Quest The Flames Below

[Chameleon]

The Flames Below

The forceful reply of Madeira threw the Isur a little. Where he had puffed out previously, the man deflated, letting her say what she needed to say. It took a few moments for Vacielli recover from the shock of the girl's response, from such a pale and feeble looking thing, but he did so once she had finished, deciding to stay with a smile, although it looked less confident than before. Perhaps he had chosen badly. Or perhaps he had chosen the best person for the job.

The blow when his back was turned was the worst. Thankfully, he could hide the grimace he made from the Spiritist and her ghosts. Because she was right. If he hadn't been so worried about letting it get out, perhaps he wouldn't have caused what he had been trying to prevent.

"What?" he snapped, turning back towards the group and the girl who had called out to him. It has harsher than he meant it, with rising impatience as he waited for another forceful criticism of what he had said. But this time, it had been Ambrosia who had spoke, and her words were much kinder. Crazier, but kinder.

The Isur listened closely and sceptically. He wanted to believe, letting her speak, but at the same time, even for Alvadas, he wasn't certain whether to trust her. But she knew the Listener was female, even though she didn't know her role or why she was down here in the first place. And what she did say made sense, even though it didn't to her. Following the fire... of course, a Listener searching for a firefighter would follow those signs. Perhaps hearing a voice wasn't so crazy after all. Not in Alvadas, at least.

"If you - or the ghosts-" he was going to get a use out of them after all, it seemed, "Can find a way for us to pass through there safely, I will follow. Miss Craven will too." The Isur didn't even look at the girl before speaking for her. It wasn't aggressiveness with which he said it though, or a sense of command. He simply assumed that it was the truth and meant nothing more with it. "But I don't want to risk any of your lives - those of you with them, that is - by taking an unsafe path. After all, Ionu would want to help the individual we are trying to help. So, by extension, he should be helping us." With that, he gestured towards the path he had previously chosen, before standing still and waiting for a response.

He was hoping that the ghost who had previous thrown stones at him would decide to return with a positive outcome.

For Jomi, and Hurik who was also able to easily pass through the burning beam if he chose to, the Underground was easy to navigate. The beam looked steady enough at closer inspection, but those passing it would really have to crawl under it to avoid the lick of flames. Beyond, the fire continued, burning across buildings and old furniture that lined the streets. An obstacle course of flames followed.

After the beam came a few strips of fire, set apart every few metres and just too wide to step across. A few number of burning chairs followed, dotted around in a zig-zag pattern to weave one's way through. Finally, the whole ground seemed to rise up in flames, to the point where it probably would be impossible to pass through. The buildings rose up high in that area, close to one another. A multitude of window frames and washing lines seemed to form a path.

Risky, but not impossible - and some would even say simple, for the more agile.

If the ghosts tried to go any further, they'd find themselves back at the start of the street, right after the burning beam. An endless loop, almost resembling the one Jomi had met Ambrosia in. This one felt different though. Almost as if it was there to stop them going further until they all did, together.

If they chose that path at all, anyway.

oocSorry for the delay guys! I promise I'll be quicker next time!

[Jomi]

The burning beam cackled noisily as Jomi passed through it. As he turned to inspect the popped and blackened wood fibres he considered how structurally sound it would be. The beam seemed thick and solid from the ghosts uneducated opinion, as did the structures that propped it up. The fire hadn't seemed to eat them away to dangerous levels just yet.

The ghosts eyes narrowed in suspicion. He was sure the impromptu search party could pass under it now, but once they find whoever it is they were looking for there was no guarantee this path would be open on their way back. There would be a chance that the Spiritist he relied on for protection and the woman he liked could end up just as trapped as the person they were trying to find. The thought sent a wave of uneasiness throughout his core.

The ghost sidestepped the burning streets, careful to not let his mists touch the flames as he tested the probability for the living to pass safely. Jomi's brows furled in concentration as he tested the length of the burning strips of fire to his strides and edged his way around burning furniture. All the while muttering instructions to himself as he tried to map the obstacle course from Hai in his mind.

His careful tentative steps came to a complete halt as the path opened up to a sea of fire. The only way forward it seemed was to walk across the rooftops, and any attempt to scout the tops of the buildings led Jomi right back to where he started.

The frustrated ghost ground the heels of his hands into his eyes as he passed back through the burning beam and towards the group.

"It’s...doable."

Jomi pulled his relaxed mists back to his core, curling the errant mist closer together to create a boarder around himself and bring more definition to his form. He still had the constancy of a bad oil painting but hopefully it would help the others see him in the light of the fire.

"You'd need to go slow and be very, very careful but I believe you two could walk the path safely." Jomi gestured to the two women with a wide sweeping gesture.

"But not you." Jomi stated, turning to Vacielli. "You're heavy and got short legs and while you may look like a rock I doubt you'll burn like one."

Jomi thought back to the impassable fire street and the climb to the rooftops they'd have to take to go around it. It was already a risk for them to climb a building while it's foundations were being eaten away. So the women, who were small and light on their feet, had a better chance of making that climb than the blacksmith, Jomi decided.

"Mads, let me in your head and I'll show you the path."

Without waiting for confirmation or giving a warning Jomi blinked into the Spiritist. She would be too strong for him to force his way in but if she let him Jomi would absorb himself into her muscles and bones and take his time to shape his soul around hers. Giving her the option to allow for a graceful possession to search his mind.

