Mag Paget, Shotgun Knight (clippedwing) wrote in emillion, @ 2014-03-22 12:43:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, !log, aspel cassul, magnolia paget |
i don't give a damn 'bout my bad reputation.
Who: Mag & Aspel
What: First meetings & trouble.
Where: Somewhere near the Ordalian desert
When: 2007
Rating: R for violence & mercenaries killing people.
Status: Complete.
Mag rested the butt of her spear next to her foot and glanced at her employer out of the corner of her eye. If the man had been sweating when they'd arrived some twenty minutes ago, he was now threatening to become a puddle on the floor. She checked the time; the buyer was supposed to arrive at any moment and, seeing the nervousness on her employer's face, she was finding it harder and harder to believe that this was just a regular business transaction. The man had said he was just a glass merchant (a perfect cover for Ordalia, where the glass exports fed half the population), but Mag's father had been a glass merchant, and from the minimal explanations he'd given her after hiring her, she gathered he knew as much about glassblowing as she knew about dancing the polka. Yet even if he was a terrible liar, he didn't seem a bad sort, and escort jobs were usually simple and reasonably well-paid, one reason why she tended to favor them. Merchants often hired guards because they wanted to impress their buyers or because they were paranoid, and rarely out of true need for protection. This guy seemed to be the second sort; Mag could hardly think of what sort of business deal required the presence of five heavily-armored (and by the looks of them, well-trained) guards, but she was perfectly okay with getting paid without having to risk her neck. The sound of several approaching hoverbikes seemed to indicate the arrival of the mysterious buyer. Her employer was now sweating even more profusely than he had been before, and he gave a startle as the door of the warehouse opened. Mag tightened her grip on the spear, just in case. She had been sure the job would be a simple affair, but the group who sauntered in were anything but merchants. Their attire was not the fashion of Ordalia, and no merchants she knew carried guns, at least not where anyone could see them. Mag kept a relaxed stance, but watched them carefully as they approached. She suspected the man had hired her because of her Dragon Rider status, but in truth, she was at a disadvantage fighting inside the warehouse; she could hardly execute a Jump indoors, and Warwick wouldn't be much help even if she summoned him, unless they managed to lock the buyers inside the warehouse while her employer and the guards fled and then let Warwick burn the place to ashes. Somehow, she doubted she would get paid her wage after destroying her employer's wares, so she hoped she wouldn't need to resort to that plan. "That's far enough!" the merchant said, his voice shaking, and his guards dropped into battle stances, weapons drawn. Then the buyers, or whoever they were, drew their guns too, and Mag swore under her breath. Might need a dashing rescue after all. This all seemed like trouble. From the first words out of the man's mouth, to the second she said she'd take on the mission, to the strange walk they'd taken to accompany him, to.... This. Something gnawed at her gut the entire time, though, the Fell Knight found herself hard pressed to care. If this was to be her end, after enduring all she had, so be it. It seemed a funny thing, a simple glass trade would require all this security? When she'd asked to see one of the man's pieces, professing a fondness for art and the beauty it brought, she was laughed off. At first, she'd considered if maybe it was due to her appearance, or her brief conversation that the man didn't give her much credit, though now, it was becoming alarmingly clear that this whole thing was a scam. Well, he wasn't the only one who had lied. The conversation had almost been hilarious, her telling him she was a knight, him asking what a knight would be taking up missions like this for, her trying to get a better idea for of what like this precisely meant and the both of them never really getting all the answers they wanted in the end. Though, with his startle, with the guards dropping into battle stances and drawing guns, with the clear problem invoked by the presence of those descending upon them, with the sweat drenched clothing of the man that hired them... Too many signals, too many clues. It was warm out for a night in this area, but not that warm. It only reconfirmed her notion of trouble was the only way out. A low "Heh." slipped out, her gaze falling, eyes closing for a moment with a shake of her head. Taking a step forward, a tossing back of her cloak - but not releasing it - would reveal the jet black full plate, a strange symbol raised upon its chest, and one hand fell back, pulling a sledgehammer up, and out, from the holster it rested in at the back of her hip. The head of the hammer rose into