal, but it's nothing she can't handle. "You have purchased the services of an Elite Knight of Mirrah," Lucatiel intones, to Salome. "The girl will be safe in my care, Highscribe. I swear it on my sword."

  With that, she turns to go, making sure the mermaid is keeping pace with her and staying close.

  Aaaand there are clawed hands grabbing at Octavia! That sure is neat, and there sure is a reason why Lucatiel takes her time charging into unfamiliar environs. She simply pulls the mermaid a little closer, keeping her sword loose and ready in hand. Leaning down, she strokes the girl's hair, making sure she has her attention: "I'm certain no one needs to tell you this will be dangerous," the fencer murmurs. "Stay close to me, sweetling. I will see that no harm befalls you."

  Huh. She actually seems... pretty genuine. Lucatiel has a soft spot for kids. Who knew?

  "I do not think the old crone's soul is linked to the vial," Lucatiel observes to Ysuran, but she shakes her head. "I do not know for a certainty. I am not a native of this world. In any case, it will not matter. Our objective is to relieve her of her vial and return it to this girl."

  Lucatiel stops. She tilts her head, listening.

  A song.

  "She sings, but with the child's voice." The rapier flicks up to point the way, a stripe of silver in the gloom. "Go. Go! If Methuselah finishes that song, all is lost. Now move!"

>> SUMMARY[Lucatiel of Mirrah] >> The voice is gonna be in a vial of glass made from a witch's tears. No, really. Also, hey, we probably want to stop the old crone before she finishes her song.

    "Unhand me at once," Octavia declares simply, kicking a foot at the first hand to grab at her. She can't exactly lay down a sacred ground spell with her current company, but she can at least lay down a quick and sharp barrage of holy magic to clear the ground she's standing on. She'd fly back up, but the wings are already dissipating; it's already a short-duration spell, and it can be tiring enough that when she can cancel it early, she will. So the heiress simply clears out the landing zone, and then begins the process of clearing a path forward with heavy, holy firepower...

    ...though her blade falters a bit when the singing starts. She has a question, but Lucatiel answers it before she can even speak it - and the advance becomes all the more urgent. She'll have to rely on Hauteclere's engraved spells as much as possible. Cast on the run. That will make the wide-area barrages more difficult, but she'll have to adjust.

"My shoes are perfectly cute!" Elizabeth glances up and opens her mouth to snap at Emily, then... pauses. And squints. And stares, long and hard. After some time, there's a glimmer of recognition in her eye... and then it's gone. "Anyway! It's more important that you remember how cute and wonderful I am. Don't take your eyes off me, little piggies~!"

The Servant huffs softly. "I know we're fighting a witch. And... uh..." Her tail thrashes behind her. "...something else. Whatever! It's not important anyway!" Life must be simple for someone like Elizabeth Bathory.

She peers further into the island, frowning as she sees the hands rising from the ground. "They'd better know to not lay hands on an idol." Still, just to be safe, she springs nimbly up onto the branch of a nearby tree. Still holding her spear in one hand, she hangs onto the trunk with the other, before leaping a good distance to the next. 

"Mmm.. that song? Voice isn't bad, but..." Elizabeth pauses and wrinkles her nose. "Something is off. I don't like it." Her tail sways as she glances back at Lucatiel. "So we need to stop her from finishing the song? I can do that~!" There's a brief giggle as the Servant makes another leap, but who can tell what she's thinking...

    Ysuran's used to being looked at funny. He's a necromancer and shadow mage. If he doesn't smell like death, someone's sensing Shar's influence on him. So Emily's glances haven't really unsettled him all that much. He has returned at least one with a smile and a nod of greeting, though, so he's not just ignoring her. So there's that!

    Aha! Yes! There's already corpses, and it doesn't look like they're claimed by the witch's magic! Ysuran pauses here, words murmured under his breath, the air around him growing thick with magic. He's trying to just temporarily raise a handful of the corpses around, for a small little squad. Hopefully there's enough. If not, he'll sort of 'collect' them as he goes along.