[Hurik]

39th of Winter, 517 AV

Hurik listened to the Isur, watching him closely. He felt quite amused at how out of sorts the man had grown in reaction to his own idiocy blowing up in his face. Apparently he also spoke for Madeira in this instance, which prompted Hurik to raise an eyebrow. Just so long as he actually does guess what her interest is, I suppose she'll tolerate it. Though it might be fun to watch her explode on somebody else. She's been rather preoccupied with the both of her ghosts lately.

Hurik turned to watch Jomi pass through the blazing barrier and shrugged to himself. He had very little reason to doubt the other ghost's competence in path finding, and Hurik had yet to discover anything more hostile than the flames themselves. Until he had an opponent to contend with, he could leave the scouting to the darker, shorter, prettier dead man.

The flames though, crackling as they did all about the group, some distant and others faint, did remind him unpleasantly of older days. He shook himself, mist roiling up over his shoulders. He had time to kill, waiting for Jomi to finish his exploration.

Hurik gave one look at Madeira and thought better of approaching her for the moment. She had already made expressly clear that her purpose in helping "Master" Vacielli was for political gain. Regardless of how he felt about that, she seemed, in his own personal estimation, to be thick in the midst of scheming. Hurik could respect that.

Thus the ghost walked over to the pretty blonde woman whom also occupied the space, and cracked a smile. "A pleasure to be of service, madam. My fellow ghost is currently examining the path ahead, but so long as we're waiting on him, perhaps you could do me the gracious favour of introducing yourself? I am Hurik, erstwhile Bloodmane, and presently the willing servant of Lady Madeira Craven. Do you enjoy verse, perhaps?"

The way Hurik saw it, just because you were in a burning death trap which could consume your flesh at any moment, didn't mean that you could just forego manners. Also more privately, he'd taken notice of the dynamic between Jomi and this woman, observed that they were cute, and then promptly resolved to gather as much material with which to antagonize the ghost later as possible. It was entirely possible, probable in fact, that Hurik's motives in greeting the pretty blonde were impure. And so naturally, he couldn't keep the grin on his face from slipping into a frown when Jomi returned just that instant.

Hurik stifled a chuckle at Jomi's appraisal of Vacielli. "If it comes to that, I can always accompany our fine ferrous-armed fellow down an alternative path. After all, Madeira can summon me if she needs to, and I've not had my daily allotment of jackassery today. As a matter of fact, I once knew an Isur so straight-assed that he-"

Jomi blinked into Madeira. Hurik gaped openly, his trail of thought abandoned. Forgetting the other people in the space with them, Hurik's fists clenched as his mists gathered there, and he felt the sensation of his nails digging into his palms. He didn't have to look to know that his fists were dripping blood, which was interesting, because even accounting for the gaps in his memory, Hurik would have thought himself above beating a man to death with bare hands. It was inelegant.

To just violate a person like that, even a spiritist, especially Madeira, without warning like that... Hurik's blood boiled at the thought, and he found himself considering that for a man as callous as Jomi, inelegance could be forgiven. At least, when it came to doling out punishment.

Forcing himself to calm, Hurik relaxed only partially and retreated to one of the corners of the space, contenting himself with glaring alternatively at Vacielli and the Jomi's mists as they fizzled into the air. The Bloodmane, caged by both circumstance and expectations, sullenly fingered the amulet round his neck and waited for his orders.

[Madeira Dusk]

Madeira stood as patient and cool as a marble statue as she waited for Jomi to come back. Yet inside she was straining to feel his retreating presence, wondering if this was the moment he would leave for good. It was no secret between them that he'd kill her if given a better offer and half a chance. And to leave the living alone in Hai's own broiler oven would be a clean and easy way to do so.

But no, he wouldn't. He needed her for now, and he cared too much about Ambrosia to let her suffer too. Yet ever since he and Hurik had murdered that man earlier in the season even that rock solid reasoning was feeling shaky.

Her pale eyes tore their gaze away from the flaming path and flicked to Hurik. To her disgust but not surprise, she saw her warrior poet was putting the moves on Ambrosia too. Damnit, she thought, eyes rolling skyward. She was not prepared to play mediator to the romantic rivalry of two goddam ghosts.

At that moment, to her intense but silent relief, Jomi walked out of the fire looking unusually thoughtful. The scouting had been a success, he explained. But only the women would make it. Vacielli had to find another way.

Madeira was frowning, staring at the ground as she weighed their options and digested Hurik's offer to take the master smith down an alternative path, when Jomi's possession hit her full in the chest.

Her breath stuttered and her eyes rolled back as her body struggled to keep these vital functions out of the invaders hands. But the trauma of possession was quickly becoming numb as she grew older, and as such she was able to quickly right herself. Madeira pulled her astral body aside and let the ghost fill the gap, feeling the grasping fingers of his mist permeate through muscle and bone, fill her mouth and cloud the space behind her eyes until it felt like she was drowning in it. Then she laid alongside him, bringing the motor control he hadn’t quite mastered yet. As they both alined in the shared body she guided him into a graceful possession.

She did not need to reap his memory like she had before, as he was essentially shouting them at her in their shared mind. Absorbing the information quickly, she considered their corse of action for a moment before speaking.

"Jomi's right. Ambrosia and I might make it but you wont, Master." She turned to the smith and gave him a reassuring smile. "But we're not leaving you alone. Hurik will go with you.”

Expecting Vincelli was going to protest being left alone with an aggressive ghost who at that very moment was in the corner with bloody hands, Madeira cut across before he would have the chance.