the air before her arm lowered it again. A single hand remained wrapped around the hilt, high up near the head, and Aspel took a few careless - and fearless - steps forward, towards the men without thought, her posture painfully relaxed, the faintest of smirks tugging at her lips as her helmet remained tucked away in her pack. "Would you really care to shoot a Fell Knight?" She couldn't help the strangely twisted amusement littering the tone of her voice. Mag was holding onto a vain hope that all present might suddenly remember their manners and put away their weapons. Then one of the other guards took a step to the front and unholstered the biggest sledgehammer Mag had ever seen. She stood unfazed by the gun trained on her as if the whole situation amused her. A Fell Knight. And batshit crazy, from the looks of it. From what Mag knew, Fell Knights could draw strength from their wounds, but somehow she doubted this woman would be able to take advantage of a bullet between the eyes. Still, the men in front of her seemed somewhat intimidated, and if they were easily fazed, perhaps a battle could be avoided. Whether they suceeded or not, bluffing was a remarkable improvement on her previous plan, so, making sure her amulet was visible (in case the characteristic Dragoon armor wasn't enough), Mag took a step forward. Two of the men immediately aimed their guns at her. She thought of the condescending looks Warwick had been giving her for as long as she'd known him and drew her inspiration from those. With a visible yawn, she twirled her spear idly, as if she didn't feel threatened enough by them to drop into a guard stance. In reality, she was watching their every move, and was ready to attack if any of them tried anything funny. Nodding her head at the Fell Knight, Mag said, "She asked a question. Please decide if you're going to shoot her or not, won't you?" She rolled her eyes and added, "I have plans this evening, and I would hate to be late." Next to Mag, her employer let out a whimper and placed his hands in front of his chest as if to beg mercy. Well, at least the plan's working on someone, she thought. Would have been peachy if it'd been these guys. But even if they weren't cowering in fear, at least one of them had realized what she was. Perhaps he'd convince the others to leave quietly and then she could take her payment and go have a drink. "L-let's all c-calm down," her employer stuttered. "Listen, Fergus, I have the goods you asked for, and you have my p-payment, right? So let's just d-do the exchange a-and be on our way, okay? Seven hundred gil, and then you can take the crates, and it'll be over. Yes?" Mag barely managed to keep the surprise off her face. Seven hundred gil? What the hell was in the crates? Fergus, if that was his name, didn't seem too pleased either. He thumbed off the safety on his gun and trained it on her employer's face. "I must have misheard you just now. How much did you say?" The merchant squealed and took a hundred off his previous price. "Wrong again. Maybe I'll just kill your guards and take the crates myself, hmm?" A battle seemed unavoidable now. And since she'd put on the tough act, she might as well go all the way with it, and intimidate the guy's associates if she couldn't intimidate the leader. "In that case, be so kind as to wait here," Mag said. "I will fetch the crates myself and smash them open on your heads, so that you may inspect their contents." "HA!" Her head fell back slightly, shoulders of the black full plate shaking with the low chuckles. "Really? 700 Gil? For what? Glass? Have you looked at the amount of sand around us." Her free hand swung easily to gesture to the terrain around them. Good thing the men with guns weren't too jumpy, otherwise she might have just gotten herself shot five times over. However, these guys didn't look like amateurs. Their grips were positioned properly, fingers laced along the guns like they had experience with such weaponry. The stances in which they stood could easily be dropped back, to provide proper weight and firmness to absorb the kick back of the guns. They weren't dealing with just any group of fools here. That was perhaps what made this the most interesting event of her recent nights. "For that price, it had better be grenades that throw glass shrapnel in those crates." Choking up on the hilt of the sledgehammer, it was used to gesture back towards the crates. Of course, the man's state and stuttering would be caught out of the corner of her eye. "It would seem we are all quite calm." There was a smile on the Fell Knight's face. "Now gentlemen, if you would care to put down those guns before you bring terrible harm upon yourselves, that would make all our nights much easier. Cleaning blood from black armor is a terrible chore." A face would be made, something more annoyed by the thought of having to clean her armor than actually bothered by the possible buck shot she would need to be picking from her body if they did indeed decide that firing