    He nods with Lucatiel's words. "I had thought as much -- binding her own life to such a vessel would be foolish," he agrees. His ears twitch briefly when he hears the music. "That... will likely be the young lady's voice, hm?" he notes. Though Lucatiel impresses the urgency upon them that the witch not finish that song. He nods, and sheathes his sword. Again he begins to cast that raising spell, but this time he's trying to draw in as many of the corpses around as he possibly can. They're going to be temporary, but it'll give them at best an hour of more allies.

    Emily snickers at Elizabeth, and starts to float along after Octavia; after a moment, she conjures up holographic wings of light which are noticeably larger than the noblewoman's. "Maybe I'll try learning witchcraft," she says, adopting a whimsical tone of voice.

    Her smile abruptly disappears when the hands reach out of the ground, and the singing begins.

    "... Releasing capacitor seals 3 and 2," she says flatly. Once again, she's surrounded by the gold, silver, and pearlescent auras, and the first two shatter while the third fades. In a silvery swirl of nanomachines, she transforms into a form which looks sort of ... bass-boosted from the previous one. She has silver hair which looks a lot more like the form she had in Elizabeth's "gameshow", the cat-ears are real now, her horns are longer, and the dress is a lot larger and more frilly and elaborate. While still being obviously derived from a cheerleader's uniform.

    She conjures up four baseball bats made out of light. "... darn, can't make more than that," she says idly; her cheer is quickly returning. She doesn't use them yet, since Octavia has that covered, but she narrows her eyes at Ysuran in lieu of following Elizabeth right away. "Okay, I have to ask," she says. "Are you a bad guy, or no? Necromancers are usually bad guys, but you don't seem like much of one, if at all."

>> SUMMARY[Emily Nyx] >> Continuing the cheerleader theme in her transformation, then launching her childish view of good and evil at Ysuran.

    And so the group is pressed for time. That ethereal song hanging in the air to add an extra weight to the fog of death surrounding the island. As Octavia clears the mouth of the piers, Ysuran will most certainly have time to raise a few of the soggy dead and bend them to his will.
    With the group pressed to move and making their way inland, the tide pools and loamy earth gives way to a swampy forest, mist hanging low to the ground as the shadows of the very trees themselves seem to reach out and try to grab at people. The occasional squad of soggy swamp zombies lurch out from around trees to harass the group, but what might catch eyes are the foxfire trails of will'o'wisp lights that flicker through the air and start floating towards the cabin in the distance.
    "Auuuuuuhh..." The mermaid murmurs, lingering quite close to Lucatiel at the very sight of the lights, beginning to shiver and tremble...
    As those lights start to gather and coalesce into one growing mass of glowing ectoplasm. Ectoplasm that quickly starts taking shape into the form of a MASSIVE ghostly shark that starts swimming through the air-- right at the group, gnashing its teeth and intending to bite and batter with its ghostly body.

    "His hair it hangs in ringlets, his eyes as black as coal,
    My happiness attend him wherever he may go,
    From Tower Hill to Blackwall, I'll wander, weep and moan,
    All for my jolly sailor until he sails back home..."

  By this point, the rest of the group fades from Lucatiel's focus. She is fixated instead on the things ahead of them, or rather, what they cannot see. That magnificent hat tilts at a sharp angle as she listens, her free hand absently resting on the mermaid's shoulder, gathering her close when the girl cowers aaway from the lights.

  One need not tell a dead woman walking that these are the souls of the dead. Lucatiel, at least, knows her own kind. "Come," the woman murmurs, to the inhuman little girl. "Stay close. You are safe with me, sweetling. There, there. You've naught to fear."

  Lucatiel sounds confident in that, but she's looking around them, narrowing her eyes behind the mask as souls coalesce.

  Lucatiel interposes herself between the shark and the girl, sheathes her rapier, and slings the cavalry greatsword down from her shoulder. The massive blade swings up into an arc meant to gut the fish as it streaks past, as much to lay it open as to bat it away from the mermaid-girl behind her.

  "We've no time for this!" Lucatiel's voice rises, a bright snarl, distorted by the mask. "Leave the beast: 'Tis the sea-witch we must seek!" She's already moving to usher the girl forward, towards the direction the shark had recently vacated. "Come!"