"He's got a mouth on him, but he's a strong, capable man. You can trust him to get you out of here safely. We'll meet up as soon as we can." she pressed gently. "Ghosts were people too, you don't have to be afraid of them."

There was a wealthy merchant in the Divine Legacy who would beg to differ on that point. But it was more important for the Isur to be calm and compliant than watchful. She gave him one last reassuring smile then retreated to Hurik's shadowy corner to talk to the ghost privately.

"That was a good idea, Hurik. Thank you for offering", she said sincerely. She reached up and cupped his cheek in her hand. Along with the older members of her family, she had discovered that she could make physical contact with a ghost without preparing soulmist. Some speculated that once you make so much soulmist, your body began to
exude it naturally. And some thought that working with ghosts for so long made you part ghost yourself. Whatever the reason, she let her hand feel the pressure under it and smiled. "I know you can get him through safely. I'm trusting that you can. But if you can't, if you decide to push him into the lava while we're not there to stop you”, her fingers twisted into his beard and she dragged him down to her level, and her eyes flashed cold. "the other Cravens would be surprised to hear what really happened to the man killed in that freak avalanche."

She wanted to trust him. She needed to. But the servant girls screaming was in her head and she could almost smell the blood on Hurik's hands. This was too important to assume loyalty would keep him on her side.

"Please, Hurik, get both of you out safely. Jomi will watch out for Ambrosia and I.”

She kissed his rough cheek and settled herself with a breath before turning and walking back to the crew with a calm, determined expression.

"Come on, Ambrosia, we know the way. Good luck Vacielli, you're in good hands!"

Yet as she passed Ambrosia to lead the way, the Spiritist got an mischievous spark in her eye. Suddenly Madeira wound up her left hand and slapped the barmaids rear as hard as she could with a greedy groping palm. Then she spun around with her hand held out behind her back as if aghast at what had happened.

"Oh, I'm sorry! I'll keep better control of Jomi." she bobbed her head contritely, while in her head she was laughing at her wrongly accused passenger. That's for the titless comment, she sniped internally at the ghost, full of petty revenge.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

The travel through the fiery hellscape was just as awful as Madeira saw in Jomi’s mind. Except now she could feel the tightness as her skin baked in the heat, and smell the little hairs on her arms burning. She flattened herself to the ground and breathed shallowly as she shimmied under the burning beam, letting Jomi and his memory guide her across the widest route. On the other side burning furniture sent plumes of black smoke into the air. Fire flickered in the windows of burning buildings, and from further down the street came the musical sound of glass exploding in the heat. Madeira spit into the collar of her blouse and pulled it up over her nose to keep out the worst of the smoke, but her eyes stung and watered without protection.

She passes through the maze of burning trash one step at a time, but the lines of fire on the other side was the first time she quailed. Fire rose up from one side of the street to the other, impossible to go around or avoid. She could see the other side through the flickering flame, and it seemed much too far away when a misstep meant death. So she breathed short and quick, pumped her arms, put trust in her and Jomi’s Grace, and made a leap of faith. She landed hard on the other side and windmilled her arms to keep the inertia of her overambitious jump from careening her into the piles of burning debris.

As they made their slow, tortuous way down the narrow street, Jomi would have her mouth to shout encouragement or advice to the woman struggling behind them. Madeira herself was silent as she was focusing all her energy on keeping herself alive.

x

[Ambrosia Alar]