was best. "One more chance." Came the absent warning to the gunners across from them. "Then we shall encounter the 'or else' option of this night." Definitely batshit crazy. And though their combined bravado seemed to have put a dent in the confidence of some of the men, their leader did not seem the type to choose caution over pride and walk away from a battle. Mag considered their situation. Five guards against seven gunmen and, for added fun, they would have to keep an eye on the merchant to make sure he didn't get in the path of a wayward blade or bullet. She hated fighting in close quarters, but the odds could have been worse, and if any of the other guards turned out to be incompetent, Mag was pretty sure either she or the Fell Knight could pick up the slack. Sledgehammer like that, she could probably knock out two opponents with one swing. "We will encounter it, all right." It seemed the leader of the group felt the taunts had gone on long enough. "We'll encounter it right now. You all drop your weapons and let us take the cargo, or else," he fired a shot that grazed the side of the merchant's face, "my next shot won't miss." There was a loud thump as the merchant fainted. Well, screw this all to hell. Before the other thugs could react, Mag dropped into a low guard in front of the guy aiming his gun at her face and thrust up with her spear. The blade at the tip sliced open the guy's neck and he tried to shoot her with the last of his energy. She sidestepped and kicked him on top of his comrade. Without stopping to check if she'd managed to destabilize the other guy, she vaulted over a row of stacked crates behind her, where she could take cover from the gunners and hopefully be forgotten in the ensuing massacre. Her spear was useless in close quarters, but she could ambush her enemies while they were engaged in battle with the other guards. Immediately the warehouse was filled with the sound of gunshots and blades slicing through flesh, and half a dozen voices shouting orders or grunting in pain. Out of the corner of her vision, Mag saw one of the guards drop to the ground, lifeless. His opponent saw her too, and turned his weapon on her. He was too far for a stabbing attack, but medium- to long-range attacks were her speciality; she grasped her spear at its balance point, lined up, focused on her target and threw. A shot rang nearby. The spear impaled the man through his torso and nailed him to the wall behind his back. Seeing his gun had clattered to the floor, but taking care not to walk into a trap in case he retained sufficient strength to stab her with a hidden knife, Mag moved in to recover her weapon. As she stepped forth, she felt her left leg falter and almost give out, but she managed to keep her balance. She wrenched the spear free and stabbed the man again, just to be on the safe side. Certain that he was dead, she looked down at the puddle of blood at their feet and saw red flow from a hole in her armor at knee height. Fuck. How much of the blood on the floor was hers? She was in the middle of casting Cure on herself when someone shouted, "Watch out!" She turned, putting most of her weight on her uninjured leg, just in time to see another thug with his gun levelled at her torso. She muttered an entreaty to her half-healed knee to not give out on her and moved to skewer the man at the same time as he pulled the trigger. Then one of the guards -- presumably the one who'd shouted the warning -- ran the guy through with his sword. Just barely, Mag managed to turn her thrust into a miss to avoid killing her ally. Her savior stared at her, wide-eyed. "Holy Faram! He got you! Are you okay?" He wasn't looking at her knee, though; his eyes were on her shoulder, which was also bleeding. Fortunately, it seemed like a shallow wound. She pulled out a healing potion and shouted, "Cover me for a sec," and chugged the flask's contents in one go. "Or else it is." Came the response, a dark colored and brief chuckle slipping from her lips as the men progressed upon them, and instead of dash for cover, backing away or trying to disable the men, Aspel moved forward. For a Fell Knight, the only defense they had was a devastating offensive, and with both hands falling to grasp at the hammer's hilt, enough space between the two to provide both control and power behind it, she swung. The Hammer was brutal, and effective, rending a limb in twain from elbow down, the gun being sent flying. A wicked laugh sounded in the air as the hammer head swirled in the air, the briefest loop made to bring it back around before it would be raised into the air again. With the hammer up, the black armor would shoulder block the man who screamed at his half removed limb, knocking him back and putting her more firmly within the midst of the fight. Part of the problem for the gunners was that firing at someone who was within the thick of your own group, was the chance at hitting your own men. Unfortunately for Aspel, that didn't appear to be quite as troublesome