>> SUMMARY[Lucatiel of Mirrah] >> This way, guys, we don't have time to punch sharks in the face. Unless you REALLY wanna.

    As they head from a dour and sodden shoreline into a dull and foreboding wood, Octavia shifts gears; her fingers brush along one particular set of runes along her rapier's blade, and the deployed spell quickly sinks back into the weapon itself. A soft golden-white glow emits from Hauteclere's blade, the weapon temporarily turned into a holy sword. It will serve better in forested quarters like these, especially with fewer zombies, and she can cast other spells as needed.

    It will also serve quite well when dodging spectral sharks. "Aaaah?!" Octavia lunges to one side, but in a reflexive movement, swipes her blade at the same time. It's only a quick strike, but Hauteclere is still imbued with a holy enchantment, so it should be rather potent against a ghost shark.

As she sees what looks like a shadow move toward her, Elizabeth lets out a brief shriek and spins on her perch, swinging her powerful tail to shatter the upper part of the tree she's standing in. Oops? "L..let that be a lesson to you! Nobody can scare me, you know!" 

Elizabeth twirls her spear and leaps off the branch before the rest of the tree collapses. Before landing, she lowers her weapon and turns to sit sidesaddle on it. The weapon shoots forward, with the Servant along for the ride, trailing a shower of stars behind. The downside of this mode of travel, however is that she can't actually turn.

The upside is that any zombies that spring up in her path are neatly skewered by the spearhead. 

When she finally sets foot back on the ground, the Servant peers toward those mystical lights around the cabin. Others can deal with the ghost shark. She's found something shiny. "This totally looks like a place a witch would live, right? Right?"

    Ysuran blinks at Emily. The question registers, and he... looks away. There's a tiny little voice that wants to say yes, that he is a bad guy. He does, of course, ignore it. He has no idea where that voice springs from, and has no desire to acknowledge it. However, he does admit, "That is... complicated. Would that I had more time, I would explain. For now I will say... 'I hope not'."

    Fortunately he does have his little squad of rotty bois (or possibly girls, at this point of decomposition it's probably hard to tell), so when the shark appears... Actually they might not do too much against it. But they can deal with the OTHER rotty bois (or girls) while Ysuran turns his attention to the shark.

    There isn't enough time to deal with both the shark and help the party get where they're going. So he chooses the latter. Maybe they can outrun the shark?

    Ysuran begins to chant again, this time something not so evil-sounding. And the rest of the party may find themselves moving faster, should his magic take hold! Not just running, either. Running, moving, attacking -- everything they do is faster! It'll fade soon, but that extra burst of speed should help.

>> SUMMARY[Ysuran Auondril] >> Rottybois (or girls?) can deal with the other zombies. Ysuran uses Haste on the party.

    "... I see," says Emily, narrowing her eyes. "Memory problems, huh. I just figured I'd ask, since WHOA THAT'S A SHARK!" She launches the baseball bats at the ghostly shark, where they detonate in a shower of sparkles. ... This is probably redundant with Lucatiel and Octavia's efforts.

    She conjures up four more baseball bats which orbit around her, and she flies forward while they smack the zombies. With the benefit of Ysuran's Haste, she quickly catches up with Elizabeth. "Probably, Lizardbreath," she answers the idol. "This tracks with the aesthetic of witch's houses I've seen in this world before."

    She strolls right up to the front door of the cabin, and knocks. "Hi!" she calls out. "I'm knocking using my hands right now! If you don't answer soon, I'm going to knock using an explosive energy attack-spell!"

    "My father is a merchant the truth I will now tell,
    And in great London City in opulence doth dwell,
    His fortune doth exceed three hundred thousand gold,
    And he frowns upon his daughter, who loves a sailor bold."

    The mermaid sticks close to Lucatiel as instructed, flinching slightly as the elite knight's greatsword swings in a powerful arc, just as Hauteclaire flashes; the holy blade biting into the shark's side while Octavia dodges aside, and Emily lays into the shark with her baseball bats, the spectra shark falters in the air, listing off to a side before it starts to float belly up and dissipate into an explosion of energies-- that streak through the air and flow into Lucatiel's body.