Though Ambrosia was a person who got plenty of attention as her work required that she be in the center of many social interactions, she relished it any time it was given to her, and Jomi’s attention didn’t go unnoticed. Once again, his motions could have just been a way to keep him occupied while he was stuck here, but his focus was on her, part of her at least, as he toyed with a strand of her hair. Now that his touch was meant for her, the icy bite of his contact sank through her skull and down into her core. In a moment of confused epiphany, her breath caught slightly, but she was vaguely aware that wasn’t due to the cold. As miserable as she had been to have her search for her sister interrupted, this day was turning out to be a lot better than she had thought it would be. In fact, she’d be satisfied if they remained stuck her together for its remainder. When Jomi withdrew from Ambrosia at Madeira’s request, a twinge of jealousy bit deep and set her heart racing in a different way than Jomi’s touch had. Something close to hate, an ire or rage Ambrosia couldn’t quite fathom, built against her spiritist friend. She knew she should’ve felt ashamed, but she was so accustomed receiving so much of the attention that she resented the feeling when it was taken away so easily. Here, in their world, in their circle, she was meaningless. She was an extraneous article, something that was interesting but that could be discarded and not missed. The ghosts and Madeira depended on each other. They were parts in a greater whole. Ambrosia was just an outsider, and there was little that frustrated her more than that. Except maybe having her search for Tessa hijacked. She decided to insert herself into their group as forcefully as she could without forcing it, so she was thrilled when Jomi took her offered arm. A small part of her swelled with pride when Jomi focused on materializing himself to show how handsome and strong he had once been when he was alive. Hard dark eyes that were set in a sculpted face matched his long, dark hair, and he had a build that would have made any of the young men who came into the Rear jealous. His mists pressed up against her side should have been uncomfortable, but she was so ecstatic about his return to her and his interest in her that she didn’t mind the cold that approximated winter’s bite just before it turned her fingers numb. Not to mention, the exotic tingle that arose wherever his soul met her body was unlike any sensation she had ever felt. It was pleasure on the verge of pain. If she could have pressed deeper against him, she would have, but there was nothing to push against. Almost as soon as it began though, it was over. Jomi let go, but his purpose was chivalrous. As he pointed out, the living were flammable. He could easily scout the way ahead to make sure it was safe for her. And Madeira and Vacielli, too. Jomi disappeared through the burning beam, and the four of them were left waiting. Eventually, Hurik wandered over to introduce himself. One thing Ambrosia could tell with his question about verse was that the man considered himself a poet. Before she could respond though, Jomi was back, and once again, the attention she was being given was taken away. “It’s… doable,” Jomi stated before going on to explain that only Madeira and herself could proceed. “Mads, let me in your head, and I’ll show you the path.” With that, Jomi blinked, launching himself in the space of a moment across the distance of several body lengths into Madeira’s body. The reaction of Madeira’s body said as much had happened, but it appeared smoother than most possessions, at least the few Ambrosia had witnessed. Possession, two souls sharing the same space, that was an intimacy like no other. Ambrosia had only ever experienced it twice, and she felt another twinge of bitterness toward Madeira that she could share that with Jomi. Once again, Ambrosia found herself feeling useless as Madeira guided everyone to their appropriate paths and purposes. The final plan had Hurik leading Vacielli on his way while Jomi led the two living women through the dangers of the fire. As Madeira kissed Hurik’s cheek, Ambrosia smiled at him and waved farewell. “Goodbye, Hurik. We’ll have to speak again sometime, have a full conversation. And to answer your question, I ain’t particularly fond of verse. Give me a good story any day, and you’ll have my undivided attention. Though I suppose if you told me a story in verse, I’d be sure to love it. Maybe you’ll give me the story of Hurik Bloodmane.” Just as Ambrosia turned toward their intended path, Madeira walked up behind her. “Come on, Ambrosia, we know the way. Good luck, Vacielli, you’re in good hands.” The next moment caught Ambrosia completely off guard. With no warning, a hand slapped her ass hard, throwing in a greedy squeeze none too sneakily at the end. Ambrosia ground to a halt, too stunned to respond. It wasn’t the first time it had happened to her. It wasn’t even the worst of them, but the others had come while she had been at work. Advances like that were something she had come to expect from lechers and drunks. But from a friend? She felt violated. Madeira bobbed her head in apology as she pushed forward to take the lead. “Oh, I’m sorry! I’ll keep better control of Jomi.” Ambrosia couldn’t believe that either of them had done that. Sure, she had been a bit flirtatious and suggestive with Jomi, but thus far, he had only responded with sweet, gentle gestures. This wasn’t him. But it wasn’t Madeira, either. For one thing, Madeira had never shown a romantic interest in Ambrosia. With how proper and serious the young woman acted, Ambrosia wasn’t sure if Madeira had ever shown a romantic interest in anyone. But even if Madeira did harbor such feelings, she wasn’t so socially inept that she would act on them this way. Ambrosia wasn’t sure how to respond. She wanted to be angry, but she didn’t know who to direct that toward. She wanted to cry, but that would do her no good. She bounced between both so rapidly over the space of a few ticks that in the end she decided on neither and was left feeling empty. Blushing now as she always did when excessive romantic or sexual interest was shown in her, she acted quickly to cover any signs of her embarrassment. Her hair had been loosely held in check with a black sash her sister Bethany had given her over the summer. Undoing the makeshift head piece, Ambrosia pulled her hair into a ponytail, then coiled it into a loose bun at the back of head. Pinning the bun in place with the sash, she wrapped the constellation-covered cloth around her mouth, behind her head, then around her forehead, and back behind her head again where she tied it snugly in place. The mask served several purposes. It hid the fact she was blushing, but it would serve protective purposes as well, keeping stray hairs from catching fire and her lungs from breathing ash. In silence, she followed Madeira down the path she herself had suggested. Ambrosia had meant to ask Jomi a few questions on their way but wasn’t sure if she was angry at him. Deciding she was mad at the world in general, she gave it the silent treatment. Dropping on to her belly, Ambrosia crawled beneath the burning timber, careful to keep low to the ground until she was well clear of the obstacle. The street beyond was encouraging only in the fact that it was lined by a wall of burning buildings on either side and cluttered with burning objects down its length. If they were supposed to follow the fire, they were certainly on the right path. This much fire should have terrified her, but she had seen worse and survived. When they came to the stripes of fire across the road, Ambrosia let Madeira get a running start and jump across first. The last thing she was going to do was let Madeira and Jomi behind her. When Madeira was across the first, Ambrosia took a few, long strides backward, pulled up the hem of her dress so it wouldn’t trip her up, and braced her feet. Shoving off hard with her back leg, she sprinted the few strides to the fire’s edge and made the leap over, landing in the middle of the safe, fireless strip of the street. Ambrosia’s jump was perfect, not that it was a long or difficult jump to make, and she would have been fine had it not been for the pile of ash she landed in. When her feet hit the ash, it slid beneath her, and she landed on her backside with her feet in the fire ahead of them. Scrambling and kicking herself away from the fiery bite of the coals as they burned little holes through her dress and into her legs, she didn’t stop until she was free. Once she was safe, she batted at the smoldering parts of her dress and bunched the fabric on itself to smother any ambitious sparks. If Madeira (or Jomi through Madeira’s body) reached out to help, she’d smack the assisting hand away with a glare that might go missed behind the mask. Feeling sorry for herself, Ambrosia sent a little prayer out to Ionu, not something she often did. She found the city’s deity to be frustrating at best. But Ionu had already offered them some assistance, and maybe the deity would offer some again. Please, Ionu, help us find this person before the danger gets any worse. Just give us some help. A hint. Anything. With a few more obstacles negotiated, the trio found themselves confronted by an impassable ocean of fire. Their only oath forward was up. It had been a long time since Ambrosia had scaled a building. She looked up, only now doubting the wisdom of following a strange voice. The last time she had followed a stranger, she’d ended up locked in his basement.