for them as she'd hoped. A gunshot rang clear, and the sound of the metal of her armor bending and twisting, the feel of heat and a searing pain ripped through her leg. Thankfully, it didn't feel deep, and even if it did, what did that really matter anymore? As long as the leg continued to function, to allow her to complete her goal, then nothing else really would much matter. While she was on a mission, and her own pride wouldn't allow her to just toss off the shackles of the agreement without concern, these other people, in theory could handle each other, they could protect, defend, and fight. At least, that was what she told herself, even though some piece of the Fell Knight, deep down inside of herself begged and pleaded, much like a locked away prisoner that the rest would be okay, that they would be able to defeat, destroy, to dispatch the threat, and that none would need a casket by the end of this day. Perhaps, she could do something to assist with that part at least. "Darkness undoes!" This time when the hammer head came down there was no body it aimed for, no one person her attack sought out, but instead, a summoning of darkness, a ball of it collecting on top of her, wrapping around and inside of her body. The Dark had always been strangely warm, welcoming to her, the pain and suffering of it familiar, a welcome respite to toss of her own fears and struggles into. When calling upon Unholy Sacrifice - the most powerful attack in her repertoire - the darkness was the most obvious. There was just enough time for a grin to cross her face - the feeling of bones cracking and her muscles and insides struggling underneath the force all too familiar - before the darkness blasted outwards, striking all enemies within range with highly powerful dark magicks. For those damaged, they were likely to fall; for those full of life, even they may be reduced to cowering down and struggling with their wounds as Dark magick attempted to rend their bodies apart. Her stance was rigid in its half held position, slowly - her expression only cracking mildly under the severe damage she had just caused to herself - Aspel righted her posture. "Now I ask again." Her voice bellowed across the field, protected in attempts to overcome any more gun blasts they might linger. "Would you like to put your weapons down?" The look in her eyes at this point was deadly, and her grip on the sledgehammer firm. "I can do that again if you need time to make up your mind." A wicked grin pulled at her lips before she spoke once more, this time, the words almost seemed a twisted taunt. "Or we can try something else." Mag threw away the empty flask and adopted a guard stance to help out the other guard with the remaining enemies. Three down, four to go, and they'd teamed up against the Fell Knight. Mag was on her way to assist when the Fell Knight swung that monstrosity of a sledgehammer and slammed the head against the floor. From the point of impact, a surge of bone-chilling energy exploded outwards and engulfed the four gunners. The air filled with their screams, and they dropped to the ground, dead or soon to be. And she'd only needed one attack. Sweet Faram dancing on a pole. Mag thanked her lucky stars the attack had happened before she'd reached the Fell Knight to help; if she'd been in range of that particular bit of magick... "Don't think you'll need to do that again," Mag said, walking over. "They're dead. See?" She stabbed the nearest corpse through the neck, and at the ensuing gasp of pain, added, "Well. Mostly dead." She sunk her spear into his flesh again, for good measure, and did the same to the other three bodies, just in case they'd somehow managed to withstand the Fell Knight's attack. Better safe than shot in the back when you weren't looking. Once she was certain the battle was over, Mag woke up the merchant, who, upon seeing the butchered corpses that littered the warehouse floor, was on the verge of fainting again. She managed to get him standing and, face pale as a sheet, he handed each of them their payment, plus the money that would have gone to the two dead guards, and left them to split it amongst themselves while he went off to be violently sick in a corner. Mag set to inspecting the gunmen's pockets, and found what she was looking for -- four sets of keys, and more money, which she gave to the merchant to cheer him up somewhat. "So," she said, turning to the other two. "There are four recently-orphaned hoverbikes out there, and I'm getting out of here and going for drinks. You two coming?" "I'll take one of the bikes, but Faram forbid I go anywhere with a Fell Knight." The third guard looked almost as shaken as their employer. He grabbed a set of keys and opened the door to the warehouse. "No offense, Dragoon. Faram's light guide you." "None taken. More alcohol for us." Mag shrugged and turned to the Fell Knight. "I lied about having plans before, you know. I'd rather drink with a hume than drink under the reprobing glare of a grumpy wyvern." As