    "A fig for his riches, his merchandise, and gold,
    True love has grafted my heart; give me my sailor bold:
    Should he return in pov'rty, from o'er the ocean far,
    To my tender bosom, I'll press my jolly tar."

    And so the group reaches the little seaside cottage in the swamp, the ethereal voice singing from inside. Upon knocking... The door slowly swings outward with a low, squealing creak.
    The inside of the cottage smells like brine and rot, dead fish and plants hang from the ceiling, the walls are decorates in rows and rows of shelves full of trinkets and baubles and treasures dresdged from the sea and the wrecks all around the little island in the middle of the Bermuda Triangle.
    And in the center of the room, standing hunched over a bubbling cauldron is hideous old hag; seaweed for hair, a crone's wrinkled face, missing teeth, and ratty wet clothes stained a slimey seaweed green.

    "My sailor is as smiling as the pleasant month of May,
    And often we have wandered through Ratcliffe Highway,
    Many a pretty blooming girl we did behold,
    Reclining on the bosom of her jolly sailor bold..."

    She slowly trails off, looking up from her cauldron with a snort.
    "Soooo... Got past my dead did yeh?" She spits. "And my storm too... Just what did that Highscribe brat tell you? That I tricked that one for her voice? Pah! The sea-child and I had a deal we did. I gave her a human body, and I told her the cost up front. A simple transaction and nothing more, and now here you are to all help her go back on that deal are you?"

  The fencer turns in time to see the bright light of soul-energy streaking towards her. Before she can react, the souls rush into her. Slowly, the tip of the cavalry greatsword drags in the loam as Lucatiel slumps, regaining her bearings. That was... bizarre. Exquisite, too. For a brief instant all the world feels bright and clear and sharp.

  Lucatiel straightens, reaching down to pat the mermaid's hair gently. She's fine. The way now lies forward. The cavalry greatsword is replaced in its scabbard at her shoulder; the buckler and rapier are taken up again.

  Wrinkling her nose behind the mask, Lucatiel ensures that her own body and rapier shield the girl as the group files into the cabin. She keeps herself positioned so she can watch the entire interior, and the feather bobs as her head nods, once.

  "I have no doubt there is a side to your story, as well, witch." The rapier flicks up, point bright, reflecting the orange glow of the candles and lamps. "However, I am not paid to hear it. You may surrender the vial, now, or we shall take it from you by force. Those are your options."

  Her voice lowers.

  "Which you choose makes little difference to me." The blade raises, straight, its tip absolutely unwavering. Candlelight gleams against the brazen mask hiding her face. "Your answer, Methuselah?"

The Servant's tail lashes in annoyance behind her. "I'm a dragon, not a lizard! Get it right!" She doesn't do that tongue thing. 

As the cottage door opens, Elizabeth holds her spear to one side, resting her other hand on her hip. "Uwaaaaa... you really need to get someone to clean this place. It smells like a whole zoo died in there." She wrinkles her nose again at the stench, taking a step back. 

"Mmm? You had a deal?" She turns and looks at the mermaid girl, then back to the witch, then the mermaid, then the witch again. "...don't care. You're ruining that voice, and she's cuter than you are! So that's that!" Cute is justice, after all!

    "Well if none of you are going to dispute the deal in and of itself, I am," Octavia declares, lowering her rapier slightly. She does not, however, sheathe it, nor does she dismiss the holy enchantment clinging to it. "Your deal, Methuselah, was null and void from the start. The very act of offering it was in direct violation of this world's laws, as I have been given to understand them."

    Hauteclere is swept once, in a glowing arc. "Therefore, that voice is not yours to claim, and never was to begin with. Return it to its rightful owner. If you do not, we will assuredly take it by force."

    Ysuran's leaving the small horde of zombies outside for the time being. There's probably not enough room for them all. But he's also staying near the back of the group so he can keep the door open for them when things go pear-shaped. As he's pretty sure they're going to, in short order.