[Chameleon]

The Flames Below

"Not me?" Vacielli shook his head, still convinced the path he had first chosen was the better option. Besides, this ghost's suggestions were probably motivated by simple dislike - not that it wasn't reciprocated. "I'm sorry, but I have to come too. You don't even know who you are searching for." He plastered the widest smile on his face, stepping to follow. There wasn't a chance he was letting them venture through the Underground without them, or accepting the other bearded ghost's offer.

Not with the rudeness. The Isur was struggling to figure out which one of the ghosts was worse. They were vile, dangerous creatures to begin with, and they hadn't been helping their case, either.

In his frustration at the two, he didn't realise what was happening with Jomi and Madeira until it was too late. One moment, the swirling mists of the ghost were visible. The next, they had entered Madeira and for a moment he thought he could see the flash of shock in her eyes. The man panicked at once, reminded once more why these ghosts formed a threat, panicked for the safety of the spiritist who was meant to be helping him. It took all his strength not to leap at her and try and shake the ghost out - and only because he knew Madeira could handle it better, not wanting to be next.

Then the spiritist spoke and he couldn't even tell there was a ghost in her. Except that she was agreeing with Hurik's suggestion now. Agreeing that Vacielli wouldn't make it alone. The Isur opened his mouth to protest, but he didn't know what to say. Perhaps he couldn't trust the ghosts, but he had been the one to hand-pick Madeira herself. It would look foolish not to trust her.

Especially now that she was rhapsodising about Hurik's good qualities. As much as he wanted to not be afraid and to believe her words, the ghost had done nothing to convince him. Especially not after that possession. The confident smile was faltering, only forced now, and he tried to steer it to his benefit, but he was quickly losing control of the situation.

"We split up then. The ghosts can be our messengers. Perhaps we will find them quicker. Madeira, I trust you will undertake this mission properly. I'm sure you understand." Vacielli wasn't certain he did, at this point.

He had started moving, but Madeira's words to the ghost caught his attention before he could turn his back fully. The girl, when lit her fumes of intimidation, lost the fragile weakness that came with her pale form. In fact, the Isur was finding himself glad that he wasn't on the other end. Then again, he wasn't a ghost, so she would have nothing threaten him with.

He nodded briskly towards Hurik. "This way, then." Gesturing towards the path he had first chosen, they set off.

The heat rose as they walked, but the streets widened, dark shadowy places stretching out further than could be guessed. Places the Isur wasn't interested in exploring. The fire burnt out, replaced by more shadows. Out from one emerged an old lady, bones protruding from stretched and wrinkled skin. She moved closer to the Isur, reaching out as if she needed balance. "My boy, help an old lady out, will you? My joints are old, I can't seem to find a way out of here." She gave a groan, letting her arm wrap around his body. Vacielli grabbed her elbows, trying to steady her, while she reached for his pockets, searching for a purse.

He was too distracted to notice, and so much more distracted to notice the real reason for her approaching. A gang of three fairly young men crept up from the shadows, old knives or shards of glass in their hands and looks in their eyes that could only really be described as desperate. Perhaps the Isur wouldn't notice them, but the ghost could easily. Of course, it wasn't guaranteed whether he'd bother to say or do anything. As a ghost, he wouldn't need to care.



The fire, other than the immediate inconvenience and scorching heat, didn't bother the girls much. It was a little worse for Ambrosia, with a rising coughing and hoarse breathing that came more forcefully as she moved through the obstacles.

They navigated them easily enough.

As they reached the building, their only pathway up, a voice called out. Ambrosia would recognise it as the woman's voice she had heard earlier. Only, this time, Madeira and Jomi would be able to hear it too. "Hello? Are you there? Please come!"

It was definitely close. Very, very close. In fact, if they made their way up the building, clambering on the protruding window frames and strange architectural features, they'd be able to see a figure too, standing back to them and hood up. All they had to do was shuffle along the narrow pass-way, and they'd reach the rooftop she was standing on.

Between them and the figure though, lay several narrow looking balconies, a few tiny overhanging rooftops, and washing lines hung with clothing that looked years old. They'd only have to travel five or six metres, but carefully, until they could find a good way to climb up further, to the very top.

Only once they were there they'd be able to realise why the figure hadn't moved much from where she stood. Above, seemingly hanging in mid-air, was a trapdoor. A trapdoor that wasn't budging for her. The figure wrapped her cloak around her tight, masking her face and keeping her back and side towards the women that approached. When she spoke, she made an effort to hide her voice, but the high pitched female's voice would remind Madeira of someone, some young frightened woman...

"I can't get it to move. Please... help."

[Jomi]

Jomi could feel the impishness that coloured Madeira thoughts before she push his soul aside. He was forced to watch in seething resentment as she wound up her arm and copped a feel of the barmaids rear, causing Ambrosia’s face to light up in embarrassment.

That's for the titless comment.

I hate your guts. Jomi snapped bitterly in Madeira’s head. And you still look like a prepubescent boy in a dress.

Madeira allowed him back to share control of the body and together they crouched and side-stepped around the burning debris. Using Jomi’s memory and Madeira’s dexterity and muscle control to artfully navigate the burning passage.