she was talking, she noticed the way the Fell Knight was standing. She stood proud, but Mag didn't miss the way she let the sledgehammer support her weight. Like she was barely holding together. Had she hurt herself to power her attack? Mag shook her head and threw her a healing potion. "One for the road." Then, with a nod to the door of the warehouse, she asked, "So, you coming, or am I to have the most depressing Friday night in recorded history?" Aspel couldn't help but clear her throat at the words spoken by her companion on this mission. "Mm. Too bad." Though really not having to use another Unholy Sacrifice was perhaps one of the biggest blessings she could have possibly asked for in a moment like this. Really, she could have only managed one more before either she'd need to start spamming cures, or repeating sanguine sword - and praying no bones healed incorrectly - until she didn't feel like the dark had turned her insides into paste. A low chuckle would emerge as the Dragoon, at least that was Aspel's guess - they seemed the most common spear users in her experience - stabbed and prodded at the men. "Seems so." Lifting the hammer up, it was examined for a moment, the brutal bludgeoning strikes seemed to have impacted it little, yet, that was commonly the case. It was a highly offensive weapon and worked well with that in mind. Defense, on the other hand, would end up being a bit more tricky at best with such. When it was left to tossing off blows, or pushing them back with a handle of such a weapon, it became much more challenging to not have your fingers and hands smashed. Though really, the weapon was meant to offer as much intimidation, and fear - one some level - as the class of the owner. The idea of fighting against something, or someone, who was going to employ the tactic of breaking you apart by a series of savage strikes wasn't exactly what most people ever wanted to deal with, or their ends to be engulfed in broken bones and crushed bodies. That, paired with Fell Knight status, had diverted many fights in her life. Sometimes, for that, Aspel was thankful and other times... It was more than a bit disappointing. The sudden offer of the hoverbikes, while brilliant also caused Aspel to give pause. However, before she would have a chance to speak, the other companion of theirs was off like a shot. "May Faram bless your travels." Was all she would openly say, the faintest hint of smile pulling at the corner of her lips while the other evacuated. Eyes trailed after the third for a moment, listening to the other woman briefly before the Fell Knight's attention would turn fully to her. "Did you?" Amusement lingered across her features. "I fear I disagree. Living seems as though it would be a terribly important plan to keep." A glance was given to the previous gunners, mangled on the ground. "It is unfortunate they did not understand the same." The sudden toss of the potion caused a moment of hesitance before her free hand snapped out, snatching the vial out of the air. Her gaze fell, considering the item in her hand for a moment before an idle shrug was earned, and Aspel thumbed off the cap, letting it fall in the ground at her feet before downing the contents of the container. The Fell Knight's face twisted unpleasantly at the taste, a faint frown pulling at her lips. "One would think they could manage to make these things taste even remotely appealing." With that, she allowed the container to fall to the ground without much thought. "I fear I know not how to drive one of these devices," A hand gestured towards the inside of the building. "but I can offer you curative magicks before you leave if they are needed." The hammer was slipped back into its holster, and a glance given down at the men before she bent forward, removing whatever ammo they had carried from them, and sliding their eyelids down to cover their lifeless eyes. "The way your armor is damaged, I would find it unusual that a single potion would take care of such." Mag saw the disgusted expression on the Fell Knight's face and laughed at the comment that accompanied it. "It's an acquired taste, I'm told. Not that I've acquired it yet." She held out her hand. "Name's Mag, by the way. "As for transport, there is one other option, but it'll be a much bumpier ride." She'd never asked Warwick to carry anyone aside from herself and the occasional wounded fighter, and couldn't imagine he'd be very happy about it. "The hoverbikes are a better idea, I'm afraid. You can ride with me, if you want, and I'll show you how it works." She tossed the keys to the remaining two bikes next to the merchant's crates. They only needed one, and the Fell Knight could take it with her after she learned to drive it. Mag had no use for it; she found arriving at meeting places on dragonback made a much better impression and often encouraged her employers to offer higher wages. The Fell Knight's offer gave Mag pause. She examined the fracture made by the bullet on her shoulderguard; the