    It's worth noting that he is is... actually pretty sympathetic to those who make deals. But he too has been hired to stop a thing, and undo a thing. Besides that, he points out impassively, "True children do not oft understand the consequences of their actions. This is why they have parents to guide them, until they are capable of guiding themselves."

    It's not an accusation -- that's not his style -- but it's something to think about. Something he figures this witch will give less than zero cares about, but that gives him an excuse to stand against her.

    Emily smirks at Elizabeth. "I didn't say you were a lizard," she says cheerfully. "Just implied that you have lizard breath."

    She looks blankly at the witch. Then she glances at the mer-girl, and nods to Octavia and Ysuran. "Yeah, going along with what Octy and, and this guy said," she says, jerking a thumb at Ysuran, "she's a child, and therefore cannot give informed consent. This makes that kind of deal exploitation on your part, which is a bad-guy thing to do." She nods confidently at her line of reasoning.

    ... and then she looks sidelong at Lucatiel and Elizabeth, then back to the witch. "Nnnnnnot that I'm entirely sure working for the Covenless Calamity is a good-guy thing to do, but ..." She waves her hands vaguely. "It seems less-bad in practical terms, I guess."

    At all this... At all this, Methuselah scowls. So her options are but to return the voice or have it taken by force?
    "This?" She spits, holding up a small phial with shimmering little light held encased within. "I think not, it's mine, I bargained for it, I shed a fraction of my power to give the tadpole legs, and this is how I am repaid then. Pah!"
    But then. Then she wheels upon Octavia. "And what would you know of laws? I operate on laws far older, far more primal than some countries declaring something 'illegal'!"
    "So be it! Force it is, I'll not be thefted of my renewed youth! Child? Informed consent? You are all children compared to me!" The ancient elven crone declares, snapping her fingers.
    This is when the very moisture itself is sapped from the air and ground, forming a humanoid silhouette-- one that apparates behind Lucatiel and lunges to stab her with a watery blade from behind, before dancing aside and darting from foe to foe with arms comprised of lashing, stabbing, blades made from the water itself.

  "Then force it is to be." Lucatiel is surprisingly calm in the face of the hag's invective. Maybe she's bolstered by the energies she had absorbed, or maybe she has experience in dealing with bluster. Her head turns slighlty, toward the mermaid. "Stay behind me, sweetling. I will keep you safe."

  The fencer takes a step forward, raising the rapier in offensive posture. "I am no child of yours. I am the sands' child; the wind's child. I am no child of yours, hag. And what you do here makes no difference to me. We will fight you for this bauble, if we must, and we will--"

  Lucatiel does not finish her sentence. She grunts, instead, and looks down.

  "What--"

  There is a watery blade jutting through the front of her cuirass. Bright crimson slowly stains the silk tunic beneath it, and the sight of it is so incongruous and unexpected that the knight can only stare.

  The point of her rapier wavers, before it slips from numbed fingers, clattering to the floor.

  Lucatiel never finishes her sentence. The hat is knocked from her head as she crumples; the mask stays, but it's tweaked at a slight angle, face still not visible. A pool of blood is spreading beneath her, though, and the rapier lies forgotten half a foot from her hand.

  The Elite Knight of Mirrah does not get back up. Her sword-hand moves, a feeble twitch, but she can't reach the blade. It's just a little bit too far away. It doesn't look like she has the strength to lever herself back upright, either. That pool of blood beneath her is spreading.

    "Older? More primal?" Octavia snorts - but far from her usual, prideful sounds, it's a much more derisive, irritated noise. "You talk as if age gives one primacy. If a law is antiquated, rewrite it! If a law is unjust, repeal it! There is no law that can't be unwritten, and no one is above the march of time. This world has moved on from you and your withered up old ways, and you don't get to just bully your way through it as if you're entitled to respect!"

    Swish, flick, clang, clash - Octavia focuses almost entirely on defense, parrying each slice and stab with impressive reflex. She's glancing about, watching for an opening- when her eyes fall on Lucatiel as the woman drops to the floor. "...tch!"