“Ambrosia!” Although it was Madeira that called out to her, the voice sounded deeper, with a faint Keshian tilt. “Follow us. And step where we step! You got this!”

Unable to feel the heat or the sting from the burning ash Jomi was able to focus entirely on the path ahead. Pushing ahead when Madeira courage faltered and sitting back as Madeira reminded them to breathe. Their passage was easy enough, save for the jump across the burning coals. Jomi’s heart leapt into their collective throat as Ambrosia fell back, he instinctively shot Madeira’s hand out to help the blonde woman as she kicked herself away from the burning coals, only to have her slap it away. Jomi regarded her quizzically, sure he had caught a glimpse of malice in her eyes before Madeira marched them on ahead to the sea of fire.

"Hello? Are you there? Please come!"

Holy petch, is that a person?

Jomi could make out the back of a cloaked woman atop the burning buildings, voice tight and anxious. Jomi forged ahead with renewed vigour, eager to find out if this is the person they’re looking for so they could all focus instead on getting out of this hellscape.

Jomi and Madeira carefully pick their way up the cracked and splinted wall, testing the bricks and windowsills before easing their weight onto it and clawing their way onto the top of the building.

Once both of the women were safely atop the first building Jomi eased his was out of Madeira. A pearlescent white mist lifted off her figure as Jomi pealed himself off her bones and rode her exhale out of her lungs. He condensed his mist in front of them into a lithe dark haired man, Pulling his mist into his core and giving himself the semblance of shape in the light of the fire.

“I never got this far, we’re going in blind.” Jomi addressed the women bluntly. “I’ll travel ahead and try to guild you down the safest route.”

Jomi coached the women across the balconies and up another wall, mists jittering anxiously at every jump and tricky step. Jomi found himself truly nervous as he watched the women; he didn’t want them to get hurt. A uncomfortable new emotion for the normally standoffish ghost that left him wrong footed and hyperaware.

Once the last of the obstacles had been cleared and the trio stood on the same level as the new woman Jomi moved to investigate.

"I can't get it to move. Please... help."

Craning his neck up Jomi spied a trapdoor, nothing seemed to be supporting it, but such a small trick didn’t shake the seasoned Alvad. What was more interesting was the fact that the woman was going though great pains to hide herself. Pulling her cloak tighter around her face while keeping her back to them like a toddler who hasn’t figured out how hide-and-seek works yet. It made sense that the person that the Master smith was trying so hard to keep secret, even from the people tasked to look from them, would try to hide their identity in turn. But the entire situation and the secrecy that surrounded it still had Jomi on edge.

Soundlessly Jomi floated up to inspect the trapdoor, leaving the women to deal with the newcomer.

[Hurik]

The party had decided to split up, and Madeira had agreed with his idea. A warm and fuzzy feeling spread through his chest at the words that she spoke to Vacielli of him, and the feeling tripled when she came over and personally thanked him. The memory of how she had been earlier that winter had had him worried.

Madeira roughly grabbed his beard and wrenched his head down in front of her face, and she threatened him. An older beast in him resisted this, pulled against it, and Hurik felt a flash of unbridled rage colour his features for just a moment, before he stopped himself, feeling how her grip was as rigid as iron. Just as hard to break, as the soulmist-infused teeth of the Myrian who had bit into his throat at Ionu's Wager. The memory of how Madeira had dealt with, or quite actually hadn't dealt with that situation, set a cold pit of anger in his stomach.

Hurik was turning over different ideas of how to capture that same horrible feeling of helplessness in his Mistress to make her understand, when he she kissed him on the cheek. The pit of anger cracked, and butterflies spilled for in their stead, leaving Hurik feeling light-headed, the feeling of those lips burning like a brand on his cheek. And finally, they departed. A last comment about Hurik's hands being exactly the opposite of what they were; good.

Vacielli's no-nonsense tone pulled Hurik out of his stupor and he got up to walk alongside and slightly behind the man. His mind was still turning over the baffling whirlwind of emotions Madeira had just stirred up within him in a span of about ten ticks. Unfocused as he was, his materialization frayed and tattered back down the the composite strands of Soulmist that embodied Hurik on the physical plane. To any untrained onlookers, Vacielli would appear to be unaccompanied, surrounded by the ever present smoke and dirty air that was the common element in the Underground at the moment.

Hurik was thought about the feel of the kiss. Was it chaste, a simple turn of etiquette? Hurik snorted inwardly, as his mistress was hardly a pioneer in the field of manners. But it couldn't be lustful either, given that she'd kissed his cheek, and not his lips. She couldn't possibly think of him as a brother or a son, could she? Perhaps an uncle then? But you don't threaten your relations with being dusted right before you reaffirm your love for them! Actually, Hurik paused and thought about it. That did actually sound like something his mistress would do. Either way, Hurik's musing was interrupted by the screeching of an old hag who was inexpertly pickpocketing Vacielli, an imbecile who couldn't tell that he was being robbed blind by a harpy with the shakes.

Hurik started to chuckle at the sight, but the shadows began to move. Hurik didn't care if the man lost his own wealth in paying for his own stupidity, but he could not allow Vacielli to be overcharged for something as worthless as his own idiocy. He could not be allowed to pay with his life. Hurik realized the Underground had gotten quite a lot darker, but three young wretches were closing in on the Isur. All armed, though not with terribly effective weapons. Still, Hurik didn't need to be a tactical mastermind to know with cold certainty that his charge had no chance in a fight. Action had to be taken, and quickly.