wound looked shallow, and when she tried rotating her arm, she found she had full mobility. She reached down to feel the spot where the bullet had pierced her knee, and found there was an exit wound on the back of her knee, so there was no need to worry about having to pick out the bullet later. "These don't seem to be bleeding anymore." At least, not on the outside, she thought, and began to panic. Examining the front of her armor, she saw no more wounds, but perhaps someone had gotten her from behind. Shit. "Can you check if there are any wounds on my back?" she asked, turning to let the Fell Knight see the back of her armour. She hadn't noticed any attacks, but then, it wouldn't be the first time she got hurt and didn't find out until someone else pointed it out. "And I'll take you up on your offer." She had no idea if she needed a Cure or not, but it was better to err on the side of caution. "If anyone ever manages such a trick, I shall be the first in line to learn their mysterious ways." Aspel couldn't help the somewhat serious joke. She highly doubted she'd ever meet someone who enjoyed the taste of such a foul mixture, but really, more power to them if she ever did. Finishing up looting the bodies of appropriate ammunition she stood, turning to face the other woman fully. "Aspel." A gauntleted hand was offered out to shake as her hammer had been tucked away with what Ammo was salvageable. The thought of checking the gun chambers was rolled around but.. Maybe she'd be better off leaving those alone. Though one of the shotguns had looked rather nice. Assuming it hadn't been damaged in the fight, that was. Armored shoulders shrugged at the various options presented to her. Only then, were the edges of the cloak pulled at, dropping the heavy garment back into place to cover the jet black armor, and imposing weaponry. "I would be fine walking, but if you did indeed prefer company for drinks, which I am sorely in need of to clear the taste of potion from my mouth, I will abide by whichever form of transport you feel is best." Really, she was far too used to following others lead when not on the battlefield. While Aspel had become accustomed to being at the front of the pack after all her years with The Guard, she still had not been even a fraction of the leader Jead was. The sudden thought of him dug at her heart, the low constant ache feeling much more like a sharp and gaping wound for a few brief seconds before the feeling subsided. Why she had followed him this far, she still was not certain. Though, at least now she knew, that she could never have him the way she wanted. Her following was a lost cause, and her ability to step up to bat when she was needed most was... Faulty, at best. Aspel was not as dedicated as the other members of The Guard, she never would be able to be the Hero that the people needed, she would not make legend, she would not be one to help. The ache in her chest was steady, and she tried to keep the desperate depression, the defeat from her eyes. Instead, a faint smile pulled at her lips, even if she felt it was as fake as her dedication to the Guard. Had she been lying to herself all these years? Could she not be the person that others needed? Could she not help? Was the help The Guard offered really help? Booze. Liquor was the answer. Either her sorrows would drown, or she would, and Aspel found she didn't have the strength inside herself to be bothered by which came first. Brows furrowed, eyes narrowing and a hint of confusion rising. When the other woman shifted, turning her back and asking for Aspel to look over. "Everything appears fine." A pause was taken, considering the circumstances they had just encountered for a moment. "Are you well?" Maybe the question was impolite, but she couldn't help a tinge of curiosity that rose in her features and her voice. The question completely harmless, much like a person attempting to figure out a puzzle more than anything else. Regardless, with a shift in her stance and a leisurely wave of her hand words were mumbled. "Blessed Faram, mend our bodies and ease our pain." A white light zipped out, seeking Mag and mending some of her wounds, if any had remained. Mag shook hands with the Fell Knight -- Aspel -- and nodded. "Hoverbike it is." Even if she wasn't intending to keep it, it seemed wasteful to just leave it there looking lonely. And then there was the weather. It would get cooler when the sun went down, but at the moment, it was much too hot to walk, and it would take at least twenty minutes of walking to reach any bar that sold liquor deserving of the name. She didn't miss the shadow that crossed Aspel's face for a second. They'd just met, so she wasn't going to pry, but maybe finding a place with liquor good enough to cheer the other woman up would be her challenge for the evening. Aspel muttered the words to a healing spell, and Mag felt its warmth envelop her. Her wounds hadn't seemed that severe, as far as she'd been able to tell, but she could never