    Around the young holy-wielder whirls, eyes not on the water shade, but on Methuselah herself. "It's about time someone brought the hammer of Rilarn's justice down unpon you." Swish, flick, swish swish, the young Tenebrae noblewoman draws her blade across the air - it takes longer than normal, defending herself as she is, but at last the spell comes to completion... and at first glance, seemingly fades to nothing.

    But directly above the old crone, the air swirls with golden light, as if a portal opening - and then from it drops a large, shining holy hammer composed entirely of sacred magic.

>> SUMMARY[Octavia de Tenebrae] >> ok boomer

    Emily peers at Methuselah. "Are you that much older than six hundred sixty-eight?" she says, sounding genuinely curious. "Because if so, and you've spent that time in the world, rather than lounging around doing nothing in a nearly-dead world ..." She breaks into a grin which is wider than is physically possible for a human, and her eyes turn into pitch-black voids. In a swirl of nanomachines, she gains two extra arms, and now she's holding four baseball bats. Each with four bladed edges in the cardinal directions. "... you're old enough to know better." A baseball cap appears on top of her head. "Play ball!"

    As her eyes return to normal, she whirls around, getting ready to face the water-warrior ... and blinks, staring at Lucatiel. "Wait, what ... w-what!?" She stares in shock and dawning horror. "That can't ... wait, you can't just ..." She shakes her head in confusion.

    For a brief instant, her eyes blink red circles, and a cylindrical holographic banner appears over her head ... Did it say 'Danger'? 'Glitch'? But it's gone the next instant, and now she's busy parrying the water-warrior.

    "Releasing ..." Dodge, weave, block. "... Capacitor Seal ..." She gets pushed back by an errant slash. "... One!" She shoots into the air, trying to get out of reach of the enemy, even as the pearlescent aura appears, then shatters. In a swirl of nanomachines, she's wearing a baseball uniform fit for a king. In place of a number, there's a Lunar Tear flower-emblem; holographic wings made out of baseball bats appear. Her eyes are once again voids, and now there's a purple flame erupting from her right eye.

    ... She really doesn't know how to deal with what appears to be Lucatiel's death, so she's just going to continue the joke, and acting a lot more dramatic.

    With all four hands outstretched -- and slightly shaking -- she fires dozens of golden bolts of bolts at Methuselah, sending them to fly carefully so as not to interfere with Octavia's attack. "You'll die faster than Castor Pollux!" she snarls, in a shaking voice.

>> SUMMARY[Emily Nyx] >> ... Baseballovania.

    Ysuran sees the water-thing... but too late. He tries to call out to Lucatiel, "Watch out--!" But there isn't much he can do. He doesn't have any healing spells, and potions would be useless at this point.

    He sets the small zombie horde he's gathered against the water creature -- their dead bodies won't be affected by getting stabbed like his living one would, and he can use them as undead meat shields -- and turns his attention to the witch Methuselah herself. His spell words are unholy-sounding as he draws a hand up, aiming his palm at the witch.

    A crackling, black beam leaps from his palm, seeking the witch to land on. Should it land, it will seek to weaken her, as well as damage her with the same negative energy that he uses to animate the dead. But this time it's turned on Methuselah as a weapon.

    He doesn't know if she's undead herself, or if she's just a necromancer like he is, but it's better to learn at the BEGINNING of the fight than at the end and risk healing every bit of the damage everyone has done.

>> SUMMARY[Ysuran Auondril] >> Enervation! (Necrotic damage)

"I could care less about laws, whether they're old or not." Elizabeth tilts her head slightly, but then pauses and just.... stares at the witch for a moment. "You... stole her youth along with her voice?" There's a very slight tic in one eye, and her pupils briefly dilate and slit vertically before returning to normal human appearance. "Hnn."

The Servant is quite a bit tougher than she appears, and even as those blades of water slash at her and draw blood, she clenches her jaw. "I'll let you hear what you deserve, then! My wonderful song, the greatest hit in all the worlds~!" She raises her spear high over her head and twirls it before slamming it down, point first into the ground. "My first and final number for the night~! Cute little piggies, you'd better get out of the way~!" That seems to be directed at the others, most likely.