"Vacielli! Beat the shyke out of that old whore! She's robbing you blind! And watch your flanks, there are three shyke-shovellers trying to kill you!"

Duly warned, Hurik left Vacielli to engage in a mighty duel with the spindly grandmother, and blinked into the nearest wretch, a young man with a rusty knife who had been closest to Vacielli as well. He crushed down the boy's will with overwhelming force, not holding back in the slightest. This was not Madeira, his protector and mistress, who was to be respected. This was a worm, to crush beneath his boot, and to dominate with all the violence and brutality of a caravan attack.

Hurik saw red. His rage was finally granted an untainted outlet. The Vapours did not rush in, and Hurik felt hot with emotion, wanting to revenge himself upon those who would kill thoughtlessly. Distantly, in an almost exterior manner to himself, Hurik remarked that it was as if he were trying to destroy the man he used to be. Despite all his fury, Hurik felt like he was trying to keep sand from slipping through his fingers. He tried to hold on, tried to impose his will again, but in doing so, he felt the momentum shoving him backward gain ground and finally expel him.

The attacker had been given pause, but aside from being startled, he was most certainly still in control of his body, and about to reassert his lethal intent. And in the ticks that that folly had cost Hurik, the other two had gotten within pouncing distance. Hurik blinked back to Vacielli's side and said with as calm and authoritative tone as possible, "Vacielli, you need to allow me to possess you, and grant me full control. I need you to cooperate with me if you want to make it out of here alive."

Without waiting for an answer, Hurik began to possess the Isur, using the gentler means he used with Madeira, which also appeared to have the distinction of having more finesse to it, and consequently a better chance of success. If by the grace of the gods, Hurik possessed Vacielli successfully, then he would begin their collective onslaught by shoving the woman back into the attacker he'd tried to possess.

[Madeira Dusk]

Madeira was panting like a dog. Each breath sucked in lungfulls of hot air and ash. Her skin was tight and hot like a sunburn, and the smell of ash and metal was stuck deep in her pores. She scrubbed sweat from her eyes with her sleeve, and moaned to see the climb that awaited them.

The voice, calling with a high, desperate thrum, emanated from a point high above their heads, on the roof of a nearby building. Like everything in the Underground the building was old, warped and cracked like a decayed tooth. Window ledges, balconies and protruding bricks all worked together to make a cat burglars wet dream, but any climbing at all was too much for the weak city girl.

Luckily, the ghost in her body knew what it took to be a thief. Madeira flexed the grace of her and Jomi's possession, and a lifetime of muscle memory flooded through her body. She looked up at the tall, impassable building again and with Jomi's knowledge flowing into their shared mind she could see the path forward as clearly as if it were marked with signs. Her own knowledge of the limitations of her body, the height, and reach of her arms, folded into it, and together the route was cut and shaped for her size.

Madeira cracked her knuckles and prepared to climb. With a minute movement she was about to turn to Ambrosia and offer the barmaid a boost to the first ledge, but the memory of the cold glare in her eye as she knocked Jomi's help away made her reconsider. She cleared her throat uncomfortably, shot Ambrosia a concerned look, and fit her leather shoe into the first foothold.

The way forward was laid out, but it didn't make it less difficult. Narrow arms that had never done manual labor in her life were expected to hold her weight as she clambered onto protruding architecture and balanced on narrow ledges. Baby soft palms that had never had callous wept as she clung to the hot metal and rough brickwork. When she felt her endurance waning she let Jomi take the lead, trusting him to work past the pain he couldn't feel.

When at last both women had made it to the roof, Madeira was exhausted and raw. Every muscle was at once liquid mush and wound like a spring, and her hands and knees through her clothes were red and white with feathered skin. While she was gasping for breath Jomi detangled their graceful possession and she let him, relishing the chance to nurse her jangled nerves in private.

But the relief didn't last long, as the ghost took it upon himself to guide them along the last handful of meters to the adjoining rooftop. Without Jomi's knowledge to guide her hand and push her through the threshold of her endurance, Madeira had to rely on his outward support. She grit her teeth and followed his instructions as best she could, looking behind her every few feet to make sure Ambrosia was still there.

With the city on fire below them and the throbbing blood moon above, the rooftops collected angry red light and flickering, inconsistent shadows. Between the haze of heat and belches of black smoke they could just see someone standing on the roof, pushing against a trapdoor suspended in empty air. As they clambered across the gap onto the other rooftop, more details began to show. It was a woman in a hooded cloak with a high, feminine voice that stirred feelings of recognition in the Spiritist. The stranger was turned away, her voice cracking as she struggled to twist it into something unrecognizable.

The feeling of recognition merely burned brighter to see the woman go to such lengths to hide herself. Who was she?

She couldn't lift it, the stranger said. She needed help. Jomi immediately drifted up through the trap door to see what was blocking the way.

"Good, thank you, Jomi!" Madeira called through the solid wood. "Tell us what you see, then go find our... friends. Let them know what we found." Then she turned to the stranger and gave her her best reassuring smile, though she wouldn't be able to see it with her back turned.

"It's okay." she soothed, edging closer to the woman. "I'm Madeira, this here is Ambrosia, and that was Jomi who just disappeared. We were sent to look for you. We are going to get you out."

She did not mention Vacielli, and the ghost that was escorting him. If the woman mistakenly thought the three of them were the people directly responsible for her recovery, that this mismatch of a group were the first people the city came to looking for help, it might make her trust them.