determine the extent of the damage with accuracy (much less with her armor still on and getting in the way of examining the wound), so the Cure was welcome. "Thanks, Aspel." Mag saw the look of confusion on the other woman's face and couldn't help laughing. She'd lost count of how many times she'd been asked what was wrong with her that she needed to have others check her for wounds, and while some people had no tact when asking questions, it was obvious Aspel had been struggling to find a way to ask without seeming impolite. The puzzlement on her face made Mag smile as she said, "I have some unique circumstances. Tell you over drinks." With one last glance at the merchant that had employed their services, who was now sitting on the ground wiping his brow with a handkerchief, Mag walked out of the warehouse. The Ordalian sun was unforgiving as ever, and Mag placed a hand over her eyes to shield them as she walked over to the bikes. Finding the one that her set of keys belonged to, she mounted, making sure to leave enough room for Aspel to ride pillion, and checked the bike's controls. Mag had always loved heights and flying, and she'd had a hoverbike of her own a few years back, not too different from this one. It was what one of her friends in the DR would have called an "idiot bike": designed so even the least skilled of drivers could use it with ease. Mag was certain that even if Aspel had never handled a bike before, she could learn all she needed to know to drive this one before they even reached the bar. "As you wish." Was the simple reply with a brief nod of her head. It was easier to ignore her thoughts, push aside such simplistic and ignorant emotions while tending to whatever else was going on around her. With the curative magicks taken care of a hand shifted up and the cloak was briefly pulled at again, the action more absent than having a real purpose this time. Though..... The 'thanks' would earn a brief nod and the offered extended explanation garnished a low 'Mm' from Aspel. It would be the easiest way to go about things most likely in the end. While Mag had moved on, the Fell Knight paused, considering the situation, and what they had gotten into for all of this. How many were dead because of this man now? Over what? What was the purpose of this entire excursion in the end? "I pray that Faram forgives you for the lives you caused to be taken today." Her tone had dipped dark, eyes narrowing a moment at the man. Even if she didn't entirely know what these people had died for. "I hope their blood upon your hands was worth the price." Really, the blood of these fighters was on her hands as well and she felt a sharp stabbing pain in her chest. Would her hands always be soaked in the blood of others that she killed without fully understanding her place? Faram. It hurt. Turning on her heels, Aspel strode out after the other woman and towards the bikes. "To your liking?" A brow quirked easily as the other woman seemed to pour over the appropriate controls and things in front of her. Could this contraption really take both of their weights? There was a bit of obvious doubt upon her face but really, there was little else they could unless they wished to bake in the Ordalian heat. Seeing the dubious look Aspel was giving the bike, Mag chuckled. “Don’t you worry one bit,” she said with a grin. “It will carry us to the bar without a hitch. Bikes like this are sometimes used for evacuations.” She flipped the kill switch down to the on position and turned the key in the ignition. Underneath her, the engine came alive with a low growl. “Hop on, I promise I’m a good driver.” Once Aspel had climbed on behind her, Mag instructed, “Hold tight, then. Hope you’re not afraid of heights.” The possibility hadn’t crossed her mind until right that moment, but the Fell Knight had agreed to this, so Mag’s choice of transportation probably didn’t bother her. And even if it did, well, it was a short trip to the bar. It would be okay. She flipped up the kickstand with her foot and they took off. The desert sun made Mag wish she wasn’t in full armor, but at least it had the decency not to shine into her eyes. They flew over a cluster of warehouses and toward civilization. Driving didn’t require too much concentration, as this model didn’t even require the driver to shift between gears, so all Mag had to do was set a direction and regulate their speed as needed. The wind was loud in her ears, but showing Aspel how to operate the hoverbike was easy. All the other woman needed to know was how to twist the grip to apply throttle and how to brake. Mag demonstrated both: first how to accelerate while they were airbound, then how to brake when she set the hoverbike down on the street, some ten minutes later. They dismounted, and Mag repeated her explanation of the controls, as Aspel’s vantage while riding pillion hadn’t been the best. Once that was done, she jabbed her thumb in the direction of the bar in front of which they’d just landed, and grinned. “Thirsty?” |