The very earth begins to rumble, and a giant pink circle appears on the ground, covering the entire immediate area. Trees shake and crash as the ground splits, and an enormous castle begins to emerge from below. Giant round shapes are mounted on the castle walls, almost like... speakers?

Elizabeth grabs hold of her spear as giant dragon wings sprout from her back, and a quick flap sends her leaping upward, flipping back to land on one of the castle towers with the spear planting as a balancing pole. 

"I'll send you flying with my song! Báthory Erzsébet!"

 The circular structures on the castle wall begin vibrating, and Elizabeth leans forward, arms spread wide. "BOOOOOH~EEEEEEEEH~!" Multicolored heart-shaped rings shoot out from her mouth, followed up a moment later by even larger ones from the speakers on the front of the castle, as the cursed sonic shockwave blasts toward Methuselah and her cottage.

>> GAME >> Elizabeth Bathory spends an Edge for: Full noble phantasm on a witch who touched a trigger

    A lot happens in a brief window of time, the small island cottage becoming a home to chaos as that water elemental tries to slay the group for its hag mistress.
    But that's not that happens is it?
    Though it seems to be too late for Lucatiel, the battle is raging and over almost as quickly as it begins. The old elf hag scowls, visibly withering as Ysuran's Ray of Enfeeblement hits her dead on. It renders her too slow and physically exhausted to forestall what befalls her as Rilarn's hammer strikes her down. She goes down with a cry, trying to push herself back up on shakey hands, only to be pummeled by Emily's bolts and rays, each one impacting her like a gunshot.
    And then. Elizabeth Bathory happens.
    The Servant conjures her great castle, looming over the small cottage, and when all is said and done the cottage, the water elemental, the witch, and most of the surrounding trees are utterly blown away, nothing left in sight save for the foundations embedded in the earth.
    All that's left is the party. And the tiny form of the mermaid hunkering down by Lucatiel's prone form.
    With a soft clink, the witch-glass phial hits the ground, rolling over.
    "A-ah... Auuh!" The mermaid squeals, giving Lucatiel a few testing shakes, before she picks up the vial, uncorks it, and downs its contents... And sings with her own voice as she guides the knight of Mirrah's head to her lap.

    "My name it is Ianthe... a merchant's daughter fair,
    And I have left my parents and three thousand pounds a year,
    Come all you pretty fair maids, whoever you may be
    Who love a jolly sailor bold that ploughs the raging sea..."

  It is almost certainly too late for Lucatiel.

  The Knight of Mirrah is sprawled in a pool of her own blood, rapier half a foot away out of her reach. Every so often, as the others unleash their judgement on the sea hag, a gloved hand twitches as though she were trying to reach for it.

  She doesn't move when shaken, except to rasp in pain, mask tilting a little further. It moves far enough to reveal a trickle of blood from the corner of her mouth, a thin line of red drawn down her chin. The lower part of her face, at least, looks quite normal. There's no strength left to fight as the mermaid pulls her head into her lap, part of her blonde braid stained with her own blood.

  "Ian... the..." Lucatiel coughs, wetly, reaching up with a trembling hand. She fumbles briefly in a pocket for something small and bright. "I... am... glad..." Trembling fingers leave a swipe of crimson across the side of the mermaid's face; after a second or two, she presses something into Ianthe's hand. It looks like a coin, almost covered by Lucatiel's bloodied gauntlet.

  "Give... Lady... Highscribe..." Lucatiel coughs again, wetly, squeezing her fingers around the child's.

  Lucatiel of Mirrah exhales almost peacefully.

  The hand falls.

    Octavia's shifting to one side, preparing for her next attack in case the hag survives... when Elizabeth yells for them to get out of the way.

    And then summons a concert-equipped castle.

    "I... wh... what?"

    Fortunately, she has a sense of self-preservation, and she gets right the heck out of the way. Unfortunately, when all the dust settles, and the mermaid has her voice back, they find that their number is one fewer than they arrived with. "Ah, that's..." Octavia murmurs softly. She's been prepared since she was little for the thought that sometimes her comrades may die in battle, especially against monsters, but... well. 'Knowing it' and 'experiencing it' are two different things. "...mmn."