But how did she know this woman? There was something familiar about the fear in her voice, she felt like. And while she came across enough frightened people in her line of work that this was not altogether unusual, this one stuck out. A memory of a shimmer of golden hair and red lips chewed at her mind, and Madeira made a rash decision.

"And this is Olivia Martin." she moved her shoulders to indicate the empty space behind her, but watched the hood of the cloak for any sign of movement.

It was a wild grasp on an unproven hunch. There was one Roger Martin and his young blonde paramour in the Garden of No Return, back when Madeira was paralyzed, that had a clandestine affair and made a terrible mistake. The couple had been caught and attacked by Roger's late wife, Olivia. Madeira and a young artist called Penny and saved them by the skin of their teeth, and they never saw the blonde woman again. It was wildly unlikely, but Madeira dropped the name of her attempted killer and watched for a shocked turn of the head, a gasp of recognition, a carelessly slipped lock of gold hair, anything.

x

[Ambrosia Alar]

The heat was starting to get to Ambrosia now with the way it sucked the moisture out of the air and left her lungs feeling worn and ragged like paper left to desiccate and crack. As Madeira placed her foot to start the climb upward, a cough refused to be stifled any more, and the barmaid winced at the unpleasant sensation. Lurking just where she couldn’t do anything about it, a tickle built in her throat, causing her to cough again every few ticks. Each cough brought a brief twinge but also a much needed relief. Despite each cough, Ambrosia kept her eyes focused on every step Madeira took. She wanted to follow a sure, proven path up the side of these buildings. In her younger years, Ambrosia had scaled plenty of buildings in her curiosity-driven adventures with her sisters, but the last time she had done so had been nearly a decade ago. Her arms and legs did not remember the weight of her own body. That, or it had changed enough as she had grown up that what they remembered were wrong. Once Madeira was a body length and a half above her, Ambrosia set her foot on the first foothold and reached her hand up to find the first ledge Madeira had used to pull herself up. It was the top of a window frame that jutted uncomfortably out of the side of the building. It was wholly out of place, not even with any of the other windows on its level and designed in complete disregard to the architecture of the others. The entirety of the building, when Ambrosia really considered it, was this way. It was patched together, each piece lacking most anything else that could tie it together with any other part. That seemed to be the way of Alvadas, and it made sense that its Underground should be no different. As she continued to follow Madeira steps by step and handhold by handhold, she realized that her arms were not accustomed to holding up her weight. Only a few body lengths up the side of the building, Ambrosia felt her arms burning and the strength of her grip quickly weakening. Finding a ledge wider than most, Ambrosia pulled herself on to it and leaned against the wall, giving her hands a break while keeping her eye on Madeira’s path. Her work at the bar gave her a good short term memory, and the path was etched into her mind long enough for her to take her much needed break before following Madeira upward. Part way up the path she was following, Ambrosia ran into a difficulty. A ledge that Madeira had selected for a part of her climb was too narrow for Ambrosia to stand upon. Titless. Jomi’s evaluation of Madeira’s body, while crude, was accurate, and her boyish figure allowed her to hug the walls more tightly. Ambrosia, while not particularly chesty, still struggled as she tried to balance on the miniscule ledge. Feeling herself begin to teeter backward, Ambrosia allowed herself to slip back down to the previous foothold, feeling sorry for herself once again that the world was not aligning itself to her goals, that life was not easy. It was up to her now to find her own way up, and silently, she cursed Madeira for dragging her along on this adventure. It took her a few moments, but Ambrosia soon realized Madeira had never invited her and that the decision to join the spiritist had been completely her own. She switched to cursing herself as she spied a ledge a few windows over that was wider. There was another clear path to follow up from there that intersected with Madeira’s a few stories up, but in order to get to that ledge, Ambrosia was going to have to back track. Looking down, she quickly looked back at the wall in front of her and leaned into it as a wave of vertigo swept over her. Don’t look down. Never look down. It’s a bad idea. That was a rule she and her sisters had made in their adventurous days of climbing and exploring. They had decided it was better to use their memory to backtrack, because looking down tended to eat away at one’s courage. Remembering where her previous foot hold had been, Ambrosia lowered herself toward it and felt for it with her foot. Once she found it, she repeated the process until she was where she could follow her new path up. The scaling of the wall took longer than Ambrosia would have liked, and her arms burned terribly when she finally pulled herself up to the final ledge. Jomi darted ahead to investigate the trap door that hung suspended in the sky just where a person’s arms could reach it while Madeira introduced the three of them and someone else who wasn’t present. Olivia Martin? Who in the Hai is that? Ambrosia was certain this was Madeira playing the situation to fit her agenda, whatever that may be. Bitterness built in Ambrosia again as she wandered up to the trap door to see what she could do and the woman they had come to help ducked her head away. The instinct to gain the other woman’s trust surfaced in Ambrosia, and she tried to pull the smile into her eyes, the only part of her exposed, only to find she couldn’t muster the sincerity. So she did what she had truly felt like doing all along and shot the woman a vehement glare. Part of Ambrosia wanted to yell at the woman, tell her to go eat shit. Part of her wanted to shove the woman off the roof and be done with this all. Neither seemed to be very wise options, so Ambrosia wandered to the door and gave it a shove. It didn’t budge. “Ionu, you asshole,” she muttered. “You’ve been getting in my way since the beginning. Go eat shit.” She shoved against the door again and cursed as the bee stung her thigh through the material of her dress.