    Emily hovers there, staring. Seething. Her eyes turn into red rings, and the "DANGER - GLITCH" banner appears, rotating above her head like a halo.

    And then this effect vanishes as she throws herself out of the way of Elizabeth's Noble Phantasm. "WHOA FUCK!"

    She whirls around to face Elizabeth ... and the words die on her lips as she sees Lucatiel. "Oh," she says softly. "Oh jesus. Damn it ... I ..." There are synthetic-looking tears in her eyes. "R-reapplying ... hell with it, you know what I'm doing," she mutters. The three auras rebuild themselves, and fade. In a swirl of nanomachines, she transforms into an auburn-haired woman in her thirties with robotic-looking eyes, dressed in a midnight blue business suit.

    No tears ... but they almost immediately form again. "... d-damn it, I've only met her like three times before this thing. I was fighting against her the first time."

    Ysuran has worked with other adventurers before, and he knows when to get out of the way. When Elizabeth's pink circle appears on the ground, he gets out of it -- that cottage probably isn't going to be standing much longer anyway, not with the attacks that the others are leveling. He'll try to make sure the mermaid girl isn't in the area of effect either, but he's not sure she'll move from Lucatiel's side.

    If not, well... that's what the Shadow Shield spell is for! Though he'll be using himself as the shield too -- casting Shadow Shield around himself and standing between the girl and whatever could harm her. He's a selfless guy, despite being a necromancer with a slightly unpleasant-sounding voice.

    That is, you know, if it's required. It's possible that it's not necessary. Either way he'll be trying to keep her safe, since... well, Lucatiel doesn't seem to be able to do that anymore...

    And once it's all said and done? Things are a mess. But on the bright side, the mermaid girl has her voice back. Ysuran sighs, moving to kneel down near the mermaid girl. "...I'm sorry," he offers quietly.

    He doesn't quite know what else to say. Losing adventuring party members is not altogether unusual. But he feels quite bad for having not been able to save the girl's protector. Besides, it seems appropriate to remain silent while she sings, and Lucatiel entrusts something to the mermaid girl. He leaves it to her. And as Lucatiel seems to breathe her last, he murmurs a quiet phrase in elven, one that's appropriate for the situation -- something reflecting his desire for her to find peace.

Once the sound of Elizabeth's cry dies down, the castle begins to flicker, then dissolves away in a cloud of mana sparkles. Wings still spread wide and spear in hand, the Servant floats back down to the ground and touches down gracefully. "Ahhhh... that felt good. It's been so long since I've gotten to sing for anyone." Her wings flap once more before retracting fully, and her tail swishes happily behind her.

But then she sees the results that have nothing to do with her song. "...ah." Tail drooping a bit, she steps closer to the mermaid and the fallen Lucatiel, and then she waits. Waits for the song to end.

Once it does, she leans down and places a hand gently on Ianthe's head. "Maybe when you're older... we can be rivals. Let's go back now." She's not exactly the best at comforting, and she doesn't really have a lot of social awareness, but she tries her best.

    Lucatiel is dying. There's no mistaking what's happening here, and the mermaid- Ianthe- pauses, biting on her lip gently with sharp, shark-like teeth as the coin is passed into her grasp, fingers sqeezing back before the Elite Knight of Mirrah's hand falls and does not raise again.
    A shivery, shuddering breath is her first response, trembling as Ysuran kneels by her side and Liz rests a hand on her head. She finishes the song.

    "While up aloft, in storm, from me his absence mourn,
    And firmly pray, arrive the day, when he sails his way back home
    My heart is pierced by Cupid, I disdain all glittering gold,
    There is nothing that can console me but my jolly sailor bold..."

    It's a pretty voice certainly, one that might rival Liz's one day-- one that's already calling ships closer to the island as it dies down and the mermaid devolves into quiet sobbing over her fallen protector. Just as the click-clink click-clink click-clink of high heels and spurs comes from the docks.
    "I take it it's done, then." Salome says, hand on her hip as she looks over the group and the fallen knight.
    "... Dammit."